I met up with my brother and mate Owen at a services at Podimore on the A303 where a large collection of bikes dwarfed us.It was the day of the MAG protest about the proposed EU legislation.The heavens opened as we set off again so it was on with the waterproofs for the last leg.I was a little worried about my mechanical skills as i had just stripped the engine,rebuilt the head and put new rings in.The bike was running well and averaging about 55 mpg. We got to Plymouth in plenty of time and rolled on for the 18 hour sailing. The surly french deck crew once again attempted to destroy our seat bases by ratcheting them down hard with the biggest lorry cargo straps they had in their armoury. The boat was the usual round of boredom interspaced by drinking and eating but the time went reasonably quickly and we soon rolled off the other end to unseasonably hot weather and we fitted our newly made sheepskin seat covers and tinkered with the mixture screws on the carbs.
The next part of the journey after the madness of Santanders streets "must remember to switch the lights on or 100 euro fine" we settled into the layed back nature and empty roads of Spain. The idea was to head through the Hermida gorge and into Potes ,spend a leisurely afternoon and then camp out in the foothills of the Picos mountains.
The first night under the stars was preceeded by a steep climb up in the foothills of the Picos .The climb was steep and all done in first gear but the overloaded MT,s coped with it admirably.We didn,t put a foot wrong as i personally would not like to pick up the bike and get going again in that heat. Camping for us consists of DD hammocks in the trees with an Army basha in case it rains. The Mt panniers and tailpack contain everything needed for ten days travelling. We don,t take any spare clothes so hopefully the Spanish don,t have a refined sense of smell!
There was a fantastic view as we awoke for the next day.
The next plan was to head back through the Hermida gorge and coast hop to San Sebastien to sample the delights of the myriad of Tapas bars.
We had the obligatory Tortilla and coffee then set off towards the next destination. Owen had adjusted his Mikuni carb again and it was running well. We managed to avoid the Gaurdia Civil as unfortunately after many attempts at obtaining my insurance certificate Falcon bikes had completely let me down and the holiday was tainted by the fact i could be relieved of my spending money at any point for not being able to produce a valid certificate. If you are not comatose by now i will carry on with the report later.
San Sebastien certainly didn,t dissappoint and it was everything i was told it was. Every bar is bustling with locals and tourists alike as the staff proceed to fill every available surface with great tasting food.You just take what you want and throw all your rubbish in the stone troughs(apt as we did make pigs of ourselves) It is all done on trust and you just tell the bar staff how much you have eaten at the end when you settle up. After several rounds of tapas and drinks we could eat no more and the extended lunchtime came to an end.What a fantastic afternoon which was slightly marred when i found i had somehow lost a 50 euro note at some point
.We procured some water and a bottle of Madeira for the evening and began to wind round the city to get out.It was easy to get lost and after seeing the same roads several times ,getting involved in some drag races with beautifull spanish girls on scooters(yes they kicked our butts!) and smelling the ever increasing temperature of the near boiling oil in the faithful Mt350s we got back out onto the open roads. The signs began to change from Spanish into French and we realised the border could not be far away althogh we could not tell where we crossed over.We were all on a tight budget and the idea was to eat well in Spain then go down onto supermarket specials of baguettes,ham,cheese,tomatoes etc in France.This was to be intersperced with the huge amounts of army rations i was carrying in the panniers.
We had previously travelled the coast of France and hoped this time to go up through the lot valley and the dordogne abd through central france towars Caen.
Quick stop to inspect one of the Goose huts.
I am afraid my timeline and series of events is not what it should be and i could not tell you what we did on what day but it doesn,t matter and needless to say we were all enjoying the empty roads,the food,the campcraft and drinking in the evenings.
Using the GPS we were just sticking to tiny D and C roads and using the compass pointer to head in a northerly direction,This type of riding suited both us and the bikes. On the GPS it showed unpaved roads which are roughly the equivalent of our byways.We started using those as well.What a revelation they were. Great gravel or grassed trails with no ruts or mud
.We visited Castelnaud and had a dip in the Dordogne and a picnic on the bank.
At some point i was getting tired of the noise of the dry chain and the snatching every time i pulled away so we purchased some oil and i adjusted my chain. I overdid it as my mate said he was behind me at one point and it sounded like a jet fighter! It was too tight and the chain was very hot and i hoped i had done no permanent damage. We stopped on the edge of a vineyard for me to rectify my mistake and my brother noticed there were still some grapes left to sweeten for use in desert wine after the harvest.After trying some we stuffed our panniers with them......and apples from an orchard.....some sweetcorn and anything we could get our hands on. Whilst adjusting the chain i noticed a large split in my inlet rubber. This had been fitted not long before the trip which annoyed me but it had to be bodged using a bit of superglue and then vulcanised a inner tube repair patch over the split which then got me another 700 miles.
