Soundtrack: Suede – The Power
Yes I am alive and doing good, so is the VFR, though it is totally disassembled, maintenance is what I spend alot of time with here in cold Spain.
Take a look at the link above, while reading the lines below. This song is by Suede from their album “Dog man star”. It was the favorite song in my ears and my mind during my adventures in West Africa. I guess I did not have the power back then, but who knows if it will come again one day..? The lyrics can be seen here
I know I owe you readers a brush up on my experiences of Africa as I saw and felt it, and here is the start, while my memory is still fresh:
Exit of Rabat with a visa in my pocket was not that hard, just one have to loose the tail of begging people and avoid straight on collisions with taxi’s, people walking across the street without noticing you. I do recommend not going there in the Ramadan period, it is hard to get something to eat during daytime!
Off I went from the hotel and guess what the fucking guys at the hotel was waving me off, I guess they were not that bad. My compass was heading South-East towards the Atlas mountains. I wanted to see these great mountain crest’s situated from North of Algeria to the almost Southern part of Morocco, and I had a little less than one month to reach the border of Mauritania, the 
start date of the Visa stated 18th of September, and today was 24th of September. The clock would start ticking when I reached Mauritania giving me 30 days to explore the country. But until then I had plenty of time to kill in Morocco and Western Sahara.
The roads were okay near Rabat, but as I progressed my way out in the countryside they became more and more demanding. But what an experience, I met many nice people on my way, and saw a lot of funny things, including totally overloaded Mitsubishi and old Mercedes-Benz trucks transporting everything from people to goats. On my way I encountered a heavy thunder-storm and rain I has not seen it before. But I was lucky, I stumbled into a nice group of road maintenance men who supplied me with shelter from the rain and nice food not to mention a strong pipe of tobacco (hashish). Moroccan people are great, and one soon get the feeling if they 
are trying to hustle you or if they are doing you good.
The first night sleeping underneath the stars after leaving the hotel in Rabat was nothing to write home about. First it started to rain, next thing I remember was waking up almost doing the brown thing in my boxers (I guess diarrhea is something you just have to live with in Africa), it was a hard night, not much sleep. I was too lazy to put up my tent and instead I just used it as a tarpaulin to keep me dry from the rain.
Next day it was time for me to lend a hand to a bunch of people in an old wornout Mercedes (yes they love Mercedes-Benz down here). It had blown a seal. aqua (water) they needed, and I had plenty with me, one never knows what is over the next hill side? That is what I love about travelling…
One thing that struck me hard about Morocco, was the condition these people lived in. When entering most of the cities, it was like stepping back in time, stepping into an “after war situation”, when thinking of the towns these people lived in. The buildings were literally falling down on their heads. Gas stations totally ruined, shit and garbage in the streets. People riding donkey drawn carriages, totally chaotic, maybe too poor for some Europeans to experience. But even though, people still smiled and came over to me for a chat, I guess it was normal for them. The children playing around and probably skipping school. For me this was adventuring, I had laid Europe behind me and all the safe things. This was the place on earth were everything could happen, and it did. Every second something took place just in front of my nose, something I had not seen before. The life they lived was not to be compared with any life in Europe. They lived 
under much more extreme conditions, and they had adapted to these, they simply had to!
Anything can happen in Africa, and it does. But remember, there are always solutions….
I ventured on towards Khemisset and Khénifra and the roads began to take an even more demanding shape, and so the weather, it was getting more cold, and I had to stop and get more clothes on, not to freeze.
On my way to find shelter on a cold Friday evening in the dark Atlas mountains I ran into a funny French guy riding a Honda African Twin. The guy’s name was Dominique and he was hiding in the area of Ali Ou Ikko and had found himself a nice place to camp for the night (which can be hard to find in West Africa. Trust me, it is even harder when you get further down South, people are everywhere, even where there are not supposed to be people). As I went off road and spotted a perfect place which could not be seen 
from the road, Dominique came out of his tent and was quit surprised of seeing a guy on a street bike in these harsh areas. We spoke for an hour or so and he supplied me with a hot cup of coffee while I manage to get my tent up. Dominique was on holiday alone and toured Morocco, his wife was back home in France. After a nice meal which consisted of way too expensive meal (they hustled me) I bought in a small village earlier the same day I felt asleep after a cigarette or two. All in all, what a great day…
Waking up early in the mornings is normally something I hate, but while travelling I had found a good rhythm getting up at around 6-8 o’clock, taking some breakfast which consisted of coffee/tea and some bread with cheese. It is also necessary to get the things packed down and hit the road before the temperature reaches too high Celsius when you get further down South. I 
waved Dominique off, hearing the V-twin buzz down of the road. I finally had the chance to take a shit now that I was alone again, I found a good place and left my mark, I had not been the only one doing that. Dominique had left his mark too (you should not be a girlie travelling like this). Neither did we find the same place to camp for the night, we also found the same place to take a dump!
After packing down my things and hitting the road I didn’t ride for long before I met 5 bicycle riders near Ait Hani, some kilometres from where I’ve been camping the evening before. They were talking about which road to take. Many of the roads in East Morocco near the Atlas mountains were either blocked by water or bridges that had collapsed due to the heavy rainfall in the last couple of days. Most of the guys in the group wanted to take the easiest route back 
home, due to low finances, two of them wanted the hard way. They had plenty of bucks left and wanted to continue. While speaking with them the police came by and stopped for a chat. One of the officers was very keen to get a ride on my VFR. I tried to tell the dude that it was not handling like a normal bike due to all the weight. He finally gave up bugging me after one of the Moroccan guys on the bicycle told him nicely to piss off. I asked my new friend on the bicycle which way was the best to go. He told me that he would advise me to take the main road because of the bad weather and not the smaller off-road leading up in the mountains. I choose not to follow his advise and instead I took the dirt road leading up to something that would become very interesting and challenging on a street bike. What the hell I was out for adventures not the Autobahn… It turned out to be more demanding than I had thought to begin with. It was like 
riding on soap, totally muddy. The front wheel skid on the road and suddenly I was lying underneath the heavy Ussel Mammut. The right hand alu box collapsed like it was made of butter. Luckily I was okay and my laptop was still alive!
