Great trip and a great story and read, like the last one. Really enjoying reading it. Take care and have fun!
Sammy going South Don’t you just love political incorrectness? I do. It’s so boring all this stuff, you can’t say this, you can’t do that bla bla bla. My kids, that aren’t kids any more, say to me; ‘Daaaad, you can’t say that’! ‘What do you mean? I just did!’ comes the reply with a smirk. Life’s too short. I say it on purpose, not to offend anyone, I don’t even mean what I say. I’m certainly not rude to people but just to liven things up. It’s just too boring with all this political correctness stuff. I like saying things I shouldn’t to people at dinner. The look on their faces, half laugh out loud then the remoaners get over their shock and join in the laughing, everyone’s a winner. If they can’t laugh I don’t want to be sat next to them. Life...is...too short. So I swung my leg over the ‘Flying Fat Bird’ this morning, gave her a good old slap and surfed off on the wave. That should do it. Outrage in the ranks. A Fat Bird in El Burgo
You’re so right Sam. Take care and ride safe. Once you’ve delivered the Fat Bird are you walking home??
Nice comfortable shag that absolutely surprises the fuck out of you with the crazy positions she's capable of getting into!! Just rather not be seen in public with her!!!
so long as you dont have to do the walk of shame when she runs out of energy, with your helmet in your hand
My corporate place of work is currently going mad on diversity and inclusion. Just had to do an online assessment which I could only pass if I accepted the existence of unconscious bias. I did seriously think of rebelling - but then as you say life is too short.
Anyone know what this little fella is? Besides a snake. He was waiting to greet me when I parked the bike yesterday evening. Could it be an Adder?
Don Quixote By Pablo Picasso. No sooner than we’d left Osuna we were in Almargen again. Sorry it had to be done because it’s pretty much true. We did stop to take pictures of a fantastic vista and forest of windmills. Approximately 120 of them according to my glamorous assistant. We headed to the cafe part way down the fabled Ronda road, damn me it was closed. A lone Dutch cyclist was resting there, he told us it was open at the weekend and must be closed in the week due to Covid. I could have done with a coffee and I realised later Laughing Boy could have done with some jump leads. I’d packed lean as I like to do but I still found I hadn’t used a few items. Like the full set of thermals I’d put in, Charlie Boorman’s book ‘The Race to Dakar’ hadn’t even been opened as I’d been too busy riding and writing and the Ghost S camera hadn’t been actioned either. The Ronda road is a great road so out came the camera bag, the sponge covered microphone was wired next to the exhaust in order to avoid wind noise and the camera was positioned. As much as I love making film it’s a faff. Technically it’s video anyway but the mounts, the power supply, turning on and off at the right places, it’s a faff. It can interrupt the flow of a ride, then editing it afterwards takes longer than shooting it. That’s why in recent years I’ve taken to just taking happy snaps. We’re here to ride. A few years ago when we went to The States and hired bikes, my missus said; “but we will be in the saddle for seven or eight hours a day!” “Yeah, of course...and the problem is?” was my bewildered reply. We’re here to ride. I’m quite happy riding day after day but I think you have to be used to it and the combination of such long days and a shoulder injury takes its toll. My travelling companion was suffering. His shoulder was giving him gip and he didn’t want to take any more paracetamols. I’d never wear anything like those f*ing waterproof overshoes that I’d looked at with suspicion. They were like plastic bags you put over your feet. The Laughing German had concluded it was those that caused him to think or feel the prop stand was down but it wasn’t or it didn’t go down properly. He committed the bike to lean and as we’re all aware the conclusion was inevitable. Converting him straight to Sancho Panza la Deck Muncha. Camera attached and off we went downhill towards the relatively new and short average speed sector. It was difficult to keep it at 60kph downhill so after a bit I gave up and zapped it down and stopped just before the second camera. It’s legal, I thought, I’m still averaging 60 kph. Well probably a lot less because I gave it a good wait to be on the safe side. Not to worry we’ll be coming straight back up and can have another go. Or so I thought.
A side dish Back in Osuna when I awoke, first thing in the morning I found myself explaining to The Laughing German the meaning of a paper bag job. He hadn’t heard of it and we’d seen this youngish couple by the pool when we arrived. She had a spectacular figure but I’m afraid she was a qualifier. When I explained he thought it ‘vas hilaarious’ and laughed like ein Deutscher drain. I then went on to explain what a two paper bag job was. ‘Two paper bags, vhatever for’? In true style he literally rolled about his bed laughing. ‘Mind you’ I said, ‘She wasn’t a paper bag job she was more of a prawn’. ‘A Prawn? How’s that’? he asked, ‘Well, she had a really tasty body but you’d just have to rip her head off’. Side clenching agony, both of us. Now, I’m told if you drop a crab into boiling water they scream. I’m not f***ing surprised, so would I. Sounds incredibly cruel. I don’t know if it’s the same with prawns but at 1am while my travelling companion was doing a passable impersonation of a Ducati dry clutch I was writing my blog, diary, reports, ramblings, round up of my day, whatever you want to call it. It sounded distinctly like the prawn was repeatedly getting dipped in boiling water. I hadn’t previously noticed how echoey the converted monastery was. I doubt they had, until they inevitably heard the pissing laughter rolling down the corridor first thing in the morning. ‘Ja’ I said, ‘it vas an ear schplitten louden boomer’! We never saw them again.
