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They’re very hard. I chose them to go to Morocco because they’re almost bulletproof since they’re such a hard compound, this also makes them quite long lasting. Last set lasted 10.000 miles and there was a bit to go on the rear, the front still had plenty, but that had a long Morocco trip with touring pace. Probably I’ll get less on this set that will get some faster tarmac use, still they’ll last more than the average road oriented tire because they’re just not as good on the road. Only pussies care that they’re not rated for fast speeds or rain.

I had made plans to go to Morocco in late September, but then a few things conspired against it. My brother was working in Croatia and Hungary and I think my parents can use some company to not deal with their health things by themselves, also my mum turning 70 with none of the sons around was a little depressing, to top it up work stuff went chaotic a few days earlier and that meant me having to do a lot of phone calls and emails from over there every day, I didn't want to have to do that as it would take away a lot from the trip. Also, I was a little afraid of how I would cope with arriving in Tangier. The last time I was there my girlfriend passed away and I left her behind after being pressured by family and the embassy to go back home. I never stopped feeling like I did leave her behind and I became anxious just thinking about it. A few weeks after postponing the trip to 2023, most of the work related stress was handled, my brother came to Portugal for what was a longish stay until January, and the weather in Morocco looked like it was going to be pretty much ok. Usually by October some parts of the Atlas get snow or at least heavy rains that compromise roads and pistes, but as I look to the weather forecast the rains that fell in September seemed to give way to sunshine, suddenly my dread and at least partially been replaced with enthusiasm. At the last moment I had the Mitas E07 + tires fitted, and on a rainy Monday morning went past the dealership to change the oil on the bike. My trusted mechanic got sick the previous week and couldn't do it. He works at that same dealership as a consultant trying to improve the mechanical work part of the business, so he came around to give me a hug and wish me a fun trip, he relates to a lot of my feelings as his wife passed away after being victim of a hit and run accident, being left on the scene. On a very rainy Monday I ride down to @Sofia's for a dinner with her and the next day I stop by my place. I spent two nights by myself there putting my head on straight, that wednesday was spent packing my stuff into the bike cases and trying hard to anticipate and solve as much work problems as possible. I also wrote a letter that I left behind on top of my dining table, the last time I was in Tangier I spent considerable time thinking that my life wasn't worth living anymore, with that being a realistic outcome of this trip I tried to not leave loose ends behind, settled a pending matter with Maria's dad, and leaving this letter made me feel more at ease with things. I also concluded I can't pack worth shit! With Maria we used to carry clothing for 4 or 5 days for two, rain overalls for two, etc, now I'm having trouble closing the bags with just my stuff, plus the laptop I didn't use to take, I'm not good at this! I slept very well, to my surprise, and on a dry 24th November morning headed south. I planned to sleep on the way, in Alentejo, as I did absolutely not want to arrive in Tangier at night in the end of the day. I wanted to get out of home and use only tiny country roads to spend the day like that. My plans for small roads was frustrated by the clear very dark skies to the East, so instead I got on the motorway and headed South to the Algarve. As I crossed the bridge over the Tejo River the dark skies to my left made me smile inside my helmet, my rain overalls were in the case and that's where I like them! I rode for a couple of hours always narrowly avoiding the rain while at the same time riding over damp patches of motorway. Arriving at the Algarve with plenty of time to spare before lunch time, I get of the motorway and take the twisty section of the N2 before arriving in Faro, some great twisties over the end of this road that crosses Portugal from North to South, and a chance to carefully scrub a little of the Mitas, they weren't providing much confidence on wet motorways, which fair enough to them makes sense when it's the own manufacturer that states that this "+" compound makes them less ideal to wet and cold. Brief stop for a scenic pee an hour before Faro Made it to Faro beach for a great ham and cheese toasted sandwich Then rode to Faro center, and went to the pharmacy to buy some stuff to take with me on prevention, and a tiny power bank to be able to charge the phone during lunch breaks. Also bought a book that I did not touch through the whole trip! Faro was looking great during winter, as always. My dad sold his place over there so I looked for somewhere to stay, it was still pretty early and hanging around Faro was starting to be weird without the place for my own, so booked somewhere a little closer to Spain and headed that way. Turns out that was a great success, I managed to get a nice price for a place that allowed me to park my bike ride outside my room, went to the supermarket to buy stuff for breakfast and a couple of beers, and worked a little. Early sunsets bug me, you ride all day, sun sets, night comes, and there's still two hours to go till dinner time. Took a walk around and a nice few pictures of the Ria Formosa fishing boat scene Chose a restaurant to have my dinner, the place's name was very promising but to be honest the meal didn't warrant pictures. I was left a little dissatisfied but at least the wine was decent. Thursday the 25th at 07:15 we were off to Spain: Quite happy to keep my rain gear locked in the case, I contemplatively rode to Tarifa without putting a foot down at all through Spain. Stopped there on a lookout just a couple of km before Tarifa, I take a picture of Africa as viewed from Europe and suddenly it hits me that I'm looking at Tangier. I get filled with a feeling of sadness. Just looking at it across the water. On some days it looks very clear like this, on some others it looks more distant, it's a 1 hour ferry crossing to get there. The boat leaves at 13:00 and I was early, like I like to be. I sit a little around Tarifa and have a mediocre expresso to kill some time, and make my way to the port to wait for the boat. A pretty cool camper was waiting as well Crossing to Morocco on a bike is great, you get waved to the front of the line, you get there at the same time but it makes me feel like a rockstar to be waved to the front of the line. On board the boat you go through passport control, and fill out a health paper on account of Covid, stating what seat you used and stuff like that. Completely fuss free mostly because since you board the boat first you get there ahead of everyone so there's no line for the passport control. Also, it's low season so not really a lot of people on board. I feel a little numb about the whole thing, like it's someone else that is doing this. The customs entering Morocco are fuss free compared to before, before you had a place for passport, then take your passport to another place for importing the vehicle, than back to the other place, it felt like an adventure, now you step up to a lady with a computer, and 1 minute later she gives you a little piece of paper related to your vehicle and that's it. That efficiency takes away from the feeling of adventure though, it's like you're entering Andorra Tangier also feels sort of European and developed as soon as you exit the port, no longer the smell of decomposing fish and decaying cars, now the beachfront looks like a poorer version of Dubai, I stop to make sure my e-sim actually works in Morocco and it does. I had no plan for the rest of the day, had to buy a sim card for data usage in Morocco, get money off an atm, but instead of doing that I rode the half mile straight out of harbor and stopped right on the hotel I last stayed over there. Parked outside and slowly walked in, to then stand around a lobby that has since been remodeled. It's got different artwork on the walls, different sofas, etc, but felt completely familiar and exactly the same energy that I felt when I was brought back here by the police after interrogated following Maria's passing. I was then left 2 or 3 hours in this lobby while the room was being inspected, cold and broken and in despair. I had called ahead to try and get my previous room available for a visit but unsure if I was able to spend the night. Those calls didn't go very efficiently, communication was not easy, so I just showed up and explained who I was. The hotel manager showed up and we talked a little, she remembers exactly what happened and how I spent a few days there the last time, and she took me up to our room. Room 501 was remodeled like the rest of the hotel, everything looks fresh and more modern, the bathroom completely redone, bed is now comfy and modern, but the space is the same and felt very familiar. I sat on the bed a little and was left alone for a while, and wept silently. It didn't feel sad, it felt familiar, I just wept for a few minutes, and then left. Back on the lobby I was told they were fully booked, I was now feeling completely exhausted and just felt like a comfy bed. A few tears rolled down my face as I rode off, and was tenderly waved away by people that had previously seen me at my lowest. With a fresh data card and money in my pocket I went to have something to eat. Quickly made a friend, interested in pieces of chicken from inside my sandwich, which he quite appreciated. I was depleted of energy, it wasn't late but I couldn't face riding away from Tangier. Also didn't want to pay top money for a beachfront luxury hotel, instead I went on booking and found a place very nearby, maybe one km or even less, with what I needed the most which was a closed secure place for the bike. It looked very typical going in: I did not like that room one bit, but it was just a place to stay for one night. Had a shower and went for a walk, that neighborhood was a typical medium class place in Tangier, feels proper shitty, you get high end condominiums on one side, with Mercedes G-Class and Range Rovers, and on the other side you get destitute people, sheep grazing on empty fields next to luxury hotels and casinos, and in between both is where I stayed. Some areas of Tangier clearly have a stray dog problem, clearly they're fed by some people so one or two protect that doorway like it's their territory, it's a cheap way to have a guard dog without exactly owning an animal. Felt horrible and I hated it. Walked to the beachfront through the park Cheaper way to have a tea by the sea: Right next to the more exclusive option It was a pretty sunset, but all I could see was what I didn't like about it. The hungry cats and dogs, dirty kids begging for a coin, bad smells anywhere not with a tended lawn and polished car badges. Feel the beat of the city, right! It was now cold, and I sat down somewhere completely non interesting and had a pizza. It was just the easiest thing to choose from the menu and not nice at all. Football was on the tv. A short walk back to the riad / hotel, and my bike is safe in it's closed space. I felt sad and regretful of coming. Had a conversation with Sofia and went to be feeling depressed and miserable. My room had an air conditioning unit that was too loud to have turned on while sleeping, there was a busy road nearby that seemed to have noisily come alive at night, and my bed was a little itchy, later found a long hair on it, and it clearly didn't come from me. I had a cold miserable night, and eventually passed out from exhaustion at 2 or 3 AM, having decided that there was nothing for me here except sadness and to go back the next day.

Starting a ride report weeks in advance the actual thing takes place is not my style at all, I hate all the hype. However, this is more of a declaration of intentions so that I have no excuse to cower out at the last moment quoting some excuse. I have been making tiny preparations over the last few months, just to get myself in the mood. Stuff like renewing my passport, buying a phone that can manage using Moroccan data while keeping my Portuguese number active for (pretending to) work, buying a fender extender to protect the rear shock from rocks, buying a half tinted visor because the dark one is deadly at night and days get shorter in October, buying tires two months in advance, etc ... all that seems like over preparation but in fact was just me trying feel a little more in control by solving stuff when in fact I'm honestly plain scared about what I'm going to face riding out of that boat in Tangier. I've gone to the ridicule of freezing a couple of things at home, so that I have something nice and warm ready for when I return in the dark. My plan is to visit some familiar places and mix that with a bit of adventure, maybe see new places maybe a little more off the beaten path. Mountain passes are what I look forward the most regarding motorcycling, more so when they're heading to the wide open desert heat and herds of camels, in this case it's the easy familiar places that really amp up my anxiety, places where I proposed marriage and was happy, and where my heart broke and I contemplated darkness. Not sure if it's the happy places or the sad one that will challenge me. I'll be doing it alone at my own pace because that's how I deal with stuff, and because in a weird way I can't help but scratch wounds, you know it'll hurt but can't stop yourself from doing it. Today I booked a ferry ticket for the 29th September, a few things were starting to make me doubt going and finding an easy reasonable excuse for staying home working instead, so I bought the ticket and posted this so I'll be too embarrassed to not go at the last moment All that's left now is give the bike a small service, like an oil change and air filter change, and put the new tires on, and hopefully I'll be good to go. I say hopefully because I'm not really up for fixing anything on it, it's never needed anything so here's to that! My mum's 70th birthday is on the 27th, so on the 28th I'll ride to my place, pack everything nice and tidy and get in the mindset, have a nice sleep and on the 29th set off to catch a ferry that's leaving at an unreasonable 15:00 from Tarifa, since it's an adventure I'll probably miss that boat and call an hour earlier to change the ticket to one at 19:00 All in all, it'll be a grand time filled with extreme emotions, a perfectly reliable bike, twisty mountain passes shared with overloaded trucks, smells of spices wafting through street markets, and dusty boots.

Tomorrow morning I’m setting off on a few days trip, I’ve been strugling a little lately, bad emotions and an overall dark mood. Nothing sorts my mental health (such a millennial expression!) like spending a few days on the bike so that’s what I’m going to do. The plan is to head south and avoid rain as much as possible, I’m packing my passport because Morocco is an obvious destination, I like going South. Instead of posting a big ride report like before, I’ll try to upload a few pictures each day and just a few words along with them. One sidecase is packed, the other containing all the clothing and laptop still isn’t. Was just visited by @Mateiro and cooked a lovely oven codfish with tiny tatters for dinner, and am now enjoying rum by the fire and watching Friends on tv. Seems the other luggage is going to be left for tomorrow morning. Temperatures are now getting colder, but I’m hoping for blue skies tomorrow, and getting on a small road taking my time heading south. Small roads take longer, but also allow me to take work calls without my clients (and more importantly, bosses/suppliers) realising I’m not in the office. See you tomorrow.

