Twatsuits, Teachers and Tiny little Brummies
Pulling up at the docks in Plymouth I was overcome by a huge sense of relief. . I was finally starting the trip, the last few weeks had been fraught with issues and it seemed fate was trying to tell me not to go. My prosthetic leg which has given me no trouble for the last eight years decided to “not fit” about 5 weeks before this trip. Getting a “new leg” is not like popping in and buying a new pair of shoes. It’s a complicated process of fitting and refitting until you get it just right. My limb fitter in Glasgow on hearing about my upcoming trips pulled out all the stops and worked hard to get me sorted in time. The leg I have now is not right but it’s good enough for the trip providing I limit my walking and rest the leg when I can it’ll be fine.
Then yesterday with the bike packed and a lazy afternoon planned I sat down with some lunch and cracked a tooth. Feck feck feck. I call my local dentist and he can see me at 1700hrs. I spend a restless afternoon worrying about him not being able to fix it while running my tongue over this strange thing in my mouth. The dentist God bless him patches me up and I relax once more.
Some of the group are already there and the rest appear shortly after I arrive. I know no one but introductions are made and friendships begin. John and his little helper Frodo(Bridget) circulate round in a relaxed manner dispensing little pieces of information making sure everyone is included while answering stupid questions that we all have the answers to on the detailed pack John posted to us weeks ago.
The group consists of a mixture of couples and lone travellers, early retired and working people. We have three teachers, a couple of engineers, a couple of electrical engineers, a motorcycle instructor/ midget bodybuilder, a city banker and one cheeky one legged tosser. The bikes are all BMWs except Johns KTM super enduro overlander. A stunning looking bike. With a few extras. 30 lt tank, touratech panniers, various heat guards, a luggage rack, akros, center stand and handguards. The whole package comes in at under £8k and seems like a serious overland bike. I can’t help thinking this is the bike that would suit a number of solo GS riders(calling oonyack) who regularly take their bikes off road.
The rest of the fleet consist of 4 1200GS, 2 1200GSAs, an 1150 GSA, 1200RT, 1200ST, 1150RS and an airhead 100R mystic/classic????.
We also have 4 twatsuits which Stumpy being Stumpy I can’t help but comment on. The blank looks tell me they have never heard the expression before so I have to explain which fortunately goes down well and sets the tone for the rest of the trip. Once aboard and settled there is a formal briefing and John covers most of what we need to know for the trip. Basically John sets out in the morning and we have a choice we can follow him, ride alone or make up our own groups. There are set stops during the day which you can meet up or not. The back up vehicle follows along behind whoever is last in the group. It’s a very flexible system that seems to cater to everyone’s needs.
We spend the next two days travelling down though Spain getting to know one another. Its part of the tour I really enjoy partly because I had not really though about this section in detail focusing more on Morocco than the trip down. Spain is just such a great biking country great roads from perfectly surfaces motorways to twisty single track. Light traffic away from the cities and plenty of coffee stops. In the evenings the towns and villages come alive with a café culture that’s less pretentious than Italy. Sit on a tatty plastic chair with a beer in your hand listening to conversations you can’t understand while watching the world go by.
Sat on my bike watching the ferry dock in Tarifa I get my first taste of Morocco. As the ramp descends a huge plumb of black smoke bursts though the gap as everyone has had their engines running for the last five minutes. The ramp hits the quay and 100s of people run full pelt across the concrete trying to get to the passport office before the queue forms. Women dressed in colourful clothes carrying huge cloth bags held together with string or tape jostle with small swarthy looking men who carry nothing other than a cigarette permanently attached to their lip. The second the ferry’s empty all the waiting coaches, cars and bike move as one for the ferry. None of the ordered embankment of Brittany ferries here its every man for himself.
Once aboard a huge argument starts between John and the loadie. He directs us to a slippery sloping metal ramp and insists we leave the bikes there. Finally the captain comes down and we’re told to either park on the ramp or leave the boat. Begrudgingly we park where we are told. With the bikes tied down we turn around to see half the flat level car deck in empty and unused.
My bike does not quite line up with the tie down loops so I decide to move it. Turn the key, dash lights up, in neutral, press the starter , nothing the dash lights go out no clicking, no starting nothing. My heart sinks I’m about 100m off mainland Europe and my fecking bike has broken down. I make my way upstairs to the lounge and sit quietly mulling over what could be wrong. Loose connections or a flat battery seem most likely. I have a spare antenna ring and fuel pump relay but I know its neither of these as the symptoms are different. The bike has started fine all trip I can’t work out why it would go flat all of a sudden so I pin my hope of loose connections. My glorious entrance in Morocco is made my foot and my bike is pushed to a holding area outside the passport office.
