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Round the World 2002

Let’s go Mojo

3rd September 2022 admin Leave a comment

Right.. my bloody mojo is acting like a stroppy teen. Refusing to get out of bed before 12, walking round with a face like someone thats just found out they have the smallest dick in the class, grunting and refusing to communicate. My mojo is my biggest problem. He’s a spoilt brat, a bit of a twat to be perfectly honest. On the trip so far he’ll just occasionally just look up .. mutter ‘whatever’ .. and go straight back to sleep. The only ways to stimulate him out of his stupor are either a shot from a taser or something new to look at. I want to try the taser.. I’ve often wondered what that feels like ..

But luckily for him, from today we’re heading out into unknown territory for a while. We’re heading into the mountains to see the Nemrut Heads. That’s about as far as my research often goes. It’s on the route. There is a road. 2 out of 2. Let’s go.

As I’m eating my breakfast I get a text from Steve, the rider that went home in Germany. He’s had a load more episodes, including one so bad he called his daughter out to help him.. who insisted he go to A&E.. who diagnosed him with Sepsis. 42 degrees temperature and close to organ failure. He’s in ICU hooked up to drips as they bring him back from the brink. Fuck..

Out of Cappadocia in the rain. No balloons today. The brightly coloured balls of hot air that usually welcome in the day have been replaced by dark clouds of lead and slate. The cool and wet is a bit of a relief and gives you something to think about until thoughts of coffee butt in. The road is pretty desolate and it’s another polished shitter too. Even the trucks and cars are taking it really easy up and over the hills. I’m peculiarly enjoying it today though. It’s quite cold, it’s wet and it’s windy. Its not a day you would choose to ride and that’s maybe why I like it. It’s a good contrast against all the beautiful hot easy riding we’ve had so far and it makes you appreciate it.

And another reason my mojo has joined me up at the controls is that we’re leaving the main tourist border behind us. Escaping the traps. Checking out and going more our own way. Of course we’re not alone. Many many people come this way but as the isolation increases and the bad lands that sit next to Turkey get closer you get a different type of traveller.

Stop at a cafe for a break and its virtually deserted.

And get cake.. can a block of pure sugar and honey and what looks like shredded wheat .. or maybe beard .. be called a cake? My tongue has quickly recalibrate itself the moment it enters my mouth for fear of me being overtaken by the sugar rush. Honey is a huge industry out here.

The heads are way up on a 7000ft mountain top in the middle of bum fuck nowhere and so getting there is not as straightforward as I thought. Imagine a road builder with one big FUCK OFF brush that he dips once in tarmac and pulls all the way to the heads some 50 miles away. At first the brush is full of tarmac.. all lovely and smooth

Then as we get further away from the pot of tar, the strip gets narrower and narrower..

and narrower

until the tar all buts runs out and you wonder if you’re really on the right road. It gets stupid steep with lots of very tight switchbacks .. like those paths up from some beaches .. I remember it almost disappearing entirely for a while and getting like a footpath through some trees.. but then all of a sudden you meet the road started by the other bloke on the other side of the mountains and it all starts to improve again until very near the heads you reach a long brick paved section. Its stupid steep again but the views open out, the sphincter starts to relax and you just sit back and enjoy.

You’d think there would be loads of accommodation around a site like this but no. We’re in a very basic place whose Booking.com pictures were taken on film back in the 80s I reckon. It’s falling apart at the seams and the swimming pool is empty and full of rubbish. The glass on the office door is smashed and the rooms are pretty basic but who cares. This is an evening where the worst of times just unexpectedly turns into the best of times. You think you’ll remember it for one reason, but you will remember it forever for another.

We haven’t really planned how we’ll get up to the heads. Maybe try to ride up in the morning. So I speak to the owner and ask if they organise anything. She says if we want to go, then we want to go at sunset and we have to leave now. They have an old transit they can take us up in. £12.50. Sounds fair enough.. that’s only just over £60 for the 5 of us.. but no .. thats £12.50 total. Thats a bag of fish and chips.

So we all quickly get into civvies and get in the van. The route up is very very steep and the bloke can’t loose any momentum anywhere. About 10km later we arrive at a concrete building and the driver takes us in to get our tickets. Sunset isn’t for a couple of hours yet and we all think we’ll have a quick look and bugger off quick style.

There are quite a few people here .. bussed in from towns to the south, drawn to these weird objects way up on top of the mountain. The sun is beginning its evening ritual now and the light is changing quickly.. I walk to the edge of the balcony and look out.. it feels like I’m flying

I’m absolutely not into any of this spiritual nonsense .. but places like this are again appealing to senses beyond the normal 5. Its busy with people.. but it feels like every person has other souls along for company .. you can almost hear their voices or the movement of their feet as we all head out and up the long long long climb up to the heads. 7000ft isn’t that high but the path is long and steep with very big steps. Lots of people are resting/dying on the way and talking quickly gives way to the sounds of panting and deep breaths.

And here they are. Nothing special really. Not on their own anyway. Some consider these 2000 statues as the 8th wonder of the ancient world. Originally the heads stood on the bodies but at some point they were separated and placed on the ground in front. As I look at them I can’t help wondering if I am looking at them.. or if they are looking at me.

The whole experience is getting inside me. Way up on the top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere people toiled and sweated and worked themselves to death for this for who knows what reason. Fuck what a lucky twat I am to be right here right now ..

People are gathering to watch the sunset, sitting on the rocks, some singing, all with faces painted deep orange as the last of the suns rays make their 90 million mile journey to their eyes.

For me its a peculiarly pleasurable experience that I wont ever forget, and I think some of the others think likewise.

Back at the hotel we have a simple dinner by candle light as the power decides to cut out then we all disappear into the darkness of the night.

Next morning I’m woken by the sounds of birds swooping and eating on the wing just outside the windows. Watching their shadows chase across the curtains is quite mesmerising

When we were coming down the mountain last night we were overtaken by a group of kids and their dad having a race, and they’re here this morning having breakfast. They’re British and they’re travelling round in a big converted van. Him, his wife and FOUR kids. He is in the army and is currently stationed in Turkey on one of these psudo missions that exist the world over to give soldiers something to do when they’re not fighting. I think by the looks of it, his mission is some sort of NATO breeding program.

I really like moments like this. A simple breakfast in rough accommodation with the sun shining and looking forward to yesterday’s ride in reverse. We really wanted to go south and east from here but ukgov advises against it, and the soldier says its best to keep away from there at the moment.

Riding a route in reverse is always a completely different experience. The views are all different, the wind is different, the smells are different, but all just as good if not better than the journey in

We’re headed for Elâzığ today so just a short hop. Another random provincial city but I often like these places more than the brand name places. They’re not pretending to be anything, or keep a 1000 year legacy alive, they’re just going about their business.

Today’s hotel is the polar opposite of yesterday. Functional,, clean, comfortable, and completely characterless. But its just a means to an end, a waypoint on the journey. It will have its memories like everything else but they will fade a lot faster than the rest.

There is a car in the car park that looks to have had a ‘functional’ respray

Looks like my level of handiwork..

Take a wander round the town to try and find some stuff for my verruca thats started to really hurt. BTW.. if you need to know the translation for verruca its ‘take your sweaty shoe and sock off and put your foot on the pharmacy countertop and point’. Worked for me ..

Time for another shave I think. We’re now in the middle of Turkey and you would think that all I can find would be old Turkish barbers with 200 years of experience. Walk into the barbers and the only bloke available is a 10 year old Iranian immigrant. Ho hum .. I like to let fate decide as much as I can so I sit down and expect the worst. I dont think they get that many tourists here because as soon as we start we’re mobbed by all his mates. The shop is full and the bloke is having trouble finding elbow room to get round me. I’m having a dozen simultaneous GoogleTranslate conversations and trying to keep still and avoid a razor/jugular moment. The shave is another in a long line of disappointments but its the experience that counts.

It takes ages walking about looking for somewhere to eat but eventually we spot something above a parade of shops. It smells of stale ashtrays and spilt drinks but maybe thats the way the locals like it. Still, it has a couple of enthusiastic young waitresses. Strange though. I knew the Turkish were a hairy, but this is the first time I’ve seen a girl with a moustache on her nipple.

Going Loopy 2022

Chase the sun

31st August 2022 admin Leave a comment

The view at breakfast is just as good as at dinner.

I like this place.. I think this bloke does too .. he arrived 30 years ago and liked it so much he stayed ever since ..

We’re hugging the coast today all the way round to Antalya.. riding with one foot in the lovely blue water ..

It’s yet another curvy sensuous road wiggling and dancing its way along the water’s edge, you can almost hear the music in the air and feel the rhythm in the road. I can feel my helmet begin to pull me in one particular direction. We come to a junction and it spins to the right on my head leaving blind and with no other option to turn inside and follow the path it’s chosen down to a small cafe perched up some steps.

Her name means ‘flower’ and she leaves a little bud on my helmet.. I think I’ll leave that sentence just as it is ..

After much refreshment its back on the road towards Atalya. The road gets ever more busy as we get closer. It’s very hot and very very windy and at lunch we stop on the beach.

There are some Russian ladies there, they’re the only ones sturdy enough not to have been blown into the sea.

One is a pure Russian and the other is a Ukraine/Russia mix. They both live here permanently. The Ruskraine lady is really nice. She is quite shy but we stand together on the beach and chat away about two totally different lives and watch turtles play in the surf. It’s all too easy to make generalisations and I’m just as guilty as the next man but in truth, the reality is often a lot more complicated. This lady is conflicted and one side of her brain is at war with the other, it can’t be easy.

Atalya is tourist central and its packed tight. Approaching most cities looks exactly the same and you’re hunting the 5% that is different.. the original city .. the heart. Just like Sarajevo. Its just another scrappy city until the last km then it all changes. Its the same here. I’m not hopeful about this place at all at the moment though. The Satnav is saying its less than an km and we’re still hemmed in and sweating like pigs. Riding at walking speed with the thick metal tide. ‘Turn right’ Right.. OK.. but there is a barrier.. and a hut here. This isn’t a road. Turns out the old city is gated and closed to traffic but if you’re staying in they will open the barrier and let you ride your bike through the maze of tight narrow streets along with the throngs of tutting tourists. It’s a very delicate operation and by the time we get to the hotel the bikes and the riders are approaching meltdown.

Good hoteliers are adept at defusing tourist time bombs though. A free beer in the shade on a comfortable couch, clean white sheets and a shower. Everything quick and simple, no waiting about dripping sweat on the tiles. No stupid questions. All that can wait until later.

In the morning we’re getting ready and someone has been through the bikes overnight. Small things, but often stuff that’s travelled with you for years, or useful things you have no hope of replacing out on the road. You can only strip them down so far though.

We’re off early and we quietly ride out through toy town. It’s well before tourist o’clock and the streets are empty and clear and we plot a route out into the mountains. It all starts out fine, smiles set to max and bikes on auto pilot. I’ve been really surprised at the amount of twisty riding we’ve done this far and its the same today with the bikes spending most their time on one ear or the other.

Stop for Chai .. I like mine with milk ..

As soon as we leave it starts to rain. The road is shiny. Its one of the shiniest roads I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m going round a corner and I can see a full reflection of the opposing cars in the road surface. When it really starts to rain it’s like riding on ice. I am properly shitting myself for about an hour, tiptoeing about, sliding everywhere, looking death in the face every five minutes. I’ve not had an experience like that for quite a while.

Then as soon as it started.. it ends and we’re back on the black mirror.

We’re headed for Göreme today. To the caves and the balloons. Göreme itself is an odd place. If Meerkats were human sized, they would live in a place like this. You would expect with the amount of tourist traffic that it would be shiny and clean but the road is all up for miles and its a dusty dirty ride through the centre before trying to find your specific cave. It’s a labyrinth of tiny roads wound between the rocks and it can be like looking for a needle in a haystack. But it’s all worth the trouble just for the views.