After some 50 kilometers and a couple of hours I met two French guys on Yamaha XT 500’s, fighting their way in the other direction. We all stopped and had a chat. One of them was Gégé, a French guy that had travelled down to Cape Town and up again on his XT many years ago. While we were talking a couple of European 4×4 came by, also French dudes, and very organized.
Later the same day I met Dominique and the two bicycle riders again in Tamtatoucht, while I was trying to cross a river where the water was streaming with furious force. Dominique had crashed his bike on the dirt road like me. We agreed to turn back to the nearest Auberge and let time fix our problem and return the morning after. TO BE CONTINUED..!
Soundtrack: Arcade Fire – Intervention
Grand Hotel, room 221, Rabat, Morocco. GPS: N 34°01.209′ W 006°49.883′. 17SEP-24SEP2009 (Thanks to Najib for open Wi-Fi connection).
I packed my belongings on a sunny but windy day in Ceuta, said farewell to Patricia. She had been so kind to make me a bag of juice and fruits, so I had something to consume on my way to Tanger. Before I arrived to the border, I filled up the gas tank of Ussel Mammut. I was told that the fuel prices in Morocco were more expensive than in Ceuta, Spain.
Next issue was the money, Morocco is still very much a cash society. Only place to use your credit card is at the bank’s ATM’s. So first important thing was to get some cash, to buy the nessasary gas and food on my way to Rabat (Visa for Mauritania). First I had in mind to exchange my US Dollars at a bank in Ceuta. The Dollars had been stored in my pocket all the way from home. I felt it was more safe than do it at the border. After I had been to the second bank, I gave up. The lady at the bank told me they didn’t have any Dirham. Funny I thought! and asked her. Why, when Morocco is your neighbour country no further than 4 km from here? She told me that the normal way was to exchange at the border. “You know there are money exchangers there?” Incredible the bank telling you to exchange your money at the border on the black market. I guess it is like an everyday-thing to do down south. I remember as a child my parents did it at a campsite in Hungary when I was on holiday. Many years was to pas before I figured out what they exactly where had been doing?
Ok, I then needed some Euro, which she would happily give me instead of my useless Dollars. I exchanged my them for the Euro and left the bank with yet another worry on my mind, how would it turn out at the border? None down, still two to go! The exchange of the Euro to Dirham at the sleezy money exchangers and the border. By that point I didn’t know which was worst? Both was first timers for me.
I was very sceptic upon arriving to the place where the money exchangers were. I had been there the day before with Patricia. At least I knew about the currency rate. But would they give me false notes, run away with my Euro, once they had them in their hands?
I can now tell that the exchange went fine, no worries for those who are thinking of going to Morocco. I got the exchange rate of 11.1 Dirham to one Euro, which is fairly. The procedure went easy, the old guy took his time waiting for me to count my money, and asked if everything was fine? Afterwards we shaked hands and he took off to do more business, and I left was to head on for the next obstacle, the border, not the forget the officials.
The border to enter Morocco is another thing, it is more demanding than the exchange, but straight forward once you have tried it. I now know all the forms to fill out. One of them are already handed over to you on the ferry from Spain to Ceuta. Like on the plane just before you touch down on the land of the States. The white form from the ferry is about your personal details for visiting Morocco, name, date of birth and place of vist etc.
Upon my arrival an old guy in arabic dress (a tout) approached me, he had a fine plastic card on his chest, which he showed me. It stated his name. He then asked me, if I knew him, if I had been in Morocco before, and where I was from? Denmark I answared him, with a nervous voice, and yes I had been here before, the last was a big lie. Of cause I hadn’t been in Morocco before. I just wanted to get the wanker of my back . He told me that he worked at the border, and was going to help me by doing the paperworks, filling out the forms. I Immidiately replied him that I didn’t need his help, and I could do it myself. I had heard stories about others getting ripped by these touts at the borders, paying 20 Euro or more for nothing, than getting in front of the que. I didn’t have in mind to pay a single Dime, I had all the time and patience in the world.
Before I left Ceuta, Patricia had told me one more thing. This was about the touts trying to sell forms which are free, and a lot of people get fooled big time. I could tell that this guy was very eager to make a quick profit on me, he followed me all the way to the officials, telling me where I could park my bike and which official I should turn to first.I said to him for the last time that I was able to do the things myself and I didn’t need his help. It seemed to work, he finally went away finding another hopeless fool to rip off.
I parked my bike so it still was viseable from the officials shed. Took my tankbag and went over to the little office. The man behind the window looked tired. He didn’t give me much attention, though I was standing just in front of him flashing with my passport and my white document. He was more interested in speaking to his collegue. He finally grab my documents without saying anything. I asked him if Ramadan was soon to end? He mumbled “Yes” I bet that was why he looked so exhausted. After a short while he gave me the stamp that would let me into Morocco. I happily thought that all obstacles was over. I could begin my new adventures in a new country, a new continent – Africa was lying in front of me. I quickly got my arms down. I found out that one also have to report your vehicle into Morocco. It ment filling out another form. A young dude in modern clothes, t-shirt, jeans and snickers approached me, telling me, that I had to go to another counter and get the form. Before I could say anything he went and got it for me, and helped me filling out the details. Afterwards I got in line in front of another officials shed, handed over the form together with my registration certificate of the bike. The lady behind the desk typed all the details into the computer., using the “single finger method”. Finally when she finished I was ready to start my new adventures. I gave the guy helping me one Euro. He didn’t seem to be too pleased.
