Journey to ?!

Roscoff to Bordeaux

Day Two, Tuesday 28th December 2004.

The brief for whoever designed the cabins must have been to cram as much into as small a space as possible! The bed whilst long enough was as narrow as it was possible to make it before it qualified as a washing line! With the rolling action, I was constantly woken by some part of me coming into sudden and not too gentle contact with the bulkhead. At 5.00 am I gave up. After washing and dressing I immediately felt as though I could fall asleep again but resisted the temptation as there was only half an hour to the wake-up call.

Clutching my helmet, jacket and tank-bag, I made way way to a seating area near an automatic door leading to the outside deck where I met Clive and Bert shortly. Whenever anyone walked near the automatic door, it would open and leave everyone in no doubt how cold it was and just how strong the Atlantic winds were!

It wasn't too long before we were called to the car deck. I always think this is the worst part of ferry crossings. Usually after a rough time and a lack of sleep the last thing I need is the fug and fumes of the car deck while unlashing the bike.

We were off the ferry on time (7.00 am) to a cold, dark and wet Roscoff. It wasn't raining but the roads were quite wet as we left the ferry port at 7.30 am and started out for Bordeaux.

Clive had programmed his SatNav to avoid major routes and select the most direct course so the rest of us were very happy to follow.

We headed almost due South on some 'D' roads, very rural, little or no traffic, sometimes the roads were little more than tracks but were perfect for GS's. On virtually any other type of bike the route would have been at best tedious and at worst quite difficult but big trail bikes such as the GS range with it's fairly soft long travel suspension, upright riding position, good ground clearance and good spread of torque meant that as the dawn came up we were treated to some lovely scenery instead of the usual motorway views. Within a few km's we were away from the ferry port scramble and I don't remember seeing another UK registered vehicle until the route back from Barcelona.

Another advantage of the route chosen by Clive was that we were in the main sheltered from the cold Atlantic winds that were battering the Bretagne peninsular and as it was quite cold, the relatively low speeds allowed visor up riding a lot of the time, thereby avoiding the bane of winter motorcycling - peering through a misted visor!

(Click on images to enlarge)

Breakfast in Lorient. Clive (working out the best way to eat croissant!), Bert, Tiffany, coffee, hot chocolate & Pain au chocolat.

Bert being half French and fluent led me and Clive to a sigh of relief but I suspect that Tiffany who can make herself much more than understood wasn't quite so relieved.

Breakfast done, toilets visited, cigarettes smoked (me and Clive) we were back on the bikes in the general direction of Nantes still following Clive and his "cross country" route.

As we had set ourselves a 450+ mile first leg in order to get as far South as quickly as possible, there wasn't much time for photography.

Most of my concentration at this time was settling in to riding on the Conti TKC 80s in wet/damp conditions with a fairly well laden bike. My SatNav into which I had set a different route from Clive's before leaving home kept announcing "Off route, recalculating" to the point where I switched it off and just listened to a mix of Cockney Rebel, The Kinks and Bryan ferry/Roxy Music and just enjoyed the ride.

We had agreed earlier to stop every 100 miles or so. The cold can easily lead to loss of concentration and just a few minutes off the bike is enough to restore spirits.

Fuel and nature stop.

The 1200's have a fuel range of about 200 miles, the F650 around the same and my Adventure around 300 (obviously without panniers and loads, further is possible on all the bikes). The extra 100 mile range (due only to the much larger tank) was superfluous in these conditions in terms of non-stop distances. The only benefit was that I didn't need to fuel up as often but most of the time I would top-up just because I don't enjoy what Jeremy Clarkson calls fuel gauge lottery.

Even with the heated grips on full heat and hand shields, pulling on gloves that had been toasting on the engine after fuel stops was very good for moral.

Tiffany and Clive both use a heated jacket under their outer jacket. Tiffany has heated gloves too and Clive has muffs over the hand shields. I was generally warm enough at this stage and had my lightweight two piece over-suit as an additional layer if needed. Bert was similarly clothed to me, relying on multiple layers of micro-fibre for insulation.

As the day wore on we decided to hit some of the less obscure roads and make for La Rochelle to have a late lunch. The N137 was running through the Parc Natural Du Marais Poitevin and bounded by dykes. At one point there was a dead otter beside the road. I wasn't sure until later that it was an otter but Tiffany who I saw had spotted it too, confirmed it was when we stopped. It was a shame to see something so rarely seen only as 'roadkill'.

La Rochelle was a U-boat base during WWII and now it seems to be completely oriented towards sailing. There are many new and expensive looking Atlantic facing apartment buildings, many marinas and like all yachting related places it reeks of money.

We spotted somewhere that looked open and dispatched our linguist, Bert, to find out if we could get something to eat. Within a short time we were seated in a Cafe'/Bar and food was ordered.

Three steaks and frites, (me, Clive and Bert), some vegetable doings for Tiffany, soft drinks, tea and coffees saw us restored and ready to make our start on the last leg towards Bordeaux.

Heading South on the N137 we quickly covered the ground to Saintes, maintaining a steady 120-130 kph (true) saw us into Bordeaux country where at Saintes we again took to more rural roads. Saintes itself is a very attractive town of warm Sandstone buildings some of which are  built from the living rock running alongside the river Seugne. Even though it was dark by now, I was struck by the architectural difference between here and Britany.

It was a shame that there was insufficient time to stop but at least I have one more target for my tour!

We arrived at the Holiday Inn, Bordeaux, at 8.00 pm having covered 464 miles since leaving Roscoff, the bikes were parked in the gated underground car park then it was shower, shave, beer and dinner.

The hotel was clean and efficient, suitable for a quick over-night. The food not really what you'd call Haute Cuisine!

Bordeaux to Rodez

Day Three, Wednesday 29th December 2004.

Up at 8.00 am, check out the window to see what the weather is doing and I'm pleased to see another clear, bright sunny day but it looks cold.

Across the road and behind a line of buildings is a huge cemetery.

The huge number of tombs that are such a different way of burial to ours really does give rise to an impression of a 'city of the dead'. More so I imagine if you were to stroll among the tombs, some of which were several metres tall.

After a passable breakfast we were re-fuelling at the petrol station next to the hotel when Tiffany noticed her headlamp was loose. One of the brackets had broken. Bert scuttled off (twice) to try and find suitable parts to make a repair while Tiffany and I tried to get at the bracket without dismembering the front of the bike. Clive then came up with the obvious and simple remedy, use some wire and bind it in place! It worked as all simple ideas do, perfectly!

We set off at 11.00 am. It was now quite warm and our plan was to head East Southeast aiming to over-night somewhere that would allow us to turn South and cross the newly opened Millau bridge on the last leg to Barcelona.

It was my turn to lead and I confidently set off following the SatNav instructions. The confidence was misplaced! Within a very short time it was apparent that something wasn't right. I handed the lead back to Clive and settled back into playing "tail-end charlie".

(We later worked out that I hadn't transferred the maps properly for a large part of France and Spain. The base mapping was present but not in sufficient detail for relying on turn-by-turn directions. My error, not the equipment.)

