Bueno para ir. We got back to the hotel, I changed into the leather jeans, back on with the boots, snicked on the panniers and we were 'Bueno para ir'. We trundled out of Rota and opened it up a bit on the country roads. There were bikes going both ways, some coming back from the track some like us heading off again. Rota is north west of Jerez, the track is east. Basically our route back was east. I followed Pedro and began to wonder about the route. We can't go back past the track, the road is closed eastwards for 'the river of bikes flowing west' on all 4 lanes. As we neared the track he turned, oh no, I thought he'd head past the airport just to the north and avoid the crowd. Pedro thought it would be open both ways by now. We went straight back into it, then it got worse, the Police waved everyone onto a motorway....heading south west. Still worse, we couldn't get off it. Bugger. Eventually we peeled off, headed into the south west of Jerez and pulled into a gas station. It was time to help ease the Spanish debt. Lots of other bikers were there, all obviously loudly discussing in Spanish how to head east. I couldn't understand what they were saying but I knew what they were on about due to arm waving, maps, general pointing and demeanour. Ok, stop, take 5, out with the Shatnav and ignore what it says. It would only take us straight back into the city centre and then slap bang into 'the river'. Shatnavs are only advisory, I frequently over rule them. I like going against the flow but this time it wasn't going to work. Time to plot a course around the problem. I put in a couple of waypoints, then a couple more and 'Robert's your mother's brother'. We had a route around the track and beyond. The only trouble was I couldn't tell if I turned left or right out of the gas station. Oh well, we came in from the right, let's go left. Miss Shatnav caught up and started telling me what to do and for a change in my life I followed instructions. The only disappointment was that Pedro had told me that on the main road eastwards, all the bridges and vantage points would be lined with locals cheering and waving at all the passing bikes. What fun, they love bikes in Spain. Eventually we did rejoin the main road but it was many miles along the route and we missed most of local crowd. There were still a few families with chairs and picnics, just watching and waving, some enticing us to rev up. Some little lads getting excited whenever a sports bike went past, old men with sticks sitting on benches and sometimes whole generations of families were out together to watch and wave and cheer, from grandparents to grandchildren. Isn't that great. Most riders took it fairly easy, not too many nutters. A couple of guys cruised nicely past on fully painted up Repsol Honda's with all the leathers, I have to say they looked good. Then one fella on GS of all things was trying to get on my pillion. He'd got too excited watching the race bikes. There were bends and cars, and various other bikes on the road too, he just wouldn't keep a safe distance and wait for the right opportunity. I wasn't going fast but I wasn't going slow, neither were any of the other bikes. This guy just had to try and bend my number plate. Eventually he really pissed me off, when there was a gap in the oncoming traffic I went into hyperspace. I lit the dash up with some red and that sit up and beg thing was history. A short straight, down a twisty hill with my knees out, exercise the Metzlers, let him understand what his twin can't do. Don't you just love a quick shifter? I caught up with traffic, backed off, sat up, pulled over to the right, eased a good distance between what was in front, took my left hand off the grip, turned my body slightly left and waited. Sure enough he pinged straight past me, had to brake heavily before attempting to rub the paint off the car's rear. No distance, right on it, not comfortable for the driver. I watched him hop up the line and do it to everyone, biker and motorist alike, Dickhead. Fairly soon he'll be entering the rear doors of a white van and I have no sympathy. In what seemed no time at all it was gas time again. We pulled in and this station was minting it. Two pumps, two queues of bikes, two guys filling like it was a production line. I turned off the engine, let the fan run on and paddled the bike up the line with my feet. This was the longest stretch of the whole trip between fill ups. 105 miles, 14 euros. The cafe was having its best day of the year and I'd have gone in but Pedro had other ideas. He knew a better place further down.
And this was it, it little bar in a little square in the little village of Olvera, just off the A-384 on the return route. A bite to eat and a no alcohol beer. The San Miguel 0.0 sin Alcahol is good.
Chain Tensioning. Got back to Competa Sunday evening. A day or two of rest before the big trip back home. Last time I looked I was up to 1400+ miles on this trip. Apologies to experienced Ducatisti here but if anybody's thinking about buying a Panigale or a Multistrada and doing trips, the chain isn't a problem. I tightened mine this morning in five minutes flat. You don't need to align either side, mainly because it's a single sided swinging arm. With this tool and of course the patented chain measuring device, it's a piece of cake. I decided not to use the only pair of latex gloves I'd brought for the job as I might need them en route. I don't mind getting my hands dirty, I do mind getting the inside of my gloves dirty. Besides, my sister in law is the proud owner of a brand new nail brush that needed running in. A while back I'd dropped in to Duke Aylesbury to buy a chain tensioning tool and they asked for 70 to 80quid for a curvy piece of metal with a hook on the end. I just had to smile and ask if many people actually coughed up that kind of hard earned? "Actually sir, we find most people bring them in to us to get the chain tightened." Flabbergasted! "What? To get the chain tensioned?" "Yes sir." Still flabbergasted. Call me old fashioned. I bought a set off Ebay and got a 55mm rear wheel socket with it, front wheel tool and other bits too, all for the same price.