Felt deflated and disapointed with not going to Morocco, yesterday's dinner was also sad, a takeaway pizza alone at my room. It was made worse by the wifi not working in the room and the tv seemed to only display a short selection of german satellite channels. Not the happiest of dinners, later went for an overly expensive coffee and used the bar's wifi to post the report. Not happy and not entertained, I fell asleep early to then wake up at 3AM thinking it was already 8. A couple of hours of non sleep ensued to them crash and wake up at 8:30 with a call from Spain Breakfast was a pear and croissant bought the previous evening from the local supermarket, plus orange juice and a soluble coffee overlooking the already loaded GS, pure class! Cool tree overgrowing it's allowed ground space I headed to Spain, crossed the border same as going to Morocco but instead of doing the 400km motorway stint to Tarifa, got off and headed Northeast, the roads were more or less boring but ok, and I took no pictures as the landscape wasn't really interesting either. Stopped a couple of hours later to navigate and figure out where to go, a plan was made to sleep back in Portugal and make up for last night's sad excuse of a dinner, but to first ride to and through the Sierra Morena, which is North of Sevilla if you want to see on the map. It looked like a cool place on google maps, with just the right kind of green and squirely looking roads While I was parked two idiots stopped their horses to have a conversation, poor animals were a little frightened when the mighty GS rumbled to life, but they didn't seem to be in a hurry to go away, so there! Heading into Sierra Morena proper, google maps showed a longer detour to get to the same location, 25 minutes to do a 10 minute thing and I took it, and was presented with the first proper road of the day. The 20kmh limit seems a bit extreme and I don't think I've ever seen one in Portugal, but after the corner there's a VERY narrow bridge, one motorhome can hardly make it: In fact, if there's one thing this area is lacking is in proper roads. There's plenty of tasty dirt roads going off of the tarmac proper road, but there are a LOT of mines around and trucks are often diverted off the tarmac road and onto gravel ones, so the real nice GS'y roads are filled with dust and heavy trucks doing work things. Anyway, at almost 13:30 I was desperate for a week and some food and found just the right place at the little town of El Castillo de Las Guardas. Stopped at a cafe/pub/restaurant type of place, and had a 20cc non alcoholic beer with carne con tomate, the beer was ok and the beef was super tasty and very garlicky. What you see in the picture is one of the few Spanish good things, a portion made for eating along with a drink, this beer is tiny, but the portion is made for you to order two or three as tasters along with a few beers or wine glasses, it works perfectly as a smaller lunch when on the road. If you're from the UK and traveling, just show up at one of the places where there are a lot of men going in at lunch (later than yours), and point at what they're having at the counter and job's done, people will be friendly (more so if you're on a big motorcycle). While I was eating a couple of young dude rocked up on 50cc 2 strokes. The one on the Derbi traillie parked away, which was for the best as it would have contaminated my meal with whatever he was burning, but the little Aprilia parked next to my bike, from a far I was curious as to the bikes decoration, but it was all transparent when I looked at it upclose. It's an Aprilia RS50, probably a Nastro Azzuro livery RS50 belonging to a Rossi fan, the other side of the bike showed that it led an even harder life than this side does, so eventually it must have had a respray too many and as Rossi turned to Yamaha so did this Aprilia. The owner is too young to have bought it new, but there's no mistake his next bike will be an R1: The town itself is worthy of a 20 minute longer visit than what I did, there's a small castle / fort / monastery thing, I rode one lap around it and fucked off as I wanted an angry day eating kms, not looking at things. Around this time, I made plans to book a room in Monsaraz, already back in Portugal, it was still far away considering the time of year and the early sunset, but there's a really great restaurant next to it and I was in need of comfort after last night's lonesome sad pizza. Rode into Cazalla de la Sierra, and got lost inside. A few streets' one way signs didn't match google maps' opinion so I ended up doing two or three laps of the inner part of the maze of old streets, turns out it's a cool town and I wouldn't have minded staying there for the night, but left and headed back home. Exiting Cazalla, almost still in town as the 60kmh signs state, phone started buzzing and I gave up and stopped to have a few conversations, it was now 15:30 (16:30 in Spain) and the weather cold, the sun starting to go down but gorgeous: 10 or 15 minutes, again with the bloody phone : The next bit of road, after that, though, made the whole day. It's a typical mountain road in the Iberian peninsula, narrow, shit surface, twisty and you can go miles in second and third gear in a normal bike, maybe third and fourth in a GS since gears are so short, I stopped this once just for you, to see the roads's camber going from one extreme to the other. If you're on a road traillie and you don't enjoy this then change bikes: Don't know how many kms I did on that, maybe not that many since it's more intense than the ground it covers, occasionally the scenery popped through openings on the trees (only 15 minutes between pictures): I did get a little too enthusiastic and caught a little air going from bend to bend, liked this road so much I stopped to take the previous picture just to have it on my phone in the maps app if I want to go back. A few more miles went past, didn't stop, the road turned from murdered tarmac to F1 grade surface, lost a little bit of character but by then I appreciated the smoothness. By 17:30 I was getting really cold. Stopped to fuel up with cheaper (than Portuguese) Spanish petrol, and as the sun was setting, put on my neck warmer and warmer gloves, have a hot a nasty coffee to warm up before the last hour to the border and room for the night: Well in the cold darkness, and after a car in front of me almost running into a lost sheep crossing the road, now getting cold I set the cruise control to 110kmh through faster country roads and enjoyed the GS's powerful high beams when I could, I made it to Monsaraz after an hour, a brief stop by the castle for a picture or two in the darkness, and then to my home for the night: I enjoyed my dinner in the "Sem Fim" Restaurant quite a lot, it's an old olive oil cold press warehouse, now converted to resrtaurant. I love it. I enjoyed a bottle of delicious local Monsaraz wine, which I will buy at home and see if it tastes as good taken away from it's original location, and had a very typical entree of garbanzo beans a codfish, and then the baked mutton and small tatters. All was great, I walked back to my room through cold streets now feeling comforted. This area, Monsaraz near the Alqueva dam, is considered the best star gazing location in Portugal and one of the best in Europe because of it's clear skies and absence of light pollution, this means that when it's cold at night, it's really cold. I really like these old school Alentejo streets. See you tomorrow, I'll figure out what to do at breakfast, either going straight back home, or whatever.

Thank you, but turns out I won't need much luck. A lot of stuff came up today and I will have to dedicate some time to work next week, so Morocco is out. Not much of a bummer because my heart wasn't really in it either, felt like I was going to do it for the sake of it. Regardless, did have a nice ride today leaving home and heading to the Algarve all the way on back roads. Left later than usual, at around 10. Everything was really pretty now that we had some rain, 2 or 3 hours later stopped for lunch by the side of the road next to a pretty field, and had my sandwich. It felt a lot colder than the thermometer showed, so it was a treat to stand under the sunshine. There was absolutely no traffic, three vehicles passed during the entire time, so I had fun taking pictures standing in the middle of the road. 20 minutes later, and I stopped for a post lunch espresso, like you do. Heading South on the N2, this used to be Portugal's main road if you were to drive through this part of the country. Getting to the Algarve, I took to some smaller roads. weather, the twisties and the tarmac were perfect, but I took a detour via some dirt roads with some nice views. The destination would be the same were you to stick to nice tarmac roads, and only a 10 or 15 minute delay by taking these. Below the tarmac bit that will take me the last 10 or 15km to the seaside, which you already see in the distance in the previous pictures. I love this part of the Algarve, riding in hills and mountains but not more than 10 or 15km from the beach and with a clear view to it from above. After a warm shower, I went for a walk. This is the same place I stayed in last year before leaving Portugal, watched the end of the sunset by the water, and started being attacked by mosquitoes, so went for a walk.

I'm honestly jonesing for Morocco, dry and dusty, and also with cheap meals and petrol ...

When I said in the previous post that staying in people's homes doesn't happen in my Morocco trips, that wasn't really fair to Morocco. Indeed they are a most hospitable people, it doesn't happen to me a lot maybe because I'm not a sociable person, all of these people are people Sofia got to meet through motorcycling when she lived in the UK. One after the other they all connect and are still friends after all these years. To have that with people that you've met because you dropped a wallet and they came after you to return it, or such coincidences is both a testament to the quality of these people and Sofia as well. Anyway, being a celebrity, I was quickly made to feel at home too Simon and Carol, and little Aubrey, were legends, we got to their place, had a shower, and were quickly out for a proper Indian. I don't know what the dishes were or their names, but a couple were ultra tasty, something with what looked like spinach pesto was my favourite, and I pooped green for two days. The first morning there we went to visit @Sofia's old flat in Sunningdale from many moons ago. It's a lovely neighborhood that I know she misses a lot along with the life she had at the time, it was a little teary eyed moment. I gave her some space as she was on the phone with an old friend who lives next door but wasn't in country. ("In country" sounds like he's in the SAS, he was just on holidays). Then, we made our way via small pretty streets to Windsor's farm shop, where they sell groceries, of which some are grown within the property, others are grown in Chile, Spain, Holand, etc, the butcher part of it looked really good like most butchers do in England. Every cut of meat neatly organized and proficiently displaced, if you go to a butcher in Portugal you better know what you want or else you're screwed. Next to that shop there's a café, which is were we went to meet the legend that is Pat Creagh. Pat is an Irishman who teaches motorcycling stuff, and somehow got to be a good friend of Sofia's back in the day, he has very good jacket taste and we hit it off instantly, I call this picture the binary code. The Irish and the Portuguese have a lot in common as a people and particularly the northern Portuguese have a similarly colorful language to the Irish. We became friends since our sense of humor is similar, plus we both enjoy giving Sofia a hard time for motorcycling things. I think we were meant to go out on the bikes to go somewhere, but it started to properly rain so we went inside and had lots of coffee, along with a bacon bap for lunch. I can see the merits of bacon baps and coffee now, it's very wrong but feels right. It was a good day so far, nice time was had and he's a cool dude. On our way back, after all the heavy rain the streets were a little slippery for the Speed Triple's now bald sport Pirellis. Pirelli is a brand of tires, Sofia likes them because they're Italian... Stopped by Windsor, the man wasn't home: That afternoon was ended with some wine back home, and then going out along with Carol and Simon and Aubrey to meet up with Nick and Less for dinner in a Chinese place they like to go to. I had a lot of beer that night, a good time was had, I could also get used to be driven to and from restaurants. As always, I was charming and everyone loved me. We got home, and stayed up late chatting on the sofa. The thing these people have with having a group of proper friends who share this one thing in common is pretty nice. We went to bed during a thunder storm on the 17th, I didn't feel like sleeping so ended up trying to take pictures of lighting: Monday and we woke up a little late I think, or woke up early but only got out of the house late, something like that. First order of business was heading over to Triumph West London, Sofia was looking forward to visiting the former Jack Lilley dealership where she bought her previous bikes, including this one. There the Speed Triple would have an oil and filter change, a new chain, and a much needed set of new tires, Michelin this time to me make it more rain and Portugal friendly, still sport tires though as one can only compromise on style so far. I looked around and found a Denali horn on display, just what the the Triumph needed to warn me against being on the wrong side of the road! They were missing matching tires for the front or rear as we hadn't warned them in advance, so the bike was to stay in until the next day, no worries. I had a sit on a few Triumphs: I quite like the Rocket on paper, but it's huge in real life. The Speedmaster felt nice and comfy, it's a classy looking thing too. The Bonneville was something I never even considered owning but does feel like a nice bike. We arranged a test ride on both a T120 Bonnie and a 900 too, Sofia was keep on trying something maybe more nimble than the Speed Triple at very low speeds. I can see how she missed dealing with people in this dealership though, the guys at the Triumph places in Portugal are mostly sexist twats, with a hint or two of incompetence thrown in. She went and talked to the mechanic handling her bike like a long lost friend, and the fact he remembers her is why she missed this place. Off on the Triumphs, the 900 felt like sitting on a toilet after getting off of my tall GS. After a few miles we stopped to change bikes by the riverside: I have to say the T120 is a sweet bike, I didn't ride it on proper roads and at speed but it's got an ultra smooth engine, slick gear change (anything is after a GS), nice and torquey, nice and smooth over bumps, the brakes are pretty shit though. I liked it, felt like one could just through a bag on it and ride to wherever, good bike! I did find the front odd on roundabouts, but with an 18 inch wheel and weird suspension it was bound to. From there, we both got on the GS and went over to visit Brooklands, I was curious to see a life sized banking. Brooklands is mainly run by enthusiasts, they've got volunteers (mainly older dudes) eager to share stuff with you, really nice place. I love me an old Bugatti racer, very few things cooler: Senna's car with Senna's steering wheel might be cooler, though. I have to admit that touching that steering wheel felt special, I did it under supervision and encouraged to do so though, not disrespectfully. You see these cars sitting there all clean and shiny and quiet, and then read what they used to do and it brings you a sense of respect, they're beasts not delicate museum pieces: Like I said: The downpipes, @XTreme: It's hard to imagine the racing that happened here by looking at it. I wonder why they have fences. We did have a look at airplanes, they're not really my thing but everything was done in a very respectful way towards veterans and the war effort. British adventurers at their best, taking this around the world: Brookland is worth a visit, you can easily spend a few hours there, very cool place. Better plan on staying a few hours to make it worth the entry price, too. Next morning we were both on the GS as the Triumph was at the dealership waiting for the missing tire. We went to see MotoLegends, it was an expensive visit as Sofia ended up being encouraged (by me) to replace her helmet with a new one, taking advantage of their fitment thing when they replace inner pads for different thicknesses makes a difference for someone that is between sizes. This is the face of being happy to be in England. A brief visit to a very smart vet who makes dog legs out of digital printing, and we continued on back to collect the Speed Triple, stopping for breakfast at a cool looking pub / restaurant. With the Speed Triple wearing new shoes, we came back home to find Carol starting to prepare a middle eastern feast. The smell of spices and freshly chopped coriander sent me up for a quick shower in a hurry, to come back and open a bottle of red wine, sit back and enjoy the smells of good cooking and the talking to friends. A really great evening was had. On the following morning, we would be riding on.

