Greggers
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Hi guys ...
Here’s my little ‘holiday’ blog. Put the kettle on, settle back with a cuppa and let me know if you want any more days...
All images© Robert Wicks and ©Greg Baker
Thursday
A long day. I’d finally finished arsing around trying to sort things out with the mortgage, then there was the last minute panic making sure I was all packed and ready. My Zumo had been playing up with spurious screen inputs and I’d ordered a replacement digitiser to fit for the trip. Oddly though when I got the unit apart it behaved perfectly so rather than tempt fate I just cleaned it all up and re-assembled it.
Sue dropped me at the station, it was hard saying goodbye after the traumas of the previous weeks, but at last my journey began as I stepped from the van and stepped onto the station platform. After a last wave to Suze as she drove away I was eventually alone with my bags. When the train arrived it was virtually empty until I filled it with my luggage – overweight is underprepared – pah! Anyway, this was my first train journey in many years and I was surprised by how quiet and smooth it was. The exception was a loud and very squeaky college girl – she was fat and wore too much make-up, a typical student. I had to change at Southampton for another smooth train, but there were more people on this one. My booked seat was occupied by another fat woman, but I couldn’t be bothered to argue the toss so I sat somewhere else.
I finally arrived at Reading to be met by a grinning Robbie, we were finally going on our adventure! We stuffed my luggage into his car and motored to his place in Charvil where his wife Tanya and their lovely daughter Hannah were waiting for us. I’d not seen Hannah for almost a year and was struck by how much she’d grown in those months, chattering and smiling all the time – she’s such a cutie!
After we’d finished the fantastic meal Tanya had prepared for us we set ourselves to the task of finalising our packing and trying the gear we’d been sent. Everything was fine - the helmet was a little large but Dave had sent a set of thicker pads so the problem was solved. I decided to install the comms headset when we arrived in Dubai and packed it all away. Rob checked us in on-line, but then only ten minutes later he got an email saying that our morning flight had been cancelled – whaaaAAATT?? With no real explanation from BA we re-booked on the later night flight – it would still get us to Dubai in time, but we’d be flying overnight and wouldn’t get much rest on the plane. Bollocks. After a quick beer I went to bed, one of the cats was knocking on the bedroom door wanting to come in and sleep on the bathroom’s heated floor. I ignored it and it eventually went away, presumably to complain and bitch to its sibling.
Friday
The gift day. We had a day to kill. Rob spent half the morning resting his injured leg whilst slaughtering raiding insurgents in Call of Duty something or other ... I just watched the mayhem. When it all got too much for us both we went over to Wycombe to visit the Axminster Tools shop, all full of grown-up toys with sharp edges and bits that can hurt you. What a place! Finally it was time to leave – Tanya and Hannah drove us to Heathrow T5. We were finally on our way.
Checked in, shat a couple of bricks about whether the luggage would be too heavy, grinned cheekily at the BA girl to get two bits of hand-luggage plus bum bag, plus jacket with pockets stuffed with gear allowed as ‘carry-on’ then staggered through the departure hall. I had to wear my Tech 7’s as they were too big to fit in my luggage, they were like wearing bloody ski-boots! Rob has a BA executive pass, so we could get into the posh lounge and enjoy BA’s free hospitality. Bonus – especially me with my boots!
Finally our flight was called, Rob’s executive card helping us again by getting to the front of the scrum to board. We found our seats, I un-booted myself and settled to try and get some sleep. Failed miserably and watched a few movies instead.
Saturday.
It’s always interesting watching a sunrise on an aeroplane. It’s fast and usually quite colourful for a few minutes, this morning was no exception. As the flight was only half full, Rob had managed to bag a spare seat on the other side of the plane that gave him room to stretch his injured leg and enough elbow room to enjoy BA’s finest breakfast rolls.
We started to see signs of life on the ground, the skyline starting to show in the distance. Dubai is a spectacular sight to see from the sky – it’s a shame my camera was packed away. The landing was uneventful, as was the disembarkation and immigration. Despite Rob’s fear that we’d be a good 90 minutes in arrivals we were out with our bags in about half that time.