As I thought this was the end of all the paperwork, I realized I still had to pass the Moroccan police, which wanted to see my passport once more, and documention of the bike. This guy was even worse than the first guy checking and issuing my passport. I went over to him after sitting on the bike for a couple of minutes trying to get his attention. He didn’t bother looking at me to start with. But I guessed he couldn’t avoid me at the end, as I was standing just in front of him with my documents. He looked at me and the bike. And then asked me “No Pistola?” I got very surprised, but I answared him No, while I was shaking my head, I couldn’t help laughing a bit, which didn’t make the situation any better. Did he think that all European people bring a piece, when going to outside of EU? He gave me the final stamp which ment I was over all the hurdless and could begin my journey in a new country, Morocco, if it wasn’t because I had to pass another guy, taking one more look at my passport, he was in the same mood as the others, do I have to say more!
First I intended to go straight on the Tanger, but I changed my mind short after leaving the border. Instead I was heading inland towards Tetouan. My destination was Rabat to obtain my first Visa. The roads ahead to Tetouan was first mountaian roads, later they turned into country roads on the way down south to Rabat, leading you through cities on the countryside. The landscape is nothing I haven’t seen before, the roads are okay to start with. The temperature was around 20 degress celcius, which can be freezing cold, when one is used to 40 degrees celcius in Spain. I quickly got my inner lining in the Rukka jacket.
I did a couple of stops on my way to eat and smoke some cigarettes. The first times I did it in cover so the cars passing did not see. It was Ramadan, I soon found out that this was not nessasary. The muslims respect you, though you are eating or smoking during midday.
Later that evening around 08.00 pm I found a place off the road where I could wild camp without anybody noticing. I put up the tent due to a cloudy sky, one gets wiser after some time! Got myself some pasta with sauce, which Beatriz had supplied me with and finally fell asleep a couple of hours later to arabic music blasting nearby.
Next day I took time on my stop watch (the phone) to pack all the things and get ready to hit the road. 1 hour, 12 minutes and 10 seconds. One can do better, my goal is to get under one hour.
On my way to Rabat I took the oppertunity to refuel more often than usual, I wasn’t sure when or where the next gas station would show up? I soon found out, that they are not far from each other. The Moroccan’s sounded their horns when I came by, waving at me, or giving me thumbs up. I even got pulled over one time by two guys in a car. They wanted to know the price on a VFR in my origin country. I don’t have to say that they got very surprised if not terrified when I told them the cost of 11.000 Euro for a second hand 10 years old bike like mine. Now it is that I hope our great tax minister in Denmark, Mr. Kristian Jensen has become an adictive to this blog, and is waiting for me to do a new post, so he can get his fix. Please lower the taxes on motorbikes Mr. Jensen!!!
When arriving to Rabat it was the chaotic kaos like I had expected. I would compare it with close contact sports. The horn is your favorite weapon to get in front, and you better use it, if you aren’t interested in getting ran down by a truck or a taxi. The taxi’s are far the worst, they don’t respect you at all. I was lucky to avoid contact, not even the pedestrians walking out on the road just in front of me, making the bike almost set completely in the front suspension. I tell you, that one better watch the nine lives living down here, and pray couple of times t God or Allah before heading out of the door. Something tells me, that the worst is to come further down south!
Finding a cheap hotel or hostel is another thing, I drove around for an hour or so, before I finally gave up, and asked a young guy standing on the street. He pointed right ahead, and told me I could find two hotels in that direction, but he didn’t know the prices of them? I reached the first one, and another guy said it was closed, but he would show me the way to a hotel. That one turned out to be way too expensive for me. They were charging 550 Dirham (48 Euro) per. night. I was ready to saddle up and head to another part of Rabat, when my eyes dicovered a hotel just accross the street. It look sad, with only one star, the rest of the stars had either been taking off, or been paled by the sun during the last decades. That would be the right place for me and in a resenoble rate. I went into the reception, and yes, it was sad, believe me. But the manager was smiling and welcoming me (later found out that it was probably because I were his only guest). I asked of the price? To start with, he was asking 200 Dirham per. night. I asked him of a piece of paper and wrote 100 Dirham, which he didn’t accept. Instead he took the pen, paper and wrote 175. I shoked my head and took the pen from his hand. Wrote 150. He looked at me, and at the bike outside. “Where are you going?” he asked. 
Cape Town “Sud Africa” I replied. Ok, 150 Dirham, and how long are you staying? I showed him one and then two fingers, also replying him in my best French “Un ou deux” . “I have to find the embassy of Mauritania. You know where is? He didn’t!” (I later renegotiated the price of the hotel. After I had been told that the price should not be higher than 50 – 75 bucks. I got down to 115 Dirham, still too much. The manager didn’t speak to me afterwards…)
I went out to get all my things of the bike and returned to the manager of the hotel. Asked him for a secure place to store my bike while staying there. He waved at me and said “Suivre moi” French for follow me. We went down to a garage 50 meters from the hotel, it was full of cars, and an old dirty guy showed up huffing and puffing, pulling on his pants, he was about to drop. He was missing every second teeth in his mouth. Both the manager and the old dude asked me if 30 Dirham (2.75 Euro) was okay? I accepted! One does not negotiate with the price of parking the bike, when it is only at that rate. Instead I explained him in very simple English and also pointing with my hands, that he should watch the VFR with his life. He did indeed, he parked his own car in front, making it impossible to get to it.