Morning, and again I wake up well rested from a night spent in a silent home. I love silence during the night. We pack and today there would be no scenic roads, after an emotional goodbye to Barbara, who is a class act and just lovely, we get on a the M6 and go to Hinckley to visit Triumph. It takes maybe 1,5 hours to get there and again I have a chance to see motorways. There is this thing you guys have which is a smart motorway, it puzzles me. I'm from a country where we have dum motorway with a safety area to stop if you break down, it makes no sense to me but then I see some of the sheer volume of cars trundling along and realize it's a real problem and someone must be trying to come up with imaginative solutions for it, I've never seen so many cars all going down the same road as on this day, 3 or 4 lanes all packed with vehicles doing more or less the same speed. You have to respect the way people do that in a very controlled non latin way, with way more respect for other road users that what I have at my home country. We make it to Triumph. We had nothing booked, but Sofia talked to the very friendly girl at the cafe and got us in for one, happy days. You´re not allowed to take pictures inside the factory, I did take one before the guy told us that but I felt guilty about it so won't post it The tour went on for a couple of hours, and was interesting, the enthusiasm the man had for the place was cool to see. During said tour Sofia learned that her bike was built / assembled here and not Thailand, this made her smile from ear to ear but there are no pictures because it was inside the factory. After said tour, we had a pretty crappy sandwich for lunch, and a walk around the small museum they have there. A few very cool bikes, but one particular one really left me star struck. How pretty is this? Me, star struck: I would have preferred if it was uncleaned and still with grass and mud all over it, but it's still pretty cool! From Hinckley we would get on the motorway again and head over to West London near Woking. We would there meet up with Simon and Carol, some more of Sofia's dear friends, and stay with them and they son for another couple of days. I have nothing like this in my Morocco trips, showing up to people's homes and be given a bed is nice. Before leaving, someone had to strike a pose:

So, to prevent it from sliding into a discussion about Brexit, I'll carry on with the report. Woke up after a very nice nights sleep, and I'll tell you something really nice about the UK. The way houses are made, along with the way the towns and neighborhoods are spread about mean that you can really have a nice nights sleep in a very quiet location even if it's very close to a main road. It helps that traffic doesn't move too fast but it really is a contrast to what I am used to. And today I would realize something totally different between the landscape in England and all other places I was on before. Barbara had a thing to do in town and while she was away I took her bike out, her trusty Triumph Street Triple, and got it ready to go. Also gave the bikes a wipe from all the rain, and we were on. Sofia was super enthusiastic about this day, she used to ride around here a lot when she got her previous Speed Triple, we headed to the Cat and Fiddle for a morning tea. First a pose: And then heartbreak. Turns out her much loved pub went bankrupt a few years ago and it's be resurrected as a distillery, they now serve their our Gin and Whiskey, not any kind of tea or coffee. It was a little weird to be told that they don't serve any hot beverages in a pub that's next to a road. The point of it eludes me, but then again it is not a pub anymore. I did have a cold sparkling water, and we were directed to the room where we could sit, told where we could and couldn't go, and asked to log in out license plates before sitting in order to use the parking lot. A little too weird. Sofia was disappointed, but we moved on in high spirits: Then headed to Cromford, and shortly visited what might be the world's first factory and arguably the birthplace of the industrial revolution. An interesting place, a lot of the original place is gone, it was 7 stories tall, and changed the world if not only the region. We had a sandwich, instead of slaving away at a weaver. And on and on, through Bakewell Estate (I think), with a short stop to take a quaint picture And then I followed my nose and navigation through Hope Valley, where I ignored a closed road sign and much to the displeasure of a couple of Range Rover driving people came across a lovely spot, where I proceeded to have a few phone calls with people from Spain and Portugal. Somewhere we had another tea stop, and while chatting this dude that rocked up in a Super Duke came to gently offer his helmet cleaner and cloths. He was a class act and how you only have to gain from treating people well. Sofia was very happy to see some of "her" loved England reaching out to her. My joy, dealing with work, is transparent: and onto Macclesfield with another stop for looking at scenery And from here back to home is how I realized how much different England is to Portugal, Spain, Morocco, Germany, etc, I look at google maps in most of the places I have been to before and can pretty much guess what it is like before arriving, hence picking scenic paths between places. Here, I looked at the map and it all looked like an urban cluster of towns and villages, such a highly populated place would be ugly in Portugal, here you do get the people moving about but it feels like pretty countryside. It surprised me and is one of my favourite things in England. Granted I stayed out of big cities, but still it is something I appreciated. Back home we had a few very high quality cheeses that Barbara had bought for a party a few days later and were not eaten, we got to work and helped her a lot with that. Her hotpot complimented the day perfectly, and I was a happy dude after touring all over with two women following me. I liked this too: The next day we would leave.

In the morning I borrowed a small bathroom towel to wipe down our wet bikes from the night's thick fog. It looked like the weather was going to be very nice but everything was properly wet, which is quite the contrast with what happens in most of Portugal. I was happy with not having breakfast, and after a talk with the lady running the place we were off. We learned that the price of codfish went up 70% in a week, and how much the price of everything has been going up, but more on the cost of things later on... I did a few wrong lane maneuvers at the beginning of the day, as you do, but quickly found my bearings. The way my brain works is funny, what really was a challenge for the first few days was intersections turning right. I know I am ok on the left lane, I know I am going on the left lane after turning right, but I'm always checking for oncoming traffic from the lane I'm already on and traffic coming from behind me as if all other traffic is still driving right hand drive. It took a while to convince my brain to not expect traffic to come out from the wrong side of the road. We met with Simon at a very hip modern bikers cafe after a little bit of motorways and A roads to go past Bristol and Newport, in Penperlleni almost in Abergavenny. I was shocked to show up at a bikers cafe and be greeted and directed to park by a parking person, guess they get so busy that's needed. A place like that in Portugal would be terribly snobby and hipsters full of themselves, but I found it to be really pleasant and friendly. All sorts of bikes showing up, too, very unlike what we have back home. Below You'll see Simon's 1290 Super Adventure, parked, he's a VERY experienced and competent track rider and I met him while he was semi living in the Nurburgring. A very cool guy and a pleasure to hang out with, now with the KTM he's trying to keep from R1 200mph silliness but might be failing. At 10:30 he learned from Sofia that I had never had a british bacon butty so that was my breakfast. It was a posh one with fancy cereal sprinkled bread, and I really liked it. The portuguese in me felt like a beer would be the appropriate drink to have with a sandwich of that kind, but I had coffee instead. It really is nice, and I also learned that your bacon is not like the bacon you buy in Portugal at all. Yours is a lot drier, saltier and smoky, ours has a lot more fat. Bacon butty virginity dealt with, and it was well past midday when we set off to see Wales, following Simon's recommendation on the road to take right after. We went through Abergavenny, Brecon, Lower Chapel, Garth. The B4519 going up to Garth was one of my favourite bits of road in the UK, for starters less of the fucking hedges that make you feel like riding in a tunnel, but the nice surface, the views, everything was really nice and green, cool stuff! Sofia in the environment she missed the most, the UK's countryside roads with plenty of bikers. You guys mostly nod, we continentals mostly wave. It was sunny and blue and warm, I was starting to think the bad weather is a myth to keep the place to yourselves. Stopped to have a look around and heard automatic gunfire very close by, turns out we were right next to somewhere where army types go to train. You'll notice my bike now carries a bag on top too, because I'm a gentleman I decided to compromise the smoothness of my getting on and off the bike in order to lighten the load on the Speed Triple. A stop in the Upper Chapel view point: @Sofia, fixing dogs over the phone: And another just a couple of miles down the road, I stop a lot but that's what I feel like doing when going past pretty places when it's not likely I'll be back soon. HUGE sheep you guys have! Happy as can be: Nice road: Later on, we stopped at a shop called Llanbadarnfynydd Community Shop for a snack to eat. I didn't try to pronounce the name. Munched on some cold grapes and that was very refreshing, it was heating up. Also got a Welsh Dragon sticker for my bike, I liked the place. We stopped for fuel somewhere around there, Garth I think, and in basically the same place got a perfect example of a lot of our social interactions in the UK this trip, on the fuel station Sofia used to put petrol into the Triumph she was very rudely treated by a 30 year old with a bottox face when trying to buy a bottle of water. Lady pointed her to the water section for big bottles but then said that they only sold 6 packs, and then accused her of ruining the packaging and making the bottles now unsaleable. I walked to the gas station across the street and had a lovely conversation with an older, in her sixties, lady who couldn't be nicer and wanted to know all about the trip we were on. Everywhere we went people in their 20s and 30s were mostly rude and unfriendly, while 50s and over were super nice. We rode North. It would have been nice to do this part of the trip in two days, and we could have because the next day we would be catching the ferry from Liverpool well into the afternoon, but it was a sunny and very warm saturday in Wales, everyone and their dog was out. Every hotel room south of 300€/night was full so we decided to enjoy the roads and make progress. Newtown, Dolgellau (that I learned to pronounce like a Welsh person), past Snowdonia with clear blue skies. I have to say it's a really pretty country, but don't go calling hills mountains, it's not ok. We stopped very few times for pictures though, although Sofia probably has videos which will take some work to edit. Here's a Shell station next to the river in Betws-Y-Coed, or Betsy Coed like you say it. We would have liked to stay around there, but then we checked Sofia's weather app because there was a darkness in the horizon. We were riding next to a rain storm, so had a coffee in the gas station, a look around the town and booked a room in Chester for the night. Sofia had worked close to Chester before so we would enjoy a dinner in the town and a look at a saturday night out in the UK, as you do, I was quite curious. I love Shell stations, there's nothing but a couple in Portugal, they make me feel like I'm away on a trip. There was a couple on a very purple Harley Dyna there, cool bike. From there on, we pressed on to Chester suffering no more than a light drizzle for 15 or 20 minutes on the motorway, or A road, I sometimes can't tell the difference in the UK. I booked the wrong hotel, looked at pictures of one and booked another, realized when I got to the room. It was a sad state of an hotel to be in, and again reminded me of Morocco. It was run down like what happens when something (whatever it is) is built and then left to be used for 30 years with no maintenance or upkeep. It was over priced for what it was and all the staff were 16 year old girls, very nice and friendly but completely untrained or unprepared to deal with the slightest request (like getting asked if the bikes were ok for the night were they were). Spirits were high, I had fumbled the reservation but still managed to park out of the city centre, which was the goal, so we walked down the river pathway on a good 30 or 40 minute walk to build up an apetite. A nice walk after a day on the bike is always welcome and makes dinner taste better. We just had a great motorcycling day, Wales is a pretty place, and I'm sure there's plenty of other roads to get lost and spend a week exploring the place. You'll notice the black bag on top of the GS keeps getting bigger, it's a theme ... We walked into the centre of Chester at 20:15 on a saturday looking for a place to eat, the place was busy with people on nights out and it seemed like most of them was already well past dinner (or tea) and well into the drinking. The vibe was borderline between happy and loud and when it starts to get drunken depressive and sad, but still on the happy side. A walk around Chester at 20:30: I noticed there were very few couples around. Mostly were groups of young women or young men, but no mixed genders except for clearly non binary people. Gay couples of both genders seemed to be more of a thing, but it might have just been me noticing them more. What I did get was a couple of eye contacts from women in a way that would hardly happen in Portugal, not to me or not to most men when clearly in a couple, granted they were a little into the sauce but I did enjoy the experience. It's a lovely looking town, and we walked around. Most restaurants were either too busy or not appealing at all, or WAY expensive. Sofia is a Pizza Express fan, so we went straight in when we ran into one. I got myself a big beer and lovely pizza was had, I was surprised because I was expecting a Pizza Hut sort of thing, and while it's not Napoli it was perfectly fine and a nice meal. I was happy. The cost of stuff in the UK is scary to me, and a real culture shock. 2,40 pounds for a crappy coffee is criminal, as is almost 50 pounds for a meal for two in Pizza Express. When on a trip I notice these things and they sting, but they won't ruin my fun, I do however worry and wonder as to how you can manage. We took our time and enjoyed the meal and the relaxation after a day on the bikes, while outside the window night life was happening. After dinner we had another little walk, this time searching for a quiet table to sit outside and have a drink. It was proven hard to find as everything was too loud and busy, the street vibe was now rapidly turning to the sad oh-why-did-I-drink-so-much-and-am-always-disappointed-when-I-go-out vibe. It was nice to see though. 09:30, took this picture and the lovely girl in the middle of the street wanted to come over and take my phone away, her friend, the sober one, didn't let her, so she proceeded to scream and moan at her friend. The picture doesn't translate the event, I enjoyed it We did find a quiet table in one of the places that sold wine by the glass, and watched people go by. This one dude was drunken out of his mind and kept bumping into other guys on the street to start a fight while at the same time having trouble standing up, he then proceeded to try to seduce a female police officer, then asked the time to a few people, then sat down and went to sleep in a street bench, cool night out. An über was called and we made it home for an early night. At the hotel I realized I had stepped on poo, probably human poo, that concluded the night and my old travel AllStars were no longer able to go into closed luggage It was an interesting night of watching something that is quite foreign to me. I would love to see how a male university student from Portugal gets on when he comes to the UK on an exchange program and sees that nightlife. We had little to do next day except have coffee in the morning, a visit to a local bike dealership, then go past an outlet shop to buy myself a pair of unsoiled sneakers, and make it to Liverpool for an evening ferry crossing to the IOM. Breakfast at the hotel was terrible, I eat a sausage because it's included in the price and I'm Portuguese, and regret it. By now I'm struggling with the lack of fruit or fresh vegetables, never happened before. The bike dealership was closed, Sofia was disapointed because back when they would all be open on sunday mornings. A tasty coffee was found though, and a little bit of time was spent watching Chester come back to life. Rode through the Cheshire Outlet into consumerism hell, managed to buy my replacement shoes exactly the same as the previous ones, we looked at some stuff for Sofia too, had a hipster vegetarian lunch, and rode off to Liverpool. Rode into Liverpool feeling quite happy, and waze took me right through the area by the other side of the river where I think your car is shopped for parts, a few scrap yards, a few upholstery places, pubs with people sitting on the step outside looking properly bored, nice place ... We made it to the ferry entry and parked by a nice building. Looked up the history of it and it's quite cool, too, older than it looks. A very nice man working security for the building's side entrance was friendly enough and left us park by his post, to go have a walk and another coffee to kill the afternoon. After a while we were bored, it looked like it was about to rain so took the bikes to the ferry check in place. Before boarding the ferry, me and Sofia were both patted down like we were entering a high security facility. One of my cases was searched and a leatherman confiscated for having a lockable blade. I was not happy about this, the other bikers there were in disbelief as everyone had a similar thing with them, camper vans had kitchen knives, etc. I, myself, have another blade in the form of a swiss army knife in my pocket that nobody searched for. I complained and asked for a written document, and here is the twat happy to bring it to me: She was not so happy when I made her fill in the date, which took three asks, and her name, which took two more. If you ever go there are are fortunate to meet Mary Malvern tell her to fuck off from my part. The leatherman sent for destruction so I guess someone was in need of a nice present for a husband or whatever that day. We did complain about this to the office of the Steam Packet Company running the ferry, but some stuff you just can't let ruin your day too much. I did not like being the two only foreign vehicles on that ferry and being the ones specifically brough to the side and searched. The plus side is that we did meet three cool people while waiting for the boat, all of them in disbelief at her atitude but the issue was put behind me and we sailed onto the IOM. The crossing was hell, I mistakenly sat near the children play area and kids were shouting in a sugar fueled rage until 23:00. @Sofia had a couple of her sea sickness pills and was in dream land, I sat there and took it, might have PTSD now. Off the ferry well into the night and quickly to our hotel for three nights, just 5 minutes away, happy to find a comfy bed. Two days in the IOM to look forward to.