We’ve got a day off to look around. It really is an off place. I’m just following my nose and we go into a village with a cave system obvious from the road. This one was apparently occupied until an earthquake some time in the 60s. It has the remains of a 6th century church right at the top so just for shits and giggles we climb up in 35 degree heat and full kit for a look. I don’t get much out of looking at these old places .. but I do believe that as people wander through life they leave tiny parts of their souls behind that can hide in cracks, soak into the rocks, into the earth Sometimes I like to close my eyes and just let my body listen.. let it tune in.. I’m convinced there is stuff beyond our five senses and I’m aways keen to feed in when I can. Places like this that have experiences so much emotion over such a long time are a good place to do it. Or, alternatively its the crutch I lean on ever more heavily as I get older.. I do wonder where I’ve left bits of my soul though.. by now I must have scattered it just about everywhere.

One of the riders wants to head out into the scrub and sand to look at some formations in the distance. Do I really want to leave the safety and security of the solid black stuff under my wheels? Not really TBH, I’m not a particularly confident off roader at the best of times and a lot of this looks like narrow overgrown goat tracks from here. I have a secret mechanism for randomly flipping a coin in my head and I set it off. Heads… right .. here we go then. Shit or bust time. The front rider has taken all his luggage off and is very quick and confident as we chase up and down and round the rocks, through the soft (and thankfully shallow) sand and dried up stream beds. The only way I can make myself do this sometimes is to ride in the middle. Trying to keep up with the bloke in front while trying not to hold up the rider behind. It concentrates my mind and stops me hitting the emergency stop button. Its like everything in life though.. no risk .. no reward.

I can hear my tyres kiss the tarmac when we head back to town. A big wet Frenchy .. glad to be back I can feel my inspiration waining again and I need to not let it drop any further. Keeping everything straight and level in my head on trips like this my first priority. We’ve all got a lot of alone time on the road, time to let my mind give me pleasure or pain, keep the demons under control or let them run riot. We’re all the same. Out minds can be our best friends or our worst enemies. Anyway.. exactly when did I qualify as a psychiatrist. My treatment today is an hours walk with the camera..

Going Loopy 2022

Going Hot Turkey

30th August 2022 admin Leave a comment

We’ve got a boat to catch but its not until 8pm so we’ve got a day to waste. I booked the ferries a few weeks ago but the process was quite protracted and I’m concerned. The website was up, down, inside out, backwards, and never the same twice. Trying to pick tickets was like trying to pay darts on a trawler in the middle of a storm in the north sea. I walk down to the docks to the office and collect printed tickets, which are all in Steve’s name as he was the first rider on the list. Steve has gone home. This could be interesting. Changing the booking seems impossible so we’ll just have to rock up and see what gives.

First we need to sort Brian’s tyre. There are a lot of bike shops round here. One of the riders has booked an oil change for his Tenere so I wander down and see if they can sort the tyre.. but no. They don’t have tubes it seems. They are a Yamaha dealer, and stock bikes with tubes .. I dunno. I’m going to change the habit of a lifetime and push some goo into my tyre in the hope it can seal the split in the band.

Then get a coffee at a place that sounds like it was opened just for me

Luckily there is a pukka tyre fitter not too far away. He’s an old racer with pictures of his endeavours all over the walls. He takes the tyre off and has a laugh at the tubeless solution inside. He’s seen it a few times before.. which is telling in itself. It only cost about £2.50.. how good do you think it’s going to be! I wouldn’t ride to the end of the drive .. which in my case is approximately 5 ft.. with it, let alone Greece and beyond. We go for a coffee across the road and the bloke tells me to move my bike directly in front of his door as its a very high crime area. Perhaps my bike really is safer in Mordor than out on the street after all.

Its absolutely roasting outside, too hot to be walking about wasting time so we decamp to reception, pile up our belongings and wait. I decide to repack, it doesn’t take long. All my clothes and my shoes fit inside a small bag that I live out of.

About 6 we all wander down to the docks and go to board. There is a ship here with the back door open, which is good, and they accept our tickets which is even better. Go to get the keys to our cabins and the shitfest devil decides to make an appearance. I was wondering where he had been. I hoped .. well.. never mind ..

There were going to be 6 of us and I’ve booked one full cabin of 4 and two of us in another 4 bed cabin. The 4 is fine. The 2 isn’t. It’s a women only cabin. The booking system has let me book 2 men into a women only cabin.. ummmm. I could tell the eyes staring at me from behind the screen that I’m identifying as ‘Madge’ today and that I demand they respect my chosen identity. I could do that.. but I think I’d find myself drinking sea water within about 10 seconds of saying it. The creature behind the glass is identifying as a she-devil and presently the plexiglass seems to be protecting me more than her .. the conversation is over.. I can’t use that cabin. ‘Can you look to transfer me?’ Of course she cant, that would be far too efficient. I have to get off the ship, go to the dock and find the ticket portacabin. I get there and I’m only 50% by fluid weight than when I started. The ticket girl takes pity and hands me some water and towels… and tells me she cannot change the booking without the other part of my ticket.. that was torn off when we boarded. So I have to go back onto the ship and ask for the stub. One very dirty look and 10 minutes later and I’ve got the stub and I’m back at the cabin. There are absolutely no spare cabin spaces. Well that was well worth all that trouble then. They give me a seat but thats not going to work. I’ll just have to lay on the floor somewhere. Still. We’re all on board at stage one of the journey and thats all that matters.

We’re off. Night falls and I choose the cleanest bit of carpet I can see and just get horizontal. I’ve got my full kit on and right now its a fully charged sweat sponge. I spend a fractious few hours with teenage dreams of nights on random floors covered in party food and discarded clothes before peeling myself off the stain on the carpet and raising the others from their beds. The ship docks at 5:30 in Chios just as the sun begins the daily struggle to lift itself off the horizon and slowly drag its mass into the sky.

The dockside cafes are geared up to bring half dead bodies back to life. They rush out like paramedics and administer strong coffee through drips and wave warm confectionary under our noses until we come round and join the human race again.. and pay of course. Turkey is just across the water from here and the next ferry.. all being well.. leaves at 8:30 from just up the dock. Another set of tickets booked on the internet during a fractious late night internet session. All I can do is cross my fingers and wait.

We wander up to the dock and queue for the ferry. Its right there in front of us. We have to go through some immigration check before we can board. ‘Do you have insurance?’. ‘Nope. We’re going to get it on the other side’. Maybe a look crosses his face. Maybe he deliberates about whether to drop us in the shit or not.. but either way he lets us through. After some confusion about them thinking we had unconfirmed tickets they let us board and we’re on our way across the water to Cesme in Turkey.

Before we left I tried to find out about getting insurance here. I’ve been to Turkey before and you get it at the border no problem. But here I read you need to leave the bike and go into town to get it then come and retrieve the bike. I talked to the others about it. I KNOW I read it.. but self-confidence can be shattered in a blink of an eye when confronted by someone at a border in uniform. And so it goes today..

We get through the immigration no problem but at customs they want to see insurance. I say we’re going to get it in town but the customs bloke declares, ‘Turkey doesn’t issue insurance to foreign vehicles any more. Not for the last two years. You’re going to need to sort insurance out yourself’, redirects us to a small cafe in a nomansland holding area and walks off. My self-confidence has evaporated. It’s shattered on the floor. When did I last come? 2018, so more than 2 years ago. And how old was that post? More than 2 years? Quite probably… fuck… so what do we do now? I have a quick google.. there are insurance agents in town.. but the bloke said .. I dunno.. One of the riders has got Turkey on his green card. He is riding a bike bought through a company in Italy. That company gives us a contact for someone who can help and who we get in contact with but it could be a protracted process. And then, as if by magic, someone from the cafe points us to a young bloke with a laptop who works for the local tourist agency. It’s almost like they planned it.

Anyway, he says he can do it for us. Horah. We’re saved. He gets on the web and off he goes. Apparantly the process can only be done with a Turkish credit card. So he takes all our details. Price is €50 for 90 days which is fine. OK. Click the button please. Time to go

5 minutes later he appears with paperwork. One piece of paperwork. He says they have taken the money for 4 bikes but only send the insurance for the first bike. Great. Given my experiences with the Turkish ferry websites I’m inclined to believe him, but again, maybe I’m just a perfect mark. So now he’s in contact with both the bank and the insurance to get the €150 back. He shows me his bank statement with the 4 withdrawals on.. I’m in deep by now.. I’ll believe anything. We wait a few hours.. then a few more. He talks to the bank (or his uncle) on speakerphone to get updates. The answer is basically fuck knows. Could be today. Could be tomorrow. He wont apply for the other 3 bikes again until he has the money back.

The natives are getting restless by this point.. and they suspect we’re being played. I like to think I’m not, I generally like to give people the benefit of the doubt but, wether this is a scam or not we’re not going anywhere until this is sorted out. We’re stuck. So I resort to the last rule of negotiating. I give up and throw money at the problem. My own money. I wave €150 in cash at him and tell him that he can have that. He can keep it. But he needs to reapply for the insurance a single bike at a time.. and he has to do it now. And surprise surprise, 10 minutes later we all have insurance in our hands and we can leave the building. We arrived about 9 and it’s now getting on for 4pm.

We have only about 100 miles to run from here so its straight onto the motorway and south to Ephesus. Park the bikes behind a highly secure locked metal gate, go for a swim, trip on a turtle and go for dinner.

You have to register for an HGS card to use the motorways here so the next morning after breakfast its a trip to the local PTT office to register. Only takes 5 minutes but as an outsider you can’t use the app so we just load the cards up and hope for the best. I think you can stop at motorway services and check them anyway. We wont be on any motorways for weeks yet but we could have been tagged last night.

We’re heading south to the coast today. I’m prepared to be bored.. prepare for the worst and hope for the best .. and sometimes the best happens

Hot and sticky. Just the way we like it. One of the riders has couriered for the Turkish WRC rally and has suggested a tiny place in the mountains on the coast. Its up a stupidly steep and twisty climb like all the best places are. Everything is trying to discourage you from getting there. The surface is frequently shot to pieces and covered in oil from any truck stupid enough to try its luck but the risk is worth the reward. A little B&B built into the side of the mountain and a terrace with a 30 mile ultra high definition widescreen display currently showing a slowly setting sun.

Going Loopy 2022

Down Down

27th August 2022 admin Leave a comment

I hope the bikes have been able to sleep with all the noise. They’ve got a busy day ahead. I head out early looking for the white stuff again but everywhere is closed. Perhaps they were all out last night.

Getting out of Tirana is a lot easier than getting in thank God and after randomly stopping at the same fuel station I did in 2018 we’re out the city and headed for the coast road. After a couple of hours its time to grace a random cafe with our presence so I just touch the breaks at the first awning I see and in we go.

Its very busy .. and its full of nanas .. surely a good sign

I go inside and start chatting up the nanas, I reckon I’m reaching that time of life. They’re all really friendly and jibber jabbering away, smiling and giggling. I ask the oldest, and prettiest lady to sign my helmet. She doesn’t even hesitate.

Then she starts touching my hands and my forehead and sort of chanting some sing song words to me. She lets out a massive smile and holds my face in both her hands. I’m obviously looking a bit confused because a young woman comes over from the bar and tells me that the old lady has just blessed me! I don’t think I’ve ever been blessed before.. amazing. I give her smooth warm face a kiss and we’re off. I just nip to the toilet to check .. nope .. the blessing didn’t reach that far .. never mind ..