The room at the hotel was nothing to write home about, like the girls down here. But it was a nice nest for the next time I had to spend there. Mostly because I found open Wi-Fi net in the toilet which was like a gift from the gods, you must think of, I had to kill 6 days in Rabat during Ramadan! constantly affraid of dropping it down on the street, trying to fine tune the signal to obtain the best result. I now think of the people living across the street. They must have thought I was completely insane, spending all these hours on the bathroom leaning forward out of the window while squesed in between the toilet and bidet, days and nights, getting most out of the siuation with free Internet. Or maybe they thought that the Danish dude was blowing in the big trumpet 24/7 due to a bad belly? I spend many hours in the toilet! Mostly surfing on the internet, drinking varm coffee smoking cigarettes and cooking with my stove in the bathtub…The Internet experince in the toilet was quit a show. If I held my laptop in an exact perfect position, I was able to find connection. To obtain it in a decent speed demanded that I held the computer outside of the window,
The second day in Rabat , I decided to go to the Mauritanian embassy. It ment taking a cab to the address of the Mauritanian embassy 15 minutes from the hotel. But one thing I realized on my way back with another cab, was that I had paid 3 times the price. This was the first time I got ripped off!
My entry at the Mauritanian embassy was great as usual. Like the time I went to Poland with my good friend Hassan. First we had been sleeping onboard the ferry, while it had been lying at harbour for a couple of hours. Second, I forgot my newly bought box of cigarettes in the cabin. Third, I thought the border was closed, due to no people present. So I found my own way trying to get beside of the bar. I manage to get some 20 meters on the other side, before a polish police officer came running out from a building, shouting at me, and was about to draw his gun! That day at the Mauritanian embassy was exactly the same kind of situation. I rang the bell when the door into the embassy wasn’t open at 9 o’clock as stated. After a minute or so a big black guy came out. He didn’t look too happy, instead he pointed at his watch, telling me in perfect English, “Never, never before nine” I looked at my own watch. “What is the problem, it is nine?” Once again I get fooled by the time zones. The times was seven o’clock! I returned back later that day, luckily I didn’t stumble into the same guy again.
During the 6 nights, which in the end went up to 7 at Grand Hotel, I also became witness to a yet the most bizarre situation taking place just beneath of my window pointing out to the traficated street. It started with a loudly bang which drawed my attention away from spending my time on the toilet in a rather cramped position. A car was parked in the middle of the road, and a scooter was lying on the asphalt. Two young guys were getting beaten up by several people on the street. People were gathered and one police officer showed up. The cop seemed like it didn’t bothered him at all. He just looked while he sat on his scooter as the guys got slapped in their faces, one of them got his T-shirt torn apart. Later when the cop took off it became more violent. One of the young gu
ys was now getting beaten up for real. Not just with the bare fists, but with a stick. The whole episode went on for about two hours, I could here him beg the guy to stop. At the end, the police showed up again, this time in a van. They picked up the scooter and one of the young guys getten beaten. I never found out what the whole situation was about. Later when I went down to the local store to get some cigarettes I asked a guy in the shop what happened, I noticed this guy on the street from my window and knew he had seen and heard it all. He never told me! On the seventh day in Rabat, I ended up paying the dentist a visit (amazing what you can get for 200 Dirham), due to a lost fillling, trying to conveinced the bank that I wanted to withdraw some Euro and Dirham, without using the ATM… It never worked out.
Soundtrack: Fastball – The Way
Leaving Palma del Rio, Spain for the second time, was a thing I just had to, people were starting not to believe in me. And I also had to get on going, I was getting restless. The travel fever had strucked me once again. I admit it hurt deep in my heart saying goodbye to friends and family. 12SEP2009 I ventured out on the road again, this time accompanied by José Manuel García Caro (BATMAN). We said farewell to the girls, Maria Luisa and Beatriz. They were standing waving us goodbye in PDR.
Until now I have had the best time in PDR, Spain, cause of the friends and family. All the things I have experienced while spending 38 days in the small city is incredible. Trips to Malaga, Nerja for the beach, wild camping with Beatriz, evenings in the city, Luis place, visiting Belen and José, including living in the house during their vacation (I should not say that I made a nice attempt on flooding it, dooh), helicopter flight at Beatriz work FAASA, Feria, lots of cerveza and finally visiting CAPI where José works. I can say that for the month I stayed there, I haven’t been bored one single time, instead it felt like being with you own family back home.
José had a wish of spending a day with me, and follow me to Puentes de Europa (Gibraltar), probably to make sure I was leaving his country for good and not come back again ;oP – It was something he had looked forward to for a long time, getting a little taste of what it feels like doing an overland journey, see how it is to travel on a motorcycle and not to forget camp out in the nature. In another word, see the world from the saddle and be independent. I think he enjoyed it very well. We had food, beers and Brugal with us, which the girls had supplied us with. 
We managed to find a nice field to camp for the night. That evening and night will be printed in my mind forever. We got a chance of being alone, have a good talk, and lots of Brugal.
On the way to Randa we ran into the Guardia Trafico on two BMW’s. We stopped and had a chat with them. Not a normal thing to do. You normally try to avoid them as much as possible. We asked them for the direction of the Ascari race circuit near by. They agreed to follow us there, and I can tell it was not in a normal pace, we did it with the crazy speed of 120 – 140 km/ hour on the national road, accompanied by the police, awesome. People are normally affraid to get stopped by them.
Next day we set off for Gibraltar, ohh first we were heading to Algeciras due to my capabilities of finding the way. Even back home I could get lost in a phone box, and I bet José now agrees with me!
Upon arrival to Gibraltar it was time to have a farewell beer. Not long after we park the bikes and headed for the bar, a guy asked me in my own language if I was Danish? The world is small. The dudes name was Eric, originally from Belgium, but had been living in Denmark for half a year. Now he was situated and working in Spain. I was amazed of stumbling into him. It was three months since I had a proper conversation in Danish. It was already difficult for me to pick the Danish words, which actually scares you a bit, but in the end it turned out as a good conversation.