So, boating day. We woke up early and I was quite pumped about sailing to England, I've never been in a ferry longer than the ones to Morocco. The ferry I take to Morocco takes exactly 1 hour travel time and the largest vehicles it takes are motorhomes, bikes board first and exit very quick because it's a small boat, and honestly both sides of the trip make it a quick efficient event both in Spain and Morocco. I have been dreaming of putting the GS on a container ship and taking that trip to southern America so was quite curious to see how a day on a boat feels, I was also very eager to see what the sea looks like at night. The ride to Santander took a little longer than it could have because we rode out of the mountain area we were in via smaller streets, but Santander is a pretty big city so eventually traffic got annoying and we were quickly on a little bit of motorway to make it to the port. Breakfast was had at a bakery, and I honestly feel like Spaniards overall are useless at it. The bread in most of Spain is poor, the pastry is also not worth writing home about, compared to Portugal and France it feels like they simply can't be bothered, regardless we did buy some bread to take to the boat for lunch and dinner, along with some cheese and sliced ham. We got to the ferry check in and it was starting to get hot by then, we were early and the boat wasn't even in yet so went for a little walk to buy a memory card, Santander center is a pretty nice place, wide modern avenues and a general happy vibe to it, I wouldn't mind spending a night there. We waited and waited under a shaded area, all the vehicles now starting to form a crowd. Out of all the vehicles, I didn't see a single non UK one except our bikes, that felt a little weird as I was expecting at least another few travelers. What also happened was that instead of patiently waiting under the shade a lot of bikers just roasted in the sun and proceeded to strip down most of their clothes, I've seen brits do that in Germany before and find it hilarious. In front of the row, the first ones to arrive, were a couple of Hells Angels guys on Harleys, behind them a few more or less classic motorcycles including a very pretty Ducati, and then us. Everyone looking happy after their stay in Spain. After a tedious wait, there it was: It took forever to unload too, annoyed me that all cars exited before the bikes as that was probably what would happen to us too. I have to say all that operation felt not very organized and a little chaotic, but I guess that's what happens with such a big number of vehicles. We were the first few bikes to board and that made me happy, no confusion for us and we were up in the cabin before most were even aboard. I quickly had a shower and changed to normal jeans and tshirt, and was childishly eager to explore and see us set off. Sofia was, however, a little less enthusiastic about the boat thing and wasn't at all looking forward to her motion sickness, previous trips hadn't been the smoothest, including one when a storm got so nasty that they diverted the boat to France. I assured her it was going to be fine since I had booked nice weather. I went and got a seat at the bar facing the front, happy to be on my first long water cross: Two hours into it, she's having something to eat to push down the sea sickness pills. I was convinced to take one too, just in case. @Sofia's look and mood was akin to a scared puppy. The cabin was tiny but helped the feeling of adventure. We crashed from the sea sickness pills side effects, a nice nap made me eager to get up and go outside for the end of the afternoon and sunset. The sea was indeed perfect for a smooth sailing, and it wasn't even that windy for being offshore. For lunch we had the bread from Santander, it was ok and I was able to push it down with the nice cheese we had, but wasn't keen on having dry bread for dinner too, so we had dinner in boat's restaurant. It wasn't the nicest meal, I did have a nice burrata and roasted vegetable "salad" with was very nice, but everything else was a little "meh". Not worth it of a picture, the sea remained call and I did enjoy having a cold bottle of wine casually sitting around as in a very overcharging shitty cafeteria, making the best of it. By night I had a nice walk to the outside, now a bit chilly out but satisfied my curiosity. At night the sea is ... dark, which is no surprise but I enjoyed how really dark it really is. The kind of dark that feels like you have your eyes shut, I liked it a lot. Really dark: We were making steady smooth progress: The cafe closed early and the pub / bar sort of place was too packed with very loud music and people, too busy, so we had an early night although I did go back outside for another look at the dark sea. I wonder if it looks darker in a less lighted boat more out in the middle of the sea. We both dozed off easily. The night went as well as could be expected, I was left wondering what all the fuss about sea sickness was about, Sofia very happy to have had her best cross ever. Arriving at Plymouth at 09:40 AM. It took forever to get off the boat and even more so to get off the port, after all the cars went out and because we were the first bikes to get into the boat we were also the last ones to get off. I was surprised at how hot it was outside and quickly took my jacket off and tied it to the back of the bike. One full hour after docking: someone is looking at every passport very carefully, which is ok as it's a proper border, but they had all been checked in Spain already and maybe it would be better to have more than two people doing the whole of the work. I had a long while to check out the Harley though, and what looks like a "sporty" Harley in online pictures really is massive and very very long, don't think it's for me. Between all the port stuff, in which nobody checked anything more than giving a quick glance at my passport, it took us the best part of the morning to get out and get rolling. We steadily got on the small road heading north through the Dartmoor, and stopped a little later for something to eat in a shady place by the road. A pasty was consumed, bought from a very nice lady's shop, Sofia was very happy to be well received by such a friendly person. Is it proper nosh? I liked the exuberance of black pepper, as I'm a pepper fan, but don't really understand the concept of potatoes inside dough, it's either meat and potatoes or meat in dough, both are confusing to me. However, it was a first taste of britain. Skies were blue and sunny, the plan was to ride through Dartmoor, through Exmoor, and then go spend the night near one of Sofia's dear friends in Swindon. This plan proved to be too ambitious, the time spent in the ferry killed it, and by the time we made it to the other shore it was clear Sofia wouldn't be meeting up with her friend. He was going on a trip after so we missed him, that caused some anxiety, and that mixed with my distaste for shedules on a motorbike trip did cause some friction between us on that first day. We were also planning on meeting with @boboneleg since we´d pass near Bristol, but time management wasn´t the most efficient on this first day, turns out Bob was away too, so that's not too bad. While we were contemplating what to do, somewhere near or in Simonsbath or Minehead. We did make it to the shore, and went to see the Lighthouse Keeper's Cottage at Foreland Point in Lynton, but fog was quickly setting in and kind of killed the views. It's a nice shore and a pretty area, but we should have given it a pass and be less stressed. On low spirits, we got on with the job of heading to where we were heading, so got on the A39 and went east. Ladies and gentlemen, if you just want to go somewhere don't hop on the A39 close to the end of the afternoon, I am not used to that. It's the worst case of british problem roads I've seen. Speed limits change every mile, you've got camera warning signs every time you blink, constant traffic, it's complete arrassment of surveillance and police patrol, and the pace of traffic is soul crushing. Sofia was getting a little bit of a shock compared to the UK she was used to a few years ago. We wanted to be in Wales the next day, because there was a set date for the Ferry to the Isle of Man, so that meant getting to near Wales that day, and in a way it was good that we got that road and traffic out of our way for next day. While all of that was happening I was dealing with riding for the first time ever on your side of the road, it felt ok and I felt confident on open roads and even on roundabouts since it's all about following the flow of traffic, but intersections were interesting. Here we were, stopped while finding a place to sleep in a pub, somewhere near Woolavington. I found the scene very English, then proceeded to set the navigation to said pub and head off down the road on the wrong side much to the surprise of a gentleman driving a 5 series BMW, I corrected my road position, an apologizing wave was waved and all was ok but Sofia did catch a fright as she was beeping her horn behind me. A decision was made to invest in a proper horn for the Speed Triple too. Overall, it was not the ideal start into our UK part of the trip, there were few tense moments through the day as there sometimes are when people travel together, and I have to confess I am a little too used to being on my own in "adventures", but we parked the bikes behind the pub away from prying eyes, had a nice shower, and proceeded to order wine and food. Showers: what is wrong with you people and your showers? Took me forever to understand showers, it´s like you're dialing the clocks on a time machine just to regulate warmer or colder water. More on that later on It was an overpriced room, but felt cozy and I was in a better mood. We were going to meet up with our friend Simon the next morning and he's always a lot of fun. I was also in a british pub so ordered fish and chips. Food took forever to arrive, 40 minutes into the wait and we were told that the chef was going to take 5 minutes to go outside since she was too hot. No alternative, but it felt a little "Morocco" to me, I smiled at the event and was now having a relaxed glass of shitty wine with my travel companion so all was good. Chunky chips were very different to what you have in Portugal (in a good way), and the fish was not codfish but some other thing. It was OKish, not going back there for the food though. I also don't understand just boiled peas as a side, it's beyond me. The people were very nice and all smiles, though. We slept well, and I was looking forward to getting back on the bike the next day and pointing it to Wales.