We headed upstairs to get some currency, I tucked my passport and wallet into my back pocket and wandered off with our trolley of luggage to find a taxi for the hotel. Arrived at the hotel, reached back for my passport .... hmmm – pocket empty. I checked all my other pockets, then my jacket pockets and finally in desperation went through my bum-bag before coming out in a cold sweat as I realised that I really had lost my fucking passport. We looked in the car without success so decided to race back to the Airport in the hope that it had been picked up. After a 20 minute dash through rush hour traffic in down-town Dubai we got back to the arrivals hall and were directed to the security office where I was reunited with my passport. What a relief!
When we got back to the hotel we started to relax a little, there had been a moment’s panic about the prospect of getting a replacement passport issued and the impact the delay would have had on the trip especially as it was the UAE’s National Day and every public office was closed. Disaster however had been averted and we were both once again our happy bunny selves.
We grabbed a cab to take us over to the KTM garage on the Rigga Road, but the cabbie was a bit clueless and ended up taking us on a bit of a goosechase. We finally arrived at KTM’s garage and met the guys there, Mark especially was a really decent guy and went out of his way to make sure we had everything we needed. I could see the bikes in the corner of the workshop, both fantastically angular as only a KTM can be, but the 990 looked like a cruiserweight boxer compared to the tall lithe lines of the 450.
We spent the rest of the afternoon sorting the bikes out, fitting the additional wiring harnesses I’d made to power the intercom and navigation packages and working out how and where to strap my luggage on the 450. The Rally was never really designed to carry stuff so it was interesting trying to work out how to fit my arrangement of straps and bungees, but eventually it was done and the bikes finally rolled out into the street. The 450 is tall – the suspension has around 13 inches of travel at both ends and this particular bike was an entrant in last year’s Dakar so the equipment fitted was the real McCoy. The downside of this is that the first 5 inches of travel is really quite squidgy and soft (technical terms here!) and I made the mistake of mounting the bike with the kick-stand deployed – the suspension compresses but the stand remains resolutely rigid with the net effect that the bike is pushed over with you still aboard. Not cool – especially when it happens right in front of the guy who’s just loaned you the bike.
I had remembered to pack my trusty fleece seat cover – my previous experiences of KTM seats meant that this was a ‘do-not-forget-under-any-circumstances’ accessory.
We lunged tentatively into the Dubai rush hour for the first time, thankfully being swept in the right direction by the traffic. Stage 1 of our adventure was completed with our arrival back at the hotel. That night we enjoyed a Russian meal of kebabs and humus just down the street from the hotel. Happily full we wandered back to the Ramee and slept soundly.
Sunday
Today the journey begins in earnest. The bikes were loaded up and we both kitted up in our riding gear. It was hot down in the basement, even at 9am it was probably around 25C so we needed to get moving to get some airflow through the suits.
Oman is almost a modular country – while the biggest part of it is to the south and south-east of the UAE, there’s a separate part called Mussendam in the north. The day’s objective was to get to the picturesque Khor a Najd cove at the top of Mussendam. The GoogleMaps image was tremendous and we were both looking forward to getting there.
I was struck by the scale development in Dubai – it seems to be never ending, with building going on everywhere. What was even more obvious was the number of men working on these sites - the Omanis have a somewhat cavalier approach to H&S as well as working conditions, because of course to them labour is cheap - why spend money on heavy machinery and plant when you can employ dozens of Pakistani laborours to do the same job... That didn't sit too well with me.
Stylish and contemporary design was everywhere, and of course we saw the Burj al Arab tower. The highways in the UAE were busy, traffic was thick but flowed well and appeared to be well organised. The journey north was quite uneventful, you could almost say it was rather boring as there was nothing but highway and the other major town of RAK until just before the Omani border crossing.
WE arrived at the border crossing, quite a modern building with as you’d expect a few counters and windows occupied by slightly bored looking officials. We exited UAE with a stamp in the passport, took a transit voucher and paid 30Dh. 100m of no-mans-land later we were beside a border office window with an equally bored looking Omani official. More money changed hands for the 1 day entry visa and another stamp in the passport and we were finally in Oman.
Back on the bikes and we were away into the heat of the day. The roads in this part of Oman were quite new and immaculately surfaced, sweeping bends that hugged the mountainous coastline, perfect for a sportsbike with sticky tyres, but I was on a Rallye bike with knobbly desert tyres and mousses – not the bike for tarmac heroics! Rob spotted a beach that looked great for some photos so we pulled of the road and had a closer look.