Get to the coast road and swim south on the most glorious, sinuous and spectacular part of the journey so far. Forget the Croatia coast road, it’s a lot lot better down here.

And just to add a bit of fun, we hit the squiggles I remember sitting in the dark at home and zooming in on Google Maps

Get to to the outskirts of Sarende and stop for some fuel. Albania is generally pretty poor so I assume the 4 Lambos and 3 Ferraris that pull in behind us are the local bad lads turning their drugs and people smuggling into rubber and fuel. The cars look like they’ve been driven through Twats’R’Us and are covered in stickers and shiny tasteless wraps. The blokes driving look like they have to shave their eyelids, all small and hairy and wiry, like Wooki-etts. Keep you distance and just go. Thats a whole different world I want nothing to do with.

Get to the hotel which is on a road front near the beach. I asked to use the parking, and I booked this place weeks ago. It seems though that the boss has decided to bump us in favour of some Serbian bikers arriving later this evening. I’m not happy but things like this are bound to happen and there really is fuck all you can do. Thats why a few of us bought locks and chains. Tie the horses up outside and hope they’re there in the morning

It’s not at all bad here. These places are not everyone’s cup of tea, but I’m happy to spend a few hours wandering about and relaxing in the sunshine.

If ever I’m reincarnated, I don’t want to come back as a foot. Feet get a really bad deal, especially mine. Locked in an airless dark hot and sweaty place for hours on end. I like to treat them when I can.. and I can today.. so I take them for a delicious lukewarm salt bath.

Relive it

The road from Sarende climbs and twists and snakes up and over the mountains and pretty soon we’re at the border with Greece.

A quick thump from the stamp and we’re in. I’ve not been to northern Greece before and before I came I looked at the maps for some interesting roads. It looks like the cartographer either had Parkinsons or was pissed out their head.. and thats the way it turns out to be. The GPS committee sat for some time yesterday and agreed a route that seems to contain no straight longer than 100m. I just remember the day as being like one long speed wobble the bars never ever being still even for a moment. Take a look at the relive and you’ll see.

We’re in Kastraki tonight and approaching it really reminds me of Close Encounters of the third Kind. Solid mountains of rock just standing clear of the ground with lots of monasteries perched on top. It feels more like the USA than Greece. Anyway, I take the Richard Drafus suite and start practicing the tune on my travel keyboard just in case .. now how does it go again ..

Everyone is worried about their head bearing the next day due to their overactivity in the mountains yesterday, plus we’ve got a way to go today. We’ll all just take the quick and easy route down to Pireas and give our concentration batteries a chance to recharge. Give them a day off and just cruise down in the heat.

But first a quick scoot up to the top of the mountain for some tourist spotting.. and try to get another language on my helmet

Now.. I explained the rules to this lady. I told her.. girls only.. real girls.. none with penises .. no ‘Mike identifying as Mable’ .. but she still broke them and put both her AND her boyfriends name on my helmet.. this is the last picture ever taken of her .. she was warned :). And I couldn’t get the name off the helmet so he had to go and get a sex change that afternoon. Be warned. Those are the rules.. no exceptions!

Stop for the first time in Greece for Coffee and cake and fuel. Someone has made a mistake on the pumps though. I’m sure its just a slip of a finger .. but it appears these pumps are suppling molten gold rather than petrol. Fuck its expensive. And they double fuck you by disabling the cutout and letting you pour £100’s worth all over the forecourt too.

Time for drugs I think ..

Easy riding all the way down to Athens and then into the melee of any big capital city. Athens looks odd from the motorway though, all very low rise and sprawling. Not as I expected at all. Pireas is south of the city and its the only place I could find with parking in the whole of the city. It’s one of those underground car parks that looks like it was built by Swampy and his mate after the hotel was built above. It also goes down about 4 stories into the dark until you can feel the heat of the earth’s core. I absolutely hate these places. You just know the builders never got the proper plans out the envelope. They just dug a big hole and got their mate to prop it all up with columns of feta cheese. They all just feel like an accident waiting to happen. Good job I travel light. I grab my little bag and swim to the surface as quick as I can.

Take a wander down to the harbour to watch the world go by before the sun goes to bed. The Greeks sure love their boats.

We’re having a day off. Time to go and see some culture. And to get a shave. I never shave myself when I’m away. I like to take my life in my hands and get some random bloke to hold a blade to my throat just to feel alive. The older I get the harder it gets to get a kick out of anything. Kick me.. nope. kick me HARD… HARDER!!! Nope .. maybe there is something wrong with me.. I dunno. I live two lives and I step from one to the other when I go away on the bike.. then step back from sauntering down an alley in Bratislava in the dark .. to laying on the couch watching Eastenders .. and there is nothing in between. My wife just says hello like I’ve come back from the supermarket and its situation normal within 2 minutes. Anyway.. where was I. I like being wet shaved. Maybe its the fear that this barber will be a descendant of Sweeny Todd and my life will end in spurt of my jugular and a demonic smile from a barbaric barber.

Someone tells me there is a barista that has been perfectly pored into a pair of tight jeans just down the street so I go for what could be my last coffee .. its all part of the illusion ..

I’m in Greece so I’m expecting a Greek barber, but it proves unexpectedly difficult to find one willing. In the end the only one willing is an Iranian immigrant who proceeds to give me at least a dozen near death experiences as he skids and bumps the blade across my throat with all the subtlety of someone pealing an apple. He then proceeds to pour what feels like battery acid into every open cut and gives it all a vigorous rub to really make sure each and every nerve ending joins the fun. Fuck I’m sore, and as I walk back I feel little streams of pain as the sweat adds salt to the wounds.

And this bloke didn’t help by laughing at me

Mind you .. look a the bike he was riding ..

Maybe he had converted it to electric judging by the spare battery .. take a bit of a wander round the streets to give the camera a bit of exercise

I really dont feel like opening all my pores and liquidating 50% of my bodyweight today but its got to be done. Take the train into the city and wander up to the Acropolis. They’ve got the builders back in it seems. Why didn’t they build it properly in the first place? Its heaving and its hot and if I really want to see ancient ruins I just have to look at the two blokes I’ve walked here with

On the way back Brian takes me to a taverna and fills me with 20 pints of ouzo in order to kidnap me and accompany him into the depths of Modor to check his tyre pressures

You can tell there is a problem when he presses the gauge to the valve and there is just a weedy little fart .. he has some of those shit cheap Japanese tubeless tyre conversions and they’ve obviously committed Hari-kari. Buggery fuck wombles..

Going Loopy 2022

Southbound

26th August 2022 admin Leave a comment

Sarajevo for breakfast, Mostar for lunch. With loads of lakes and copious curves to consume on the way. Bosnia isn’t necessarily a place you’d associate with good roads but it has plenty and despite being a really small country it frequently treats you to big skies, open plains and only the thinest sprinkling of humanity.

Thankfully all the riders on this trip are very experienced and completely independent. Every morning they get a destination and are released into the wild like a box of homing pigeons. We might spin round a town a few times getting our bearings then we’re off. We’ll meet at pinch points or when the first rider’s caffeine level reads empty but frequently we’ll ride a distance apart and keep out of each others way. Nobody in interested in racing. Nobody is keen to have the size of their balls weighed and put on any chart. They are all such good riders that to put them to their absolute limits would be dangerous and stupid. Having said all that, I have a job keeping up with any of them a lot of the time

We all get to Mostar and head for the bridge. I’ve been here before but I don’t recognise where I am. All the satnavs have made different decisions on the best way in but eventually we all congregate like moths to a flame and head in. Its stupid hot and the place is rammed. My arse is receiving full lubrication from the sweat running down my back and I give myself a 300m maximum before I hold my helmet in my hand and use it like a divining rod to take me to the closest target it wants adding to its ever growing possie. It steers me left, right, then up and stars spinning in my hands. Target aquired ..

And whilst I’m here .. it would be rude not to. A very smart girl this one. She’s Spanish and studying something complicated and way beyond my comprehension. She’s come for a short break to let her brain cool down. Not much chance of that in this heat.

Mostar is quite a big place but the old town is tiny and very compact. People are packed into the narrow streets below, shuffling slowly from one set of fridge magnets to the next, queueing for selfies on the bridge. I’m happy just to watch from afar over the rim of a lovely latte .. and a cake.

Take 2 steps from the table and it’s like exiting the twilight zone and going back to reality.

Ask anyone that hasn’t been to Bosnia what they think it would be like and I doubt they would think its like this. ‘Surpriiiiiiiiiise’ ..

I’ve not taken this particular route before and it’s really beautiful. My satnav embarrasses itself yet again but taking us down a single track footpath towards a ‘locals only’ border crossing but both I and the others are used to this by now so we do the pigeon thing again and find the right road. It’s a lovely evening and the mountain roads are clear and free to play on.

Another crossing, another stamp, another destination and another garage for the bikes to lay their heads

Tonight we’re just outside Dubrovnik and we pass all the floating cities moored up in the docs as we arrive. Its going to be busy..

Get a bus down and we all have to flash our gold credit cards at the gate to prove we can buy a small ice cream if we need one. The place is heaving. It’s people soup. I want to take some pictures but it’s going to be tricky tonight. For me, taking pictures is another kind of therapy, another mental distraction, a 3 dimensional game where I watch and wait, let my brain track the trajectory of 100 bodies all moving in different directions, all the while trying to predict a fraction of a second when I should fire the trigger. People come into and out of frame, speed up, slow down, stop and laugh, kiss, touch, and my brain is all the time calculating the odds, trying to move my body into the perfect position. Sometimes that means I will speed up and walk fast to intercept something, or slow down to allow people into a space ahead.. or it will get me to kneel down in the middle of a packed square or it will get me to do a very quick fly by to get a shot before anyone notices. I used to worry about this. I used to be really self conscious about it but nowadays I don’t have a fuck left to give. I will never see any of these people ever again. I might enter their consciousness for a second or two while they ask themselves ‘what the fuck is that skinny old twat doing’ but then their concentration will fall on that shiny expensive trinket in the next shop window and I’ll be gone. Forgotten. Trashed. But it’s still a game of luck. It’s like writing, or an erection. You can’t force it. And its just as disappointing when it doesn’t happen.

Fuck I do talk a load of old shite sometimes ..

Anyway .. I just go with the flow and let fate decide.

We find a restaurant up a tight alley and sit down. ‘That will be €20 please’. ‘What will?’ ‘That seat, that’s €20 for 30 minutes. ‘You what?’ Look at the menu and quickly decide that I dont really want to just turn that many Euros into shit tonight so I pop sticks and take a long walk back to the hotel in the dying evening light.

Relive it

Today is a 2 border day. It’s always a lottery how long it will take. I’ve been through both borders before and they were fine but history is no guarantee of the future. Get to Montenegro and it’s a five minute job.

Until we try and get insurance. There is a big sign on the booths telling you that you need insurance and where to get it, which turns out to be the building not 50m away. Last time I think I payed €10 and it took 5 minutes. We all follow the signs and go up to the office, which is shut. Everyone takes a patience pill and we settle down to wait. Its hot and you have to manually shut down, to tie your temper up in a safe place and really think before you speak. Someone comes back, opens the door and we form an orderly queue. The bloke just to process the first rider when someone comes out another office and heads our way. He’s 2 foot tall and pushing his balls in a wheelbarrow and he looks like trouble. He comes in and just rips the paper from the blokes machine and puts on his best Billy Big Potatoes face. I’ve seen this before. My temper instantly pulls and wriggles at its bindings but we need to keep this under control. He is absolutely adamant that we don’t require insurance and that our green cards will cover us. Any attempt to show him our insurance and the countries it covers is met by a sneer and a wave of the hands. He knows best. He is never ever ever ever wrong and he will absolutely not allow us to buy insurance. In this situation it’s just not worth the potential trouble that escalating the situation would cause. We’ll be in Montenegro for a few hours max and we’re just going to have to go commando. I accidentally give the wheelbarrow a big kick on the way out and see his balls hit the big ceiling fan accompanied by a wale of pain. Twat.