So, following 2015's trip in which my lovely blue and white R1150GS was brought home on a truck from Morocco, I decided I needed to change bikes. I won't lie and say part of me wished to do it again on the 1150, but later on I was proven right in my decision to change. The guy who bought that bike from the dealer eventually had a lot of issues with it, with a gearbox needing rebuilding and the diff also acting up. Both of these issues would have probable come up on the same trip I was doing according to his mileage. After our return in 2014 I had made up my mind in choosing between two bikes, a Super Tenere and an R1200GSA, I gave the Super Tenere a chance because I really felt it to be the better choice from a mechanical point of view, but we both felt so much more comfortable aboard the BMW that it wasn´t really a choice. The BMW is just the better bike for carrying two people over rough roads. On the 16th January 2016 I picked up my brand new R1200GSA, and turned my R1150GS in at the same time. See if you can't tell my mixed feelings handing her in from the picture, I did love that bike. I did enjoy the sound the new bike made on cold starts on cold days, I think that shows as well. Maria was with me, and this is as much her bike as it is mine, it was bought with two up touring in mind. Anyway, during 2016 we used it a little to break in and test her out in Portugal. Went to the Algarve in the summer, did what we did. We were both impressed at how easier it handled mostly when loaded, and when going over rough ground. A day or two before leaving for Morocco I fitted a pair of Heidenau K60 on it, and we were ready to go. On the 8th of October 2016, we leave our home near Lisbon heading straight to Tarifa, plan was to take advantage of the great weather and sleep somewhere south of Tangier that same day, no problem regarding doing the miles as we were leaving with plenty of time. As always, I fill up on our local petrol station at little past 09:30 and heading South Thing is, the weather was so good, and I felt worn out from the previous days of work stress. By the time we made it to the Algarve, only two and a half hours after leaving home, the weather is getting warm like and the sun is warming us. I decide to tempt Maria with a grilled fish lunch and a trip to the beach. She didn't take much convincing and the rest of the day was spent in this fashion: We had already been to Morocco, there was no stress or hurry to do anything, this trip was all about enjoying life and this is what we were doing, that was a great day. The next day we were on the road quite early, feeling fresh and eager. Crossing into Spain It's always windy near Tarifa, I think it must be kitesurfing capital or something, judging by the number of kites flying By 12:30 Portugues time we were already boarding the Ferry Doing this for the third time we had it all under control, as I was tending to the bike being secured properly, Maria went to get a front place in the immigration office, we were finished 10 minutes after the boat left, feeling like seasoned travelers amongst amateurs. Customs in Morocco were being fast and efficient, no worries, so I strike a pose ? As we exit the harbor into Tanger centre, everything looks cleaner than before, maybe it's just us but actually the entire place had been freshened up. Not the case with these buildings, though. We are remembered it's a Sunday because the cellphone shop is closed. So just get some money from an ATM and move on. Maria worked for BNP so we used one of their machines, cause we're cool people like that. Decided to head to Chefchaouen and try to sleep there, there's a hotel we had checked the day before with a nice rate on booking and we were just going to show up. Traffic was quite heavy for whatever reason and plenty of speed controls. Some bikers complain about cops in Morocco, but I've always found them to be very nice and professional. I've clearly been caught a little over the limit and let go just for being a foreigner, but I suppose if you really treat their country like a trackday they might feel like you deserve a squeeze. By the time we reach our hotel it's getting to be late afternoon, but still time to enjoy a drink or a swimming pool. Getting in we notice a group of bikes with eastern european plates, and one R1200GSA with a portuguese plate, carrying three full metal cases on the back. Checking in we were refused the rate we had seen on booking.com, so instead we just logged into their wifi, checked in via booking and 15 seconds later were given a room key and a smile. Go figure. Also while checking in we strike a conversation with Rui Piçarra, Rui was riding the portuguese bike upfront, and lives 20km away from my parents. We instantly hit it off and decide to join for dinner. After a swim, it quickly start getting colder (it is October after all) so we make haste in search of food. I enjoy my first BEER in Morocco before dinner! It's not shit, either. The reason I picked this hotel, the view: Being as he was, Rui shows up after we've eaten, and we start talking. He decided to come on this trip by himself a couple of days before, and is carrying a map printed on an A4 piece of paper , Not camping, he is packing all of his three metal cases for a little over a week by himself while me and Maria are packing two Vario sidecars in the smaller position for two weeks. Rui is packing four bottles of booze though We tell him where we would be sleeping the next day, if he shows up at our hotel in Fez we'd meet for dinner.

Earlier that year we had spent my birthday in June at the Nurburgring, with @Sofia: On August we took the GS to the Algarve for some sunshine And in the meantime we did plenty of short rides on weekends, life was good even though work was pretty tough. After ending our 2016 on a high, Maria was intent on us taking a two or three year breather from Morocco and trying other kinds of trips, be it on bikes or not, but to other locations. Me? I was keener than ever on going again as soon as possible! We were getting to know the place, and feeling at ease with the people, the food, the traffic, the amazing roads, and now I had a bike I trusted to be a reliable vehicle for us, although we don't do serious offroad on it our trips do search for the smallest roads we can find and as far as roads go they're pretty tough. There is no destination that is so culturally different and makes you feel like on an Adventure, and so close and afordable to get to than Morocco. Part of me wanted to try and go alone, almost exclusively to do that offroad piste between Merzouga and Mhamid, and I knew it would be too much for my skills to do it with a passenger, as well as not fun at all for Maria. But more than that, I wanted us to go again together. I came up with the excuse that we should do it on the new bike before the warranty expired, and she let me think I conned her. I think that by late August, riding the bike through Alentejo, she started to miss it too Our goal for this trip was to revisit some of the places we loved, but also to see some of the mediterranean coast, spend a day on the Merzouga dunes again, to go as far south as Tan Tan, to cross the Atlas on a different route than before, mostly without skipping on swimming pool relaxation moments and most of all go with the flow and enjoy. All of this meant we would probable be on the longest ride we ever did, but considering that on all previous years we had spent a couple of days after returning before going back to work, we were pretty safe. The previous week a set of new Heidenau K60 were put on the bike, on friday I joyfully left my mobile with my brother, and on the 23rd of September 2017, we left Azambuja heading south. There are no pictures of me fueling the bike up that day, in fact there are a lot less pictures this year than on years previous, I guess we were more relaxed and enjoying the trip more instead of worried about the camera, you miss a few pictures but the enjoyment you get at the moment is a lot more. Our plan of getting our move on was foiled as soon as we got to the Algarve, with great September sunshine, and Maria felt like having a grilled fish lunch at her favourite place, obviously this led to some glasses of wine, the beach, going out to dinner and sleeping in Faro. Didn't take much to convince me! The plan had lasted for 3 hours ... fuck the plan!

So, let me provide you with a little background to this trip. The previous year me and Maria had gotten back home with a bike that was leaking oil onto the clutch, still completely rideable though. The bike was ridden straight to the dealership where I had bought it, I left it there for a couple of weeks while they looked it over and had parts ordered. Output shaft had started leaking and contaminated the dry clutch. They were super nice about it and I completely understood that there was no rush in finishing it overnight. The dude who did it was happy to work on an older bike as they are probably Portugal's biggest BMW Motorrad dealer and he gets swamped with new bikes. They replaced the seals, clutch, and a few gearbox seals as well, I only paid for an oil change and was quite happy with it all. Until... A week after bringing the bike home I get on it to go to Lisbon and meet Maria for lunch on a cold friday morning. It was so cold that I stopped for coffee and to tighten my scarf 15 minutes into the ride before the motorway, to find out it was gushing fuel. Fuel lines were all loose. That was fixed by my mechanic, and rode it off. Then, before this 2015 trip I had the usual maintenance done, diff bearing and seals, throttle bodies balanced, etc, and it was running great when we took it to the Algarve in the summer, here arriving at Sagres and looking hella cool! This brings us to the first of October 2015, a happy couple leaving home on an sunny saturday morning after sleeping late. Fuel up and go, and go have a drink in the Algarve. Most clouds we saw that day I enjoyed starting it easy, as I usually do Next day, we're off to Spain We miss our boat and are forced to wait for a couple of hours in Tarifa, we tried to make the best of it with some calamari I strike a pose, this impressed the harbor people so much they let us by in an instant. Back in Tangier! The previous year I learned that most of the places we stayed in had a great swimming pool, and this year I made it a point to bring some shorts, so we got a hotel right in Tangier, and as soon as we noticed they had an inside swimming pool we made use of it. It's great to go for a dip after a day's riding. One size fits all robe was a little big: Came back to our room and what I thought was a wooden sculpture turned out to be a real life @Grasshopper's Ride Sunset in Tangier made going out to dinner even more special If you've got a sweet tooth, you´ll love this place, this is the Cappuccino in Tangier We had a nice dinner of some sandwiches, and turned in to watch some TV in bed, and rest. The plan was to visit a few of the places we didn't go on the previous year, including the Cannabis region, and Marrakesh. In the morning, as I get to the bike and load it, as soon as I turn the key I notice the fuel pump doesn't prime and as such it doesn't start even though the engine spins. I take the seat off and go for a wiggle on the fuses, one of them clicks and apparently it solved it because the bike started right away on the first try. This makes me feel proper manly by being capable of fixing shit. We ride off, into the hills and away from posh cafes. Passing Chefchaouen where we stop for a tea: And we turn away from the main road into smaller ones, this improves the quality of riding. Thing is, you have to be careful on these roads, diesel spills, slippery tarmac, potholes, gravel, fast taxis, no lane control, fast trucks, no lanes, donkeys, etc We're glad to be out and enjoying it, and this time it feels way less intimidating. Thing is, sometimes I think I can feel the bike having a hiccup, but that is usually through a patch of dirt or a pothole, and I assume I am imagining things. I can a be a bit hypochondriac when it comes to bikes and cars, so force myself to carry on. I do stop at a couple of mechanic shops to buy some fuses but all they want to sell to me is hashish Not long after lunchtime, we're happily riding along and as we go though a very slight bump the engine simply dies. It makes no fuss, like if I just switch the ignition off. We come to a stop and I start taking the seat off : First, mess with the fuses, it does nothing. Then, change fuses around, it does nothing. Change relays around, it does nothing. Look at the sidestand switch, it looks ok but I bypass it anyway. It does nothing. So I call my friendly mechanic, he's an expert bmw dude and he tells me that if indeed all that I checked is ok then it could be the fuel pump. In the meantime, we are handling this with coolness, we've got a battery pack for the phone, it's early and light out, it's an adventure. Couple of people stop by and offer assistance, this is good because it means we're not exactly in the middle of nowhere. Getting back to it... This is Aboukassim, and he's a star: Aboukassim lives in Casablanca and is here visiting his family for a celebration. He rode a Yamaha R6 at the time, and this is him showing us films of him blasting past traffic on his R6 in Casablanca? He doesn't know how to help, and we appreciate his effort, he tells us he'll be back in a while... In the meantime, I'm scrounging some electrical wire off a tractor parked nearby, to make a live connection between the battery and the fuel pump. I do it and it does nothing except some tractor loosing use of it's turn signals. above you'll see me calling Allianz's roadside assistance in Portugal. They "oh wow" when I told them where I was ? In the meantime, Aboukassim came back with a couple of his cousins, and food. They set a table right there in the middle of road with fresh hot tea and some sort of bread cooked while stuffed with vegetables inside. Good stuff but I didn´t really have an appetite. I should have eaten, though They left eventually, promising to check on us later. Allianz had already arranged for a fixer in Fez to get a taxi and a truck and pick up up. I understand it takes longer for a truck than for a bike to do the distance over bad roads, but it takes even longer if you get lost ... which is what happened Every time the fixer called he'd talk to Maria because she was a lot better at french than me, but it didn't really help because he didn't know french. He kept asking where we were and saying he was on his way so we waited had some tasty cashews and waited and waited and waited

I will post 4 ride reports from Morocco, from the past, from 2014 to 2017. Here is the first. Early in 2014 I bought a BMW R1150GS, specifically to tour with Maria, my girlfriend. I had been without a road bike for a long time, ever since I had sold the Transalp, and we both felt like touring together. First trip had been to the Algarve, and served as a shakedown run, it was good fun, ever since I had updated some of my gear and the bike had been fitted with Heidenau K60 tires which offered a lot more confidence out of tarmac. Tires were fitted the previous day, so I wasn't too confident on them On the 27th, early morning we fueled up on our local gas station and I was feeling properly excited like a hardcore adventurer ? We travelled with a phone and a small camera, Maria used the camera to take most of the onboard pictures, the reason there are none from the road during the first two or three days is that I deleted them all one morning while checking the camera when waking up. We had about 8 or 900km to go to get to Tarifa and catch our Ferry. Had I not deleted the pictures we would have some great ones of us riding into a rain storm on the way there, and stopping under a motorway bridge to put our plastic overalls on. As such, there is only this one of a brief coffee stop in Portugal, before venturing into Spain and coffee instantly turning to shit. Weather was shit, but spirits were high. Like real VIPs, we rolled into Tarifa and into the port, must have waited no more than 10 minutes before arriving and passing a long line of cars, bikes being given priority into the Ferry. Maria, unquestionably the better half of us We messed around taking selfies and making videos such as this one, of me trying for the first time pack Maria's plastic rainsuit into it's own pocket. We thought we had all the time in the world, never having been on this boat we didn't know that customs immigration desk was aboard the boat, by the time we realized what the big line was about we had a nice long line to get behind of. At least you now have the rain suit video because of that. Getting off the ferry was easy, and customs were easy too, with just enough difficulty to make a newbie feel like an adventurer. We had booked a hotel in Tangier and only had a couple of km to ride to get to it. First meters into Morocco, for the first time: I'll never forget these minutes first entering this country, traffic was noisier, roundabouts weren't quite dealt with in the same fashion as in Europe, temperature was higher than when boarding the boat in Spain, you could smell Africa in more ways than one. I'm glad we have this short video, nothing really interesting to see but I remember how happy and fearless I felt doing this. Easily made our way to our hotel, securely parked the bike on a guarded parking, and checked in. I'm taking my time describing all this because it really felt like everything was new, from the way we were saluted when getting in, to the hotel decor itself, not European at all The room didn't share any of the grandeur of the lobby, so no picture of that A quick shower, a little rest, and we're off to have dinner and a walk. Also buying a mobile data card to use on Maria's phone. I loved leaving my own phone with an employee so that he dealt with everything while I was gone. Mercedes station wagon converted into a snail selling food van (just to clarify, snails as food): Made our way into the Medina, which was pretty busy, and went into a proper restaurant to have our first meal in Morocco, I was starving: Here I am waiting for my full tasting menu viewed from the second floor: First some soup and light entries Pastilla, which is a some of sweet and sour pastry, with lots of cinnamon outside and curry chicken or vegetables inside: I was full by the time the tajine arrived, but I had never lost a fight against a meal before and wasn't about to either. Furniture was built with no regard for industry standards, here are Maria's feet while sitting on the restaurant After dinner, we made our way back through some deserted streets and went to bed early. Noisy street outside the hotel, heat, and most of all excitement prevented me from falling asleep early and I must have stayed up until 2 or 3 AM thinking of what would happen the next day. Will continue later on.