The sea was a magnificent deep green-blue ocean peppered with oil tankers and the beach was a clean white sand – perfect for an adventure photo! I took the 450 across the sand, tentatively at first but the bike was in its element and just begged for a handful of throttle to power its way through the sand, the desert tyres finding grip where there really should have been none. Another couple of passes and the first pics were done.
Rob decided he wanted to have a go on the 990, and launched himself into the sand. The first 100 metres or so were ok, but when the sand got a little softer the heavy 990 just dug itself in, so deep that the panniers were supporting the bike.
This presented a little problem, and another that was not quite as immediately apparent as the first. We managed to dig the bike out with our hands, it took around 40 minutes the get the bike free enough to move it. The section on beach it was stuck on was sloping slightly towards the sea so we turned the bike round intending to drive it out on the firmer sand below. That was where problem no. 2 popped up. The weight of the bike just kept pushing it down the slope until the front wheel hit the damp sand into which of course it immediately sank. Trying to drive it out just dug the rear in again and we were back to square one. We started to dig again, but after a few minutes realised that the tide was coming in and to our horror found ourselves ankle deep in sea-water. This wasn’t in the plan at all. The bike was sinking and we were facing the very real danger of losing it. A local man had seen us and was ambling along the beach for a closer look. By this time Rob and I were really struggling and his help was more than welcome. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough to get us out of danger, so we sent him back over the road to fetch his mate. Despite our frantic waving he wasn’t going to break into a sweat and he wandered over with a slightly bemused look on his face. How often is he likely to encounter two red faced and exhausted Europeans trying to haul an enormous motorcycle out of the water? We finally managed to impress him with a sense of the urgency of the situation, and we were able to lift the bike up onto firmer sand. With four of us heaving and the engine turning we were able to manhandle the bike out of immediate danger. What a relief! We made the 50 yards or so back along the level part of the sand before stalling the bike. Unfortunately the efforts of the previous hour’s attempts to get the bike out had drained the battery and we couldn’t get it to re-start. By this time Rob and I were completely done in and were no help to the other two in trying to push it up the last bit of sand. Another local drove up to the barrier by the road, looked of his car window and watched us for a minute or two before getting out of his car and wandering over to help. Five sweaty heaving minutes later we were safely back on hard tarmac. We thanked our helpers profusely before sitting down in a heap to recover. It took twenty minutes or so to regain enough strength to push the bike up a small hill to allow us to bump-start it, but eventually we got the bike running again so we remounted and set off back up the road to Khasab. Those next few miles were so sweet, the air blowing through the suit cooled me right down again and the sense of relief at escaping the disaster was almost euphoric.
Before long we arrived at Khasab, an uninteresting military town at the very northernmost part of the peninsula. We stopped for a couple of ice-cold cokes and had some re-fried chicken and boiled rice for lunch. The route to the cove was quite easy to find and we were soon climbing a very loose gravelled track. Within ten minutes we’d arrived at the top and were looking down into the cove – it was an impressive view with the track winding and unwinding itself down the hillside towards the sea.
The view at the top was less than impressive with tourist debris and litter spread everywhere. We launched ourselves down the twisting track and headed for the cove. We arrived to the slightly disappointing sight of a large concrete slipway scattered with cars, boats and an assortment of commercial fishing detritus.
Further west along the cove there was a more open area – but there was a fish processing plant in the corner and a bunch of workers living in tents and caravans. Not the idyllic beach front camping we were hoping for! Rob spent a little time taking some pictures of a shark that a fishing boat had just caught then we scooted back up the hill and took the road back to Khasab. By the time we hit tar again it was well past 3pm and we would be losing light fast. Rob looked in the book of words and found a small camping area about 20km further around the peninsula road. “Look for an Acacia forest...” he shouted as we pulled out. Sure enough, after 20km we arrived at an acacia forest but darkness had fallen quickly so it was quite eerie driving through the trees in twilight. We found a suitable spot, pitched camp and settled in for the night having enjoyed a tuna and garlic mayo wrap.
Our first night under canvas was punctuated by the noises of an Omani night – various night birds hooting and shrieking, but the loudest was a strange and bizarrely human howling – doubtless it wasn’t some manic human but it was peculiar none the less.
Misc Pics ...
That's the first lot, let me know if you want to see any more ...