The ride through Montenegro is extremely hot, slow and painful. All the cars only seem to have 1st gear and crawl along like disabled snails even if there is nobody in front of them. Its a pretty place though, there is no denying that.

I’ve got memories of Montenegro from 10 years ago when I came through here with an old mate. An old mate that is now dead. Streams of thoughts like that always lead to roundabouts with lots of potential turns. I choose to take a positive one and find a lovely, if expensive cafe perched high above a town we stayed at before. Relive the good times. Replay the laughs and the smiles. Choose the light over the dark. There is a little isolated community in the bay and the waitress tells us Stallone has a property there. Not a bad spot at all.

I see a girl being photographed by her boyfriend upstairs. She’s not shy, but she doesn’t want me to take her picture. What she doesn’t know wont hurt her

There is a Russian thats ridden to Europe on his bike sitting next to us. He has an attractive wife that’s keen to add her name to the list.

Talking to Russians in the current climate is tricky. There are obviously an awful lot of opinions that we don’t currently share, especially amongst the more wealthy ones we meet down here. But nobody is keen to start that conversation.

Its taken us a lot longer than anticipated to get through Montenegro than we anticipated so its quite deep into the afternoon before we cross into Albania. Luckily its a quick process and we’re all queueing up outside the insurance booth/container to get our totally worthless paper comfort blankets. Another couple arrives on a new GS looking like they’ve just ridden out the showroom. They both worked in Singapore for a few years and saved up to spunk everything on a new bike and a road trip. Good to see. Except they think in their youthful innocence that the entire world runs on plastic. They don’t have any cash. At all.

Ok then. Maybe they can barter for their insurance. I’m sure they’ll be fine.

First impressions of any countries are quickly formed within the first few miles of the border. A lot of the time it’s not good. The money always seems to be concentrated in the middle of the country and not so much seems to flow to the very edges. This time its better than expected. A new business being built, ice creams and coffee, toilets with less than a week’s skidmarks on.. its all good.

Get out on the road though and its absolute lunacy. It’s just like Russia. All traffic regards motorcycles as vermin and they just pull out and overtake towards you as though you’re just not there. They have absolute total disregard for two wheels. Trucks, coaches, and worst of all, the big 4x4s. They pull out and launch themselves like missiles down the road towards you. Lights blazing, because obviously thats a safety feature that will stop them actually coming into contact with anything. It’s not just happening occasionally either. Its constant. If you’re not surrounded by cars then the lane is considered to be clear and they just go. Brian has a very very close call with one in particular. He’s put into the dust at quite high speed but thankfully keeps it together and lives to fart another day.

Riding into Tirana is a lot of fun. Thats if you like riding though molten metal, which as it happens, I do. It’s tight. It’s hot. It’s very passive aggressive and you have to ride very ‘positively’. Its testament to the riders that somehow we manage to all keep together and navigate through the melee. By the time we get to the hotels, most of the bikes are at melting points and so are the riders. Its a nice hotel with a garden and I very quickly hear the pulling of tabs and the hiss of beer against red hot tongues.

I dont usually do beer. I’m a milkaholic. So I head out in search of the white stuff.. no not that white stuff .. though its probably easier to find than milk out here. Probably cheaper too

Some people come up with really novel solutions to the traffic problems

I find an ATM and withdraw some cash. I always feel like I’ve turned into a target when I do that in places like this. Albania is famous for bad men, and I’m very keen not to meet any. I’m keeping to the main roads, keeping visible. I come to a little bloke in a cabin watching a car-park for a hotel. He directs me into the maze and away from the main roads, into the back streets. Its still daylight and my spider sense isn’t tingling so down I go. I find the market and walk in, the familiar smell of warm veg and not so clean freezers. But my quarry is there, all chilled and waiting. My habit is running between 4 and 6 pints a day at the moment.

Its Friday night and the building over the road seems to be a club. We go out for dinner and when we come back the building is almost moving with the bass, seeming to breath in and out with the beat. My kind of place but at my age that level of volume would probably just blow all my skin off. Still.. why would I want to go out when I’ve got Brian waiting in my room

Relive the day

Going Loopy 2022

Into formation

16th August 2022 admin Leave a comment

My wife is a witch. But lucky for me, she’s a white one. She can look down in a field and instantly find as many 4 leaf clovers as you want. She collected some for me to give to my riders and I locked them away in a very safe to keep them from catching any stray crap or bad karma but now they have to see the light of day and take their chances against the shitstorm. Them and my little orange travelling companion. He has a huge smile on his face.. we’ll see how long that lasts.

There is nobody home today. Close the door, get on and go, down to meet rider No 1 at Cobham on his old Africa Twin.

And down to a cheap.. and not particularly cheerful B&B in Folkestone. Folkestone doesn’t really seem to do cheerful from what I can see. Certainly the drunk bloke I’m watching pissing in the street from my window doesn’t seem that happy. Go out for some ruinously expensive fish.. we I say fish .. but I don’t think a tadpole wearing 25 coats of thick batter really counts.. and chips then back through the time portal to the B&B where I fully expect to find Rigby arguing with Miss Jones.

Steve is an old mate that I’ve known since I met him riding the Pan American back in 2010. He’s a very very good rider and a really nice bloke. I’ve not shared with him before though and there is always a slight awkwardness.. which I decide to break with a small fart.. and he double trumps by continuing to chat whilst having a massive shit with the door open.. oh happy days.

I’ll be picking up riders as I go south and the next ones are waiting at the eurotunnel when we arrive. New gleaming tyres, perfectly packed luggage, clean boots and shiny helmets. That usually lasts about 10 minutes

My old helmet smells like a 90 year old’s slippers .. including dribbles.. and skin flakes.. .. so I’ve got a new one and Lisa helped me break its virginity on the train.

And so it begins .. first stop is Metz. I would usually just lie back and let the GPS lead me by the hand the whole way. Trying to find interesting stuff in Northern France is like me digging into my leathers with numb fingers in the middle of the night in the freezing rain and -stupid degrees cold after a 10 hour ride and trying to find my tummy banana/witchetty grub .. its dam near impossible, but we’re going to try. We get off the motorway.. and I dont remember a thing until we get to Metz. Memory is a curious thing, I didn’t make any conscious decision but these were thown in bin and deleted. The hotel is near a shopping complex as usual but all the food outlets have failed to survive the COVID reset so we fan out and raid the supermarket instead.

From Metz it’s Munich. My riders are all motowayphobics and will need daily courses of more interesting fare it seems. Throw a problem like this at 6 different GPSs and you’ll get 6 different answers. I think I could make a lot of money by starting a company to mediate GPS ‘discussions’. To put it politely its a fucking nightmare. At least this time its being done at a nice cafe with a barmaid capable of writing in less than 64 font unlike the last 2.

I’m sure we’ve all been there. Sitting round for hours staring at little screens .. backing our little buddies decisions against the others. We choose a route via a section of the B500. More memories for the bin I’m afraid. I know what you’re thinking. I’m a spoilt brat. And you’re right, but I can’t help it. My brain is completely full and now I’m only accepting upgrades.

Memories are one thing .. mammaries are another. Always plenty of room for more. This afternoon we hit a sweet spot when we went for something to eat.

Some instantly climb to the top of the pile

Especially when they like a rocket under their crotch

At the start of these trips I have all sorts of demons along for the ride. This time I’ve got the shitstorm devil as well as all his little mates.. all throwing doubts at me.. all shouting things that could wrong with the bike.. or with the people.. or a million other things. I always have this fight with myself and it’s a fight I have to win. We are a team of 6 and we’ve got a long long journey ahead of us. I look in the mirrors and see the others and wonder what they’re thinking .. I don’t think Steve is thinking about much at all .. I can almost see his smile from here.

We’re on the outskirts of Munich. Another hotel room to build a mental map of. Another one to navigate in the dark at bladder o’clock. Most hotel memories are destined for the bin, but not this one.

Go Greek for dinner at a little Taverna and give the shitstorm devil an hour to set the scene back at the hotel.

Steve goes back early because he’s feeling a bit tired. We sit and eat, sun is going down, eyelids coming down, time to hit the hay.

I open the door and walk back into the room to find Steve tell me he’s dying and I have to get an ambulance. He’s in a right state, he’s freezing but boiling, he’s almost incoherent and he’s telling me he cannot get out of bed. He’s breathing really fast and starting to panic. I’ve only ever phoned the emergency services once in the uk and its not something anyone does on a regular basis. I tell him I’ll get a taxi and take him to A&E but he is convinced he cant get up. So.. 112 it is. This is Germany. In 10 seconds we will see the searchlight of the air ambulance and medics will appear up the stairs and through the windows, syringes in hand, ready to turn this boiling body in the bed next to me back into my mate. But no. ‘Hello’. ‘Hello’. It sounds like I’ve interrupted somebody’s Netflix and pizza evening, not like an emergency services response. I tell him I’ve got someone that is obviously in a great deal of distress and I need help. He decides that because there are no bones sticking out and all his blood is still inside his body that he can get a doctor out to the hotel. Great. Lets do it. ‘Ring this number.. goodbye’. What? I’m looking at the phone wondering what just happened. So I phone the number. Doesn’t work. Phone 112. ‘Hello .. could you just wait a moment when I pause the TV’. Same bloke, which is a surprise for a start. ‘OK, try this number instead.. goodbye’. Try the new number, same result. 112 again.. same bloke again. Do they really only have one bloke responding to 112 calls? ‘Oh.. ok.. I’ll put you through myself then’. WTAF? I hear the connections being made.. I’m getting somewhere now .. the doctor is looking for his car keys .. he’ll be leaving any time now .. the connection goes through, and its an automated call service, all in German, with no ‘press 5 for english’ option. Fuck this!! I go downstairs to ask the receptionist for help.. or rather the receptionist’s chair. Reception is unmanned until the morning, and the barman is absolutely not going to help me. Back up in the room I think I’m detecting a slight slowing in the breathing. The brain is a strange thing. If it thinks help isn’t coming any time soon I reckon it knows it has to sort something out itself. He doesn’t want to go to A&E and he’s beginning to relax a bit. I’ve never seen anyone have a panic attack, and its not what this turns out to be in the end, but whatever has caused this episode looks to be subsiding. He falls into a fitful sleep and I spend the night half awake listening to all sorts of random outbursts as he bad dreams his way to morning.

I wake up early and Steve is asleep. His breathing sounds normal and he’s kicked off the covers. He slowly comes round and sits up in bed. He’s looking tired but whatever he had last night seems to have passed. But he’s going home. We both know it will only get more difficult to sort anything out the further we go. There is something wrong and it doesn’t look good. Day 2. I good man down.

The weather is looking sad today. Grey and miserable. We say our goodbyes, wish each other luck and fork east and west.

Go for fuel, and as I get back on the bike the shitstorm devil makes me slip on some spilt fuel and kick my chain oiler, fracturing the plastic oil reservoir. I’m getting grudgingly more impressed by his ingenuity .. but my patience is wearing thin now ..

We’ve got to do a bit of autobahn this morning before heading south through Austria. My bike is feeling a bit odd in the wet. Like it’s steering from the back. And whenever I hit even a small bit of over banding its getting well out of shape and scary.