Once out of the city and into the Bordeaux countryside, keeping to the 'D' roads again, heading towards Cahors, we were now seeing the vineyards and Chateau that Bordeaux is known for.

Bergerac. Quick break for bananas and Nutri-bars for some........ and a smoke break for others!

Where I also mounted my camera on the bike for some photo's on the move.

Bergerac to Cahors.

Unfortunately while fiddling with the camera I tended to drop back from the others at first.

Riding alongside the vineyards of Bordeaux I couldn't help thinking of the Ian Dury and the Blockheads song, Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick!

Near Cahors we stopped at this Auberge for lunch. A proper French lunch at that, four courses and a bottle of excellent local red! (It's not the effects of the wine but the fact that the camera is on the bike and I'm stopped on a camber that causes the drunken angle of the photo. Honest! Bert hadn't even been in to enquire if a meal was available at this point!)

I had vegetable soup, moules in cream and herb sauce, salmon in a sauce with pomme de terre, sweet and coffee. All in 15 Euro! At last a proper French meal!

Leaving after a great lunch. The single greatest French contribution to civilisation!

Tiffany is vegetarian and you have to admire her determination to not be deflected from this despite the almost heretical status of vegetarianism in France. She also has the seasoned travelers eye for people watching and spotted a couple at lunch that seemed to fit the French stereotype. The man was middle-aged and the woman a good deal younger, elegant in dress and manner the way only the French are. We all decided that she was his Mistress and this lunch an apperitife' for an afternoon tryst!

The weather held until dusk when we had some light drizzle whilst making for Radoz a town we had determined was close enough for our assault on the Millau bridge next day.

(Sorry it's a bit blurred but it's a combination of low light slowing the shutter speed and Chaussee Deformee, sounds so much nicer than 'Uneven Road'!)

Both photos are of Bert and his 1200.

This run through some twisty stuff up and down hill was quite a test for the TKCs. I found their limit once or twice on the damp surfaces. Winding up the rear suspension rebound damping later helped in similar conditions.

Just after entering Rodez we found a Deltour hotel with secure underground parking for 42 Euro per night, per room.

Deltour is a small regional chain of hotels that (on the basis of this experience) offer good accommodation (better than Bordeaux Holiday Inn). The reception is only staffed between 5.00 and 8.00 pm. Arrivals at times outside these hours are asked to ring a number and someone comes and checks you in!

Mileage today 203.

After a shower and getting changed, we headed over to a nearby Campanile, where after the decent lunch earlier, I settled for a champignon omlette cooked the proper way (runny inside).

As we planned a detour for the next day to cross the Millau bridge, it was an early night for an early start.

Rodez to Barcelona

Day Four, Thursday 30th December 2004.

Up at 7.30am, breakfast and load up the bikes. Check-out of the Deltour by 8.30 am.

Clive set his Navigator for the route to Barcelona via the Millau bridge. As I have base mapping only, I decided to just use the kph speedometer function.

It's clear and cold. Blue skies, possibly the coldest day so far with my temperature gauge hovering around the 0 degrees Celsius mark.

Bert and I re-fuelled at a nearby petrol station and then we all set out for the N88 Southwest towards the A75 toll Autoroute that would take us across the new Millau bridge.

Clive navigating was in the lead with Bert following him and Tiffany ahead of me.

The N88 sits in a valley with the road surface mainly in shade at this time of day. The surrounding area was white with a heavy frost and the further we travelled, the closer to the roadside the frost. Eventually the frost on the hills turned to snow. The road itself was glistening, mainly just wet/damp but the white stuff at the road edges was a constant reminder!

The N88 crosses a railway line a few times and true to French custom the crossings are always on a bend requiring care to have the bike as upright as possible when negotiating the crossing.

It took about an hour to cover the 70 kms from Rodez to the first peage on the A75. A testament to the weather and traffic conditions more than any dawdling by us!

Many peage sites have somewhere to pull over once through the tolls, some have toilets and parking so we often took advantage of these for a stretch as well as the opportunity to stash change and tickets before resuming...

or for some jolly japery with the snow for a photo!

I took this opportunity to toast my gloves on the engine because I'd forgotten to switch on my heated grips when we left Rodez and they didn't really have a chance to get up to temperature along the N88.

The N88 had been gradually climbing and now the A75 too was taking us ever higher. Although it was sunny and bright, the altitude meant that the temperature hovered around freezing even well into late morning.

Clive and Tiffany both use heated under-jackets and in Tiffany's case heated gloves too, Clive has a pair of Oxford muffs over the hand shields. Both Bert and I relied on multiple layers for insulation. I was wearing a thermal singlet, long-sleeved thermal T-shirt, Rohan micro-fibre T-shirt, Berghaus long-sleeved micro-fibre T-shirt, Lowe Alpine fleece and then the BMW Rallye 2 Cordura jacket with Gore-Tex liner. One pair of Rohan socks and BMW Gore-Tex lined Savanna boots were enough for my feet to remain warm and dry. Under the Rallye 2 Cordura trousers with the Gore-Tex liner in place, I wore a pair of BMW Summer Functional long-johns. I used a Polartec Buff for head and neck protection, BMW silk under gloves and BMW Atlantis, water-proof and Gore-Tex leather gloves.

Generally only my hands felt cold but not too much. The hand shields with extensions kept the worst of the wind chill at bay but my habit of riding with two fingers on the brake lever meant that my right hand would feel colder sooner than the left.

With the screen position, hand shields, large fuel tank and feet tucked under the engine cylinders (a happy by-product of the 'Boxer' engine configuration), it was only the outside of my thighs that got cold enough to notice on this day.

At the next peage stop I put on my over-suit trousers for another layer and also mounted my camera on the left engine bar.

Climbing still, the road surface is clear but damp, snow on the hills and a low sun.

I had to ensure that I was sufficiently far enough back from Tiffany not to get road spray onto the camera lens while the roads were damp. Taking off the lens cover and replacing it with winter gloves was a bit fiddly at first but I got the knack soon enough.

Conditions enabled us to maintain a steady 120 to 130 kph, enough to cover the ground reasonably quickly. The A75 runs North to South but even though we were heading South there was very little warmth from the sun at this time owing to the altitude. The highest point we saw was 890 metres before we started to get tantalizing glimpses of the bridge supports over the distant snow covered horizon.

Finally there it was! Clive (hidden), Bert and Tiffany on the approach to the bridge.

The bridge itself was designed by (Lord) Norman Foster who is also responsible for the award winning 'Erotic Gherkin' on the site of the old Corn Exchange in the City of London. The bridge was opened ahead of schedule and under budget in early December 2004. Images of the supports without the roadway really bring home just how high it is. Sometimes the cloud is below the roadway giving rise to the statement that 'it's like flying in your car'.

The Autoroute approaches are new, linking it to the existing A75. My Navigator decided to get into a strop or as near as possible for a machine when it displayed the message "No roads near current route". The new sections didn't appear on the base mapping.