At one point we were doing our usual thing of using one fuel pump and refuelling all three bikes and the forecourt was getting a bit hectic. I started to move the bikes away from the pump so the next customer could get in as my brother carried on filling them,I moved them to near the air lines then somebody wanted to get to that.It was then i somehow smashed Owens tail light
With the Gendarmes quite hot on british bikers and no spare lense available i started to collect up the pieces and got some strange looks as i had to crawl under a bus to get the remaining fragments.Luckily we had a spare bulb and the garage had some superglue. We then had to complete a 500 piece jigsaw to put it back together. There were still some bits missing so we nicked some red reflective material from a sign and patched up the rest and refitted it. Not a bad repair i thought at which point my brother commented he had no electrical power when he turned on the ignition. No it wasn,t the convoy switch as i first thought. On moving the bars from side to side it was the loom ewhere it goes around the headstock of the frame. We isolated the red and white wire and although the insulation was still intact the strands inside had separated. My brother dug into his extensive toolkit and pulled out an inline crimp but without the correct crimping pliers it was not very secure. This got us going but we had to stop again at a garage specialising in Citroen 2CV.s to get another crimp and borrow his ratchet crimp pliers.Try explaining that one in french 
What a helpful guy and we were back on the road.
No room in the panniers for the baguettes.
We were filthy and whenever an opportunity arose would wash out our t-shirts and drape them across the back of the racks to dry in the breeze as we rode on. At times it was so ho we resorted to filling our crash helmets with water and putting them back on and the feeling was great for the next few miles until they dried out. Both the French and Spanish ignored many bikes that looked much better and cost thousands of pounds and flocked round the MT.s and asked many questions which we had to improvise the answers to. We looked and smelled like a bunch of tramps on a trio of MT,s which provided much mirth and merriment to the locals.
In general the evenings were quiet in the forests only broken by our laughter and so far we had not encountered many wild woodland creatures. It is quite disconcerting though when in the middle of the night you hear stampeding of hooves and the bellowing of stags as they come perilously close to where you are sleeping.
Until this trip i thought that cardinal richelieu was only fiction in the "three musketeers" but we ended up in the town of Richelieu which is a walled town with four impressive gates and a statue of the cardinal himself.
Sometimes when we camped in the forests it was quite near civilisation so we had to use our convoy switches and ride in complete darkness and hide the bikes as best we could .The French and Spanish are good where bikers,off roading and camping are concerned but why put it to the test if you don,t have to.
Time was moving on rapidly and our progress through France bought us ever closer to Ouisterham where we would get the ferry back to Portsmouth. The milage covered each day was wearing us down and the amount of time we could spend in the saddle decresed as we went on. Towards the end we could only manage 30-40km before stopping each time. The whole experience though tiring and sometimes tough was enjoyable and something you don,t forget. I did have one low point when back in Spain we had to press on into darkness to get to a forest suitable for hammock camping and with little energy left we had to complete a climb up a very steep boulder strewn rock path not using lights in case there were still any park rangers about. I got to within 100 yards of where my brother and Owen had parked up and ended up exhausted,being sick and well and trully throwing my teddy out of the pram but this was a rare occasion and i do have the annoying habbit of threatening to pack it all in at least once on each trip
(empty threat i,m glad to say)This sort of scenery soon mellowed me out.
Eight days after we set off for Plymouth we were near to Bayeux and settled in for the night ready for a 4.30 start to pack up camp and head for the ferry terminal at Ouisterham.
The weather had been great and the sound of rain in the tree canopy woke me up. It was the first bad weather of the trip and it signalled the end of our time in France. We made it in plenty of time for the ferry and as we set off the last sight was the Grand Bunker which was meant to control all thre coastal batteries during the D Day landings but ended up getting a 16" shell in it,s face as an opening salvo from a british ship. The ferry back only takes six hours and after negotiating Portsmouth it was back to Matchbox motorway on home soil for the crazy assed trip up the M3.M25 and M11 before seeing the familiar A11 and home this was a further 160 miles which bought my total up to 1700 miles. As usual i was impressed by my MT and although it is not light,not quick,not the best off roader or road bike i have owned,it,s damn ugly to boot, it does a bit of everything with minimum fuss and although every time i talk about what has gone wrong with one of the MT.s i know with a bit of bodging and very little mechanical skill you just know you will make it home.I can,t wait for the next trip but finances are a major factor and unfortunately it won,t be soon enough. Hope i haven,t bored you rigid and in some small way inspired a few more people to give their MT,s a good run!
Steve.