We’re riding along at a steady pace and I’m just wondering whats wrong when I see traffic backing up on the other carriageway. It’s a downhill section and its busy. There is a big group of bikes and my eyes are drawn to one in particular.. it brakes .. looses the back end.. then heads straight for the barrier on the inside.. smashes into the barrier sending bits of plastic and bike everywhere .. it all takes just a few seconds. The riders behind me see more.. and another bike that smashes into the central reservation.. and people running over looking shocked .. the finger of fate could just have easily pointed to us at that moment. I’ll take any number of small inconveniences and problems over accidents like that. I hope they were all ok.

We’re aiming to go over the Grossglockner pass, but firstly, and more important, cake.

God I love cake. And cake ladies .. I never eat cake at home .. or cake ladies.

Find the pass. Give the wallet its first raping to get through the gate and over we go.

I’m really not happy with the handling at all. Bike wont turn and its feeling odd. As we’re coming down the other side there are lots of concrete retaining walls and it sounds like I’m being followed by a Kamaz truck.. all I can hear is tyre noise and lots of it. So I stop and look at the tyres – they look ok to the naked eye. Check the pressures.

The rear is a bit soft. 9psi soft. Buggery tits arse and farts.. it looks like the rear band is faulty too now. These MotoZ have such stiff sidewalls that not even the other riders around me had noticed its so soft. I cannot easily fit the tube because of the offset valve so I’ll have to keep pumping it up and see how it does. That will be fun for the next 6 weeks.

Still, the ride down to Ljubljana is a real joy now I know the cause of my handling problem. The last two riders are waiting when we get to the hotel. One is a mate that has ridden to China with me before, and the other is Brian. Both have made their way here from different directions and new we’re complete. We’re in formation. Ready to go and play.

Its great to ride for a few days, knock on a random door in a random hotel and suddenly feel back at home with an old friend. We have a lot of shared memories, a lot of which will never see the light of day, and some of which we’ve both agreed to bury completely. And now it’s time to make some more.

We’re not doing massive daily miles this trip and today we’re aiming at Zadar down on the Adriatic coast. Why? I like the name.. what more excuse do you need?

We cross into Croatia and get to Rijeka. Its coffee and cake o’clock and I’m sure there must be loads of it piled up somewhere in all the concrete I can see from the motorway so I put my super sensitive dog sniffer nose on and take a random dive into the maze. Its not looking good.. a bit residential.. my head is spinning round like a GoogleMaps camera and my nose is trying to isolate the scent of pastry amongst all the flowers and fumes. The riders behind me know in this situation that at any moment i am likely to break any road rules and just find the shortest path to my quarry and so it is today. I catch a glimpse of an open door on the opposite side of the road and my brain instantly concentrates on calculating the shortest distance between me and a cake.. which seems to be via a tight U turn onto the pavement and up a narrow pedestrian ramp.

With the calorie and caffeineometers both showing full it’s and easy, fast and beautifully bendy ride down the coast to the ferry at Prizna.

We go join the bikes at the front. There is older bloke on a BMW scoot with a face that looks like it is lived in by at least a dozen people. The resting face belongs to a cagey old boxer but get talking and after a while The Joker suddenly steps in and takes over.

Turns out he has had a big accident and he can’t ride the geared bikes anymore, hence the scoot.

The ferry is just a quick skip across the beautiful blue bay and then it’s a race along the water’s edge to an old hotel with a friendly nana and a strangely haunted feeling about it.

Ever since my mum died years ago I have for some unknown reason associated her with butterflies. I’m walking into the hotel and up some old stairs with the rays of the warm sun casting shadows all around when a single butterfly decides to accompany me on my journey. I get to the top.. it stays and hovers for just moment, then it’s gone. Maybe I’ll be a butterfly myself one day ..

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside ..

On the road out into the morning light and let the sights and the sounds and the smells take care of occupying my thoughts and entertaining my mind. Keeping my brain entertained and happy can be hard work when I’m at home and a road trip is a chance to hand over responsibility to the ever changing world around me. Stimulation is usually everywhere but when its not, then I’m happy to be bored too. To count down kilometers on the satnav. To eternally convert kms to miles. To have a simple goal to get the next junction, to that next corner. Things just to pass the time and not think too hard, to keep my mind from running down dark alleys. On these trips the future is today.. possibly tomorrow and no further than that.

Get into Bosnia and stop at a cafe that looks to specialise in recently released violent prisoners. The Bosnians do a good line in death stares and intimidation but the older I get, the less I’m bothered. Go in and order some coffees and it turns out its a biker hangout. I find getting my helmet out can often break the tension so it I put it in the hands of the barmaid and a smile makes its way first to her eyes then her mouth, and then her voice. The blokes seem to see I’ve passed her vetting and their faces soften, heads nod, like dogs sniffing each others arses, they’ve decided to accept us rather than kill us.

I really do like Bosnia. Every time I come it’s dragged itself a bit closer to the rest of Europe, but not close enough to have lost its soul. I hope it stays that way.

Get to Sarajevo and rock up at a hotel that Brian stayed at with his wife many years ago, and we get the room right next door to where they slept. Take the camera out and let it eat up the atmosphere in the old town. This place has history oozing out of every pore, and the acne of war all over its face.

Going Loopy 2022

Going Loopy

9th August 2022 admin Leave a comment

A blank sheet of paper. One of the most scary things on earth as far as I’m concerned. I need a plan

For the past few years I’ve been trying to organise various different things and I’ve accumulated a few like minded individuals who are getting ever more desperate to leave some rubber on a far flung road under a massive sky with the sun shining and all of life’s everyday worries locked up, put in a box, and left at home. It’s now got the ‘who cares’ stage. Just go.

Normally I would plan out the days, book the majority of the hotels in advance, have a return date before I left but this time I’m not. We choose 7 weeks. I made a very loose plan, booked the first few hotels and some ferries then we would freestyle and use up as much of the time as we could whist stretching the ties to home as far as possible. Time to go.. but before we do ..

I’ve done a fair few of these trips and so you think preparing for one would just be a case of going through some checklist and packing stuff that I have used before.. like a well oiled machine. All calm and collected. Just sitting with a smug feeling that I’m ready. In reality it’s more like a ham fisted chimp on speed getting ever more desperate, chasing mistakes and fuckups of my own doing, not sleeping, and running out time before I have to put the key in and just leave.

A couple of weeks before we’re due to leave I feel a real shitstorm approaching. I’ve had this feeling before. It usually starts with something small like me dropping and breaking something, or twatting myself on a doorway, or slipping on a stair, and it gradually works its way up from there. I know its coming.. but if I can get it out the way then the trip should be the calm after the storm.. maybe

It starts about 2 weeks before we’re due to go. I go to take the seat off, turn the key, and the key snaps. Great.. I’ll have to do something about that, but first I’ll go and get the tyres fitted. Taking off the wheels is a brain out operation. Step 1, 2, 3, all done loads of times without thinking. So the back wheel is off. I’ve loosened the front nut and suddenly I hear a terrible cry from my old dog in the house, a really awful scream, just like a human. Go inside to find the dog looking dead with his head hanging over the top stair, lying in a puddle of his own piss, completely unresponsive. So I hold his head and talk to him for a while, stroke him, and very slowly the light seems to come back into his eyes. After 10 minutes he tries to stand but just falls over. I put him somewhere comfortable, go back to the bike and knock out the front spindle, without jacking up the bike. The front drops down and the spindle jams at an angle. I jack the bike up, knock the spindle out, get the tyres fitted. I’m fitting the front and sliding in the spindle, or trying to. It doesn’t fit any more. WTF? The wide part wont go through the fork clamp, like the hole is suddenly too small. So I give it a good solid twatting in the best tradition of chimp mechanics, and I flair the end. Brilliant.. so I’ll be needing a new spindle then. When the mist clears and my mechanical brain takes over from the monkey’s, then I work out what has happened. The right fork clamp has got slightly twisted when all the weight of the bike came down on the spindle and twisted it within the clamp. So I beat the buggered spindle into the clamp then push it in the opposite direction to bring the clamp back round to be true and parallel again.. approximately.. I’m sure there is a reasonable tolerance built into Ktms.. I mean they’re always ready to race right? Only 10000 miles to go .. that will be fine .. plan B is a fork on EBay but there are only a few days to go so ..

I go to fit the back wheel.. I’m doing up the nut I can feel movement somewhere in the swing arm .. just a little bit .. of course I can .. the bottom bearing has gone on the shock .. of course it has..

At this point I should probably stop. I know I’m in a shitstorm. I know everything I touch will turn to poo. I just shouldn’t touch anything .. So I order the spindle and the bearing. 5 working days.. umm.. they just say that. They will be here tomorrow no problem.

A couple of days later I decide to change the clutch .. I’ve never done wet bike clutch before.. how hard can that be? It’s like a dare.. 10 minute job max. I’ve got the new plates, I’ll just skim read the manual and I’ll have it done in time for tea and cakes.

Take the cover off, take the pressure plate off, take the plates out, put the new plates in, put the pressure plate in and do up the bolts. Something doesn’t feel right.. but the shitstorm devil on my shoulder tells me ‘just one more turn will do it’.. and then there is a strange noise, like standing on a nut. A cracking sound. ‘Thats fine’ shouts the devil, just put the cover on and we can go pull some wheelies. Only the cover wont fit. The devil just starts laughing and jumping and dancing and I just think .. ‘bollocks.. beam me up Scotty’.

I take it apart again and yep.. the pressure plate has fractured because it wasn’t fitted properly when I did the bolts up. Fuckydoodle wanky piss tarts. Still, I’m sure all KTM dealers have these in stock. I’m sure you’re all laughing like the devil and my mechanical ineptitude. Please, go ahead, enjoy.. My fuckwittery is almost unrivalled sometimes..

My bike has a slipper clutch and I’d never understood how these worked until i sat in my pool of tears and looked in detail at the pressure plate. The plate engages via 3 sloped keys with the drive so that if the wheel is turning faster than the engine then the key’s forward rotation slightly disengages the clutch plates.

All very clever, but when you fit it you need to twist it and fully engage it with the drive before doing the nuts up. I’ll know when I fit the new plate tomorrow. Back the KTM dealer. No spindle in sight. I order the pressure plate and dampers, and a really expensive metal seal that I know I wont use but I’m hoping will count towards the shitstorm expense column and get this devil to find a new shoulder to play on ASAP.

1 day, then 2 days, then 3 days and still nothing arrives. There is a 2 day bank holiday coming up and if it doesn’t come before then, I’ll be putting everything back together on the train to France ..

4 days, spindle arrives but no clutch. 5 days. It’s the day before the 2 day bank holiday and I get a voicemail. ‘pressure plate is here’. The pressure lifts like a fat wrestler climbing off my back. Then I get another voicemail about an hour later. ‘But they’ve not sent all the other items you ordered’, Back climbs the wrestler, after having spent all afternoon at an all you can eat buffet.

Just as I’m about to go and buy another 1190 and swap number plates I get another call. The dealer has managed to locate some replacement parts at Fowlers in Bristol and is having them couriered up today.. and just before closing time I’m very happily handing over bags of cash for a very small bag of KTM swag and rushing home to bring the bike back to life.

I’m up early, I’m keen, I’m excited. I lock the chimp mechanic in his cage, take my time, read the manual, and slide everything back into place. Rotating the pressure plate backwards, feeling the keys engage and the whole thing slide into place is a delicious experience. Its so good I took it out and did it again. Bolted everything up, no cracking sounds, everything fits. Fit the new spindle. Not perfect but a road text will tell me if thats ok. Start the engine, get on, ride, smile, relax .. happy days ..

I dropped the broken key off at an engineering firm just round corner and they said to come back Monday. They apparently have a magician welder tar can weld the wings back on flies, so he should be able to tack my key back together no problem. So I go round Monday, and the magic welder has disappeared in a puff of smoke.. and so they decided to get another 2 of their engineers, Mr Heath and Mr Robertson to fix the bits together using an alternative method..