The plan had been for me to pass the others, slow and then photograph each as they passed me. Unfortunately the cold had sapped the battery, slowing down the cameras ability to recover from each photo and acquire the image.

These are the best I could salvage.

The other problem was that I didn't get a chance to see over the side of the bridge! Oh well, I'll add it to my list for next time!

After the Millau bridge was behind us the road started to descend. As the day grew older it became noticeably warmer the further South we travelled and as we left the higher altitudes behind.

The roads descended in a series of lovely sweeping bends with a couple of short tunnels thrown in for good measure. There were some sections of road works but by far the biggest problem now was not to get carried away because some of the bends were in constant shade with the obvious possibility that overnight frost remained in sections not cleared by wider vehicles. Clive later reported a 'moment' in one such section through some road works.

Joining the A9 we soon had Narbonne and Perpignan behind us. With glimpses of the Mediterranean to the left (East) and snow capped Pyrenees to the right, we now had strong winds to contend with coming down from the Massif Central.

Overhead matrix signs announced 'Vent Violence' and wind socks showed strength and direction. These were pretty much redundant because giant wind generators on the hill tops faced into the wind and the speed of their sails gave a pretty definitive signal of the speed and direction long before the matrix signs were visible.

Lunch was beckoning and we stopped at a service area themed as a Catalan Village. It should have been quite tacky but the French don't seem able to do tacky! Good heavens! They only have to ask us!

Tiffany and Clive opted for pizza, Bert had a baton filled with something and I chose quiche. The others had finished by the time mine was ready. Possibly retribution for asking for my change?

Snow capped Eastern Pyrenees (the Cypress trees aren't growing at that angle, it's the wind!).

Bert, Clive and Tiffany.

Back at the bikes I decided a little oil top-up wouldn't go amiss. I had fitted a Touratech locking oil filler cap to prevent sticky finger messing about with the all too exposed and vunerable plastic BMW item. The TT cap had played up from the start being very difficult to unlock at times. Someone (who will read this with glee) advised me to ditch the locking cap and stick with the original. After fettling it, I however decided to ignore this advice. Now after struggling to get the cap unlocked, I found that it had pulled the inner seal out with it! Even though I had taken the precaution of bringing the original cap in my tool roll it wouldn't fit without the seal that was locked onto the seized locking cap!!!

Three possible resolutions were going through my mind;

1. Stuff a rag into the filler hole on the cam-cover.

2. See how efficient BMW Assist is in Southern France.

3. Prise the seal off of the locking cap even if it means destroying the cap to do so.

A combination of my multi-tool and Clive's plus a really Gucci little pair of mini grips carried by Bert, with some brute force managed to get the seal free. I carefully replaced it, topped up the oil and put the original cap back on!

Tiffany looked on during this. I imagine she was thinking "How on earth do you make something as simple as an oil filler cap so complicated? Bloody amateur travelers!" She'd be spot on too! Though she's much too nice to say so.

Onwards, eventually, into Spain. Warm Sandstone buildings, pan-tiled roofs and olive trees. It's good to back in Spain!

We stopped again for fuel between Girona and Barcelona. Clive, Bert and myself had a hotel booked just outside Barcelona near the Circuit De Catalunya, Tiffany had a hotel in Barcelona itself and had to pick up her friend and sometimes riding partner Maggie from the airport.

We said our farewells here knowing we would meet up on New Years Eve at the party for the Dakar riders. I wasn't looking forward to Tiffany's departure, it had only been three days but she's good company, is extremely modest about her motorcycling travels and even if I do get into trouble for saying this, she's very pleasant on the eye too!

When we peeled off for Granollers it was strangely poignant. I'd got used to seeing Tiffany ahead on her F650 (called Ethel by the way).

Holiday Inn Express.

Booked in 4.15 and into the bar for a cold beer!

The bikes were parked in the secure underground car park, bags in the rooms, showered, shaved and changed by 6.15.

I'd spotted a Bar near the hotel and 15 minutes later we were sat in the dinning room with three cold beers having ordered dinner.

It turns out that Berts Spanish isn't to be sniffed at either!

The starter introduced Clive to the practice of rubbing a clove of garlic onto toast, followed by doing the same with a slice of tomato and drizzling it with olive oil. He took to it like a natural!

We also had a salad of sweet juicy Spanish onions, tomatos, sweetcorn, lettuce, peppers, red cabbage, flaked tuna and fantastic green olives. Mmm. Tasty!

Next we had half a chargrilled chicken each with the inevitable frites.

Coffee, solo grande for me, con leche for the others followed by a complimentary brandy the colour of anti-freeze but very nice!

Including a healthy tip, 15 Euro a head!

Back to the hotel and bed. Next day we intend to see some of the spectator stages of the Dakar Rally and then there is the New Year party to see off the Team Dome BMW riders.

Dakar Spectator Stages and a crash!

Day Five. Friday 31st. December 2004.

Breakfast over we met another UKGSer, Tony and his son Jack who were in the same hotel having travelled down by car.

We decided to head off to the beach area where the spectator stages were being held.

It was another great day in terms of the weather, sunny, warm and dry. It was nice to be riding minus luggage, without so many layers of clothing and in summer gloves.

Clive once again demonstrated how a BMW Navigator II can be a real boon by leading two bikes plus Tony and Jack in their car, straight to the venue. (Of course it does depend on the user downloading the maps correctly!).

Tony waved us on when we ran into traffic queues, so we filtered our way through to the residential area near the beach and parked up on the pavement along with everyone else.

A short walk towards the beach brought us to a road along which some of the two-wheeled competitors were making their way to the Special Stage starting point.

Once on the beach it soon became clear that the best vantage points were gone.

This view was repeated in both directions for the whole length of the Special Stage track.

The stage was a series of berms, jumps and turns laid out in the sand. A fleet of bulldozers were on hand to re-make any jumps that became flattened by the competitors but they left the deepening wheel-ruts to be negotiated (or not) by following vehicles.

Helicopters flew the length of the stage, presumably filming.

Some people built there own sand ramps behind the crowds to improve their view, others climbed on any beach furniture they could find.

This 'human pyramid' was a childrens climbing frame with rope ladders running to the top like a ships rigging.

Every available foothold was occupied. The lower ones afforded no vantage point at all but I suppose if you wanted to get to the top (eventually) you had to start at the bottom. A metaphor for life perhaps?

After stripping off outer layers of clothing (we had left helmets, jackets, gloves etc. locked in the bike panniers), we trudged over the sand to try and find our own vantage point.

Clive being at least 6'4" and me at 6' were taller than most of those stood in front of us but Bertrand is vertically challenged so was bobbing up and down or elbowing his way into the crowd to get a view.

Soon the bikes had finished their runs and it was the turn of the various categories of cars. Major manufacturers enter teams or provide equipment/sponsorship to privateer teams. There are many different classes of entrants and few cars resemble anything you might see on a road. This one for example is a VW but what model is anyones guess!