I finally said farewell to José after arriving at the end of Gibralter at the light tower, with the view of Africa in the horizon. It was hard not to shed a tear or two. I watched José drive down the road and leave when he reached the main road. I was alone again, after a long time with people around me. It felt strange, very strange! There in front of me was the new continent, waiting for me. I was a little bit scared, I admit!
I stayed at the water front a couple of hours togather my thought and went through the last month in Spain. I couldn’t help crying.
I pulled myself together and drove up to the monkey’s, after a hard try finding the place. I had to see them, now I was on Gibraltar. I 
parked the bike and bought a ticket to go around the area on “The Upper Rock”. No monkeys, where were they? I was to find out after visiting the St. Michael’s Cave! One of the fuckers was trying to rip my bike, stealing a one litre soda bottle with engine oil, which I had strapped on the side of the bike. And another monkey stole my last pineapple juice when I left it without my attention! They were like terrorist.
I spend the last of the day driving around Gibraltar,in search of a place to camp for the night.
I have to say thanks again to Mac D, for always welcoming me to lend their facilities upon arrival and when leaving.
After a couple of hours I discovered a nice place to camp on the way up to “The Upper Rock”. It didn’t have too much condoms lying around in the area. Instead it had a perfect view of the strait and the ships lying at anchor. I settled down for the night!
That evening I didn’t sleep well, my mind was constantly thinking of what was on the other site of the strait. Quit bizarre when thinking of my situation. I wanted to go there for pleasure. On the other side of the dark water, i knew people (immigrants) was desperate to head for Europe to get a better life. Here I was, going there to live out the biggest dream in my life. I had all choices in life, all possibilities.
I finally decided to stop thinking about what could happen to me, and instead go there with a positive mind. I felt asleep…
Next day I picked my way to the ferry, but before leaving Gibraltar I ran into another Dane on a scooter, saluting me and wishing me a good trip.
On my way I stopped on the highway and bought the ticket for the ferry. 64.50 Euros for a one way, no return. One of my task’s was to inspect the toilets on board the ferry to see how dirty it was? A guy back home (Torsten Malm) said to me it was too dirty for his ass to take a dump, so I took a dump at Mac D before leaving Gibraltar. I was amased, the ferry was as back home, or even more clean. The people securing my bike was very friendly too. I asked them if it was okay to leave my things on the car deck. No problem! So I left the Nikon D80 in the tank bag…
Arriving at Ceuta is not more different than Algeciras to start with. Though I got myself a bit of a surprise when I was I witness to a car accident. Three cars in a row ran into each other, when the first car stopped to let a pedestrian pass the pedestrian crossing. An old Mercedes taxi got the front damaged, but the driver didn’t even bother to get out of the car and inspect the damage. Instead he laughed… I finally realized I was a long way from home.
Before arriving to Ceuta I had been in contact with a friend from Couch Surfing. Her name was Patricia She picked me up near the port, after a short telephone call, and we drove to her place. A very nice person with a big heart, and creative she was too. She gave me a bracelet she had done herself. During the two days I shared her company, she showed me the city of Ceuta, the border to Morocco and the not so nice part of life. The immigrants living at the concentration camp and in the forrest’s. They come all the way from mid Africa, South America, India and Pakistan. It really gives you a bad taste in your mouth, to see the conditions they live under, and they live here all the year, not knowing their destiny.
The border of Morocco was total chaos, people sitting at the side of the road in the middle of rubbish. Money changers making profit on people passing, and cars trying to pick their way in all the chaotic living.
Patricia and me finished the day watching the sun set and drinking arabic tea.
To start with I had planned to take the road on the coast leading west, but I was going to get wiser. There are two borders, one of them can be used for all people, including foreigners, the other one, I had in mind to use, is only for citizens in Morocco working in Ceuta. Only they can pass this border.
Right now I will find a bank, changing some US Dollars for Dirham’s. The money changers at the border didn’t accept US Dollars, only Euros. And further more, I don’t trust these bastards standing at the borders!
I can now feel that the season is changing, the weather is getting colder, rainy and windy so I might be better packing my things and migrate further south to warm conditions. Tanger, Morocco is within sight this evening. The journey starts for real now! Don’t know when I will see you again. Take care readers and wish me good luck once again.
Soundtrack: Roger Waters – The Bravery Of Being Out Of Range
Or BIG (Bike In Garage)
Two post’s on the same day. Not possible?
As you read this, you are becoming vitness to if not the biggest, so the most important resque mission in the history of Spain, concerning a Danish guy and his old Ussel Mammut.
Things are plain and simple, my starter clutch is beginning to fail now and then. It gives a very annoying sound when trying to start the bike from cold. Now you ask yourself, how would he know, he stopped riding and settled down in Palma del Rio, Spain instead.
No, it just got very bad while staying here, maybe because I haven’t been riding it that often over the last period of time. I have asked Beatriz, if she sabotaged Ussel Mammut? She says no, and keeps smiling.
It is a common problem with the VFR’s when they get older, fairly simple to solve with the correct replacement parts or repair. “Monkey see, monkey do”. I’m not the first to experience this. The bike starts without big problems and runs good, but it is just a matter of time, before I can’t use the electro starter anymore. I can imagine being in Western Sahara, Africa with a 350 kg giant trying to start it by pushing it !”·$%&/()= I hope a bushman is near to help me.
Here is a great post on replacing a damaged starter clutch, taken from VFRworld. A guy from the Danish VFR forum welded his starter clutch, and have been riding with this ever since.
Right now I’m trying to locate the parts, and get an offer I can afford. I will either have it send to Palma del Rio or Ceuta (where I’m heading next time).