Yep .. thats exactly what I expected given the shitstorm I’m in at the moment. I do have a spare key but I also have a perverse desire to use this key.. this is my favourite key .. my good karma key .. so that’s that decided.

So now I’m ready.. everything is sorted.. there is a day to go. I can pack the bike in pease safely knowing its all ok. Load the panniers, I’ll just go for a quick ride to Maccas for coffee to see how it feels.

Well .. it would feel a lot better if the front tyre wasn’t flat.. There really are moments sometimes when you just feel like giving up. When you just want to lie on the ground and let the shitstorm drown you. Open wide and let it fill your lungs .. It looks like the f’kin stupid tyre sealing band has been nicked or damaged when the tyres where changed. Every time you have an 1190’s tyres changed its like handing your balls to Edward ScissorHands for juggling practice .. there is almost an inevitability of something very delicate getting irreparably damaged .. although the tyre has been up for a while. I dunno .. I have a tube if I need it. Pump it up.. I need coffee now more than ever.

Get a whole 3 miles to Maccas without incident. Maybe the shitstorm is over .. or maybe not… I’m locking the steering and I see the throttle cable hanging at a strange angle from the grip. It looks like the shitstorm devil has been running about and kicked the little plastic tab securing the cable to the grip. Its broken off and the cable is hanging. If I leave it like that it will very likely just fracture and break with the constant movement of the throttle.. I get my coffee and trudge to a seat to sit down. Stare out the window. Try not to think. Try not to mentally jump into that black hole I’m standing on the edge of. Don’t look down .. just don’t. I’m stirring my coffee, and my survival brain is prodding me to look at what I have in my hand. A wooden stirrer.. a thin piece of wood about the same width and thickness as the broken tab.. ummmm. So I grab a few spares, ride home, cut a length of a stirrer and shove it deep inside the grip between the rubber end stop and the throttle grip, then attach the throttle cable to it with a small cable tie.

Shit or bust. Hell or glory. I’m out of options.. It’s time to go.

scandemic 2021

Back in a box

26th September 2021 admin Leave a comment

Wake up and follow our noses to breakfast which makes a lovely change. A proper cooked breakfast at our accommodation, the only one of this trip. I think I even had a flower in a vase ..

Its twatting down and cold as we suit up and leave and it looks like it could be a very long day down to Oslo. We head for Trondheim which has a bypass .. usually .. but today its blocked with an accident and we get directed over the mountains in the storm alongside all the crawling trucks. This really is a reality check after the last 10 days. You may as well be anywhere on a day like this, staring at raindrops on the inside of your visor and trying to arrange a coherent image of all the threats around you by assembling a myriad of tiny kaleidoscopic images coming through the droplets. Its bloody hard work, and very very slow. Oslo is 600km and I just expected a motorway all the way but no.. not out here.. its just a main road… a pain road ..

For a short while it all opens out as we’re free..

But the closer we get to Oslo the worse it gets. Frequently the single carriageway roads have a big fuck off barrier running down the middle for extended periods making it absolutely impossible to overtake. Its a very unpleasant tedious journey, broken only with coffee and cake

Its not until you get really close that the road turns into proper motorway. We end up getting in towards dusk and a small tired hotel in the centre. This is another quiet capital city, and absolutely nothing like any normal big city. I guess that isn’t a bad thing though. And again, no parking.. not unless you want to sell your anal virginity to pay for it. Well as far as I’m concerned that is exit only.. so I have a look about and see there is bike parking in front of a theatre about 5/600 yards away so the horses will have to spend the night there. I’d never even think about doing that in a normal big city.. There is no bay marked but there is a sign. Lock the bike.. cross my fingers .. walk away .. life is too short to worry about it.

We’ve both got colons full of cake and we’re not really hungry so we take a quick wander about before the light disappears on another day.

By the time we get back to the hotel I’m peckish and go on the hunt for food. There is a supermarket just down the road with a ‘pizza hut’ standard salad bar full of snot and fingernails and I help the bloke out by clearing out all the dregs from all the containers to eat in the room. I hold my nose and eat it like medicine .. crunchy medicine.. with the occasional sharp bit in .. ummmmm

In the morning we drag our luggage down to the theatre, each telling ourselves that they will still be there, straining our eyes to get our first look.. wondering what the tow recovery fee is round here. I hear a fait whinny and I know my iron horse has picked up my scent.. she’s still there where I left her. Thank God for that .. I never doubted it for a moment ..

Today we’re headed back into Sweden and Gothenburg. Its no distance at all really so we decide to take a longer route via Erska then south past a big bugger off lake. But first .. breakfast.. again.

Its 7:30. in any normal city there would be cafes open but here everything is still very much asleep here in the centre. We can see a very very nice cake shop with a very very nice young lady filling the shelves and we knock on the door to see if she would fill out stomachs but no .. they don’t open till 8.. so off we go.. we’ll find somewhere soon enough.. or not. You know its going to be one of those days when you see a brand new McDonald’s.. one with at least 20 Tesla charging stations .. go up to the door .. and its shut..

The road to Erska has been tarmac’d with black boredom so we just stop and press ‘scare the shit out of me’ on the sat nav which immediately recalculates the quickest and most direct route to Gräfsnäs at the head of the lake. There has got to be cafes there right!

Turn right.. TURN RIGHT.. ‘but thats a footpath’… ‘just do as your told’.. I forgot to turn off the dominatrix audio .. ‘ and put that ball back in your mouth’… ‘Sorry miss ‘

So we’re directed down some very small rough twisty rough roads that soon turn into good gravel then open up with a view of the lake.

Not really such a bad option.. and not scary at all once you swap your road brain out and insert the fearless one. That brain has been in a locked box since we rode the Pamir .. it got sooooo scared there that it locked itself in from the inside. So I got the dominatrix to shout at it VERY LOUDLY and it opened back up in an instant.

We get to Gräfsnäs and see a cafe at the head of the lake.. there are 100s of sailboats moored up.. its a beautiful warm sunny day.. there are deck chairs outside .. in we go. No go .. shut.. shit.

There is a tourist information office next door which seems to be the only thing open round here. I think its open so they can tell tourists that everything is shut… which is exactly what she says. There is however a small bakery just up the road that she recommends.. ‘is it open’.. ‘its always open’.. that’s good enough for us. Down a couple of shady street and we spot a couple of old men sitting outside a shop with coffees in their hands, just chewing the fat. Bingo .. We’re going in ..

Inside the air is thick with sugar and I can almost feel it dive bombing my skin .. its like calorie radiation. Well if I’m going to take calories on board its going to be via the traditional route..

The young bloke behind the counter is very obviously not Swedish so I ask him where he is from. Turns out he is from Yemen and he came to Germany then to Sweden where he has a lot of family already. He’s making the coffee, speaking in one of his numerous languages, just passing the time. We buy some sandwiches and cake too and I ask him if he makes anything from Yemen. He just smiles and adds a large slice of free cake to the tray .. two of my favourite words together at last .. free… and cake And Fuck me sideways.. its delicious. So delicious Brian and I almost come to blows over it.

Luckily for us, the young bloke comes out with more free cake to try before we need to call in a referee. So.. then I feel guilty so I go and buy another 2 expensive coffees .. I bet it works for him every single time

The ride down to Gothenburg is pretty uneventful, except for an unusual tag team helmet signing ..

Tonight its my turn to get a room and I’ve gone for a B&B on the outskirts, right on the tram line into the city. Booking.com had it as ‘only one room left.. buy it now .. you’ll be sorry if you don’t .. don’t be sorry .. do it.. do it NOW’ so we turned up expecting a place full to bursting .. people soup .. waiting for the loo .. showing in the last persons skin flakes and wee .. but the place was empty.. and if I’m honest.. it felt a bit weird. Its a big house and the family .. if there is one.. lives in the above ground section, with the ‘guests’ all directed down some stairs to the very nice cells.. err .. rooms.. It felt like I might be locked in at any minute by some weird Swede with bulging eyes and a mouth only 50% occupied by teeth .. and then be experimented on.. and forced to have babies with Brian .. its not somewhere I’d have felt comfortable staying on my own. We were definitely the only guests.

But at least the bikes were close and safe this time

We jump on the No5 tram into town for a wander about. We can’t seem to find the centre, so we just end up following loads of locals .. most of which seem to be assembled out of absolutely perfect body parts ..

Travelling like we do we frequently just end up ticking boxes and moving to the next place. Some ticks are bright green, some are blood red, some flash madly and launch fireworks, and some are a very very very pale shade of grey .. like this place..

Wake up the next day just happy to be alive and come back up to the light from the cellar below. Breakfast.. Oat milk .. just WTF is that about .. did anyone ever see a calf sucking on oats?

I’m not lactose/wheat/whatever is flavor of this bloody month intolerant .. I’m ‘food intolerant’ intolerant. The world is full of fuckweasels shouting and screaming trying to make themselves abnormal just to be normal.. you’re not normal unless your’re abnormal nowadays. Its just like everything I can think of.. all the actual sufferers of any actual intolerance/disability/abuse are just drowned out by all the bloody cock wombles screaming this and that bollocks .. everyone nowdays seem to be born with big open sores that they spend their lives picking at and fucking off 99% of the population with .. ahhhhhhhhhh .. thats better .. and by the way.. I bought the actual proper milk from a cow last night in the supermarket, just after I nearly walked straight into a big display of chocolate after getting a MASSIVE blip on my (recalibrated to only show perfection) tottiometer .. there apparently are humans made from body parts even better than perfection .. my advice .. when in Sweden wear a balaclava .. and put it on backwards .. otherwise you’ll be constantly tripping over your tongue ..

Today we’re headed to Lund to stay with a Swedish friend of Brian’s. Its not far so we decide to pop into Malmo for more coffee.. more cake .. and more tongue/feet related incidents ..

Lund is a lovely little town, beautiful streets, beautiful people, beautiful weather. We’re sitting outside and I want to take a picture but it would get the woman sitting next to me in it so I ask if she minds. She’s French and she immediately starts chatting like she’s cast off a veil of silence.. non stop babble .. she says that she knew we must be English because they are the only people that will approach and talk to random people in the street.. and she loves it. She used to work in Oxford and loved it so much she is trying to convince her husband to move to the UK. He is some mad scientist for a CERN related project they are doing out in Sweden. They’re building more of those particle things – and this one will be straight, so the bloke throwing the particle can get a really good run up before he throws it .. They’ve been at it for 8 years so far and she’s not happy. WTF do the EU decide to build the most expensive projects on earth in the most expensive countries on earth? Makes no sense at all to me.. unless they’re building it out of wood.. plenty of that in Scandinavia ..

Get on the bikes and ride out to Brian’s mate. I’ve been looking forward to this bit of the trip. Staying with a local is always an enlightening experience, being allowed into somebody’s home, to sit in beautiful worn furniture, turn taps used a million times by old hands .. a living museum .. I just love walking in and soaking it all up .. people’s character expressed through paintings and carpets and furniture and towels and soap and condiments.. sights.. smells.. an atmosphere .. character.. a lifetime mapped out before you .. I just love it.

Brian’s mate keeps bees.. lots and lots of bees .. 1.5 Tonnes of honey a year bees. The garden is full of hives and the house is full of well used and well worn bee related gizmos and gadgets. Its quite a complicated business. Did you know honey bees only live for 6 months.. and they die because their wings wear out .. something I would never have even thought of! Poor little buggers. We just spend a lovely evening chatting and listening to old music that the old boys sing along to with their wine lubricated voices. I just smile.. all night long. Happiness like this isn’t expensive, but its absolutely priceless.

Next morning I’m sad to leave. Jut say goodbye to the bees.