The car that was cheered the most was a highly modified Citroen 2CV that from the engine note definately wasn't using the original 600cc air-cooled boxer unit! It still had relatively skinny tyres but plugged on gamely despite having the wheels on one side in the ruts and the other wheels on the ridge between the ruts, giving it the appearance of a lopsided snail!

Lunch was taken in a bar on the beach where it seemed one hard pressed waiter had to cope on his own.

There were very few similar establishments on the beach. It was a surprise that there was no queueing for tables and no pressure to vacate once you had finished eating. It is an example of how differently our European cousins approach the whole business of eating. So much more civilised in my view!

A jug of Sangria (silly not to really), Tortilla and Ensilada.

After lunch we headed back out into the sun to watch some more of the four-wheeled action. The highlight for me was a Nissan X-Trail that went up in a huge cloud of smoke! The crew of two bailed out when a jet of blue flame shot out from a bonnet vent. Marshalls dashed in dying to squirt the fire extinguishers that they had been nursing all day only to be disappointed when the vehicles on-board system beat them to it!

I think it must have been a fractured or loose oil pipe squirting oil onto something hot judging by the colour of the smoke. It was deemed not to be terminal and the driver, possibly thinking of the ignominy of not even getting past the first stage, jumped back in and drove off down the course trailing a massive and impressive plume of white smoke accompanied by the cheers (or jeers) of the crowd. As the trail of smoke lifted an even bigger cheer went up for the co-driver who emerged from the smoke running after his lift!

We had to get back to the hotel to get changed for the organised party that night, so we decided to leave the beach, find a route out of Barcelona in the foothills to the North of the city that would let us see some of the countryside rather than the dual-carriageway we came in on.

We would have liked to see the trucks on the stage but they were not due to start for some time.

These monsters actually race. Years ago the trucks were purely support vehicles for the cars and bikes but the truck crews were found to be having their own race within the rally so as well as supporting they are now competitors too. These things are massive and a technical tour-de-force to boot. The suspension units are a thing of beauty alone. If you enlarge the photo you can make out the tyre pressure system that allows the pressures to be altered whilst the vehicle is on the move.

I can't imagine how the truck crews fill their evenings!

Back at the bikes, alarms switched off, security chains removed, riders kitted up, we were off, Clive leading, me in the middle and Bert bringing up the rear.

Things were going along nicely, until nearly out of the city, I decided it was time to test whether an 1150 Adventure was more robust than these new-fangled lightweight 1200's - by ramming Clive!

We were in a back street heading out of the city, Clive was following his Nav which doesn't indicate one-way streets. We were just approaching a minor road junction on the right, I glanced over my left shoulder before moving to my left away from the mouth of the junction, when Clive spotted a No-Entry sign that seemed to suggest we were about to go down it the wrong way. Clive naturally braked and was nearly stopped. I looked forward and had a closer look at the back of a 1200GS than I had up to now been treated to. Despite having the ABS chattering away madly and steering to the left, the beak of my bike struck Clive's left-hand pannier and my screen came into contact with his top-box.

Clive had the novel experience of being overtaken by his own pannier as the force of the impact shattered the rearmost mounting and the locking mechanism. The pannier went shooting up the road and I was left with my bike at 45 degrees over on its right side.

I stayed like that for a moment or two trying to get the huge lump (nearly full 32 litre fuel tank didn't help) back into an upright position.

Realising that it wasn't possible, I switched off the engine and stepped off allowing it to fall onto the engine protection bar and cylinder-head protector.

With the bike upright again we surveyed the damage. There was no way we could re-attach the pannier on Clive's bike so it was bungee'd onto the pillion seat until we could effect temporary repairs. My screen was skew-whiff but that was only where the adjusters had moved. The beak had taken the main impact and one of the retaining clips had sprung. The engine bars had done their job, no damage or marks on them and the cylinder-head protector had a tiny graze.

Later that day. Clive's 1200 looking a bit lopsided with the left-hand pannier now strapped on the pillion seat.

Undaunted we kept to our plan and headed out into the countryside where we found some dirt tracks that looked very inviting. After negotiating some stony uphill sections we found ourselves at a junction of several tracks. Without knowing where any of them led with any certainty and having the party to attend that night, the final arbiter of discretion over valour was a sign that seemed to suggest that we were trespassing!

We returned back down the hill and although it was stoney and loose none of us decided it required the ABS to be switched off. This was the first time that the optional low first gear that I had specified on my bike came into its own. Following Clive downhill (at a distance this time!!!), where he used his rear brake, I was able to just use engine braking and the bike just chuntered down at a walking pace with the throttle closed.

Once on a more regular surface Bert decided to take a closer look at the sort of rocks we had seen on the track. Perhaps he has an interest in Geology?

View from the track.

We returned to the hotel in time to get ready for the party later.

Apart from the superficial damage to two bikes, damage to my pride (it has to be at least fifteen years since I dropped a bike) and some serious damage to my bank balance when it comes to paying for the repairs, it has been another really enjoyable day.

We have the combined New Year and Dakar party to come yet!

Team Dome BMW Party.

31st. December 2004.

The justification for the whole trip is the party to see off the two riders of Team Dome BMW, Simon Pavey and Nick Plumb and ably organised by Kylie Maebus.

The start at 8.30 pm gave us plenty of time to get cleaned up and changed. Tony had kindly offered the three of us a lift in his car, thus removing the dilemma of how to get there and back. We had been advised that taxis would obviously be at a premium owing to the New Year celebrations and had toyed with taking two bikes so that at least one of us could have a few sherberts.

The party is in the restaurant Travi Mar on the Maremagnum, an entertainment centre in the Old Port of Barcelona.

Tony drove us straight to the heart of the city and as expected on New Years Eve it was starting to buzz.

We drove into the ferry-port area in search of parking. The ferries to the Balearic islands leave from this port and it sits alongside the Old Port area. It is nothing like any ferry-port I have seen. If it wasn't for some restored derricks and the presence of a car ferry you'd think it was just a restored harbour front leisure area.

The whole of the water front area showed signs of the power of the investment that followed the Barcelona Olympics in 1992.

We rolled up outside a very nice hotel in the ferry-port itself intending to ask for directions to a car park but Bert, spotting that the hotel had valet parking was straight in there and blagged us some hotel parking! (The valet was given a small bung and space was allocated).

We made it to the Travi Mar on time and were greeted by Kylie, (yes she is petite and antipodean!) who ticked us off her guest list, we ordered drinks and were directed up to the function room.

About half the expected number were here and we caught up with Tiffany who was in her "posh frock", we were introduced to Maggie and some of the others gathered before staking out our places at one of the tables.

The plan for the evening was that each table would have someone, either one of the riders, technicians or sponsors who would be able to field any questions. Inevitably as the drinks flowed people became less likely to ask questions other than "where's the bottle gone?"

Early in the proceedings. Clive on the right, Tony and Jack in the middle, Kylie's flatmate to the left.

Bert in the foreground, UKGSers Mr & Mrs 'Ming' (UKGSer username) and Barry from Touratech, Germany.