We have about an hour while John and Frodo process our passports and entrance paperwork. Seat off, shit, the battery connections are fine. Between us we make up some makeshift jumpleads but they are not man enough carry the current. I’m going to have to wait until we clear customs. John as usual is cool calm collected saying we’ll sort it once we get outside and meet the back up truck. I’m not so sure and inside I’m getting worked up. Raging at the penny pinching accountant at BMW who decided to fit such shite batteries(this is the second one that’s gone in two years) Annoyed at myself for knowing they’re shite but not upgrading it before. Concerned its something more serious causing the battery to drain. Everyone is buzzing around me trying to be helpful but I need to be alone to get my head straight. I wander off and sit down between two porta cabins and have a think.
We clear customs and I get a chance to jumpstart the bike. It starts and runs fine but as soon as the jump leads are disconnected the bike dies. Removing the battery I and the driver head into Tangiers to a scooter shop to see if I can get a battery. They’re not going to have a 1200 battery but I may be able to get something I can strap behind the seat and run some leads. Slapping the old battery on counter the young lad tests it. It won’t even light a 12v bulb. He disappears out the back, looking around the shop its all small scooters and bikes under 125cc so I’m not hopeful.
When I turn back to the counter there is a battery sat there that looks the right size. I start to compare it to the old one measuring it with my hand etc. The young lad looks at me like an idiot and points to the battery number . It’s the same. I can’t believe it my first bit of luck since hitting this country they have the correct battery. Its acid not gel and will need charging but I am over the moon. I pay the boy his asking price of 900dh(£60) I don’t care if I’m paying over the odds I am just so relieved. Returning to the port we sit and chill of a couple of hours while the battery charges. I’m keen for John to split the group and go as I don’t like being the cause of any delay. Nearly everyone is relaxed and supportive relieved that the problem should be sorted but more relieved its not their bikes that have broken down. Simon the banker and I wander over and sit in the shade having a cool drink. A man approaches us and says “do you want to buy a watch” we both burst into fits of giggles we’re sat in the port in Tangiers and an Arab is offering us a watch how clichéd is that.
With the battery charged and fitted the bike runs perfectly for the rest of the trip. I’m nervous of starting for a few mornings but soon my trust returns and I have confidence restored. Tangiers is a melee of taxis, horns, bikes as we leave but nowhere near as bad as I though it would be. In fact compared to India it’s a walk in the park. Heading out of Tangiers we get our first real taste of Morocco as we head up into the hills to our first overnight stop. Its been a busy day for me and I’m tired so after dinner I head straight to bed while the others head off into the town.
The following morning we have a very pleasant run south to Ifrane stopping at a Roman ruins on the way for lunch and a wee look around. I’ve a big smile on my face all day today. While old hat for some I still can’t quite believe I’m riding my bike in Morocco a place I have read about on this site many many times. I feel very much I like a “doer” today. Ifrane is a bit of a shock its just like a French ski resort. I’m sat in the hotel in my shorts when another group of GSers turn up. A fella walks over to me and says “I’m taking a wild guess here but are you Stumpy? It was Tractorpilot from this site. UKGSer strikes again.
The next day its raining but we hope to drive out of the rain within 60 miles or so. Heading across the plains the wind picks up and the rain shows no sign of abating there’s lots of standing water and at one point an oncoming truck splashing though a pool of water completely covering my bike and I much to the amusement of those following me. As the day wears on the weather gets worse, it’s the worse wind I’ve ever ridden in and several times I find myself fighting to keep the bike of the gravel edge of the road. The rivers and streams are overflowing the roads and shallow bridges and we start fording.
Up ahead there’s a queue of traffic all stopped by a particularly fast flowing ford. We watch as an HGV struggles to get though and decided to wait a while placing a rock at the edge of the water. 40 minutes later the water has receded 15ft each side(That’s width not depth) So we decide to go for it. The water is nowhere near as deep as it was but moving pretty fast. I’m keen to get across and get it over with and make it across 2nd just after John. Being a helpful soul I then stand in the shallows ready to help if anyone takes a dive. A local van decides to cross at high speed and I get my second total soaking of the day. We all get across and bearing in mind other than John none of us are off roaders we fell very pleased with ourselves. This is a road tour after all.
We plough only to be caught in a huge hail storm we keep going until we see a garage pulling over the garage guy rushes out and waves us all into his wash bay to shelter.