From here it’s just head down and back onto the tarmac treadmill back home. Over the Øresund bridge.. where Brian buggers off because he thinks I’ll be arrested if I stop ..

From Copenhagen its due south ..and its very very very windy

take the short ferry trip to Germany

And head for our hotel in the Turkish district, home of the drunken carpet fitters ..

At this stage in the game its just ride .. eat .. bed .. repeat. We head go to the food court in the nearest shopping Mall and tank up on Turkish .. $%”^£$^”£ .. well that’s what I thought he said .. it was warm and tasty and cheap and that’s all I wanted ..

And some spunk for afters .. obviously

We need to get a negative lateral flow test before we catch the ferry, and Germany seems to be the easiest place to get it. They allow anyone one free test a day, perfect. We’re heading to see my brother tonight so this will be the last hotel of this trip. My body isn’t used to coming home so soon. I’m steering the bike west but I can feel it trying to tug me in the opposite direction, its far from finished.. but I promise her .. and myself .. an XXL ride next year. This was just a short break.. a release valve for all the pent up frustration built up over the last couple of years .. the world is coming back slowly and I’m bloody well going to get out there and see of much of it as I can. I want to come to the end this life with both my eyes displaying ‘MEMORY FULL’

The test centre is only 5 minutes down the road and in typical German style we’re in and out in no time, minus a few mills of mucus.

One last stop for coffee and cake

And we’re on our way to my brother and his wife in Made. They have a lovely little house with a beautiful garden so we just sit in the sunshine and chat, talk and listen, just share our lives.

And all to suddenly its time to go home. Brian is such an easy bloke to travel with.. everyone should have a Brian .. but you can’t have mine

A quick skip to Dunkirk, approach the ferry booths with a bit of trepidation.. but we’ve got all we need and on we go .. both being pulled inextricably towards home ..

Get home and back the metal mule into the garage, open the door, and slide back into my parallel life ..

She’s like a dog that doesn’t want to go back in its kennel.. she’s fucked off.. she growls if I go near her .. I need to throw her a bone.. a Pamir Highway shaped bone, a Magadan bone.. that should give her something to chew on over the winter .. and me too ..

scandemic 2021

Heaven on Earth

22nd September 2021 admin Leave a comment

Now children, this is a public service announcement. If you wake up on a Sunday in Norway, just don’t bother getting out of your bed.. because hardly any other fucker will have.

There is no breakfast at this particular inn so we go into town to find a cafe. Sunday morning.. people will be up and about walking dogs.. getting papers .. chatting over hot coffee .. we’ll have trouble parking.. and have to queue. But no. No dogs. No papers. No coffee.. No… just no. Everywhere… everywhere is closed. For anyone used to a 24/7 country like the UK, its a strange experience. There is absolutely nowhere open apart from the filling station, and all they have is dirty fries .. nom nom ergggggggghhhhhh

So today we’re going to take a scenic route .. or should that really be the more scenic route.. We’ll head to Saltstrauman and follow the coast road down to the ferry at Halsa, then down to Jektvik for the longer ferry back through the Arctic Circle, then the last ferry of the day from Nesna and follow the road down to our quarters in Mosjøen. Its not sunny today.. the mood has turned and we have the clouds in battle with the land for the focus of every landscape.. and its amazing ..

I dont like repeating myself.. I don’t.. like repeating myself .. ever. It took a very special effort just to type that .. and already thinking of deleting it. I will do it under certain circumstances, if I have to, but very very rarely do I want to do it. We’ve only been riding a couple of hours today, but this is one of those circumstances. I already want to ride this again tomorrow, and possibly the next day too. This really is a very very special journey.. a very very very special journey.

Every turn, every corner, every hill, every move gives me a spectacular view that’s using a full pallet of natures colours to maximum effect. Bridges.. tunnels.. ferries.. and more red paint than a fire engine factory.. its .. I dunno .. its art .. Mother Nature and Slartibartfast creating a landscape to rival anything else on the planet.

But still .. everywhere is shut. We get to Ørnes looking for a coffee. Petrol station. Closed. Go into the small town and a parade of shops. Not a small parade, quite a big one with a big supermarket.. all closed. Go to some other cafes on the satnav.. all closed. We see a young bloke coming out a building. ‘Yes its Sunday, everything is closed, but there is usually a small shop open about 40 mins further on. In the UK people would starve if the shops were shut on Sunday, and people would have mental breakdowns in they couldn’t get their Amazon delivery of that inflatable toilet seat..

Set off.. there’a cafe with lights on .. screech to a stop.. closed. Nice flower arrangement though .. I wonder if I can eat it ..

My stomach isn’t being fed but my eyes and ears and nose certainly are ..

We get to the shop and its like a single cowpat in a massive field with human flies buzzing all around it.. it does have a cafe attached.. but its closed on Sunday, as is the one directly behind it.. I don’t understand it. I reckon I could make a good living just opening a cafe here and working just one day a week .. We buy some crusty tarts and gold bars wrapped in snickers wrappers .. well we assumed they were by the price.. and just sit and stare at the world around us before following the visual roller coaster straight down the throat of the next ferry..

The ferries obviously bunch the traffic up and if you don’t get off first then you’ve got some traffic to play with for a while. I frequently get out in front before I simply have to stop.. climb down a precarious steep bank of big boulders and nearly fall into a fjord.. but its always worth it .. every single time ..

The next ferry is a lot bigger and has a cafe.. shock horror .. that’s not for the fact they have a cafe open .. its for the fact they charge about a tenner for a sorry looking soggy burger.. but the price is worth paying just for the view of the young lady behind the counter.. if not for the view of the mess on your plate.. I had 5 ..

This ferry takes about 40 minutes and crosses back over the arctic circle where everyone rushes out on deck to take a picture of a tiny spec of a sign in the far distance

and I had to stop young Brian from swimming across it.. mainly because young Brian can’t swim ..

Its getting colder and gloomier as the day goes on but it doesn’t detract from the fun we’re having. On to the last ferry of the day before we chase back through the tunnels towards the real world where .. fingers crossed .. we can find a hot meal and let all this sink in.

The hotel is of the unattended variety on an industrial estate, punch a code and a locker opens with a key. We go out on a dinner hunt and I glance at my bank to see one of the auto petrol stations has charged me £125 for about 10 litres .. ummmmmm .. maybe that’s right.. see I told you Norway was expensive .. Jesus … still I can sort that out later. Time now to crawl down a slippery bank of green covered rocks and slip, smash my phone protector screen and twat my hip bone.. still .. it was worth the trouble ..

I hobble down town and we just push restaurant doors until the first one opens, no pissing about .. feed me now! I have some special reserved slots in my memory .. my best rides ever folder.. they’ll never expire.. and I’ll never tire of throwing them back up on the projector in my head and slowly leafing through them .. today is going in that folder. What a wonderful day to be alive ..

The next day is never going to match the day before. We are heading towards Trondheim but its my turn to get the accommodation tonight and I’ve gone a bit left field. Its a B&B on a small island called Tautra. Its connected to the mainland via a causeway, and it looks quite interesting. We’ll have to see how that turns out .. but first .. breakfast. Again, the first few places we try from the satnav are closed.. brilliant! We ride into an empty carpark for another cafe and it looks closed but there is someone drinking some coffee under an awning and I ask where he got it, and he points to the door. In we go, and its completely empty but we can hear someone knocking about in the kitchen. I give him a shout and he appears. ‘Breakfast?’ ‘Sure, Eggs and bacon?’ ‘Sir .. I want to have your babies’..

I’m salivating just at the memory.. the first proper breakfast this trip. Just what my body needed. I go to pay.. he puts the cost in the card machine .. its £126.50. Ummmmmmmmm……. ‘Is this right?’ .. ‘Sure.. of course’. ‘But its £126’.. ‘This is Norway .. its expensive here’.. ‘You are not fucking joking mate’ .. and then I have a moment where I’m actually going to put my card in and pay.. he must be right.. its Noway.. its expensive.. that makes perfect sense .. ‘But we only paid £60 for dinner last night, so how can 2 eggs and bacon be £126?”.. and then the light comes on for him. This is apparently a hotel and he’s assumed we stayed the night here.. ‘Ohhhhhhhhhhh OK .. sorry.. £25 then please’.. ‘OK that is far more reasonable.. and I’ll add a £100 tip’ ..

So out we go heading south on the main road. They can even get enough traffic here to form a small queue at road works

Its still a beautiful ride but its never going to take my breath away like yesterday did. You know you’re spoilt when days like this are tagged as ‘average’ ..

There really is hardly anyone about but they’re all crawling along at 80kph. Maybe they know something we don’t. Its always best to follow the lead from the locals so we take just take it easy and cruise along all day, just stopping for some helmet love from Greta. Not that Greta thank God, this one was born with fully functioning smile muscles ..

I think she lights her own farts too, so definitely not the other Greta ..

We follow the wandering river for a while, and pass little hotels covered in grass catering for the fishermen.

The island is quite a few miles off the main route south. I’m not entirely sure what the catering situation is so we drop into a supermarket and get a few provisions. I’m a bit worried about this place to be honest. Brian never ever complains but I don’t want to piss him off just because I want to stay on an island.

So off we go, off the beaten track. We are seeing the changes in sunset times as we come south and tonight its getting a bit gloomy as we twist and turn our way towards the hotel. We get to the causeway and there is a big electric gate to keep the foxes and other predators out. Over we go.. through some fields of pungent cabbages, and up a small hill. I’m thinking Brian will be cursing me in his helmet.. I’ll have to apologise to him later. We arrive at a small building and go inside. The second I cross the threshold I just know everything is going to be alright.. it has an atmosphere that runs up to me and envelopes me in warmth and friendliness and love. There are some almost sexual cooking scents coming out of the kitchen, and this place is apparently a brewery too. I’ve run out of boxes to tick, but then the host tells us we’re staying in his house and leads us across the courtyard to his house, then up the stairs. He pushes open the door to our room ..

Fuck. Just Fuck. I still haven’t spoken to Brian about it but I look at him and his face just says it all. This.. this is a beautiful place.. a very beautiful place indeed.

Come here and see it for yourself, that’s all I can say.

Brian and I go for a walk after dinner, down to the jetty where we meet a group of pissed up people from Tronheim, all dressed like SBS recruits, ready to board a big rib that’s tied up with its engines burbling and burping in the water. They’re all smiling and laughing and full of the full set of beers brewed by our B&B. Turns out this place is pretty well known for its food and ales. Sometimes you’re just lucky I guess. You press a button on a tiny piece of glass and it all leads you to a secluded house with a view of a fjord from your bed, lovely food, and another memory beaten into your brain with a stake through it, never to be removed.

I walk down past the hotel through some fields and down to a rocky beach where I just sit and watch the show finish with the sun dropping and the clouds showing the end credits in gentle purples and reds… I collect some stones to take home and give to my wife. Stones I can just hold in my hands, close my eyes, and come back to this exact moment..

Next: Back in the box

scandemic 2021

Fast Fjordward

18th September 2021 admin Leave a comment

Well I didn’t sleep that well, but not because we’re going to visa Santa, but because a group of people decided to have a huge argument in the middle of the night that involved (hopefully) throwing large objects about or worse.. throwing each other about. It sounded like someone was trying to break into the building with loud thumps and bumps and bangs. It reminds me of a night at a similar latitude in Anchorage where we camped near some Inuit’s that were smashed out their skulls and were having a full on family riot all night long..

The light up here is just beautiful.. how can a simple frequency of light give me so much pleasure. I just stand and stare at the slowly moving shadows while the beast warms her lungs and looks like she’s inhaled from a huge vaping machine. I remember when Brian and I were sitting eating breakfast thinking about this trip and saying that we’d probably have to keep it local this year. This doesn’t feel very local to me..