The meal was served, Shrimp Bisque in Armagnac, Puff pastry basket with King prawns in Cava, Medallions of veal fillet in mushroom sauce scented with froie, a tulip shaped wafer cup with macadamia nut ice-cream and wild berry fruits, coffee. The wines, white Creu de Lavit, red Ondarre Reserva Rioja, flowed continuously.

The meal was excellent, service great and the location perfect.

Introductions and short speeches followed.

Foreground; Bert, Fred, Sharron(?), Matt (Mr & Mrs 'Ming').

Standing ( L to R) Kylie, Dome (sponsor. Sorry I've forgotten names!), technician, Simon Pavey and Nick Plumb.

After dinner everyone settled down to some drinking and a bit of circulating/chatting.

Party bags containing, hats, masks, streamers and those part tooter things you blow and they roll out making a squeak plus miniature 'feather' boas, were handed out. Some people found the bags much more sartorially to their taste than the hats!

Clive however decided that you can never wear too many hats!

Bert and Barry. Personally I think Barry's neck attire is more in keeping with the party spirit!

Barry was good enough to sit through my moan about the Touratech locking oil filler cap saga! He advised me to contact TT and get a replacement (I haven't got around to it yet).

We were all given a bag of twelve grapes as the New Year approached and told that it was a custom (not sure if Catalan or Spanish) to eat one grape at each striking of the clock at mid-night.

As the clock started to strike the countdown we all stood and popped a grape at each 'bong' together with the restaurant staff. Some of us decided it might be a hoot to hold each grape in the mouth until the stroke of mid-night, then munch the lot in one go! The results varied!

With much shaking of hands and kissing of cheeks, the Scottish contingent launched into Auld Lang Syne. Hands were linked around the tables until the singing petered out at the same rate as our knowledge of the words!

Seated next to a table of opened Rioja bottles that were just begging to be emptied, we did our best to oblige.

By about 2.00 am there was one full bottle left and that was being clutched by Clive in a protective embrace.

Clive decided that the best way to escape was a variation on the advice given to Captain Blackadder and claim insanity by placing a pair of underpants on your head, stick two pencils up your nose and say 'wibble'....

in lieu of the underpants and pencils, two party hats, two masks and a couple of cigarettes seemed to do the trick because we found ourselves outside having said our goodbyes all round and fighting our way through the revelers back to the car.

Back in the hotel Clive produced the Rioja bottle and we had a nightcap before turning in at about 3.45!

Quite a memorable New Year and quite a surprise that more of the photos aren't more out of focus than they are!

New Year Day.

Day Six. Saturday 1st. January 2005.

Bad night! Waking every 20 to 30 minutes with my stomach turning somersaults!

Whatever it was that disagreed with me, the result was pretty violent.

By about 10.30 am I'd joined Clive and Bert in the hotel restaurant to be told that I'd missed Tony and Jack who had started their return journey earlier.

Bert, true to his nature, was very solicitous of my welfare and produced some re-hydration salts for us all. After a coffee and copious amounts of water my bowels were still in turmoil. So much so that the thought of riding anywhere was pointless for me.

We had planned to spend today in Barcelona and see the rally competitors flagged away on the leg to Granada.

Instead we spent the day carrying out repairs and checking the bikes.

Clive's left-hand pannier was bodged with cable-ties and bungee cords.

In case the 'bodge' gave up and the pannier was lost on the return journey, Clive sensibly decided to keep the load in it down to a minimum and then only easily replaceable items such as his laundry.

I had lost the hex bolt and spacer washer on the end of the left handlebar that holds the hand-shield and cruise control in place. I had a spare hex bolt and made a washer out of a water bottle top cut down with a hole made in the centre. This turned out to be serendipitous because it allowed the Cruise control to work much better than the original spacer. I might just leave it in place and paint it black!

A pause in the bodging!

The rest of the day was spent enjoying the sun, planning our return route, interspersed with less and less frequent visits to the toilet for me as my system recovered form whatever had assailed it.

Clive and I were committed to a 10.30 pm sailing from Roscoff on the 3rd. Bert had booked a one-way with Britany Ferries, planning to return via Paris to make a filial visit and then a Calias-Dover crossing.

We discussed and planned our return route with the aid of an AA road map of France and the Benelux countries given to me by a colleague (John Sowden) when I retired, he jokingly labeled it as a Satnav Failure Back-up Device. He must have known something, I'm going to ask him for some lottery numbers when I next see him!!!

Having two days to cover the same distance we had taken three to get here, we opted for auotroutes in the interest of speed and aimed to make Poitiers our target with Limoges as an alternative short-fall.

Bert would be with us as far as Limoges and stay with us over-night if we didn't make our first choice of Poitiers that day. Otherwise we would part near Limoges.

We agreed on a stopping frequency of 70 to 80 miles, apart from fuel or food stops these would be just to get off the bikes long enough to stretch, have a smoke or dive behind a bush.

The weather forecast for the 2nd. was bright, clear and cold in the South with the possibility of showers as we progressed North.

Dinner was taken in the hotel, soup and a local 'traditional stew' that reminded me of Irish Stew. I don't recall it being listed as traditional Catalan stew so maybe it was Irish Stew, it is traditional for the Irish after all! Whatever it's antecedents, it filled the gap left by my earlier stomach problems.

An early night was called for so I loaded my bike with the things I didn't need that night. I managed to get to sleep at about 12.30 am, a coachload had arrived and the banging of doors as people tried to find each other went on for some time!

Leaving Barcelona!

Day 7. Sunday 2nd. January 2005.

Not quite Leaving Los Angles! Mixed feelings for me. Leaving the relative warmth, knowing that soon our numbers will again be reduced and the prospect of just plodding along soul-less motorway/autoroutes.

For a short time I was tempted to just head South. After-all I did have nearly all I needed with me in terms of camping gear as did Bert who similarly had no pressing reasons to return to Blighty!

Sanity and the commitment made to Clive to return with him prevailed and after a fill-up breakfast, we were loaded up, hotel bills paid, fuelled up at a near-by petrol station (where the kiosk-jockey wanted some cash up-front before he would allow fuel out of the pumps)! We were on our way by 8.30 am.

Clive followed his Navigator to the A7 North-bound where I took the lead and followed an old fashioned route card I'd made!

It was as the weather forecast had promised, clear and sunny. The temperature was about 3 degrees C when we left Granollers but as we climbed the Eastern edge of the Pyrenees it grew steadily colder my temperature gauge staying around the -1 mark. On our first stop Clive told me he had seen -4 on a roadside gauge!!!

This first section of the A7 to Perpignan was to be the only section of road in nearly two thousand miles that we travelled twice, until the very last roads into Roscoff.

It was here on the A7 that I remember seeing UK registered vehicles in any numbers for the first time. These were mainly coaches filled with 'Blue-rinse maffia' being bussed back from Christmas and New Year holidays in the flesh-pots of southern Spain! One can only marvel at the image of the Costa Del Sol littered with broken hearts after holiday romances! (Not to mention littered with empty Steradent bottles and support stockings!!!)