I’m somewhere in Portugal now, not far from where you went I think Pedro. In a place called Pinhel. Staying in a little village just up the road. Fantastic scenery and roads. Was going to Morocco and then Dakar, but realised that I begin to spontaneously combust when it approaches 30°C, so bailed out.

Since my last ride to the Algarve two or three weeks ago I was missing riding my bike without freezing my nuts off, and ever since Morocco I was missing riding my bike putting wheels on dirt. Today, with a forecast of almost 20ºc I decided to go for a ride around. After a little work in the morning, I set off at around 10 or 10:30, heading out on tiny farming roads, not 15 minutes into it and the phone starts ringing and a couple of emails I really should see to come through so I stop at my local riverside cafe for a morning espresso at 11AM. Annoyed to stop so soon, but there are worse places to work out of your phone: I jump the queue of three cars into @XTreme's favourite bridge (from my reports), Ponte da Rainha D'Amélia is my favourite way to start a trip. It's an old train bridge converted to road traffic, there's many like that around this area and they are great but since they were made for trains they often cannot deal with two full lanes. Into Coruche through small roads and I notice this older gentleman exiting a shop on a pristine and shiny looking red old bike, I fail to get him on the phone but turn back to see the little jewel sitting outside the place he left. It looked 10 times more shiny in real life: Nobody answered when I called, so I continued. I aimed for a reservoir close by, I had been there on a previous time on the bike and a few days ago with Sofia on the car for a picnic with her dogs, I wanted to see how the sandy dirt roads felt on the bike this time. Stopped to check where I was as I took a little more dirt to get there, and spotted this cool guy under the shade, I said hi and he came for a nose scratch after the picture. By 12:00 I was taking a little stop to enjoy the place, only a little after one hour into it: Not a bad place to ride a bike. Sadly the high water levels make this a short little dirt road, it's only good for a few minutes but it sure is pretty. Some parts of this area are sandy though, but I do like the GS's manners on these tires. Considering their current mileage I am very impressed, don't think I'll go back to more mixed/road oriented tires unless heading for a bigger road trip on rainy Europe. Sandy area: The little quaint dirt road turns into a full on service road, plenty of forrest industry this way so these are good for proper big trucks, you would be wise to remember that when considering how fast you could ride there, plenty fast but a big truck coming around the corner would make things unpleasant. Can't get much more Ribatejo countryside than this, I think the rural houses in southern Portugal are the definition of what a "home" looks like: I had searched on google maps where to find something to eat and came across a little grocery style cafe. It's a very typical shop in these parts, somewhere where you can buy bread, pastries, grain, flour, vegetables and fruit, but also have a snack of eat a full meal. First, just a little but of road to get there, lovely smooth tarmac through pine and oak trees. The views inside the shop, not really a vegan friendly location: I make my choices of a vegetable "empada" and a ham sandwich, and enjoy them outside. My choice of a alcohol free beer raised a few eyebrows amongst the other clientele, most of them stopping by for a coffee and a little something else with a kick to it, before heading back to work on the forrest. My food was delicious: As soon as I bit into the ham sandwich a little older dude appeared from inside the shop to say hello. He gave me an unrelenting stare and I couldn't help but share lunch, he gently put a bit of bread on the floor but was happy to have some ham Saved the location on my phone, I'll be coming back. Temperatures were now 19/20ºC, I rejoiced and sat in the sun. My mid layer was folded away and I prepared to enjoy the perfect motorcycling temperature. Rode just out of town to stop by a lovely field filled with happy looking cows munching away on green grass, last year they weren't so happy. What meat farming should always look like: Through Lavre and heading to Ciborro, I took a detour south on a dirt road down the plains you see on this landscape picture taken a few minutes previously: After a little water crossing, not deeper than a foot, I asked a gentleman about directions and he stated there was open roads all the way to Montemor. It's easy to get lost in the maze of farm access dirt roads to find a closed gate preventing you into private property. I followed this great 3rd and 4th gear dirt road between fences. The GS's engine is great for this, all the torque you could want to slightly break traction with tact, it's a treat on this road. Looking at these two, the little one, my plan for a stop by the butcher for a steak for dinner was dismissed in my mind Quick stop for a wee and I realize I had been here before, arriving from a detour from the road coming from the South, it's a lovely place. On my way here I passed a cow loose on the road, it wasn't happy at all that I came close by, and trapped between two fences reacted by having a go at me. I gave it a quick braap in third and avoided her. When I stopped I checked the map and realized there was a way back north via more dirt roads, another 20 or 30km maybe so tried to go back 1km to get to those, but found the loose cow on the way. Whenever I approached she jumped on a fearful alert and stared at me with her hoofs stomping the ground. She was not happy at all, and I was not confident that I could get past her a second time, with her on alert. Between stared and stomping, she grazed I swear the road was narrower and the cow bigger in reality ... Decided to go 10km longer the other way and get on tarmac instead of crossing that cow, so made my way out of dirt and to Montemor o Novo, then got on the N2 and headed north, eventually went a longer way but maybe gained time. Stopped to take a picture on steep street crossing a southern village center, just for @yen_powell since he like the northern version so much. Stopped in Mora to fuel up, but it took forever. First a lady had her car's fuel filler flap closed, and nobody could figure out how to unlock it, then the card machine started updating mid payment, spent a few minutes there enjoying the chaos and paid cash to move on. Stopped by Montargil dam to see the place. I hadn't been there in ages, spent a couple nights there twice once in the summer, it's a great location to go for a swim as it's usually got water and it's always really hot. The water level was way higher than last time though, this is as high as they'll let it go before flooding houses, it was cool to see. The Montargil Biker Club has the coolest clubhouse I've ever seen, converted from an old primary school building: there's a poem written by the door, I loved it, it sounds and rhymes better in Portuguese but translates to: The plan was to now get on the road and head home before the low sun. That plan lasted for 15 minutes before the GS got a little detour out of tarmac for a couple of kms, stopped for a call on a particularly rocky road: That lasted for not much more than 5 or 10km, got back on the road and was making progress when crossing the small bridge at Raposa, decided to stop to take a couple of pictures the storks living on it for @Clive: I remembered there's a nice dirt road going from there to Muge, where the bridge I was going to go back home is, the light was getting to be really pretty so took that which although obviously ridden at a lower speed than tarmac probably still saved me time as it was almost straight. Well, it would have saved me time had I not stopped twice, once for the pretty light, and then to look at the horses: I've been here with completely no water at all and just a rice field down there. The road was softer than I remembered, but that might be because most of the time I rode through here was on the XR. Back on the bridge returning home with the sun starting to lower And through the tomato farm fields with the sun in my face. Stopped by the little shop down my street to buy a broccoli to make pasta for dinner, and in time to have a shower to wash the dust off and have a cold drink with a little bit of light outside before the mosquitos came. Overall, it was a great 300km ride, game me exactly what I wanted:

Portugal ended summer in a profound draught, water levels all across the country were at warring levels, rain had been very scarce for over a year and while in previous years we had a nice winter but water flowed from Spain, this year Spain was suffering too so most of the main rivers entering Portugal were a very sorry sight. The day in which I returned from Morocco, though, started a spell of very heavy and intense rain. I don't remember so much water coming down over a sustained period as December and early January. We went from worrying about not having enough water for people to use at home to seeing all the major reservoirs at their peak capacity in 1 month, obviously there were floods and other problems but a few days ago rain stopped for the foreseeable couple of weeks and I decided to take the chance to go south and take the bike for a little ride. When the forecasts turned from heavy rain to very cold the sky opened and I took this chance to go on a little ride to the south of Portugal. My original idea was to start with the Serra da Estrela, it's great to go there with clear skies, but the previous days saw heavy snow fall there, coupled with the first sunny weekend in weeks this would mean thousands of people going up there to "see the snow", and I wasn't keen on traffic jams. On sunday, I left sort of early for a sunny but cold winter day and by 08:30 I was leaving the door. Got on the motorway heading south for an hour or so, then said goodbye to the A1 and headed to the inland, small roads from now all the way down! By 10:15 I was cold, the 3,5 and 4ºC on the motorway wasn't pleasant, so I stopped for breakfast since something in your belly is the first way to not shiver. The plan was to not even take any pictures of roads and views or anything like that, I wasn't even going to post a ride report since most of these places are already on previous ones, but by 11:20 I got out of the main road and climbed a hill for a scenic pee, and the habit of starting to take pictures of pretty scenery creeped in. 5,5ºC at 11:30 is a cold day in Portugal! Headed south and southeast, through lovely clean recently washed twisty roads. The N2 is Portugal's longest road, at 742km, it starts in Chaves on the North border, and goes all the way to Faro through the center of the country. They're trying to make it a tourist attraction, like Portugal's Route66 of sorts, but for the most part it's not the best road or the most scenic, in some parts it is though, like here around Gois. Gois is the second most important motorcycle rally in Portugal, less of an international even than Faro. Here you are at the heart of the country, it's a proudly portuguese event. Gois' motorcycle club headquarters had about 50 bikes up for a casual sunday morning get together, and on these parts you saw bikes everywhere, the roads are great and twisty, and the midday sun brought temperatures a little closer to 10ºC so people were coming out. Didn't take a picture of anything like that, though, but even saw sports bikes being ridden like they're meant to on roads that could have been meant for it too. Most bikes were sports bikes or fast nakeds, a contrast to city life where big trails are much more the norm. Stopping and looking back on Pampilhosa da Serra, you could hear bikes in the distance: Brief encounter with the Zezere river, one of the most important ones in Portugal, down there in the valley. The Zezere at full capacity almost coming up to this road, this is the highest it's ever been according to a local fisherman that saw me take this picture below and contributed the information. Brief stop in Oleiros to get my bearings, Oleiros is a very nice small town with a charming center. Unfortunately it lacked a place where I could seat outside for a snack, so carried on. Didn't leave without checking out the riverside camping. I'll probably go back and stay a day or two on one of those cabins, the river below with that clear water makes for an amazing location. Little dude was soaking in the sunshine. A few kms after, and the mountain range is crossed: Center Portugal quaintness, lush green and wavy narrow roads: I had already decided where to sleep for the night, and was in no rush to get there with plenty of daylight to go. Saw on google maps that there was a smaller crossing of the Tejo and decided to take that. It's not a bridge, but I hadn't put the bike on a barge yet, so was looking forward to it. I hanged around for a little: There was a flaw in my plans, though, which became clear when I saw the barge on dry land. There's a dam a couple of kms upstream, and I suppose that they don't use the barge when it's big discharge season. Heading back on the road, I made a stop just for @XTreme: My lunch was the cheese sandwich I had for breakfast, so now starting to feel like something else to warm me up, and stopped for an expresso. The day had started really cold and my energy was now starting to drop. Stopped and spent a few moments in Crato, typical Alentejo town on a slow sunday afternoon, the only thing moving fast there was this puppy trying to catch sparrows while his owner was inside the cafe. On I went, I was about 20 or something kms from my destination for the night, not without a last stop to look at some cool olive trees and breathe in the Alentejo country vibe. Rode into Alter do Chão and into one of my favourite hotels, a refurbished and converted convent. They're cool guys and I park the GS safe inside a warehouse, away from the night frost, it's supposed to go to -1º that night. After a properly hot shower, I watched the sunset and went out for a pre dinner walk. I'll take you on a walk around Alter do Chão on a very cold sunday evening. After it was an appropriate time for dinner, I went into a small rural cafe and ate. Portugal lost to Sweden on handball, much to the local fans dislike, I had never been in a cafe / bar where people were so into handball Doesn't look like much, and it isn't much, but I like it. A little wine was consumed, and a long conversation was had on the many different kinds of bread based cookings in Portugal along with how tall was the Swedish goalkeeper. Somehow this had gone from a "not a ride report", to full ride report mode. The next day will be epic so stay tuned.

I only came across a few foreign motorcyclists during these few days, because of the weather surely as it was not usual to be as lucky as I was and only get real proper rain on the last day there. I would NOT choose December as the month to go ride motorcycles in Morocco if given the choice. Out of those small numbers, one was a group of yellow plated bikes with a ktm890, a previous generation R1200GSA and a Tenere 700, the others the lone R1250GSA, an Italian R1100GS, and two riders on Himalayans. All of them can do it, but I much rather prefer to spend long hours on a comfy bike which uses a third of its available torque to ride along and have the rest to not be stuck behind smoky traffic. Moroccans cross the country in mopeds that sip fuel at 60kmh which bicycle tires, but I much prefer to be able to ride past traffic than be a part of it.