The practicalities of living at these latitudes means the balconies are totally enclosed against the cold.

A a few cold clicks north and we’re in.

As we’re taking some pictures of the bike a French couple come up to us. He wants a picture with the bikes. They only speak English through a little hand held translation device but it seems their daughter lives and works up here and they are visiting. Perhaps she’s helping Santa with his French letters .. He’s a biker and seems to have a large collection of old bikes back home as he scrolls through his pictures. A couple of time as he scrolls he points at people and says ‘morte.. COVID’ which needs no translation.. and brings things into perspective as to why its all so quiet.

Santa isn’t an early riser apparently and he’s not available to take an audience until 10.. or until you can produce receipts that prove you’ve spent at least a weeks wages in his gift store .. so I buy a fridge magnet .. so that’s 2 weeks wages ..

Off we go.. is there a queue .. screaming kids .. people feinting .. autograph hunters .. nope.. nobody at all. We walk round the corner and there he is .. actual Santa .. sitting in his chair.. reading his phone .. he’s probably on the Santa app.

Santa wont have his picture taken unless you pay .. he’s quite insistent.. and reminds me of a Kirby hoover salesman that we once had in the house.. ‘Have your picture taken with me’ .. no thanks mate.. ‘Come on .. have a picture.. it will be great .. you can look at it and if you don’t like it then don’t buy it’.. no thanks mate .. I’m fine .. ‘Come on.. have a picture .. you can pay in 300 easy instalments or I can put it on your mortgage’..

‘Just Fuck Off will you Santa’..

So I have to ask an elf instead ..

And… true story .. Santa isn’t a fat bastard because he eats lots of mince pies over Christmas .. Santa is a fat bastard because he lives directly opposite a 24/7 service station serving cheap all you can eat gut buster buffets .. but don’t tell the kids ..

We’re headed for Kiruna today, in Sweden. and another unknown border crossing. Judging on progress so far and that we’re going from one EU country to another we’re hoping it will be pain and hassle free. We’ve just got time for a few more lovely lakes though..

Get to the border and there is a Finish guard checking entry from Sweden but nobody cares if you’re leaving

Its odd how much a country can immediately feel so different even though its only a matter of a few meters away.. and Sweden does immediately feel different. As though the seeds from the trees couldn’t make it across the river. The landscape is different too, a bit more rolling. Lots of roadworks too but luckily its dry so the rough road sections are just loose rather than ooooo’se. So we decide to test what really matters to us both .. cake. Drop into a small town and a tiny warm cafe for coffee cake and calories.

I really do like the Scandi style and the Swedes seem to do it best. I could happily dismantle this place and live it in back home.. as long as it came with the barista and the calorie cabinet .. They warn us there are lots of reindeer on the roads round here so to be careful on the bikes, and so it proves

Reindeer really are beautiful creatures with velvet covered antlers and huge feet that make a noise like banging 2 bits of wood together when they run. Bloody solid though I’m sure.

Tonight’s destination is some huts in the woods about 11km out from Kiruna and there is nothing else there so we head into town for supplies. Kiruna is the northernmost town in Sweden and it’s there for one reason only, iron ore. You can see the mountains of waste from miles and miles away. Kiruna also has a problem. Quite a big problem in fact. Its sinking due to under mining. Large areas of the place are being condemned and the government is paying to build replacement buildings and move people from the affected areas.

We spot a supermarket and go to park up when a woman comes up asking about the antenna on my helmet. Err.. that’s not an antenna .. that’s a big cable tie keeping the broken visor up Comes in useful for carrying it though, and I might even get a tiny flag to fly from it ..

She’s a right hippy chick, and she tells us she is quite famous in Sweden as a singer of Sami music. Not something on my spotify play list .. but she’s a nice lady, very friendly and chatty and wiling to handle my helmet in public.

Sweden is as equally expensive as Finland but, like there, the contrast between the prices in the supermarket and the cafes is massive. Coffee and a mouthgasm for a couple of quid .. oh yea ..

We’re both just sitting there in a post cake-coital state when a woman comes rushing over to us.. ‘are you the bikers?’ My first thought is bollocks, someone has run over the bikes .. but no .. she’s seen theem outside and has come in to search for us. She just wants to chat and find out what we’re doing. She is a biker and has a couple of Harleys .. yes I know .. but she’s test ridden the Pan American and is trying to buy one to ride the world on. Her English is just amazing .. shes talking fast and keeping up with all the jokes better than a lot of natives would .. smiling and laughing, flirting and giggling .. she’d be a lot of fun to ride with for sure. Turns out she spends all her life underground driving a concrete truck in the mines. Her shift pattern lets her accumulate lots of holiday and she’s already been about a fair bit but she wants to go further.. much much further. Always a good thing to hear from a woman ..

Go and raid the salad counter for dinner.. this isn’t like your Pizza Hut salad bar full of manky lettuce with brown edges and sweetcorn full of bogies from snotty nosed kids.. this is proper nice and fresh. Loads of meat, tuna, whatever. I like going out to eat but sometimes I just like a mass of healthy food, and this is the way to do it here.

and a Ploppy for afters .. obviously

Ride back out of town and into the forest to find the huts. We can hear dogs.. lots and lots and lots of dogs. Turns out the huts are at a dog-sled centre and they’re absolutely everywhere. 300 of them! They work constantly from September to May then rest up over the summer in their pens. Its quite a sight. Loads of sleighs and harnesses sitting ready for snow to fall ..

They reckon you can put your hands in any of the cages and they won’t bite you.

The hut is basic and there is a ‘kitchen hut’ at the end full of everything you need to prepare and eat your meals.. I like it .. I really like it. Its the different things that stick in your memory the most, and this is definitely different.

See… I really can really almost claim it as camping

I’m out for the count and hit the hay early.. but as usual I need to wee in the middle of the night .. standing on the viranda in the cold.. a star filled sky.. the smell of animals mixed with the trees .. the sound of the dogs shuffling about.. and wee pouring onto the grass .. just perfect ..

There are wolves about up here.. we heard them last night and this morning they’re chatting to the dogs .. at 6 am.. which is nice ..

The wolves howl.. the dogs all howl back.. and then suddenly it all stops dead. Its very odd.. they all just stop simultaneously. Fuck knows how that works.. anyway.. back to the hut for brekkie.

then drop off my Ploppy at the long drop.. a loo with a view..

Today we’re going to try and get into Norway. Brian’s Swedish mate says he doesn’t know if we’ll get in but we’ll ride up and check. I think we should be OK but things are changing all the time so we don’t book any accommodation just in case. First stop will be Riksgränsen up on the border.

Its a beautiful cold bright morning as we follow the giant iron ore trains through the wilderness towards Norway.

Its proper desolate up here, and all the better for it. Fuck how much of my life do i spend crawling along staring at the rear bumper of a car in front, or filtering through a mass of metal, just trying to get 5 miles down the road in less than an hour .. surrounded by concrete .. road signs .. noise.. people.. pressure .. but up here I just don’t care.. there is room to share.. room to spare .. there are a lot of hikers about but for the most part its just two blokes, two bikes, and the whole world to ourselves.

Get to Riksgränsen and I’m expecting a town but its just some houses, a closed hotel, a closed YMCA hostel and a supermarket. There is a lovely ‘supermarket at the end of the universe’ vibe about this place. Hikers getting provisions before disappearing into the wilderness.. bikers having a last cake before disappearing into police custody ..

At least the Swedes have a sense of humour though

And you’re going to need that if you go LARGE on the Plopps

OK, time to go. Scoot up to the customs building on the top of the hill.. and ride straight through. That was too easy. Like a lot of these borders though, customs and immigration are often a good way apart with some nomansland in between .. if this is no mans land .. can I claim it for my own?

Beautiful eh. I think the tarmac is made from ground down currency.. they’ve got more money than they know what to do with..

Immigration is just a bloke standing in the road in the sunshine. Flash the NHS COVID QR code and we’re in no questions asked. The integration of these systems that has gone on behind the scenes really is very very impressive. These Scandinavians really are a smart bunch though too.

We were thinking about staying in Narvik but by the time we get there its only early afternoon so we decide to just have a look about and some lunch then wing it later. The first thing that strikes me is all the mobility scooters .. everyone seems to have one. They are screaming about everywhere. I soon figured out why everyone drives them though, its because they can drive them faster than they can drive their bloody cars!!

Go for lunch .. Now .. even the Swedes think that Norway is expensive! Dinner will definitely cost you an arm and a leg.. plus a lung and a kidney if you want starter and desert .. £2.50 for a Marathon bar? Really? Behave yourself please So I buy a bread roll and fill it with dirt .. nom nom nom

My bike hates being driven at 80kph.. it shunts and hunts and complains and it drives me mental but that is what everyone is doing here. There are a lot of overhead cameras for all the tunnels and as its often a single road I’m not sure if they can work out average speeds and stuff too – getting stopped for speeding can involve a fist in a studded gauntlet being roughly shoved up your Gary and vast sums money being extracted so we just go with the flow… go with the slow .. still, at least there is a bit of a view every now and then ..

but I bet it looks shit in the other direction .. or not

So… not then .. this place is beauuuuuutiful. Its not really like anywhere I’ve ever been before and I’m just in awe of it. Everything.. just everything is perfect. Its just ridiculous how perfect it is. The road winds and twists and dips and follows the water’s edge and leads us straight into the belly of our first ferry.

All the locals are charge via ANPR cameras but ours aren’t recognised so the crew take pictures of them on their phones and tell us we’ll be billed later.. that’s something to look forward to ..

We’ve still not organised anywhere to stay this evening so Brian brings up the C word .. yes that C word.. the one I hate hearing and I hate even more hearing .. Camping .. I’m wincing even as I type it .. OK.. lets see what we can do. All the sites we have seen so far have been closed .. hallelujia .. but we come to one on a beautiful lake side and go in to ask, but they just don’t want to know. They will barely speak to us for some reason and in the end they just say its closed. Using the miracle of technology I have a quick look about and find a hotel in Fauske a couple of hours south. Just one click and there is a bed with my name on it.. they do camping too but what Brian doesn’t know wont hurt him .. and I’m really only thinking about his welfare .. and ..well .. I fucking hate camping ..

Luckily its stays light a lot longer up here and we chase the slowly setting sun along golden stretches of tarmac towards sleep.

We come across a small hotel in a town and there are bikes everywhere, mostly designed for the transportation of human bodies considerably bigger than ours.

We go in to find some dinner, and maybe some company but nobody seems to want to talk to us. Perhaps our bikes just aren’t man enough .. or perhaps we’ve just bumped into the local chapter of the other C word.. It doesn’t cost anything to just have a chat does it. If only everyone was as nice as us

We get to Fauske quite late and a receptionist you can smell from a fjord away.. Christ .. I think she’s removed the atomiser from her perfume bottle and attached a hose pipe instead. Doesn’t put Brian off though Check in .. climb the steps.. open the door .. ahhhhh.. that’ll do

Its a place with a shared kitchen and bathroom and we can hear another couple arrive with a young baby. I recognise them from earlier in the day when I saw them flying a drone. She is German and he is Austrian and they are on parental leave. They’ve just decided to bugger off for 2 months around Europe with a newborn in a pandemic .. they are our kind of people. They’ve been away for over a month now and they’re just taking it easy. She’s cooking dinner and telling us they actually bought a burger and fries today and shared it because its so expensive. They’re a lovely couple and the baby is a little angel. We just spend ages chatting away, learning and listening and looking into other lives. Good on em, I’m not sure I’d have just picked up the baby and gone like that..

We take an evening stroll looking to get down to the water but all the roads are private. Fauske.. who’s ever heard of Fauske.. another random point on the planet forever planted into my memory.