Waving to the Old dears as we passed them, I often chuckled to myself as this image came to mind.

Before Narbonne we turned Northeast onto the A61 for Toulouse. Again we were treated to the Vent Violence but this time it was either head-on or coming slightly obliquely. Although this is slightly preferable to a broadside, it can still make riding uncomfortable especially when emerging from the lee-side of large vehicles back into the full blast.

After a fuel, smoke and nature stop, we were back into the usual pattern of 120 to 130 kph cruising.

At our first peage we pulled over for another short 'on the bike' stop.

This is a good picture showing Clive's home-made tank panniers that are a good way of spreading the load around the bike and provide some weather protection.

I think you can just make out my blue plastic bottle top bodge!

Still on the A61 our next fuel stop was at something akin to the sort of service stations we see in the UK with a shop selling sandwiches etc. We took full advantage to grab a lunch of sandwiches and crisps.

One of the main differences between this place and our equivalent is that the vending machines dispense decent coffee not brown water!

The bikes attracted some curiosity. Not that they are particularly unusual in France, more I think that the French (and come to that most Europeans) are better disposed to motorcycling as a leisure past-time like skiing, rather than the travel mode of people who cannot afford a car!

I came back to my bike to find an elderly couple stood beside it giving it an appreciative once over. When the old boy spotted my stowed brolly he exclaimed something and pointed it out to his wife. By way of some explanation I just said "je suis Anglais!" and shrugged. He seemed to accept this as proof of English eccentricity and was chuckling as he bidded me bon voyage and wandered into the shop!

Back on the A61 towards our next turn off onto the N20 for Montauban, the sky was getting darker with the threat of rain. At the next peage Bert rolled up alongside me as we queued and said, "Well at least the rain has held off". Needless to say a few miles up the road and down came the rain!

Making good time, we picked up the A20 that would take us past Brive-La-Gallarde and on to Limoges. The rain was off and on, sometimes heavy but because we were able to keep up a good lick it is hardly noticeable. For those readers of a non-motorcycling persuasion, it's at low speeds that rain is a nuisance on a bike because it has a lower velocity when it hits you, it can find its way under your visor or down your neck!

The temperatures were not getting any better the further North we got. At the next halt before Limoges, I got into my two-piece over-suit for warmth rather than rain protection. The cold can sap your concentration very quickly especially after short nights and long distances when you are getting tired.

We were going to make Poitiers as planned and as we were not far from Limoges we said our farewells to Bert who would soon be peeling off towards Paris and his sister.

It's odd that after such a short time in each others company, (like when we waved Tiffany off), it was quite a wrench. I suppose it must be something to do with the fellowship of shared experiences in unfamiliar territory. Each person can become a constant and familiar reference in ever changing circumstances. As the places, roads and scenery change, there ahead, or behind in the mirrors, is a familiar reference point. I can easily appreciate how lone travelers can become attached to their mode of transport as the only constant in the ever changing days.

(Note to myself, if I ever start talking to my bike, get some help!)

We waved goodbye to Bert as he left us at Limoges and we continued to the N147 towards Poitiers.

And then there were two!

The N147 is a normal two-lane road. It was nice to get away from the autoroute system, swing the bike through some bends and get in some overtaking.

We stopped for a smoke and some photos now we were off the autoroutes.

A view over the countryside nearing dusk.

In some places the N147 is arrow straight suggesting it was once a Roman road. It was very tempting to wind on the speed, the thought of a warm shower and dinner beckoning but the combination of possible fatigue blunting our responses and a couple of flashes from on-coming vehicles that might be a warning of Gendames ahead, had us sticking to the limits.

We rolled up to the Ibis Sud in Poitiers at about 7.00 pm.

Total mileage for the day 515.

It was the first time that there was no secure parking so this necessitated removing all the externally mounted soft luggage. We chained the bikes to each other and to a post outside the front door of the hotel. The receptionist told us that the night porter would have sight of them there throughout the night. Alarms set and bags in the room, after a quick shower we sat down to dinner, a complimentary salad starter followed by a chicken breast fillet stuffed with bacon and cheese washed down with nice cold beers. We both opted for the hot apple tart for pudding and a coffee for me.

Then it was to the bar for further beers while we talked over the days ride, planned our leisurely route for the next day to Roscoff and generally put the world to rights.

Apart from Clive being a very safe and accomplished motorcyclist, a wizard with a BMW Navigator, he is excellent company too. It's a long time since I felt so instinctively at ease with someone.

Poitiers to Roscoff, Chateau, Moulin and the Loire.

Day 8. Monday 3rd. January 2005.

Up at 7.30 am, look out of the window to see what the weather is doing. It's clear skies, a pale wintry sun is struggling to thaw a heavy overnight frost but the prospects for a fine day are present.

The bikes were still where we left them but were covered in ice. They were in the shade so there was little hope that they'd be clear of the ice by the time we left.

Clive and I were the first down to breakfast. I decided to stock up today. I usually don't eat much first thing but today as it was cold and we didn't know when we would be stopping for food, I forced down more than my usual cups of coffee.

The hotel Ibis Sud is one of those travel hotels that in their full flush of youth are functional enough but seem to get a little scruffy around the edges with time. It was clean and suited our needs well enough. It did have one redeeming feature and that was the faux snowman....

surely proof at last that not everything in France is Chic!

Room cleared, bill paid we were outside and re-strapping the soft luggage on the bikes. I had to remove the seat to replace the Touratech seat-bag and was alarmed to see the surface crack and slide off, it was a thin sheet of ice!

A little after 8.30 am and we were out onto the D757, North towards the Loire Valley, making the small town of Richelieu our initial navigation target.

Today we could take it easy, with around 12 hours to cover about 200 miles, we planned to keep away from major roads and stop or divert to anywhere that looked worthy of a visit or a photo-op.

With the temperatures hovering around freezing and travelling on minor un-treated roads, our speeds were leisurely.

This region of France is quite evocative for anyone interested in Anglo-French history. Names such as Angers, Tours, Orleans and Poitiers figured large in the One Hundred Years War. The region was often held by English Kings as one of several French Dukedoms inherited or taken by force. It was always a source of antagonism for the French nobility that although this was French soil, it was held by the English.

Leaving Poitiers, the countryside was fairly open and level. Just the sort of place that you could imagine large medieval armies coming to battle (as they did here in 1355).

I kept an eye open for any signposts or memorial indicating the site of the Battle of Poitiers but wasn't surprised to find nothing marking such a crushing defeat for French arms!

Even in the UK the battle of Poitiers is not as widely known about as the more famous Crecy that preceded it, or Agincourt that followed in the next century. It deserves to be up there with them for similar reasons; Edward The Black Prince was leading his army of about four thousand knights and men-at-arms plus the dreaded English archers, away from a force of twenty thousand led by King John of France. Unable to fully disengage, The Black Prince turned on the French near Poitiers. The French who had learnt the effectiveness of the longbow on mounted knights and men-at-arms at Crecy, decided to dismount their army and fight on foot. The Black Prince however engaged in a battle of movement. The archers again did terrible damage to the dismounted French, whilst the mounted English tore into the French flanks and rear. The victory was on the scale of Agincourt. The French King was captured and taken back to the Tower where he was eventually ransomed for three times the yearly income of the English Crown.