As quickly as it started its stops the sky clears. Just an 80 mile trip to the hotel and we can put this day behind us. 40 miles further on a much larger river has burst its banks. No one is getting across this one tonight. We hang around while John does his stuff and makes a few calls. I forgot to take any pics of the river but someone else will post them up I’m sure. John has managed to find an auberge he uses on one of his other tours and we’re booked in. It a 40 mile run back down the same road some 5 miles before the garage we stopped in earlier. Rounding the corner with about 3 miles to go we’re stopped by a police road block. A raised section of road we we’re on just hours before has been completely swept away. There was allsorts of plant there building a temp road surface but the police where not letting 14 foreign tourists past on bikes. We returned to the garage once more and sit and drink coffee while John and Frodo worked out a cunning plan. After some artful negotiating the police and works manager where persuaded to clear a path and allow our back up 4x4 though but no way where we getting though on the bikes. The garage owner was happy to keep our bikes in the wash bay for a small fee. Waiting at the auberge where cool beers, hot showers, a hot meal and dry beds.
Suitable rested and refreshed it was great to pull back the curtains and see a clear blue sky and dry if somewhat dirty looking roads. Today was what I had imagined speeding across the open plain with the atlas mountains to one side and mile after mile of nothing much. In true Moroccan style when you stop on what looks like a deserted bit of road within 5 mins someone will pop out from behind a rock and say hello. So far I have found the Moroccans to be friendly and open, even the ones wanting to sell you something are not pushy or aggressive. In the country people wave and smile as you pass them by.
After a restful night in a stunning auberge we rode on to Marrakech via Ait Ben haddou a UNESCO world heritage site and location for various Hollywood films.
The group head over to the site, I on the other hand found some old dog biscuits in one of my pockets and spend the time feeding the stray dogs.
The rest of the day was spent riding over the High Atlas mountains and into the city. The roads and views where stunning although I tended not to stop much as each time I did the fossil salesman appeared from nowhere thrusting bits of rock in my face. The best roads and most interesting views so far.
Two days in the city and its time to relax and do tourist things a tour of the sights including the souk and the fantastic Djemma el Fna square with snake charmers, music, games, story tellers and numerous food stalls. Again I was amazed at how relaxed all the salesmen in the souk where no hassle no pestering.
More tomorrow
Pulling up at the docks in Plymouth I was overcome by a huge sense of relief. . I was finally starting the trip, the last few weeks had been fraught with issues and it seemed fate was trying to tell me not to go. My prosthetic leg which has given me no trouble for the last eight years decided to “not fit” about 5 weeks before this trip. Getting a “new leg” is not like popping in and buying a new pair of shoes. It’s a complicated process of fitting and refitting until you get it just right. My limb fitter in Glasgow on hearing about my upcoming trips pulled out all the stops and worked hard to get me sorted in time. The leg I have now is not right but it’s good enough for the trip providing I limit my walking and rest the leg when I can it’ll be fine.
Then yesterday with the bike packed and a lazy afternoon planned I sat down with some lunch and cracked a tooth. Feck feck feck. I call my local dentist and he can see me at 1700hrs. I spend a restless afternoon worrying about him not being able to fix it while running my tongue over this strange thing in my mouth. The dentist God bless him patches me up and I relax once more.
Some of the group are already there and the rest appear shortly after I arrive. I know no one but introductions are made and friendships begin. John and his little helper Frodo(Bridget) circulate round in a relaxed manner dispensing little pieces of information making sure everyone is included while answering stupid questions that we all have the answers to on the detailed pack John posted to us weeks ago.
The group consists of a mixture of couples and lone travellers, early retired and working people. We have three teachers, a couple of engineers, a couple of electrical engineers, a motorcycle instructor/ midget bodybuilder, a city banker and one cheeky one legged tosser. The bikes are all BMWs except Johns KTM super enduro overlander. A stunning looking bike. With a few extras. 30 lt tank, touratech panniers, various heat guards, a luggage rack, akros, center stand and handguards. The whole package comes in at under £8k and seems like a serious overland bike. I can’t help thinking this is the bike that would suit a number of solo GS riders(calling oonyack) who regularly take their bikes off road.
The rest of the fleet consist of 4 1200GS, 2 1200GSAs, an 1150 GSA, 1200RT, 1200ST, 1150RS and an airhead 100R mystic/classic????.