I had went to bed early, and did set an alarm clock for the first time in weeks, to 06:30. That gave me time to enjoy waking up lazily in bed, procrastinating getting up while enjoying my own company. Breakfast was the only poor one I had this trip, that went nicely with the theme of this visit to Fes, croissants were stale and worthy of one single bite, orange juice hadn't seen an orange since an industrial factory somewhere once processed them, and coffee tasted like Nescafe. In Morocco there's no excuse for non fresh orange juice and shit coffee, but it made sense as that hotel didn't even offer a breakfast free stay, they had to push people to eat it I was ready to go a little after 7, but as I looked around the streets seemed really wet and it was going to be dark for a while after leaving, so grudgingly put my plastic rain pants and jacket on. By 07:25, I was ready to go: Put navigation on heading to Ain Dorij, and rode off, google maps took me out via tiny streets that seemed more complicated than needed, but the low traffic showed me a less seen side of Fes. It was interesting. Getting out of town and rain starts to steadily fall, at 08:15 I had had my only really challenging moment on the road and stopped to enjoy the sunrise a little, on a particularly muddy and poorly surfaced bit of road tilting to the right, I was forced to brake a little and basically slid off the road, I spotted the gravel bit outside the tarmac and simply pointed to that and rode it for a while. I am most impressed at the Mitas E07 + Dakar, they're sound tires even if the manufacturer warns that they have poor performance in rain and cold. 08:15: Rain properly starts to fall shortly later, my phone is now safe in my jacket and I stop for a moment's rest after spotting shelter. Someone takes my picture as for whatever reason I was enjoying it quite a bit. The above was at 08:55, I then put the phone back in my jacket pocket safe from the weather, and rode all the way to Tangier with no need for it. Navigation was easy and although I was riding on less than main roads I knew I had to go pass Ouezzane and then Chefchaouen, it proved easy. Rain didn't stop for the rest of the morning, averaging from hard to very hard and very windy at the same time. I got stopped at a checkpoint and after the initial small talk the officer told me I had been spotted at 95kmh on a 60, I got off the bike with the helmet open, got my right glove off and introduced myself, told him I would be more respectful from now on, but that I was intended on catching the Ferry and wanted to not miss it, all while putting my biggest possible good guy big smile attitude. Then he asked me for my papers while looking at the back of the bike, and asked where I was from as clearly I didn't have a French or German plate, upon the answer of "Portugaise" he enthusiastically shook my hand and after becoming friends sent me on my way with a big smile and a "ride safe" farewell. Portugal is a good nationality to be in Morocco, our national football team shares the same colours, and we both like beating the French and Spaniards. From there it was very smooth to Tangier, if plenty of wet. The last miles before Tangier were dry and windy, which allowed the overalls to dry on the outside. I had money with me so stopped to top up the bike at a Shell station, rode into Tangier feeling like a road worn adventurer, and quickly got lost in lunchtime traffic Stopped at a cafe with outside tables on a common street and ordered a sandwich. While it took forever to arrive I took the overalls off and made myself comfortable. Turns out my overall pants aren't really waterproof anymore, my jeans were wet on the outside all over the waterproof stitches, and my chest and upper back was fully wet too. Good stuff! The bike looked proper and had just proven to be a trusty friend, a true work beast or a war horse: It was good to ride to the port without the blasted rain suit, hang around for a little getting in line for the bike to be x-rayed, it all went easily as if hipotetically crossing between any European countries. The crossing was a little choppy, the storms seemed to have angered the Mediterranean and the boat rocked heavily the whole trip. At first it was funny like so, look at the water level in the horizon: But after a while people started to get a little tired of it, I felt like having a piss but sat firmly in my seat at the risk of falling over when walking or throwing up if standing, two guys started praying to Allah, and a few people had hands on their faces like trying to prevent eyes from popping out. We made it ok though, lack of paperwork on the boat was a bonus, I don't envy people crossing the other way and having to write stuff down, I would succumb to that for sure! Got out of the boat in my due time, and pushed the bike along with all the line of cars that got off the boat before I did. Tarifa looked stormy, so I put the rain stuff back on, the time at Tangier and on the boat had dried my clothes so I felt comfy and fresh. It was past 16:00 by the time I rode out of Tarifa, I had looked at hotels around there and also the weather forecasts, it was rain for the next few days, so feeling fresh after the ride from Fes I decided to go home for the night, Waze sent me via Badajoz which wouldn't have been my preferred route, but as it was raining through Sevilla (or was it Huelva already? I don't know...) I was lazy and followed it's guidance. Storms were littered all around, with orange warnings for heavy rain so I figured there must be a reason for the longer route. Right before entering Portugal I stopped for a snack after riding all the way from Tarifa in heavy rains. 20km into the trip a water barrier descended upon me with such violence that water pushed into my overalls with ease through my neck and wrists. This stop made sense, and the tiny jamon con queso bocadillho provided me with a little comfort from the belly outwards. The beer is 0% alcohol, too. The snack and fuel stop was at 20:09, I made it home at 22:54 and the bike looked pretty much like I did except prettier, just as wet. That was an epic day riding, around 300/320km in Morocco's backroads and around 700km in Europe with port crossing and a choppy ride in the middle of it, I felt like it was a proper day to end a proper trip, and was comforted by a hot shower in my own house, that I grew to love from Maria. Heated up some of Sofia's shepherds pie and opened a bottle of red wine. I was feeling energized when arriving home, despite the long day, but as soon as food and wine hit my stomach and I settled from the excitement of riding through rain storms, I started feeling tired. That night I fell asleep moments after laying down, and the rain lashed the outside of my bedroom walls through the night. On this trip I travelled with Maria and Sofia, and have to thank you all for providing an audience, the taking pictures everywhere provided with a distraction to some of the very intense feelings I had. I got through it and the extreme darkness I feared didn't appear, only sorrow and the memory of loving times did. I hardly ever felt alone on this trip. It was a nice one, there will be more. Thank you for all the nice comments.

07th December, Wednesday It was the coldest night since I've been in Morocco, snow covered mountain tops were in sight of where I slept. I woke up with no alarm clock, as has been so for a couple of years except with unusually early work commitments. And since it was dark and still too cold, I laid in bed enjoying the warmth. Dawn was at a little past 8, this is 8:33, bike felt cold just from looking at it in the distance, minimum temperature that night had been 1ºC. It was the first time in this trip that it cranked slowly once before starting, maybe still sleepy! After slowly enjoying breakfast and double the usual amount of hot coffee to allow the sun to kill off some of the early morning cold, I get out and ride off with 4ºC showing on the dashboard. I am definitely heading north and back home, though, first heading is to Fes and then Tangier. Winter is firmly arriving and I am not equipped for it. A little later I stop on an open plain, this is the last wide open spot that I'll see on this trip, so decide to stop and enjoy it for a moment as I had done so before, in 2017. In 2017 it was decided that our next few trips wouldn't be to Morocco, and I distinctly remember passing this road, undergoing construction at the time, and realizing I wouldn't be doing this for a while. Fate proved cruel and I couldn't anticipate how right I was. The road to Sefrou is great, sometimes it almost feels European in a good way. My phone demanded my attention and I stopped for a while, right on the middle of some twisties. Moroccan police is strict with speed limit enforcements, they have just the few fixed cameras around major cities, but all around the country you can expect to find the odd police stopping point armed with a speed gun. For European vehicles some of the 60kmh seem too low, but they really aren't considering the state of some of their vehicles and the loads they carry. A little after the previous picture was taken I was warned by an oncoming car about the radar, and after it stopped by a couple having a cigarette by their motorcycle. They were a very cool couple, spaniards in their 60s, riding a grey and red R1250GSA also with Vario cases, the dude was surprised to see mine on the GSA and like geeks we bonded over how bikes look shit with the tubes required to carry aluminum cases when the cases are off. They frequently ride all over the Iberian Peninsula and Morocco, it was a nice meeting and one of those sort of short contacts with people that warm up your day. Cool bike they had, too! Street dog pack in Sefrou: I made it to Fes quite early, and decided to stay. The couple from before had told me that I would be facing rain storms in Spain and Portugal, and north Morocco as well, and that I should spend a couple of days to wait them out before going if not in a hurry. I'm no good in just waiting around like that and seemed to me I was going to ride through the rain regardless, it was a matter of choosing to do it in one or two days of heavy rain or 4 or 5 days of shit weather. I chose the least time regardless of intensity. Arriving at Fes I got hit with a big time nostalgia, having spent a few nice days here before. Fes gets really hot in the summertime and most of the year it's warmer than you would think considering it's almost northern location. Stoplights sometimes have little sun beaks to make lights easier to see in bright sunshine, here sometimes they melt over the lights from the heat! It's also a place where revolving outdoor publicity signs have airconditioning systems attached, so they don't burn out in summertime. I arrived sometime around after midday, and the temperature made me comfortable compared to the early morning cold. I went looking for a shop where I bought a carpet previously, they had reasonable prices and acted like a cooperative, the selection was immense and they had friendly people there. That shop was now extinct and replaced by a place that now works on the third story of an office building and sells mostly custom carpets to big hotels. They only had one Kilim rug there, it was pretty but the dude wanted 3200 dirhams for it, and I think that was too much, so didn't take it. He was immovable on price, so he can keep it. My hotel of choice made me smile when I rocked up at 13:00 and asked for a room. The dude proved what southern Moroccans think of people from the big cities of Casablanca, Rabat and Fes by being an altive twat and telling me to come back later since they had no rooms ready yet. Since it isn't summertime and I wouldn't miss their amazing swimming pool space, I went across the street and 20 minutes later was having my shower and getting ready to go for a walk. Fes' main avenue, ending at the royal palace's gold leafed doors. I stopped for a snack somewhere where me and Maria used to have dinner at, still the same guy but he was in a bad mood that day, lunch was cheap but completely forgettable, and not worthy of a picture either, and that's saying something considering this ride report 's picture intensity. I walked to the medina borders to see if I could find a rug shop and to walk off some of the afternoon. Getting to the medina was a few kms walk, and the noise, smells and pollution of Fes got me before that. I felt miserable and intoxicated, people had no space for a friendly smile towards a foreigner unless asking for a coin or trying to attract you towards a stand selling something. Cafes showed no hospitality and overall my nostalgia towards Fes was not returned. Next time I'll treat it the same way. Stopped by the hotel for a little, to organize some of the luggage and sit in my bed to relax a little. Went out to find something to eat at night, and sat down to eat some pretty average rotisserie chicken, not on pair at all with what you get in smaller places. I did smile at the table next to mine as I watched three older ladies in traditional but couture level clothings eat their chicken breasts with their fingers, to me that moment illustrated the difference between European and Moroccan table costumes. Did come across a pretty cool street stand selling books, most of them in Arabic but some pretty cool covers there. Searched for a cafe but regardless of the abundance of establishments all I saw were noisy unpleasant places and rude waiters, gave that a pass and went to my room. I had a big day ahead and felt like quiet. I slept ok as I was a little tired from the afternoon walk, but a little sad of the disapointement that Fes turned out to be. Earlier I had booked my ferry pass to Tarifa sailing out of Tangier Ville port at 15:00, it's no big deal making it but I was supposed to get the first proper rains of this trip, and that I did...