Small wonder then that there was no commemorative monument saying, "Here we received yet another drubbing at the hands of the perfidious English"!

Nearing Richelieu, we saw a Chateau silhouetted against the early morning sun and signs pointing to Chateau Mont. We did a smart about-turn and followed these 'places of interest' signs.

Mont itself seemed to exist only to provide support to the Chateau.

The later, restored section of the Chateau seemed to be used as municipal offices.....

while the older sections were left unrestored. The Chateau was not open to the public at this time of the year.

Our detour to Mont-S-Guesnes, took us away from Richelieu but still towards the Loire.

Now we had confirmed that like in the UK, signs with a brown background and white lettering, denoted places of interest, when we spotted one pointing to Abbay De Seuilly, we duly followed it.

The temperature had now manged to crawl up to 2 degrees C but some of the very minor roads we were travelling were quite slippery. Following Clive towards the Abbay, I saw his bike have a slow-motion two wheel slide, nothing dangerous, it was at low speed but enough to serve as a reminder that wet looking surfaces might not be wet!

The Abbay entrance, (I was tempted to go and move the road works signs for aesthetic reasons), turn right through the entrance.........

and you find yourself in what we might have still had in England were it not for The Reformation and Henry VIII's dissolution of the monasteries.

Standing in the Abbay grounds, the view across the roof-tops to another Chateau on a hill top.

The Abbay is currently used as the offices of the Loire Environmental Centre but also appears to be open to the public, in season.

A local interest map at Chateau Mont indicated a viewing point not too far away so taking to some lovely rural roads we made our way there and found....

a Moulin on the hill top.

The view would have been good later once the mist had burned off.

The Loire Valley in mist. It's about 11.00 am now, an indication of the low temperature and how weak the sun still is.

Checking the map, it seemed Chinon, would be a good place to pick up the Loire and follow it Northeast towards Angers and then cross-country to Rennes.

Looking Southwest along the Loire (at Chinon) towards the road bridge we had crossed to the North bank.

Chinon.

Loire.

Following the North bank of the river for a couple of kilometres, we re-crossed the Loire, joining the D947 Northeast towards Saumur. Within the valley the D947 follows the river and we travelled in the shade thrown by the valley walls, possibly welcome in the height of summer but certainly less so today. In fact it was very cold, the road surface glistened ominously at times making me think we might be better off on the other, sunlit, bank!

Saumur has a large military presence. The road we followed, passed through an army barracks but built from the same creamy Limestone that is the preponderant building material of the Loire. Even utilitarian buildings seemed to be executed with traditional Gallic flair.

All along the Loire the buildings were very beautiful, those that were not in pristine condition, appeared to be distressed artfully! It was as though any disrepair had to be attractive!

From the D947, at Saumur we took to the D751 because it continued Northwest, passing Angers to a small town called St-Floret where we turned due North on to the D10, back across the river and on to Cande.

Keeping to minor roads, still making for Rennes, we came upon a monument on a promontory.

The inscription reads, Our Lady of Lorette, Patron of Aviators, (Notre Damme de Lorette, Patronne des Aviateurs).

The quadrant thing in the foreground suggested significant points but neither of us could translate it to work out what it was indicating.

The monument had a bronze plaque that seemed to be commemorating an 'Aviateur' who had hurled himself from this point in nothing more substantial than a very large box-kite in 1908. Quite why this, possibly suicidal, event was treated to such a grand monument wasn't clear, especially when you consider that the Wright brothers had achieved powered flight six years earlier and the French aviation pioneer, Louis Bleriot, had flown across the Channel in 1908 anyway!

Perhaps he was a local and worth commemorating because of his spectacular suicidal tendencies!!!

By the time we reached Rennes, dusk wasn't far away. We hadn't eaten since breakfast. Making our way to the Centre Ville, we found suitable parking and turned our attention to finding food.

Our spirits we lifted by the sight of several restaurants on the street only to be disappointed when Clive went on a recce and found them all closed for at least another hour.

As we turned into the street I had noticed one eatery that was doing business, a Kebab shop! We were both too hungry to consider the alternative, not eating until goodness knows when. The irony of eating a Donna Kebab in the land of Haute Cuisine was not lost on us but in our defence it was better than any Kebab I've had at home!

It wasn't a leisurely meal. It was wolfed down and back to the bikes in double quick time as darkness was fast approaching and we wanted to be out of Rennes, heading for Roscoff, on the last leg now that we were so close.

A chilly but uneventful ride on the dual-carriageways from Renne via St Brieuc and Morlaix soon saw us in the ferryport at Roscoff digging out our tickets and passports.

Mileage (including deviations) 257.

Britany Ferries MV Bretagne was alongside and after the formalities were done, we were waved through to begin queuing.

Having travelled on Bretagne with a motorcycle before I knew that we would be amongst the last to board. Lumped in with the vans, caravans and cars with stacked roof-racks, we would be restricted to the lower car-deck.

At least it was dry and we were sheltered from the Atlantic winds by the taller vehicles alongside us.

Once aboard, we were directed to leave the bikes tight up against the ships hull and leave them. We weren't present when they were lashed down, unlike on Pont Aven on the outward journey.

Our cabin was in the bowels of the vessel, below the car decks. Grabbing tank-bags and wash bags from the bikes, it didn't take long to get to the cabin and then up to the cafeteria restaurant to supplement the Kebab.

The bar was extremely busy and there was some sort of Pop Music trivia quiz underway! One swift one was called for then down to the bilges to the cabin!

Next stop Plymouth!

Plymouth.

Day 9. Tuesday 4th. January 2005.

The crossing was fairly bumpy. We were both kept awake by occasional very loud crashes. It was as though something was loose on the car deck above us. As we hadn't actually witnessed our bikes being secured it did cross my mind that it was two GS's being flung around and bouncing off the bulkheads!

After adjusting my watch back to GMT, I found myself awake at 6.00 am, so got up and showered ready for the arrival in Plymouth scheduled for 7.30.

Packed up the wash bag and got everything ready to vacate the cabin, we went up to the shopping area, found a seat and watched the Plymouth Breakwater slide by.

We were called to the car deck so retrieved our helmets etc. and returned to the bikes. Whatever had been making the noise it wasn't the bikes, they were upright where we had last seen them but now lashed down with blue nylon cord.

Emerging from the Bretagne into the drizzle, I was struck by just how much warmer it was than the last couple of days in France, despite being further North. We sometimes underestimate the effects of the Gulf-Stream on this little pile of rocks we call home.

Clive had hoped to stop for breakfast with some family in Dawlish before heading home to Reading but this wasn't now possible. As an alternative we stopped at the Tesco just outside Plymouth and were their first customers that day for a "fat boys".

