I was awoken by an explosion. Don't know why and I wasn't too bothered to find out. Pigged out with breakfast and was out into the rain by 9am.
The lovely Forcola hotel in Livigno...
Over a few of the passes, We were in the clouds. Everything misted up and I was down to 40 kph, looking over my steamed up glasses. I must have looked very studious!
The day started exceptionally early. I left my luggage at the apartment and escorted my family back to Munich Airport. The rain pelted down as we came through the centre of the city.
Of course, I had not taken my Waterproof, because I didn't want to carry it around the airport. Instead I was wandering around the airport in soaking pants! Nice.
So off everyone went, and I immediately felt lonely. Things weren't likely to get any better as I had planned to visit Dachau Concentration Camp that morning. I figured the rain and wet would help to add to the sombre mood.
I had eaten and gone to bed just before it started to rain. It was pelting down hard as I layed up for the night.
I was awoken at about 2pm by a wet elbow. In fact, just about everything was wet. It turns out that the hot temperatures of the Adriatic had unglued the taped seems on the tent.
The rest of the night involved mopping up water with socks or undies and atempting to sleep under a waterproof jacket.
Motorcycle clothes dryer...
It had rained all night and cheapy tent had kept me dry. It continued to pour down outside, and I was left thinking what I could do.
I chatted with a few Swedish climbers who were hoping to climb the Matterhorn even though it was very early in the season. They were just sitting around waiting for the weather to break. We all agreed that Zermatt was not a place for anyone but the very well off.
The tsunami tent had a semi successful night at keeping me dry but by 5.30, rain was leaking in at a steady rate. I got myself ready for the off.
Fortunately I had seen a tent ln the local supermarket. Being a terrible tent snob, it was a poor choice but it only had to last for a bit over one week. At 29 Swiss Francs it was cheaper than expected. I hope that it is a deal, not indicitive of the water repellant properties of the tent.
I know the past few days had taken a bit of a toll as I wasn't up until 10am. I was going to take things easy, although this was slightly enforced as it was raining quite a lot.
I decided to walk up to the glacier and have a look around. I fashioned a rudimentary ice axe on the way up but the paths took me to a mountain hut. From here the views were fantastic but acccss to the glacier was impossible.
I was awake at a reasonable time and ready to go by 9am. Of course the clouds had disappeared to reveal the French Alps in all their glory. A better view from any campsite, I have not found.
I love waking up in France, when people say Bonjour to you, it is like they really mean it. It is a real welcoming of a new day. I wish I knew more French so I could discuss the joys of living with them.
Waking up in the Best Western Hotel in Ieper, or Ypres as is is known to English speakers, was quite an experience. I was in a comfortable bed, there was no sound of rain, I was not freezing cold and no immediate concerns sprang to mind. Had I died and gone to Hell?
Well, in a nutshell, Betty and I are off on our travels again. This time we are leaving Europe behind and heading to Africa, albeit, the closest part Morocco and Western Sahara.
To go and visit the Sahara is something I have always wanted to do, I was making plans to do it in a very different form over 20 years ago, but it never happened. However, my fascination with deserts has never dimmed. Not that there is much of your typical dune sea desert in Morocco, but it isnt too far away from it in places.
I suppose we had to talk about fundamentalists, terrorists and bad people that I am warned about, et_al. I'm not at all worried about that. Morocco appears to be a place that adores peace.
I'm a little more worried about Gringo middle class fundamentalists from my own country, but its amazing what the Daily Mail can create. I can leave that to reach its zenith in the general election that I will be thankfully away for. I can choose to return or not, my vote is cast already.
We all live and travel with baggage, some of it necessary and others, not quite so. Some is physical, some in the mind and some of it just nipping at our heals.
Many a traveller will advocate the joys of travelling light, and I do support this notion, but my medical condition deems that I need to make a lot of provision for my journeys.
Well off we go! Not too sure if I am doing things wrong but everything appears to be going correctly!
Set off in severely cold 2.5 Celsius conditions for a lovely ride down a very quiet A49 to drop in on my mate and fellow Pegaso owner Robbie in Monmouthshire. Betty wouldn't start at first but eventually she coughed into life. I was feeling similar.
I was woken early by the birds who enthused about the new day to quite some degree. I chatted to David and Marjorie who had kept me entertained last night in their campervan. It was soon time to be off and back onto the autopista. I had to knock back 535 kms today so I held Betty at 120kph and watched the clocks roll.
The rest of the ferry ride was great, I had a good sleep and listened to a really interesting talk on whales and porpoises we might see. I didn't see any but I was just too lazy to stand there watching for hours.
Coming into Santander was quite an experience. The heat was amazing, at least 20 degrees and I began to be worried for the trip ahead. All the bikes had been stuffed up a corner, so loading up and reversing them out was a bit of a hassle. Of course when it was time to go Betty wouldn't start, so we held everyone up. Oops.
This was it, the day to leave Europe and get to Africa. I didn't really feel like racing out of my campsite but I did eventually leave. A thick fog, typical of the region had fallen and the trip to the port was a bit horrid.
Getting tickets was easy enough and I joined the queue to board. There was a lot of lorries going on but little else. There were no kindred spirits to talk to. On the ferry, I got my immigration number and my passport stamped and that was it. I lay with my face down on a table for a bit of rest.
I was away nice and early this time with easy access to my stuff. Back up the hill I had come down the night before, I heard the sound of motorbikes on the switchbacks below. I had stopped for a drink and waved at the two Belgians who came past they were the first two bikers who I had seen any distance from the port. A little later I caught up with them and we had a chat. They had done a lot of the things I wanted to do and it was interesting to chat.
Seeing as there was lots of noise in the narrow streets until quite late it was nice to hear the streets quiet until quite late, it was good to see things didn't get going too early in the city. I had a breakfast of mint tea, fruit salad and a bit of sweet bread, it was very healthy!
The fantasitic roof top view from the Riad
It seemed almost a shame to leave. I had been made to feel most welcome by Mustapha and Houcine. Now I left after exchanging details with them and headed on the road to Bouanane. From here I would take the N10 'desert highway' to Bouldenib and then cut a corner off using a piste to reach Erfoud.
Houcine and I at Mustapha's rather impressive guest house
For once I didn't need to be anywhere, so I thought I would lie in for a bit but by 8 am it had got unbearable as the process of slowly covering yourself up in bed as the night temperatures dropped was quickly reversed.
The first thing to do was to find why Betty's fan was not coming on and this meant a bit of a bike strip down. Fortunately, I had done it many times before but the thought of breaking something now made me a little nervous. There werent any spares for an Aprilia Pegaso on this continent!
I was away from the campsite nice and early on my way through Rissani and out to Erg Chebbi, the famed dune sea of Morocco, it wasn't long before it made its presence clear, as the dry arid black rocks of the flat plain I travelled on set off the Erg spectacularly. Into Merzouga, the village that serves the tourist industry for the Erg and there in front of me was the great dune of Merzouga at over 150 metres high. Sensing a great kodak moment was on the brink, I wheelspan up the nearest dune, dropping Bettys rear axle into the sand on the improbably steep slope.