Muchos
Greg
Here’s my little ‘holiday’ blog. Put the kettle on, settle back with a cuppa and let me know if you want any more days...
All images© Robert Wicks and ©Greg Baker
Thursday
A long day. I’d finally finished arsing around trying to sort things out with the mortgage, then there was the last minute panic making sure I was all packed and ready. My Zumo had been playing up with spurious screen inputs and I’d ordered a replacement digitiser to fit for the trip. Oddly though when I got the unit apart it behaved perfectly so rather than tempt fate I just cleaned it all up and re-assembled it.
Sue dropped me at the station, it was hard saying goodbye after the traumas of the previous weeks, but at last my journey began as I stepped from the van and stepped onto the station platform. After a last wave to Suze as she drove away I was eventually alone with my bags. When the train arrived it was virtually empty until I filled it with my luggage – overweight is underprepared – pah! Anyway, this was my first train journey in many years and I was surprised by how quiet and smooth it was. The exception was a loud and very squeaky college girl – she was fat and wore too much make-up, a typical student. I had to change at Southampton for another smooth train, but there were more people on this one. My booked seat was occupied by another fat woman, but I couldn’t be bothered to argue the toss so I sat somewhere else.
I finally arrived at Reading to be met by a grinning Robbie, we were finally going on our adventure! We stuffed my luggage into his car and motored to his place in Charvil where his wife Tanya and their lovely daughter Hannah were waiting for us. I’d not seen Hannah for almost a year and was struck by how much she’d grown in those months, chattering and smiling all the time – she’s such a cutie!
After we’d finished the fantastic meal Tanya had prepared for us we set ourselves to the task of finalising our packing and trying the gear we’d been sent. Everything was fine - the helmet was a little large but Dave had sent a set of thicker pads so the problem was solved. I decided to install the comms headset when we arrived in Dubai and packed it all away. Rob checked us in on-line, but then only ten minutes later he got an email saying that our morning flight had been cancelled – whaaaAAATT?? With no real explanation from BA we re-booked on the later night flight – it would still get us to Dubai in time, but we’d be flying overnight and wouldn’t get much rest on the plane. Bollocks. After a quick beer I went to bed, one of the cats was knocking on the bedroom door wanting to come in and sleep on the bathroom’s heated floor. I ignored it and it eventually went away, presumably to complain and bitch to its sibling.
Friday
The gift day. We had a day to kill. Rob spent half the morning resting his injured leg whilst slaughtering raiding insurgents in Call of Duty something or other ... I just watched the mayhem. When it all got too much for us both we went over to Wycombe to visit the Axminster Tools shop, all full of grown-up toys with sharp edges and bits that can hurt you. What a place! Finally it was time to leave – Tanya and Hannah drove us to Heathrow T5. We were finally on our way.
Checked in, shat a couple of bricks about whether the luggage would be too heavy, grinned cheekily at the BA girl to get two bits of hand-luggage plus bum bag, plus jacket with pockets stuffed with gear allowed as ‘carry-on’ then staggered through the departure hall. I had to wear my Tech 7’s as they were too big to fit in my luggage, they were like wearing bloody ski-boots! Rob has a BA executive pass, so we could get into the posh lounge and enjoy BA’s free hospitality. Bonus – especially me with my boots!
Finally our flight was called, Rob’s executive card helping us again by getting to the front of the scrum to board. We found our seats, I un-booted myself and settled to try and get some sleep. Failed miserably and watched a few movies instead.
Saturday.
It’s always interesting watching a sunrise on an aeroplane. It’s fast and usually quite colourful for a few minutes, this morning was no exception. As the flight was only half full, Rob had managed to bag a spare seat on the other side of the plane that gave him room to stretch his injured leg and enough elbow room to enjoy BA’s finest breakfast rolls.
We started to see signs of life on the ground, the skyline starting to show in the distance. Dubai is a spectacular sight to see from the sky – it’s a shame my camera was packed away. The landing was uneventful, as was the disembarkation and immigration. Despite Rob’s fear that we’d be a good 90 minutes in arrivals we were out with our bags in about half that time.