After breakfast we stood in the car park with our bikes and had a cigarette together.

I rather envied Clive his ride home (I only had two miles to go!), after getting on the bike each day with the prospect of doing some decent miles, it seemed unnatural to be stopping so soon.

We said our goodbyes and re-joined the A38. I peeled off at the next exit and watched Clive disappear with mixed feelings. It signalled the end of the trip for me and I always feel a slight sense of loss when an enjoyable journey ends. It is nice to get home though!

Some hours later, bike washed and the washing machine on its second load, my mind was buzzing, trying to assimilate all the sights, sounds and experiences of the last week and almost two thousand miles.

I don't have detailed figures on fuel consumption or even how much it all cost. Whatever the final costs were, it was worth it, every second!

I am blessed (or cursed) with a pretty good memory for detail, particularly in relation to my own experiences. The blessing is that I am able to remember and mentally re-live experiences like this for years, the curse is that I'll probably bore people to death by recounting the story ad-nauseum!

I wanted to use this journey to test myself, the bike and some of the modifications prior to starting out later in the year.

On a personal level I was pleased to find that despite not having toured the Continent on a bike for nearly ten years, physically it didn't present any problems. I don't expect to cover the sort of distances in a day as regularly. Nor, I hope, will the weather be as cold! My pace will be more relaxed, with frequent stops for sightseeing and nights spent camping instead of trying to find a hotel should mean that I won't find it more physically challenging. I take some pleasure and reassurance that despite the cold days, distances covered, late nights and early starts, I never once felt my endurance tested. If you are thirty-something and reading this, it may not sound very testing but I'm facing 50 this year and what I once did in my thirties now takes more effort!

On the bike front, I never once regretted my choice. Yes, sometimes when following a pair of R1200GS's I had to work it harder. Thirty kilos (66 lbs) less weight and an extra 15 bhp would have helped when playing tail-end charlie but I'd rather keep that solid, go anywhere feel that I get from the 1150 Adventure.

The bike was extremely comfortable and I acknowledge that I'm fortunate in that my build and height seems to be close to what the BMW people have in mind when designing their bikes, I haven't owned or ridden one yet that wasn't almost perfect for me.

Most of the modifications I have made seem to have worked as planned. The only glitches were the Touratech oil filler cap and the Wunderlich cruise-control loosing the bar-end bolt and spacer. This didn't affect the cruise-control lock, it merely meant that the end of the hand-shield wasn't located correctly.

Although I wasn't carrying everything that I will be, I did carry things that I won't be needing later in the year, so I think that on balance (no pun intended) the bike shouldn't be too unweildy.

I was happy with the storage and fixing of bags. As intended, the Al Jesse box on the rear carrier allows me to get into both Touratech Zega panniers with the camping gear lashed and locked to the rear rack.

My right-hand pannier space was partly taken up by an oil bottle and a much too large first-aid box. I threw in the first-aid box as it was, because I hadn't yet got around to deciding on the eventual contents and size. That's on my list of further preparation items. I will fit an external oil carrier, probably the Touratech item like that fitted on Bert's bike.

On the rear of the right-hand pannier.

I have toyed with the idea of the bottle carrier as Bert has on the left pannier, for my Whisper-lite cooker fuel bottle but I don't fancy having a litre of petrol so exposed. Instead I put some self-adhesive Velcro tape on the fuel bottle and inside the right-hand pannier. The fuel bottle stays put even without anything else in the pannier and doesn't reduce storage or impede getting the inner bag in and out.

Lashing the Ortleib bag to the rear is a simple operation with Lock-straps designed to work with the Touratech rear carrier. After a short time I stopped checking the straps for security at every opportunity and learned to trust their effectiveness. The cable lock passed through the bag handles, under the rack and drawn tight, added security both as a fixing and against removal of the bag (at least without cropping the cable first).

Likewise, the Touratech rear-seat bag was secured to the rear grab-handle with a small cable lock. The bag was ideal for carrying my security chain, light over-suit and charger cables for camera etc. I was able to run the charger cable from the auxiliary socket by my left foot to the bag and re-charge the camera battery on the move.

Only the retaining straps (bag to seat) were less than perfect, requiring a lot of fiddling to draw the forward one tight. This is something I will try and resolve in the next few months.

The BMW tank-bag functioned adequately. It would be nice if it were a little bigger but the way it attaches allows easy removal when away from the bike. It was therefore my first choice for things such as the camera, Walkman and documents etc. The pocket on the rear was ideal for wallet and change and can be detached separately for paying for fuel and peages.

By unclipping the front fixings, the bag can be easily and quickly hinged backwards for access to the fuel filler.

The clear 'map pocket' on the top was an ideal place for my Walkman as it allowed my to see and operate the Walkman functions through it.

I bought the tank-bag second-hand and the foam rubber on the underside is now hanging off. Another modification/repair to attend to.

With the bike laden, the Wunderlich swing-out lifting handle came into its own, making it much easier to get the heavy old pig onto the mainstand, rather than grabbing the rear footrest hanger.

On the tools front I've learnt the value of a small pair of Mole-Grips and will try and source some. A couple of things I will take next time is some Gaffer or Duct tape and a small can of WD40.

On the rider equipment front, I was very happy with my suit, gloves, boots and helmet. I will be taking the peak and cheek pieces for the System helmet plus goggles. This allows me to convert the helmet from full-face to peak and chin-bar or full open face helmet as the weather permits.

Not only was the trip to Barcelona really enjoyable in itself both for the journey and the company but it has served well as a shake-down.

I'm pleased to have found one or two areas of equipment etc. that need some attention now rather than once committed to being away for months. It would have been good to have similarly tested the camping gear in use for a few days but maybe something left unknown is a good thing!

I have to give my local BMW dealership a plug! Ocean BMW Plymouth, supplied the bike in the first place and didn't bat an eyelid when I handed over a long list of modifications to do before I collected the bike. The goodwill of Peter (sales), Bill (after-sales) and Rob (service engineer) together with their level of enthusiasm and expertise underscores the whole experience of BMW ownership.

A final thank you to Tiffany, Bertrand and Clive for your company. You made an enjoyable experience memorable and I'd be more than happy to ride off into the sunset with you again!

Oil filler cap saga, an update.

Friday 14th. January 2005.

After 'bending' Barry's ear at the Barcelona party, I have been in contact and a replacement modified locking filler cap is being being sent to me.

Bearing in mind that I lost the original so cannot send it back as proof that the original failed, I'm very happy with the result.

Top marks to Touratech.

I've just ordered a couple of other bits from them and have been busy compiling my 'things to do' list for the main event.

Some of the things to do are admin, such as cancelling subscriptions to various things, listing things I still need and some minor modifications to the bike.

I'll detail these as I complete them and will post a definitive list of what I'm taking with me.

I've been checking Britany Ferries sailings to Santander. They re-start this service on 16th March. I'm tempted to go then but may hold off until the 30th March sailing for various reasons I'll detail later.