I have 3 options:
1: Buying a new starter clutch kit from David Silver UK – 202.25 GBP and shipping in 1-2 weeks, due to parts not in stock (Too expensive, I can buy a whole second hand engine for that price) or CMS from The Netherlands (they have one in stock ready to ship).
2: Having a skilled guy with a TIG welder here in Spain repairing the old one?
3: Cross my fingers and hope that one from CLUB VFR SPAIN, with the help from Bradley Robert Muir, has a spare engine, and willing to sell me the starter clutch assembly from it?
What I need for the repair is:
1 x 28120-ML7-690 – Clutch outer
3 x 28125-MT4-000 – Spring for starter clutch
3 x 28126-415-000 – Cap for starter clutch
3 x 91101-516-000 – Roller for starter clutch
Locktite for threadlocking the bolts
I will replace this together with the a new clutch.
I will cross my fingers that things aren’t getting worse. We will ride to Malaga this weekend and spend the time with her brother (José) and his wife (Maria Luisa). Otherwise Beatriz just have to push, because “I can’t move” ;oP
This is not a scam for not leaving Palma del Rio or Spain. I will leave next week, with or without a new starter clutch! See the image to the right, You can clearly see the crack of the starter clutch.
If anybody out there is able to solve or help me with the problem and kick me of for Africa, please let me know… And no Rick Astley songs okay.
I will make sure to come up with the more about this, and how I solved it. This is not the end, the solution is to come…
UPDATE 28AUG2009
Things turned out that Faasa where Beatrizworks seems to have a TIG welder. The Faasa group is a helicopter and airline business which provide emergency transports for hospitals, educate helicopter pilots, and most important firefighting here in Spain.
This is the best and cheapest solution for me, saving 200 GBP, and a whole lot of difficulties of planning the logistics on where to send the parts, plus saving of time.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. You can call me the stingiest guy on the planet, even Uncle Scrooge have troubles to keep up with me.
I will disassembly the bike on Sunday or Monday, determining to problem for real and take the part to Faasa, if broken? The company is located just outside of Palma del Rio. You might wonder how the hell, this guy managed to get a Helicopter company to help him? Things are simple, I know a very important and beautiful person at the place, Beatriz, so I guess I’m some sort of plugged in, you know what I mean! Another thing is that I like coming on visit and go around the area to look at all the hardware they have like the Bell’s and my beloved Agusta 109A. And also a chit chat with “Sharky”, a US citizen and representative from Bell helicopters. Even the security guard has stopped asking me questions when arriving, and just lets me in. I simply miss working in that kind of business, and the people too. I drool every time I stand next to her (don’t read this Bea). Maybe one day it will be me, sitting in the right seat, one thing is for sure, I want the A-license for the fixed wing aircraft one day, it’s a dream of mine. Well what were we talking about, was it work? I better get things done here! See you…
Update 28AUG2009
Just got a mail from Brad, Murcia, Spain telling me that some of the parts are located on the Canary Islands at a member called Jonathan from clubvfrspain.es. He has the parts showing on the picture, springs, rollers etc. from a RC36-1. Same shit no difference between the two model, and he is willing to send it to me. I guess it is my lucky day. The bits and pieces has available has been soaked in oil for for the last two years. I guess it sometimes makes sense keeping things instead of throwing them out. Maybe a Danish guy can use them some day? But it still doens’t help 100% as I still need the part that is cracked, the outer starter clutch. Meanwhile Brad is trying to locate a used but in fine condition at a wrecker in Murcia. If I get all these parts, I will install them on the bike, and get the worn one welded at Faasa as stated above. In this way I have a backup spare for later use.
He also write a very important note! I qoute him from the email received from Brad today:
“In the photo below, the red arrow points to the tabs on the outer surface of one of the parts which I am told send a spark to the ignition pick-up sensor.
If these tabs are sunk inward, you can prise them back into shape with a screwdriver, with care. If sunk in, the bike may not go more than 80 km/h or could have a very rough idle or even just stop running….
The problem I had was that the courier had dropped the package and I installed the part without realizing one of the tabs had sunk inward. I went crazy over two months until I found the problem….
If you need any of the other parts, I can send them but I would swear it’s the first part which will have cracked
Note: Put the bike in gear to make undoing the bolts easier, and to remove the central bolt, use a long extension on your ratchet…. I think it’s reverse threaded. It’s very hard to unbolt”.”
A big thanks so far for the help from you and the VFR forum.
Update 04SEP2009
I ended up ordering a new starter clutch after disassembling the bike to confirm the problem. It was cracked, classic problem. Faasa was not able to weld the old broken starter clutch as I had planned to start with. I ended up paying 192 Euros incl. shipment for this part, fuck.
Now I’m waiting on the new part to arrive from The Netherlands, ordered it 02SEP2009. Approximately 3-4 days to arrive, so today it might arrive here in Palma del Rio, Spain, or Monday. Of cause Beatriz wants it to arrive on Monday, and not today. Maybe she already have it without telling me?
I have replaced the clutch, now that I had opened into the internal parts of the engine. Don’t want to waste another packing. The hardest thing about this job, is to remove the old packing. When finish José (Batman) and me (MacG(i)ver leave PDR to ride down to Gibraltar and Algeciras, spending a couple of days on the road. It is going to be fun…
Update 08SEP2009
New starter clutch received here in Palma del Rio, Spain. Only thing needed is to install it tomorrow when I can borrow some Locktite and a 17 mm top socket from Eduardo at Citröen here in PDR. Today everything is closed due to holidays. I’m exited to test the bike after assembly, see if the vibrations have disappeared. I experienced more and more vibrations from the engine lately, probably due to the old cracked starter clutch.