We headed upstairs to get some currency, I tucked my passport and wallet into my back pocket and wandered off with our trolley of luggage to find a taxi for the hotel. Arrived at the hotel, reached back for my passport .... hmmm – pocket empty. I checked all my other pockets, then my jacket pockets and finally in desperation went through my bum-bag before coming out in a cold sweat as I realised that I really had lost my fucking passport. We looked in the car without success so decided to race back to the Airport in the hope that it had been picked up. After a 20 minute dash through rush hour traffic in down-town Dubai we got back to the arrivals hall and were directed to the security office where I was reunited with my passport. What a relief!
When we got back to the hotel we started to relax a little, there had been a moment’s panic about the prospect of getting a replacement passport issued and the impact the delay would have had on the trip especially as it was the UAE’s National Day and every public office was closed. Disaster however had been averted and we were both once again our happy bunny selves.
We grabbed a cab to take us over to the KTM garage on the Rigga Road, but the cabbie was a bit clueless and ended up taking us on a bit of a goosechase. We finally arrived at KTM’s garage and met the guys there, Mark especially was a really decent guy and went out of his way to make sure we had everything we needed. I could see the bikes in the corner of the workshop, both fantastically angular as only a KTM can be, but the 990 looked like a cruiserweight boxer compared to the tall lithe lines of the 450.
We spent the rest of the afternoon sorting the bikes out, fitting the additional wiring harnesses I’d made to power the intercom and navigation packages and working out how and where to strap my luggage on the 450. The Rally was never really designed to carry stuff so it was interesting trying to work out how to fit my arrangement of straps and bungees, but eventually it was done and the bikes finally rolled out into the street. The 450 is tall – the suspension has around 13 inches of travel at both ends and this particular bike was an entrant in last year’s Dakar so the equipment fitted was the real McCoy. The downside of this is that the first 5 inches of travel is really quite squidgy and soft (technical terms here!) and I made the mistake of mounting the bike with the kick-stand deployed – the suspension compresses but the stand remains resolutely rigid with the net effect that the bike is pushed over with you still aboard. Not cool – especially when it happens right in front of the guy who’s just loaned you the bike.
I had remembered to pack my trusty fleece seat cover – my previous experiences of KTM seats meant that this was a ‘do-not-forget-under-any-circumstances’ accessory.
We lunged tentatively into the Dubai rush hour for the first time, thankfully being swept in the right direction by the traffic. Stage 1 of our adventure was completed with our arrival back at the hotel. That night we enjoyed a Russian meal of kebabs and humus just down the street from the hotel. Happily full we wandered back to the Ramee and slept soundly.
Sunday
Today the journey begins in earnest. The bikes were loaded up and we both kitted up in our riding gear. It was hot down in the basement, even at 9am it was probably around 25C so we needed to get moving to get some airflow through the suits.
Oman is almost a modular country – while the biggest part of it is to the south and south-east of the UAE, there’s a separate part called Mussendam in the north. The day’s objective was to get to the picturesque Khor a Najd cove at the top of Mussendam. The GoogleMaps image was tremendous and we were both looking forward to getting there.
I was struck by the scale development in Dubai – it seems to be never ending, with building going on everywhere. What was even more obvious was the number of men working on these sites - the Omanis have a somewhat cavalier approach to H&S as well as working conditions, because of course to them labour is cheap - why spend money on heavy machinery and plant when you can employ dozens of Pakistani laborours to do the same job... That didn't sit too well with me.
Stylish and contemporary design was everywhere, and of course we saw the Burj al Arab tower. The highways in the UAE were busy, traffic was thick but flowed well and appeared to be well organised. The journey north was quite uneventful, you could almost say it was rather boring as there was nothing but highway and the other major town of RAK until just before the Omani border crossing.
WE arrived at the border crossing, quite a modern building with as you’d expect a few counters and windows occupied by slightly bored looking officials. We exited UAE with a stamp in the passport, took a transit voucher and paid 30Dh. 100m of no-mans-land later we were beside a border office window with an equally bored looking Omani official. More money changed hands for the 1 day entry visa and another stamp in the passport and we were finally in Oman.
Back on the bikes and we were away into the heat of the day. The roads in this part of Oman were quite new and immaculately surfaced, sweeping bends that hugged the mountainous coastline, perfect for a sportsbike with sticky tyres, but I was on a Rallye bike with knobbly desert tyres and mousses – not the bike for tarmac heroics! Rob spotted a beach that looked great for some photos so we pulled of the road and had a closer look.