We also have 4 twatsuits which Stumpy being Stumpy I can’t help but comment on. The blank looks tell me they have never heard the expression before so I have to explain which fortunately goes down well and sets the tone for the rest of the trip. Once aboard and settled there is a formal briefing and John covers most of what we need to know for the trip. Basically John sets out in the morning and we have a choice we can follow him, ride alone or make up our own groups. There are set stops during the day which you can meet up or not. The back up vehicle follows along behind whoever is last in the group. It’s a very flexible system that seems to cater to everyone’s needs.
We spend the next two days travelling down though Spain getting to know one another. Its part of the tour I really enjoy partly because I had not really though about this section in detail focusing more on Morocco than the trip down. Spain is just such a great biking country great roads from perfectly surfaces motorways to twisty single track. Light traffic away from the cities and plenty of coffee stops. In the evenings the towns and villages come alive with a café culture that’s less pretentious than Italy. Sit on a tatty plastic chair with a beer in your hand listening to conversations you can’t understand while watching the world go by.
Sat on my bike watching the ferry dock in Tarifa I get my first taste of Morocco. As the ramp descends a huge plumb of black smoke bursts though the gap as everyone has had their engines running for the last five minutes. The ramp hits the quay and 100s of people run full pelt across the concrete trying to get to the passport office before the queue forms. Women dressed in colourful clothes carrying huge cloth bags held together with string or tape jostle with small swarthy looking men who carry nothing other than a cigarette permanently attached to their lip. The second the ferry’s empty all the waiting coaches, cars and bike move as one for the ferry. None of the ordered embankment of Brittany ferries here its every man for himself.
Once aboard a huge argument starts between John and the loadie. He directs us to a slippery sloping metal ramp and insists we leave the bikes there. Finally the captain comes down and we’re told to either park on the ramp or leave the boat. Begrudgingly we park where we are told. With the bikes tied down we turn around to see half the flat level car deck in empty and unused.
My bike does not quite line up with the tie down loops so I decide to move it. Turn the key, dash lights up, in neutral, press the starter , nothing the dash lights go out no clicking, no starting nothing. My heart sinks I’m about 100m off mainland Europe and my fecking bike has broken down. I make my way upstairs to the lounge and sit quietly mulling over what could be wrong. Loose connections or a flat battery seem most likely. I have a spare antenna ring and fuel pump relay but I know its neither of these as the symptoms are different. The bike has started fine all trip I can’t work out why it would go flat all of a sudden so I pin my hope of loose connections. My glorious entrance in Morocco is made my foot and my bike is pushed to a holding area outside the passport office.
We have about an hour while John and Frodo process our passports and entrance paperwork. Seat off, shit, the battery connections are fine. Between us we make up some makeshift jumpleads but they are not man enough carry the current. I’m going to have to wait until we clear customs. John as usual is cool calm collected saying we’ll sort it once we get outside and meet the back up truck. I’m not so sure and inside I’m getting worked up. Raging at the penny pinching accountant at BMW who decided to fit such shite batteries(this is the second one that’s gone in two years) Annoyed at myself for knowing they’re shite but not upgrading it before. Concerned its something more serious causing the battery to drain. Everyone is buzzing around me trying to be helpful but I need to be alone to get my head straight. I wander off and sit down between two porta cabins and have a think.
We clear customs and I get a chance to jumpstart the bike. It starts and runs fine but as soon as the jump leads are disconnected the bike dies. Removing the battery I and the driver head into Tangiers to a scooter shop to see if I can get a battery. They’re not going to have a 1200 battery but I may be able to get something I can strap behind the seat and run some leads. Slapping the old battery on counter the young lad tests it. It won’t even light a 12v bulb. He disappears out the back, looking around the shop its all small scooters and bikes under 125cc so I’m not hopeful.
When I turn back to the counter there is a battery sat there that looks the right size. I start to compare it to the old one measuring it with my hand etc. The young lad looks at me like an idiot and points to the battery number . It’s the same. I can’t believe it my first bit of luck since hitting this country they have the correct battery. Its acid not gel and will need charging but I am over the moon. I pay the boy his asking price of 900dh(£60) I don’t care if I’m paying over the odds I am just so relieved. Returning to the port we sit and chill of a couple of hours while the battery charges. I’m keen for John to split the group and go as I don’t like being the cause of any delay. Nearly everyone is relaxed and supportive relieved that the problem should be sorted but more relieved its not their bikes that have broken down. Simon the banker and I wander over and sit in the shade having a cool drink. A man approaches us and says “do you want to buy a watch” we both burst into fits of giggles we’re sat in the port in Tangiers and an Arab is offering us a watch how clichéd is that.