Meanwhile I had the opportunity to get a free update on my Hepatitis vaccination here in PDR. You might not believe in me, but the hospital gave me the vaccination without any problems. Back in DK I had to pay for this kind of service. Will leave on Saturday, look forward to some dirt roads and wild camping in the continent of Africa. I guess it is time for me to progress and get on the road again…
Update 09SEP2009
Part installed, engine serviced with new oil and started up. The V4 starts and runs perfect again. Will take Ussel Mammut for a spin tomorrow to test it on the road. I also managed to rearrange some of the heavy tools and parts on the bike. Getting the weight and center of gravity more forward and down.
Bought some new oil a couple of days ago at the moto shop here in Palma del Rio, Spain. The guy in the store, I think it was guy owning it was very interested in knowing how it was possible for me to ride around the world. In another word, he wanted to know the financial background of this. My friend José told him what I had done to achieve this, that I financed this journey myself, but also getting help from companies and people. I left the shop paying the the full price of the oil. I guess he didn’t understand a thing of what I just told him. And further more I didn’t bother to do anything about it. He had the power, I needed his product ;oP
Another thing. I have been in contact with my bank regarding the clutch kit I ordered from David Silver Spares in UK late June 2009. It never showed up in Murcia, Spain, and had no tracking number. DSS refused to send me a new clutch kit for free when I emailed them back regarding the sad news. They would cover the price of the shipment to show a little goodwill, ash holes. Even more they refused to return my money. BASTARDS! The European rules for doing purchases on the Internet with your credit card, state that you are insured if no product shows up. They must have some kind of an insurance when things disappear by mail.
I guess it is my lucky day once again, getting my hard earned money back. Sorry DSS, you better look into supplying your costumers with better service in the future.
STILL LEAVING ON A SATURDAY…
Soundtrack: Free bird – Lynyrd Skynyrd
Okay, so while you impatiens readers wait for the bloody wanker to move on!
Meanwhile I give you a little rundown on what has went on for the last period of time, and how the situation is? I bet you don’t want me to quit of by now, or do you?
Things are as good as they can be, maybe too good here in PDR ;oP
First I have a little story to tell about the guy behind my success in Spain. The Aussie who started all this. Introducing a Danish bloke to the people of Spain, is quit a chance to take. But he took it and things went good, luckily for him…
As you might remember, those who have listened to the famous radio interview from Palma del Rio. I promised Brad, living in Murcia (long story), that I would get serious and arrive at his place ASAP. This time I kept my promise. Brad was and still is a very serious and active member of Club VFR Spain.
I finally met up with him one late and extremely hot Thursday evening. To be more accurate the 23 of July in the center of Murcia, after a long and hard day riding in the burning heat. First I had some problems locating for him where I was, but after a little help from a willing girl speaking over the phone with Brad, we finally got things sorted out.
I think I can say for both Brad and me, that it was a very funny feeling finally meeting after half a year of email correspondence. Brad had got in contact with me after he stumbled over my site, while I was still back home preparing my adventures.
For me, Brad was one tall Mother F….. I was breaking my neck when I spoke to him. But he was great from the moment we met.
I spend nine days at his place, also getting to know his flatmate Jorge, his friend Yolanda and her sister Maria José too. We went rock climbing, sailing on the Mar Menor, dining local food, enjoying concerts Cartagena, and not to forget the nudist beach. Most of all, I had time to relax while staying there, which I was in need of. Sometimes you just need to get your energy back again, and be ready for the next episode of your adventures, which is what I’m getting right now, or trying to, before hell breaks loose.
Regarding the day we went sailing on Mar Menor. I have a little thing to admit. Brad, Yolanda and me went with Nicolas, also member of Club VFR Spain. He is the lucky owner of a sailing boat at Mar Menor . It was a sunny day, like most of them here in Spain. We headed out on the big inner lake, and everything was just fine. After 30 minutes or so. Nicolas stopped the engine of the boat, and we could go for a swim in the salty water. No problems, this is so cool I thought. 
I jumped in with Yolanda, and swam around as an elite swimmer for 30 seconds. Everything was good, until I turned my head to look after the boat behind me. I got chocked, the boat had drifted what looked like a 100 meters from where we jumped in. Okay, I better get back again to safe ground on the deck of the boat. This was the first thing that strucked my mind. I started to swim back to the boat, I could see that I got closer after a short while, but due to my 60 in a day habit of cigarettes, I had to get a rest during this hard work. I was gasping and wheezing like a locomotive. And what happens? Of cause the boat drifts away from me again! I must admit that panic strikes you a little. Yolanda saw my face and was by my side, asking me if I needed help? One thing was for sure, it was impossible for me to sink due to the high concentration of salt in the water from the Mediterranean sea, but I was very tired. The feeling that you are getting far away from the 
boat was a nasty experience. Nicolas and Brad quickly fired up the Yamaha outboard engine and turned around to pick up the OL elite swimmer of Denmark ;oP I can’t say how glad I was to be in contact with glass fiber again, it was a big relief.
We later enjoyed the sunset and cold beers, which is more in my league of sports. All in all a perfect day, though I had my near death experience. But I bet the crew had a great laugh of my capabilities of swimming, or should we say lack of?
I had arranged before arriving to Murcia that my parents and one of the sponsor companies back in Denmark could send me the final things. Plus picking up the Avon Distanzia tyres I send down to Brad before my departure back home. And not to mention number 2 ordered clutch kit ordered from UK. (the first one got lost in Picos de Europa). Fifty percent of the items had arrived. Missing was the clutch kit and the touring windscreen!
I never recovered the clutch kit, and I had ordered it without any possibilities of tracking (normal postage). I guess I relied to much on the national post system in Spain. So if one of you need a new clutch 
replacement kit for your RC36-2. Go to the local post office in Murcia. I bet they have one in stock. 64.40 GPB lost again, arrrrgggg. I later order number 3 kit to be send insured to Palma del Rio by UPS (has arrived with success). This time David Silver agreed to cover the postage, I bet I’m their number one customer when it comes to clutch kits. I plan to replace this kit together with a new chain and sprockets in Africa, when the clutch of the bike finally dies. The other item that was missing, the windscreen, was not due to the mail system of Spain. It was because the company back home forgot to ship it. The windscreen is now in house, and installed on Ussel Mammut.