The sea was a magnificent deep green-blue ocean peppered with oil tankers and the beach was a clean white sand – perfect for an adventure photo! I took the 450 across the sand, tentatively at first but the bike was in its element and just begged for a handful of throttle to power its way through the sand, the desert tyres finding grip where there really should have been none. Another couple of passes and the first pics were done.
Rob decided he wanted to have a go on the 990, and launched himself into the sand. The first 100 metres or so were ok, but when the sand got a little softer the heavy 990 just dug itself in, so deep that the panniers were supporting the bike.
This presented a little problem, and another that was not quite as immediately apparent as the first. We managed to dig the bike out with our hands, it took around 40 minutes the get the bike free enough to move it. The section on beach it was stuck on was sloping slightly towards the sea so we turned the bike round intending to drive it out on the firmer sand below. That was where problem no. 2 popped up. The weight of the bike just kept pushing it down the slope until the front wheel hit the damp sand into which of course it immediately sank. Trying to drive it out just dug the rear in again and we were back to square one. We started to dig again, but after a few minutes realised that the tide was coming in and to our horror found ourselves ankle deep in sea-water. This wasn’t in the plan at all. The bike was sinking and we were facing the very real danger of losing it. A local man had seen us and was ambling along the beach for a closer look. By this time Rob and I were really struggling and his help was more than welcome. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough to get us out of danger, so we sent him back over the road to fetch his mate. Despite our frantic waving he wasn’t going to break into a sweat and he wandered over with a slightly bemused look on his face. How often is he likely to encounter two red faced and exhausted Europeans trying to haul an enormous motorcycle out of the water? We finally managed to impress him with a sense of the urgency of the situation, and we were able to lift the bike up onto firmer sand. With four of us heaving and the engine turning we were able to manhandle the bike out of immediate danger. What a relief! We made the 50 yards or so back along the level part of the sand before stalling the bike. Unfortunately the efforts of the previous hour’s attempts to get the bike out had drained the battery and we couldn’t get it to re-start. By this time Rob and I were completely done in and were no help to the other two in trying to push it up the last bit of sand. Another local drove up to the barrier by the road, looked of his car window and watched us for a minute or two before getting out of his car and wandering over to help. Five sweaty heaving minutes later we were safely back on hard tarmac. We thanked our helpers profusely before sitting down in a heap to recover. It took twenty minutes or so to regain enough strength to push the bike up a small hill to allow us to bump-start it, but eventually we got the bike running again so we remounted and set off back up the road to Khasab. Those next few miles were so sweet, the air blowing through the suit cooled me right down again and the sense of relief at escaping the disaster was almost euphoric.
Before long we arrived at Khasab, an uninteresting military town at the very northernmost part of the peninsula. We stopped for a couple of ice-cold cokes and had some re-fried chicken and boiled rice for lunch. The route to the cove was quite easy to find and we were soon climbing a very loose gravelled track. Within ten minutes we’d arrived at the top and were looking down into the cove – it was an impressive view with the track winding and unwinding itself down the hillside towards the sea.
The view at the top was less than impressive with tourist debris and litter spread everywhere. We launched ourselves down the twisting track and headed for the cove. We arrived to the slightly disappointing sight of a large concrete slipway scattered with cars, boats and an assortment of commercial fishing detritus.
Further west along the cove there was a more open area – but there was a fish processing plant in the corner and a bunch of workers living in tents and caravans. Not the idyllic beach front camping we were hoping for! Rob spent a little time taking some pictures of a shark that a fishing boat had just caught then we scooted back up the hill and took the road back to Khasab. By the time we hit tar again it was well past 3pm and we would be losing light fast. Rob looked in the book of words and found a small camping area about 20km further around the peninsula road. “Look for an Acacia forest...” he shouted as we pulled out. Sure enough, after 20km we arrived at an acacia forest but darkness had fallen quickly so it was quite eerie driving through the trees in twilight. We found a suitable spot, pitched camp and settled in for the night having enjoyed a tuna and garlic mayo wrap.
Our first night under canvas was punctuated by the noises of an Omani night – various night birds hooting and shrieking, but the loudest was a strange and bizarrely human howling – doubtless it wasn’t some manic human but it was peculiar none the less.
Misc Pics ...
That's the first lot, let me know if you want to see any more ...
Muchos
Greg