With the battery charged and fitted the bike runs perfectly for the rest of the trip. I’m nervous of starting for a few mornings but soon my trust returns and I have confidence restored. Tangiers is a melee of taxis, horns, bikes as we leave but nowhere near as bad as I though it would be. In fact compared to India it’s a walk in the park. Heading out of Tangiers we get our first real taste of Morocco as we head up into the hills to our first overnight stop. Its been a busy day for me and I’m tired so after dinner I head straight to bed while the others head off into the town.
The following morning we have a very pleasant run south to Ifrane stopping at a Roman ruins on the way for lunch and a wee look around. I’ve a big smile on my face all day today. While old hat for some I still can’t quite believe I’m riding my bike in Morocco a place I have read about on this site many many times. I feel very much I like a “doer” today. Ifrane is a bit of a shock its just like a French ski resort. I’m sat in the hotel in my shorts when another group of GSers turn up. A fella walks over to me and says “I’m taking a wild guess here but are you Stumpy? It was Tractorpilot from this site. UKGSer strikes again.
The next day its raining but we hope to drive out of the rain within 60 miles or so. Heading across the plains the wind picks up and the rain shows no sign of abating there’s lots of standing water and at one point an oncoming truck splashing though a pool of water completely covering my bike and I much to the amusement of those following me. As the day wears on the weather gets worse, it’s the worse wind I’ve ever ridden in and several times I find myself fighting to keep the bike of the gravel edge of the road. The rivers and streams are overflowing the roads and shallow bridges and we start fording.
Up ahead there’s a queue of traffic all stopped by a particularly fast flowing ford. We watch as an HGV struggles to get though and decided to wait a while placing a rock at the edge of the water. 40 minutes later the water has receded 15ft each side(That’s width not depth) So we decide to go for it. The water is nowhere near as deep as it was but moving pretty fast. I’m keen to get across and get it over with and make it across 2nd just after John. Being a helpful soul I then stand in the shallows ready to help if anyone takes a dive. A local van decides to cross at high speed and I get my second total soaking of the day. We all get across and bearing in mind other than John none of us are off roaders we fell very pleased with ourselves. This is a road tour after all.
We plough only to be caught in a huge hail storm we keep going until we see a garage pulling over the garage guy rushes out and waves us all into his wash bay to shelter.
As quickly as it started its stops the sky clears. Just an 80 mile trip to the hotel and we can put this day behind us. 40 miles further on a much larger river has burst its banks. No one is getting across this one tonight. We hang around while John does his stuff and makes a few calls. I forgot to take any pics of the river but someone else will post them up I’m sure. John has managed to find an auberge he uses on one of his other tours and we’re booked in. It a 40 mile run back down the same road some 5 miles before the garage we stopped in earlier. Rounding the corner with about 3 miles to go we’re stopped by a police road block. A raised section of road we we’re on just hours before has been completely swept away. There was allsorts of plant there building a temp road surface but the police where not letting 14 foreign tourists past on bikes. We returned to the garage once more and sit and drink coffee while John and Frodo worked out a cunning plan. After some artful negotiating the police and works manager where persuaded to clear a path and allow our back up 4x4 though but no way where we getting though on the bikes. The garage owner was happy to keep our bikes in the wash bay for a small fee. Waiting at the auberge where cool beers, hot showers, a hot meal and dry beds.
Suitable rested and refreshed it was great to pull back the curtains and see a clear blue sky and dry if somewhat dirty looking roads. Today was what I had imagined speeding across the open plain with the atlas mountains to one side and mile after mile of nothing much. In true Moroccan style when you stop on what looks like a deserted bit of road within 5 mins someone will pop out from behind a rock and say hello. So far I have found the Moroccans to be friendly and open, even the ones wanting to sell you something are not pushy or aggressive. In the country people wave and smile as you pass them by.
After a restful night in a stunning auberge we rode on to Marrakech via Ait Ben haddou a UNESCO world heritage site and location for various Hollywood films.
The group head over to the site, I on the other hand found some old dog biscuits in one of my pockets and spend the time feeding the stray dogs.
The rest of the day was spent riding over the High Atlas mountains and into the city. The roads and views where stunning although I tended not to stop much as each time I did the fossil salesman appeared from nowhere thrusting bits of rock in my face. The best roads and most interesting views so far.
Two days in the city and its time to relax and do tourist things a tour of the sights including the souk and the fantastic Djemma el Fna square with snake charmers, music, games, story tellers and numerous food stalls. Again I was amazed at how relaxed all the salesmen in the souk where no hassle no pestering.
More tomorrow
bodybuilder
great report andy 
.