Lost in Space. For some reason at the end of my ride I ran out of steam for writing. Apparently, inexplicably, I feel more like it now. Sometimes it just goes like that, so here it is. We headed down the Ronda to San Pedro road. It has to be one of the top motorbiking roads in Spain. Fantastic grip, bend after bend after bend with a rock face on one side and a sheer drop on the other. The motorcycle cops like to patrol it fairly regularly and there’s the occasional bunch of flowers attached to the Armco because Spanish sportsbike riders like to go up n down at a rate that I wouldn’t. I don’t muck about and therefore went down the remainder of the mountain with some enthusiasm but my right hand is attached to my brain. The Laughing German became a speck then disappeared from my mirrors as did a few cars. As I neared the bottom I got stuck behind some painfully slow moving cars and not wanting to cross the white line I pulled over in a gateway to a development. Laughing Boy was up with me by this time and we jumped off the bikes waved our fists in the air and knocked them together in jubilation. It’s a great ride, it makes you feel alive. I saddled up again and off I went, checking for my German shadow in the mirrors. I slapped the fat bird and really laid down some rubber. I’d obviously gapped him quite considerably quite quickly so I pulled over and waited. The two cars I’d passed came and went and after a bit so did the truck but no sign of my laughing companion. No signs or waving from señor trucko regarding a stray or broken down biker either. I waited...and I waited for what seemed like an eternity. He can’t have just suddenly broken down, so why hasn’t he shown? ‘Fuck, that’s bad’ I said out loud. I turned off the action camera that turned out to have inexplicably turned itself off after half a mile and put it in my pocket and with increasing concern headed back to the turnaround point. When I got there he was nowhere to be seen. ‘Oh Jeezus wept, not again’? I headed back up watching for shrapnel, glass, plastic or scarred Armco. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. I don’t mind telling you I began to sweat. The guy had just disappeared but this is what happens on a mountain road and I didn’t even want to think about the consequences. Round again and slower downhill to the turnaround point, nothing. How can this be? How can he vanish. Up the hill, nothing! I pulled over, pulled out the phone and called. It rang.......and rang.........and rang............and he answered. What a chuffing relief. Down I went again and continued past the turnaround point, a few bends later at a gateway there he was standing by his bike. What a chuffing relief. THAT was actually the gateway where we’d turned around, not the upper one. My mistake. Originally on the way down I nearly turned in the first one but went past it. Hence my confusion. He’s a big fella and always gives me a laughing hug when I see him. This time it was my turn, I was so relieved. He said he was just too tired to ride up again and his shoulder was giving him plenty of gip too. Also he hadn’t understood the plan was to go up again then across country to our destination so he decided to just wait there and let me go up n down, which of course wasn’t my intention. I could have sworn blind I’d seen in the mirror his headlight follow me out and start up the road. I feel 100% sure I saw some lights, in fact I’ll have to check. That was why I thought he was following me. We headed off down the remainder of the road towards San Pedro. I ignored the Garmin sat nav and headed along the horrible super busy dual carriageway towards Malaga. It...was...awful. More traffic than I’d seen in the entirety of Spain and loonies trying to pass outside, inside, upside and downside. Up my backside and almost wiping off my front wheel as they suddenly decided to veer off. I hate it. I believe at one time it was the most dangerous road in Europe and possibly still is. In fact I hate it with a vengeance. That’s why I wanted to avoid it. The Garmin and I couldn’t come to a simple agreement that the destination was all that was required so I switched it off and relied on Sam nav. Basically I followed my nose. That’s it with the Garmin, I’m done with it. Although I preferred the layout and display to the TomTom it drove me bonkers. Shite. We survived the Ronda road and the dual carriageway from hell and headed in my opinion to the much more enjoyable east side of Malaga and our destination. A couple of days later I just had to saddle up on my Monster 1200s and do it again properly. Ah Ducaaaati, si! It felt tiny and lithe. Ooooh sir!
Excellent read.Was getting a little worried at no updates but acknowledge time it takes when you’re enjoying yourself
Empty airport but... Just boarded a BA flight to Heathrow. I can tell you there’s no social distancing in this sardine can, I’m amazed. Apparently Ryanair flights from Malaga are about 25% full. Had I known this I’d have taken the Ryanair for £9.99!!! Stansted’s a pain for me though. As for CV19, it was a lot safer in a mountain village in Spain than it is in west London. 2 weeks prison here I come. It’ll give me time to do a few more updates on here though. I just had to get out on a Ducati.
