Armageddon. Bazz picked the route down to his 'Penthouse' near Puerto Banus. "We'll go this way via Armageddon". It was actually Almargen, but Armageddon definitely sounded better. We went in search of chain lube but the local motorbike shop was shut so we had to carry on. It wasn't a long rundown to Bazzer's but it was a fun twisty ride. We came across a group of about 10 Guardia Civil. Both of us thought we were going to get pulled but we were lucky. We were in a line of traffic and it seemed like they were looking for someone very specific because although they didn't pull anybody they were certainly out there with intent. As we wound our way up the next hill this fantastic scene was revealed. I just had to stop and take pictures. But what was most amazing was the sound they made. Ok, ok, this was the scene. Pressing on we rounded a bend and there it was, all over the road, black marbles! I'd been wondering if we'd come across any. I slowed immediately, checked left and right, I could even smell it. Goat shit. The herd had actually cleared the road and were heading off down a side track. You've always got to be aware of this over here. You can go round any bend on a mountainous road and it can be absolutely choc-full of goats. Both lanes, no hazard lights, no warning triangle. Black marbles ARE the warning. We carried on to Ronda and then down the famous road towards Marbella stopping halfway at the bikers cafe. The grip was great and the tarmac good but get it wrong and you're dead. We stabled the bikes, dropped the bags and headed for the bar. THAT, was Armageddon! There's no riding today.
Cañete la Real The bikers cafe on the Ronda road. The composition isn't bad at all on that! He's learning.
"Racing is life. Anything before or after is just waiting". Steve McQueen. Well we've been waiting. Waiting at Bazzers place. Yesterday it looked lovely in the morning so we went up the Ronda road only to discover two things. Issa rain inna Spain. So we stopped at the bikers cafe...and waited. After all the sunshine the roads do get megga slippery in the rain. They've put in an average speed camera section just south of the bikers cafe. An average of 60k/h. We didn't know about that... Doh! How do you get rid of the indents? It's all going horribly wrong! When we set off up the mountain it was clear blue sky, rain gear didn't even come into it. So we went down again and did more waiting. All day. I give up with the indents. My bike's filthy, it turned out that the place where we got chain lube also cleans bike's. So I'm going to get it cleaned in the morning. I've got no cleaning gear, they have. Happy days. Bazzers not up for it though, understandably claiming it to be a waste of time. We'll see how it turns out. We'd cleaned our leathers whilst generally whiling away the time. They looked like we'd been paint balling. The yellow team had clearly won, only they hadn't. They really were dead, we were just a sticky mess. How long before some politically correct social do-gooders tell us we should stop riding because we shouldn't be killing poor innocent bugs? Hey? I'll do my boots in the morning too, before someone tells me I'm a lazy bastard for having my bike cleaned.
Ticket to Ride. Well the bike is clean and reasonably polished if not highly all over. What can you expect for a few Euros? So much nicer to ride though. Mind you I did see these when I was there. All the other bikes were for sale but no...Not these two. Also saw this last night. Only 2000 odd kilometres. Exige! Baz showed me round Marbella yesterday eve. Really nice, not what I was expecting. Turns out they have a pedestrianised area with no less than 12 Salvador Dali bronze sculptures! Unbelievable! In the street! Unblemished never been nicked. Even better. Today...we ride, to Jerez de la Frontera, the hotel and the race track. Yeppee! It's sunny too.
Start finish straight bin. Bike park in centre of track I just had to. God save us from a Ducati scooter!
This is what they love to do all weekend in Jerez when the MotoGP is on. The centre of Jerez is closed off to cars etc. You can only go in on a bike.