Back to Murcia – I also had the opportunity to test my capabilities of rock climbing, which was of more success than the swim. Jorge, Brad and me spend one evening in the mountains surrounding Murcia climbing a wall with great view and pleasure. I must admit it is hard work, and one get the adrenalin pumping once up there. But I had great fun doing it, it is a fantastic sport, like drinking beers.
On the final morning when I left Murcia, Brad and I headed for Tabernas to the Almeria circuit. The area sourrounding Tabernas is known for the place were they filmed hundreds of western movies through 
times, including my favorite classic’s with Clint Eastwood. Brad had arranged with his friend Dr. Nipple from Club VFR Spain, that they were going racing that Saturday. I had my race on the highway trying to catch up with Brad. I beat the old speed record of 167 km/h, with a new one, that stated 197 km/h on the GPS. Fully loaded with the extra tyres, ready to go overland in the African continent.
Arriving at the Almeria circuit in Tabernas, I had the opportunity to get close to the race on the track and take some photos. I also had the sad experience of looking at an MV Augusta getting into the asphalt and the pilot breaking his leg.
Later that day I said goodbye to Dr. Nipple and Brad and headed of for Roquetas de Mar, I was 
going to visit Beatriz, Maria Luisa, José (Batman) and the rest of her family from PDR. We had a great day and evening, good food and whiskey too. Including a rather sad attempt sleeping on the beach, but gave up due to mosquitoes. We made our way back to the apartment to snore with the others.
Next morning Sunday 2nd of August, we waked up on the floor, the mattress had leaked out the air during the night, or someone had sabotaged it, (Batman)? I said farewell to the family. They were heading back to Palma del Rio, and I was going to visit another city and great place on my list of places to check off. I was heading for Granada to visit the the Islamic gardens and old buildings of Alhambra, a place I must recommend you to visit if you are near. I stayed there for some five hours walking around, and must admit that it is the perfect place to take your girlfriend or lover. A wonder of the world!
When leaving the area I had to argue with the car-park attendant. My parking ticket was due because of time. One hour had gone since I paid the parking fee at the machine. He quickly accepted my story when I told him I had to get into all the gear to get on the bike. I didn’t tell him it was because I took my time to study my maps, have a cigarette or two before leaving.
Being so close to Sierra Nevada made me feel, I had no excuse for not going up in the mountains. Some cold air could do me good, and I had another two days before I had to arrive in PDR.
In Sierra Nevada, I met two crazy Germans working for a car manufacture company, that they wouldn’t tell me the name of. They were testing a car that was going in production, having a face lift or whatever. All in all it was very secret, they did a lot not to show the vehicle to the public, by covering it in a special made blanket when it was parked. Every time I tried to guess the brand of the car, like saying “Is it a Porche or a new VW Toureg”, they would laugh at me. And telling me in very bad English, “Das ist not bat, not bat alz alls…”. I never guessed were they were from? More of these cars showed up as I descended down from Sierra Nevada. They were racing with furious speeds on the curly roads, all of them painted black.
That evening I camped near Granada with the great view of the city lights during the evening, spending time talking with a guy taking his dogs for a walk.
Next day I just wanted to go riding some good roads, not visiting any places by the means of playing a tourist. I remembered it as an another incredible hot day. I found a great spot to overnight when I came by a big field covered with solar panels. It was the property of the Magtel Group, a solar energy corporation in Spain. Right in the middle of the olive fields was this huge park with several hundreds of big solar panels, sucking the last energy out of the setting evening sun. And what was even better, there was a building nearby with all the hardware inside, to control the panels. This was perfect, I needed shadow so I could settle down for the evening and night. Later several guards and maintenance personnel came by, when I was cooking my evening meal, consisting of pasta and cheese. The first guys was the two José’s, they were very curious of 
where I was heading? No problems at all. Later in the night things were more dramatic. Two cars came down the gravel road, apparently, these guys was the night shift, taking over from the two José’s. They had big trouble about their dogs barking, because of me. After 20 minutes of negotiating I had the accept from them to stay over night. I went to sleep, waking up when the Guardia Civil came by, but they didn’t mind to stop. Next day I was heading for PDR, 35 kilometres away…
Ohhh, a little sunshine story from the Danish embassy in Alger
Got a reply from a danish guy at the embassy a few weeks ago, after I wrote to them, that I was heading for Cape Town, Africa. I will share it with you. Here is what they said:
” If you go to Mauritania, Africa? You will get your head cut of! ” Not a positive feedback. They might just say: “You better stay home and barricade your door!” No fucking way, I’m going…
I later called a Dutch guy having contacts in Dakar. He said things are fine, just don’t go in the “no go zones”. I have also been in contact with people on the HUBB. A British guy offered me contacts/ accomodation in both Daker and Lagos. And I now have a place to stay in Ceuta when arriving with the ferry. People are just so friendly and amazing.
Regarding the feedback from the Danish embassy and the Dutch guy. I guess I just stay out of those ”no go zones”, which are in the areas east towards Algeria. In other words I better stick close to the coast, trying not to get to wet. Of cause you have to take things with a grain of salt. Ask the locals is the best advice, and just hope the guy you speak with is one of the good guys. I will give you the true story of the situations down there, when I know about them myself. People are always exaggerating!
All this is because of the terrorist organisation Al Qaeda. To minimize the damage, I have removed my Danish flags on the bike and my alu boxes. Remember the scandale in Denmark in 2005? I don’t think I have to remind any of you of it!
