BMW and Vincent trip London - Montpellier - London 2007

I wondered what bike is there, essentially pre-war designed, that could accomplish this long sustained flight without at some point beginning to show the strain? Here was the Vincent displayed truly in its element - a long distance tourer.
Vincent, BMW and Moto Guzzi Motorbike Trip to France June 2007

1, May 2007 If not Now? Then when?

"Yeah, fine. We're staying at the Moulin as usual, you may end up sleeping on the floor, but I think you'll enjoy the trip"

Until such a time as I get the time to do a big trip again, a quick entry on this little beasty. It's a '38 B21 which I spent a year re-commisioning from a ton of pieces. I've been clocking up a few miles, and one weekend in May 08 set off on the longest trip yet, down to London to visit my brother, visiting the old stomping ground of High Beach, and go to the Vincent Black Shadow day at the Ace Cafe.

As promised, a few shots from the expedition to Suffolk to see my folks.
Apologies that this is not exactly RTW, but maybe doing a long ride in one country is an adventure if the bike is old enough?

This was on one of the last weekends in September when we finally got some clear weather.

I set off early on a saturday morning, a bit tired after a weeks work topped of by a Friday nite gig.

I’m lucky enough to have some friends resident down on the South Coast of Spain. Whilst the usual mode of travel these days is to fly there, for quite a while I had an ambition to take the overland option, preferably by motorbike.

Eventually I decided it was time to make it happen, so dates were set and arrangements made. My brother very kindly lent me his BMW R80ST, a faithful and most reliable bike that has previously got me down to the South of France and back without complaint.

As I arise the mist that fell last night is still clinging to the landscape, and after last nights dinner talk I find it a touch sinister, as if shamefully cloaking what happened here.

The plan for today is to trundle carefree in a generally southwards fashion and end up somewhere in the foothills of the Pyrenees.

I enjoy a leisurely breakfast and chat with my hosts the Bardwells, and then saddle up and go. The first part of the day is fantastic, lovely open roads, beautiful villages and great riding. I work my way down to Brantome, scene of previous happy holidays and stop there for a bite to eat.

So I wind down the mountains, happy as a lark and singing “she’ll be coming round the mountains” with made up verses that don’t bear repeating here. The morning dawns cold and damp. So it’s on with the rain suit again. It takes me a while to get back to main roads, due in no small part to the fact I don’t really know where I am. Finally I’m oriented and heading ever south. I’ve elected to use the Aragnouet/Bielsa tunnel. I think it’s the second highest pass into Spain.

The next morning there’s stuff to do before hitting the road. Breakfast is a non event at this dump and I make do with a coffee. However they do have internet and so I’m able to sort some things. They also have a coin gobbling payphone which paired with Alistair Sawdays excellent “Special places to stay in Spain” yields a booking at a very nice sounding hotel in a place I’ve never heard of Bocairent. This is planned to be a short day, around 250 miles as I’ve decided I owe myself a treat.

Over my beautiful steak the previous night I’d contemplated what to do today. I want to revisit the stark yet addictive Almeria region – Europe’s only true desert. I want to travel the roads of the Alpujarras – the tortuous roads that cling to the southern faces of the Sierra Nevada. Trouble is I also have a compulsion to just get the trip done. After five days in the saddle without a break I’m getting, well, tired.

I looked at the nuts and they looked untouched, but then when I grabbed the wheel I saw it was as loose as hell and ready to fall off, no wonder I'd had trouble staying on the road round corners!Sunday May 17th 2009

Later in the day I moved inland aiming towards the Comtat, again the landscape was not particularly thrilling, with miles of sun blasted featureless landscape covered in acres of plastic sheeted greenhouses where imported labour toils to feed the hunger of northern super market chains for year round fresh products.Another carefree day, trundling slowly home north up the coastal roads was the prospect that tore me away from the peaceful idyll of Agua Amarga.

Approaching Lleida from the south is a little difficult, but once through it the beauty steps up another gear as the foothills of the pyrenees become apparentAnd so to the last full day on Spanish roads. Up early and off up the road. Apart from an uplanned detour into the vicinity of the huge and featureless suburbs of Valencia the first part of the day was mostly anonymous motorway bashing.

I have fond memories of a blast along the fast straightish flat roads leading north from Lannemazan to Auch, mile after mile of very light traffic, and high speeds crouched down and hearing the engine clatter and hum like an angry sowing machine pulling on a thread leading inexorably north.Another day and some more trip highlights. Firstly the retreat over the Pyrenees. Beautiful scenery, sinuous roads tracing the routes of tumbling mountain streams, why would anyone skirt round all this just to shave a few hours off their race to and from their happy holiday destinations.

Harry explains that yesterday was a bank holiday and so is tomorrow. But not today? I ask. No says Harry, but they call a normal day like today sandwiched between two bank holidays 'the bridge' and there is a marked tendency in rural France for it to be indistinguishable from the holiday days either side. You have to admire the logic. Well the day starts bright and warm. After a few days on the road I'm a bit slow getting out of my pit. Added to that the bike is showing signs of needing some attention, - peformance down, fuel consumption up and the engine doesn't want to idle.

"I heard you turn into the road then nothing, but christ it sounded rough - have you killed my bike?" Well the gang are all off on a ride-out to see the preserved ruins of Oradour-sur-glane, - the village that was destroyed by the SS in a revenge attack towards the end of WWII.

Not for me though, I have to hit the road in the other direction, I have to be back in London by Friday night . So it's a fair bit of motorway bashing, until I branch off to the west to give Paris on a friday a wide berth, before picking up the coastal motorway up Abbeville way.