Stuck in the middle with you. Having met bro number 6 and his mate at the hotel, we did practice day and qualifying. On race day we took the view it'd be better to book another night and not have to carry gear to the track. The alternative being, leave it at the hotel and schlep back for it after the race. This didn't quite go to plan. Bazz booked it online only to find out later that somehow in the rush the dates had automatically changed and he hadn't noticed. Off we went to witness the debacle of three riders in a gravel trap. That wasn't in the plan. Back at the hotel; 'The booking company couldn't do anything about it and we'd have to ask the hotel.' They'd send an email....but they didn't. 'The hotel couldn't do anything about it and we'd have to ask the booking company.' Patronising sympathetic look, Spanish shrug. Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right, here I am, Stuck in the middle with you. Oh joy of joy. We had to pay again. This one isn't finished yet though. The morning after the race we gassed up and headed off. Through the day the Pornygirly got more and more hard work. Slower corners were just awful. I know what this is I thought. It's 3lbs shy in the front tyre and it's worn which doesn't help. Answer, counter steer or gun it through the bends to neutralise it. Yet it's even heavier than that. I know, the tiny nail I spotted glinting in the back tyre on Sunday has gone through, smack in the middle of the tread. Bazz said, "Whatever you do don't take it out." He was right. On a Sunday I didn't want to risk removing it, run into a problem with the fix and then be stranded. It must be a very slow leak I surmised, if at all. At first it hadn't been a problem. I'd decided to just top it up every now and then. I'd pump it at the next gas station and deal with it properly at a better location. That didn't happen. We found a particularly good stretch of road, smooth tarmac winding up a mountain. We went up, we turned round and went down. Great stuff. We went back up again and bro number 6 wasn't there. He was ahead of me but he just wasn't there. Fleetingly on the way up I thought: He must have been moving to just leave me, bloody hell these tyre's aren't slowing me that much are they? No skid marks on the way up, no tell tale bits of wreckage nothing, nada! He'd disappeared and it was one hell of a drop off the right hand side. Something was definitely wrong. Oh dear. That wasn't in the plan either. Looking back down.
Being Evel. I went slowly down the mountain rubbernecking at everything. Nothing, not a clue. At every sharp left I looked over the edge. Nothing. Good, I didn't want to find anything. Bro 6 is a very, very good rider. I just couldn't believe he could flip it over a barrier and disappear down the mountainside. Still nothing. More rubbernecking, right left, checking for signs but there were no tell tale signs. There were no turn offs, nada. How could I have seen nothing? Then coming up the other way was Blanco van Hombre. He flashed me and we stopped in the road, there was no-one else coming. Suddenly I could speak fluent Spanish. This is how it went, in Spanish. "Is it your friend down there?" "Yes". "He's three curvas down on the left". "The left?" "Yes left". "Muchas gracias señor. Luego". I thought, 'Thank fuck for that'. ( I know that's French but on this occasion you'll have to forgive me). Left is good. Right is dead. "Oh señor, is he ok?" "Si, he's ok". "Muchas gracias señor. Luego". The third bend was a tight hairpin. There he was, not quite his usual jovial self but standing. Somehow I was still shocked to see his bike on its side. I parked the Porn and went over to him. One look took me back 40 years, to a roundabout in Peterborough when I'd picked up my mate (the one I gave the ST4). He'd broken his collar bone back then and it was clear to me bro 6 had done the same. "Right, you've definitely broken your collar bone, sit down on the barrier and tell me the rest. We'll see how you are." He'd come out of a tight left and the next bend was on him. Or he was on it. He said he didn't panic, it was only a first gear hairpin. He stood the bike up and took it down a slip road/track to the left. Only it wasn't a track it was gravel, so he couldn't stop it. By the time he arrived at the scene with the small tree at the jaunty angle he was doing about 10 miles an hour. So he laid it down on his left. He said he was still calm as he did it. Only when he met the rock under the layer of gravel did things get serious. Like my dad he's a big fella, he went down with a thump. A faster glancing blow might have been better, he might have skidded across the surface. Then again he might have gone into the ravine 10ft beyond, not so good. It turns out he heard me go by. I was concentrating on the road so hard I certainly wasn't looking off road. He must have been on the deck and out of view at that point anyway. Big Col had been far more sensible than us and waited at the top of the mountain. That's how I was sure 'Mike the bike' was missing. Hmmm. We surmised that they don't do anything with collarbones. I fed him full of pain killers and water. Big Col went to get a taxi from the nearest village. "Think I've bruised my ribs, chest feels a bit