06th December, Tuesday Dawn at 08:05 from my hotel room. Breakfast my hotel was not included in the room price I paid, and I didn't feel at all captivated by it either, too international and I'm feeling like an adventure. The plan was to swiftly ride out of Marrakech and through the Atlas heading East. Roads are cool, views are cool, weather seems to be behaving, all's cool. I ride out heading to Azilal. Already out of town I am not missing breakfast, but I am missing something to start the day comfortably instead of just water, so stop by a Café Mobile. The quality of the expresso these guys put out from the back of a small van is amazing, 10 times better than the best you can get in most Europe except Portugal and Italy, and even then there might be a case for Morocco's roadside café. The guy is surprised I take pictures of his car, but I tell him that's not very common in Portugal. He quickly says that if I plan on making a Portuguese business he is available as a partner , but being no fool quickly says that in Portugal you probably need fees and permits and taxes, there you just set it up and go. At 6 net dirhams per expresso it IS pretty good business. He did follow good practices on cleaning the stuff and preparing it for the next coffee using boiling water, more so than most cafes in Portugal, I was amazed. Maybe one of these days I'll start going for the more complicated coffees like milk and foams and sugars and all that stuff, maybe after going back to Taroudant and staying in the gay hotel too Azilal is a very civilized place, if I were to go live in Morocco for good and looking for a place to properly live this could well be it. I stop to send a postcard home Tagalf, just a village full of people living a hard mountain life, all the kids smiled and laughed though Donkeys, always stop for donkeys Riding out of Azilal, a young man is hitch hiking along, not a tourist but a kid on trainers and just jeans and a sweater walking along a road, he must have been 17 or 19, I wave back and he salutes me with their gesture of waving at you and then touching their hearts, so I ride back and offer him a ride. Carried him for maybe 30 or 40km in 7 or 8ºC, he should have been freezing but always with a smile and happy to not be walking. When I left him he said he was going up to Beni Melal, maybe another 30km but going north, he had no problems thanking for the ride and I watched as he walked away decidedly down the road, hope he got a ride instead of walking through the night as it's cold there. Stopped in Aghbala, it was 15:17 when this picture was taken. Aghbala has many qualities: it's got a kick ass adventure sounding name, it's busy in a Atlas exotic sort of adventure way instead of nasty city way, smoke from coal grills and woodburning chimneys was wafting through the air, streets were paved with mud covered tarmac, people couldn't give a shit about me being there except for kids, I spotted a little snack place with a hot metal plate, so stop the bike and walk in. The lady running the place didn't speak a word of french but we got along, I managed to get my favourite sardines served inside a bread long with diced tomatoes and onions, it was pretty fucking awesome and flavoured perfectly. Just the kind of thing to pick you up. Picture does not do it justice. Also had a kind of sausage, that feels like mostly paprika inside with little meat, it was quite spicy. I've no idea what it's made of. As I was eating, there was a lady with a child in the back. The little girl completely taken with curiosity came to investigate me from a safe distance. After a few winks she finally gave me the biggest smile, I didn't catch that on a picture though. Nothing like a silly traveller to make women put on a pretty smile for a crazy foreigner Feeling comforted from both a great meal and the warming smiles, I crack on! The plan was to make it back to Imilchil, the little mountain village I had passed through a few days before, and take the lovely mountain dirt pass again, going again to Boulmane and then coming back north up the Todra Gorge. This would add at least a day to my trip but who cares, I make progress... Temperatures drop substancially, it's now about 16:30 and it's been between 6 to 8ºC for the last hour or so, then it becomes clear the more mountain passes crossing the Atlas aren't a good idea, I'll let the pictures tell you why, that white stuff is where I'm heading. I've been to Imilchil and that area in days that saw me enduring 35º before and after, and still being sort of chilly there, it didn't sound like a half pleasant idea to go past there with snow on, so that plan was discarded and I fell back on plan B, Plan B was to go near Zaida, and stay back on the same place I did before. Funny enough that's what me and Maria did in 2017, stayed there once going South and once going North. I went, and about one hour later got there. It was now getting proper cold in the area. I tried the check in and nobody was there, the restaurant and you could go in and rob the place, nobody around, tried to see if the room I wanted was open and it wasn't, then tried everything again and found the TV room, everyone was watching the first half of the Morocco vs Spain match. I got my key and we left formalities for later, quickly had a hot shower and made it there to watch the end of the match. Morocco won on penalties, their goalkeeper "Bono" was gigantic and eliminated Spain. Most people lost their shit, the single one guy in front of the tv not jumping? He's a Spaniard: Now, Moroccans are insane about football, they will now way more about the portuguese league than I ever will, they'll know players names from the first 15 teams in Portugal, and that knowledge extends to Spain, France, Germany, England and Italy, it's amazing. They will watch most things with true enthusiasm, and that day Portugal was to play agains Switzerland. My new friend Mamoud proclaimed he would watch the match with me, so now I had to I had my dinner of preserved citron and chicken tagine, and it was very much amazing, and drank a 375cc bottle of Moroccan wine. It's not the greatest wine, it's below average in Portugal, but you live according to your surroundings What happened next was a thing of beauty, as I sat down to watch the match, 10 minutes after it started there were two guys there; one Moroccan, tall guy built like a closet, had a big smile but only one crooked tooth to be seen, then the other was clearly European. As he didn't say hello back when I sat down I asked if he was Moroccan and he answers with a very distinct superiority: "Moroccan, me? I'm Swiss!" I proudly stated I was Portuguese, and the Moroccan guy just erupted into the loudest laugh, and went to scrub his hands together in a way that clearly meant "game on!" Portugal finished the first half with 2 or 3 goals over the Swiss team, clearly going to win, my Swiss fellow traveler wasn't a good looser. I went out and smoked a cigarette with Mamoud and another guy, now part of the small group of avid football fans. I went and bought another wine bottle, to share with Mamoud, but did the gentlemanly thing and went to offer some to the Swiss, who coldly stated he was having a beer. So, instead of ordering a big bottle I got another small one, Mamoud wasn't much of a drinking and I felt awkward to drink a normal amount amongst company with unknown beliefs towards alcohol. German tourer parked for the night outside the restaurant, I can see the appeal in proper winter: The Swiss made fun of Moroccan wine, and went on to nurse the one sip left on his beer glass for a while, stating that in Portugal we do have nice wine. I agreed, and swallowed my mental response in which I told him that being a Swiss he knows shit about wine. Portugal won 5-1, the dude quickly got up 1 second after the final beep and stormed out, he was a twat and sadly the first contact I had with another foreign motorcyclist. Had another smoke with Mamoud to celebrate, who turns out used to ride a 125cc 2 stroke Yamaha (it went up hills with two big people no problem) said our farewells, and went to bed. It was properly cold that night, but I slept great after a day of motorcycle riding, mountains, good food and a little wine in me, and enjoyed my comfy bed with really heavy covers.

I had to look up Argan oil. It mentioned the traditional way of extracting it!!! A tradition in some areas of Morocco allows goats to climb argan trees to feed freely on the fruits. The kernels are then later retrieved from the goat droppings, considerably reducing the labour involved in extraction at the expense of some potential gustatory aversion.

03rd December, Saturday. I wake up with an email I receive every saturday at 7:10 to 7:30, usually that annoys me, but here it means it's a Saturday so an early wake up call and absolutely no calls or work stuff for two days. Being able to get away like this during work is a great privilege, and I am aware and appreciative of that, but never being completely off from getting a surprise call even if being out on an adventure does take it's toll and you end up never enjoying things the same. I miss that hugely, in my previous trips with Maria I would leave my phone with my brother who would take over completely for a couple of weeks, that is no longer an option so I take my phone and my portuguese number works just like at home. Also take my laptop, which has proved amazingly resilient over the last few years, but it's a weight I would rather leave behind. Today I can leave it all behind, it's Saturday, so let's go! I ride the full 1km to one of Tata's bakeries and have an amazingly unhealthy breakfast, along with a big mug of delicious orange juice. I ride south-west, past Akka and heading to Foam El Hisn. Back in Merzouga you felt like you're in the Desert, but here you do feel like you're in a remote country and heading to proper Africa. It's not everyday I'm here so I did stop a few times to enjoy it, I was still undecided if going all the way to Guelmim or if turning back north at Four El Hisn. This is an Acacia branch, and what camels will chew on, each one of those thorns is properly sharp and tough. Tizounine, a clear example of a grand avenue crossing the town, with expensive light fixtures for miles before and after town, but walk 10 meters out of that grand avenue's sidewalks and it's dirt streets and mud homes, can't help but notice there's a little imbalance. Plastic trash is a problem, and along with touts thing to squeeze money out of tourists in big cities, this is what will shock you the most in Morocco, in some places it is a shocking problem that nobody obviously knows how to deal with. I preferred to not document it in this report because I felt uneasy taking my phone out for a picture in front of someone's home to document how disgusting their street looks like. Those are real people living there, and the lack of a trash management structure is something that they will eventually be hurt by. Here, this is just a casual reminder you're still in society even though you feel like you're out by yourself looking at camels. Now this was a little bit of a cool moment, I am enjoying the solitude of the place and a true rock garden, I talked to Sofia and had just said that from now on it'll be wide open spaces but safe roads, tarmac, mostly wide roads until I turn back on and get north to the Anti Atlas and then the Atlas, I get on the bike to ride about 2km and stop, look to my left as a nice dirt road goes perfectly over the hills to the left. It's not everyday I'm here, so I ride up to see what's on the other side of those hills, and soon enough find myself in fifth gear on the most perfect dirt road ever made heading to the horizon. It's heading south kind of towards Algeria, it's not really clear where it goes, but it's so perfect I'm keen on finding out, I've got time and it's Saturday so the fact that I've got no phone signal at all is less of a concern. Sadly, a few minutes into it the perfect dirt road from heaven and it ends into this. This is not on google marked as anything, but it's around here: https://goo.gl/maps/wbrCcWvPmykJzQns7 and a little bit of a @XTreme ride report. It ends in what looks like a small abandoned fortified building, now in ruins. I had decided to make the most of it and go to Guelmim, so suddenly I had plenty of time as it was still 12:30. I ride down there and go exploring a little. From the top I see another building in ruins, and go see that too: Upon closer inspection the tiny building's remaining really stink! I start spotting a lot of animal dung and a minute later the probable culprits! Wild donkeys use this as their bathroom, they jump up from their sleep in the shade and get ready to run away. Makes sense that this place has a well near it, before roads this is a little out there, there's a river a few kms away so this well probably never runs dry either. Nowadays there's solar powered pumps keeping water available for animals, I decided not to try it out even though the sun was strong and this was the warmest it's been in this whole trip. And just like that, I'm back on the perfect dirt road, quickly getting back to the N12, and head south to Assa for a lunch stop. I stop on an empty snack place, and order a turkey grillade sandwich. While I wait my bike attracts the attention of three kids, who come to look at it and say hello. It turns into a photo shoot and even the guy from the cafe next door comes to have his picture taken on the mighty GS The grillade Panini arrived and it was delicious, turns out turkey can be delicious too. This plus a coca cola went for 24 dirhams, which sometimes makes me think that something must be wrong with some places in Portugal and the prices I'm charged for stuff that takes less effort than this. As I paid and said farewell it turned into a photoshoot for purposes of internet publicity in their google maps thing, that up until now looked rather poor. If you want go and post a like or a 5 stars rating: https://goo.gl/maps/GgDwhS3d8h7pFGWz7 The three kids that had previously came by did ask for one dirham, and I didn't have the heart to say no. I gave them a 5 or 10 dirham coin but told them to split between the three, as I was riding off I saw them come running back to show me the three big candy bars they got, with huge grins. It made me really happy, that, the wrappers are probably flying around the sahara now, but I chose to focus on their smiles instead. Again, Assa shows off with extravagant street lighting when most streets inside are dirt. I've been riding on the N12 since morning, it's a National road (the best quality road except motorways) with good safe surface and great views, but the stretch between Assa and Fask take it to another level. I would not advocate speeding but if there is one road in Morocco that you can enjoy a proper sports bike or a Ferrari on, this is it. I took it steady at 90 or 100kmh because the views also make it one of the most scenic places I've been. The day's ride ended on a high with all the socialising in Assa and the amazing views and road after. I ride into Guelmim and head straight into my hotel, it's not yet cold and at little over 15:00 there's time for a little bit of swimming pool refreshment, not that it was particularly warm. It's a nice hotel, that one, not much of traditional character but more of a corporate sort of affair. The state of my boots didn't match the other guests. Aware that it was probably cold, I refused to have carried swimming shorts all this way to not enjoy them and again dove head first into the cold clean swimming pool. It was freezing, a few strokes and I was back out catching some sun pretending not to be unpleasantly cold. That lasted for 20 minutes, maybe not even that, but it was worth it as my plan to say no to nothing has worked out so far and turns out it makes for fuller nicer traveling days when out by yourself. I wasn't really out by myself and lonely though, for some parts I relived very happy memories with Maria, I did chat with Sofia every day, and taking all these pictures to make a ride report made for useful companionship too, in the form of a silent travel companion that does not mess with my riding style, does not weight my bike down in offroad, or argues when I want to go for sardines on meal times. Made my way to the hot shower, and called a taxi to go to Guelmim to check out the end of day city life. the hotel is a good 7 km out of city, which makes for a quiet experience, and I didn't feel like riding the bike there now that I felt fresh and showered. The Taxi charged me 100 dirhams for a few minutes, which is outrageous, I protested but no deal. Paid up and felt cheated by it. This is the walk around Guelmim to finish the day: In Guelmim, mannequins displaying women's clothing don't conform to barbie style body images, instead they're of healthy full bodied middle aged women with huge boobs! I approve! Guelmim proved not to be too inviting though, and I did feel out of my comfort zone there. At sunset the city wakes up and the markets start to explode with movement. Too much diesel fumes on busy streets, too much movement and noise, I would have preferred a cold crisp glass of white wine but even sitting down for a tea or an expresso I was neglected, service took forever and I walked out from two places, all of a sudden and after an amazing day on the motorcycle I was not in a happy mood and took no enjoyment of the place. Even if you find yourself somewhere like that that doesn't conform to what you consider an enjoyable location, you are wise to remember it's only a momentary adventure and that in a few days you'll be home longing for distant lands. Exhausted after walking around Guelmim I sat down in "Corbina" the restaurant, and ordered a Corbina (Corvina in Portuguese, is a fish maybe similar to a big seabass) This is desert but the ocean is close by and they do have a lot of fish in their traditional diets. At first the restaurant seemed cold and the guys there sort of distant. The fish was amazing, I ate it all traditionally, out of that metal plate where it was cooked using my fingers and bread to scoop up chunks of fish and the delicious tomato based spicy sauce. Suddenly I'm enjoying a warm meal in a quiet corner by myself, I give the guys the thumbs up and suddenly all the bad spirits were gone, I think they got a kick out of watching me eat like local. At the end you wash your hands and you're no more of a mess than on an european restaurant, but I recognize it's not for everyone, and they will provide cutlery if you want it. the warm meal made me feel better about it all and I went exploring the street markets, some places defy health rules with live chickens being kept and sold next to a proper outside meat butchers, next to eggs, next to a sandwich shop, next to fruit and next to... you get the point Not really a football guy, but still I stopped for an expresso and watched life happen around me. Found a shop to put some money into my moroccan sim card, I had run out of calls to me, 20 dirhams gave me an hour and a half of international calls more, and some more data that I didn't need. Walked back some more to try and find a taxi back to the hotel and I tried a couple of petit taxis, the small red taxis, like Dacias or small Peugeots, but turns out the petit taxi don't go out of town, for that you need the grand taxi, and behold they take me exactly to the same guy as before. I grudgingly pony up for another 100 dirhams, this leaves me fuming and I ask at the hotel reception that they start calling someone else, that was clearly a tourist ripoff. I go to bed tired after a very long day with a myriad of things happening through it, this day alone felt like a whole trip by itself. The next day? The next day is Sunday, no work calls again and the plan is to go back into mountains, twisty roads and amazing scenery, ...