stiff'. "Hmmm. They don't do anything with broken ribs either, see how you feel". We stuck him in a taxi and followed. €60 later we found a hotel as opposed to a hospital. We stuck him in bed saw he was ok and went back for the bike. It wasn't bad at all but the gravel had flipped off a circlip from the coolant hose under the left of the engine. The rest of it we gaffer taped up. I decided to ride it to the top of the hill, the coolant leak was ok over that distance then I coasted it all the way down to a garage. It pissed all over my boot. Once there we got resourceful, got more circlips and fixed it, only to find it had a double fang like puncture in the hose. Game over. We stuck the bike in the very obliging garage owners storeroom and big Col pillioned me back to the hotel. Next day I got the bike picked up while Col went for a sling and a body brace. We'd arranged to leave the bikes at a place in Malaga anyway. So we flew back and bro 6 went to hospital. This was obviously the wrong thing to do but turned out to be the right thing. At least he was home and could understand the medical staff. After the X-ray there were big apologies for keeping him waiting. They didn't realise he was that serious. "You walked in here with this?" "And you flew like this?" They couldn't believe it. "Well, you have broken your left clavicle but you've also broken 6 ribs back and front and punctured the area between the lung and the ribs. You've done a very comprehensive job". Other than that he was brand new. "We'll have to put a drain in while you're conscious". Ouch! When asked how he did it, he joked to them, "Well, I was in Spain jumping ten buss's on my motorbike. The first nine weren't a problem but the tenth one, l just clipped." "Reeeeeally, ooooooh!" He's out now and on the mend. The NHS did a fantastic job. Hats off to them.
Bloody Nora Sam you lot are made of tough stuff !!!! Get well soon bro6 How’s your st4 mate doing? Love being on your journeys..... you know that already
Great story Sam pleased bro is alive. Worst bit was probably the chest drain. I've had one of those done by a pair of ameuters, one junior dr on each side of me trying to force a foot long spike though my chest wall following a pneumothorax. They couldn't get it through the muscle so said they would have another go through the back. Tad traumatic!
You're right, he said that was the worst bit. The Dr's were very good. In situations like that the NHS is brilliant. More people need to be saying that. They had to put the drain in with him conscious. They had to cut through the muscle around the ribs then jangle the bits of rib apart to get the tube in. He said it was absolute agony. However the nurse did arrive with the morphine... after they'd finished!!! He had it anyway.
Sam I recall watching the 'ameuter' junior Doctor making an incision with a scalpel in my chest and then clumsily trying to get the foot long spike into the fresh cut and then his college joined in trying unsuccessfully to force the spike through my chest muscle. A friend who had taken me to hospital came close to fainting as she peeked through the curtains whilst they were working on me. I then had to suffer the indignity of being connected to a 'Mc pherson pump' for 4/5 days which was essentially a single cylinder engine , powered by an ancient electric motor acting as a vacuum pump to draw the trapped air from my pleural cavity . Loved the drugs I was given eventually, I used to save up the mornings dose as I didn't really need it, and then have a binge in the afternoon. Pharmaceutical heroin is most effective when you really need it!
I listened to a chest drain procedure next to me when I was in Cheltenham The lady had hers done there and then ewwww I had to close my ears
The Pilgrim's Progress. Meanwhile, on leaving the unreasonably priced hotel near the race track Bazzer had peeled off do maintenance on the Penthouse. Thus forfeiting the benefits and piss taking rights of 'The Shatnav'. On our annual Pilgrimage I take quite a bit of heat regarding 'The Shatnav' as it has become known. It sends me crackers too, however despite its foibles and of course mine we arrive at our destinations eventually. Of course as soon as he's let off the leash Bazzer realises he has no one to take nicely framed action pictures of him. So immediately resorts to getting someone else to record events. Like you do. The only downside being said third party had one leg and a yellow head. Subsequent to his return an envelope hit his doormat with a very hefty clunk. Apparently Mrs Bazzer was understandably not impressed and quite frankly neither was I. I wish to distance myself from any such behaviour. He could have squeezed another eight miles per hour out of that for the same money. Now you have to add to this, in the same week he has purchased not just one but two pre-war or pre-historic looking motorbikes making me look quite abstemious. I could swear I heard Mrs Bazzer shouting from an upper window, "He's not the Messiah, he's a very naughty boy". I dunno, he's certainly a miracle worker!
That's my pension gone this week on the speeding fine. As for my little spending spree, I'm putting it down to my age and seeing stickers on big Rv's. Spending the kids inheritance.