So, I was determined to tighten the chain myself. I'd measured it several times before, it seemed correct but it was saggy. I could feel it snatch, you just know the feeling of a chain that needs tightening. Before coming out I went to Snell’s and asked them. "Yes that's correct, measure it on it's side stand, that looks right". "But it's lying on the swinging arm?" "It tightens up when you sit on it". "It feels like it should be tighter?" "That looks right". "Ok, you guys know". They're good at Snell’s. I'd done 1400+ miles since then. This chain was gonna be tightened whether it needed it or it needed it. So what I'm saying is, I hadn't actually tightened it before and I was praying I could get the 2 bolts on the swinging arm to release. Unlike the 55mm rear wheel nut that I couldn't shift for love nor money when I came to change the tyres. I'd had a whopping torque wrench on it but Giant Haystacks wouldn't have freed it off without power assistance, you remember him. Of course neither could my weedy arms. Resort to legs and feet, careful, besides I didn't want to bust my stitches, ooh sir. Trying to do it I literally was risking 'busting my balls'. A claim I'd often heard and one I've frequently been threatened with. No sir, for forty quid I'd preserve my jewellery and let someone else change the tyres. Disappointment. Back in Espania I got the spanner set out that I'd wedged into the pannier and found... I needed a hex key. Now this set of spanners were the heaviest items on board besides myself. Are you kidding me? Hex nuts? Bollocks. I just hadn't really taken it in. Of course they're hex nuts, requiring a tiny compact set of hex keys. I knew that, I just hadn't done joined up thinking. Let me get this right. I'd lovingly made a special light weight carbon fibre pannier bracket because I couldn't bear to put a clunky bit of heavy steel on the beautiful Pornygirly and I'd taken a completely needless set of chuffing spaniards to Spain! Maybe I'll need them on the way back, that'll justify them. I don't want to use them on the way back, I want to ride! I put the hex key in and with a suitable amount of force it moved. Hmmm, surprise, good... It's always the last one that sticks... In with the key and....hey it moved too! Next the reasonably priced hooked spanner… onto the hub and pushed it down, it moved forward? I don't know why but I'd always imagined that you pushed it down to move the wheel back. It felt quite odd to turn it upside down and pull to move the wheel back. Oh well it worked. Out with the patented chain measuring device. The one you've been waiting for. I'd used steel tape measures. I'd used steel rulers. I'd used clear plastic rulers which were no bloody good because you can't ram the measuring bit right up to the swinging arm, there's an aggravating bit of clear plastic before the millimetres start. Besides I couldn't see the flaming millimetres anyway. Not 50, 51 or 52. Not down there in the dark in my garage. Then it occurred to me if I cut a piece of wood 50mm one side and 52mm the other I wouldn't need to read it. Simples! I cut it wrong, one side came out at 51mm, even better. I wouldn't need to take a big clumsy measuring device with me either. It works and it's a keeper. You tell me. How are you supposed to determine the centre of the front sprocket when you can't see it? Huh? I just had to presume that the line in the diagram on the sticker is about right. It aligns about right, rearwards of the kink in the swinging arm. As shown on the diagram. What's the point in me engineering a precision tool measuring device, patenting it and then roughly working out the centre of the two sprockets? Answers on email or postcard please. The remainder of the day was given over to arse recovery, bike cleaning and walking.
Sorry, must remember to clean up my act! I put my sister-in-law's new nail brush to good use afterwards.
LOL great read Sam, You know youv'e got it right when the reader ,ie me, feels they are there with you. More please!
Should I go back the same way that I came? Should I, shouldn't I? Or something new? Yeah. Let's try something new. Coming down the mountainous and hilly west side was good, really good but going east, that will be different. What will I find crossing the plains?
Ha ha ha. Great. Glad you're enjoying it. It makes it worth doing it. I'm just wondering how many people I can fit on the pillion of a Panigale?
You're already on, you've been riding with me for sometime now. It must be getting quite a squeeze with all the others coming along for the ride too.
Blowing in the wind. Before leaving for the Circuito de Jerez, The Aryan had asked me how she could stop her outdoor curtains from blowing in the wind. They were supposed to be a windbreak. Answer: "Don't use a metal rod, it won't look any good. Sew a long pocket in the bottom of the curtain and fill it with pebbles from the beach." It turned out that while I was at the MotoGP Dulcinea del Toboso had borrowed a Kawasaki and sorted it.
The Tank Bag. There were some things in the panniers that I hadn't used, besides the spanners. I'd taken too many shirts. Dulcinea may not have brought anything much out for me but that mahousive bag of hers was going to take some kit back. To be fair she didn't put up a struggle. I ditched various bits of thermal kit and some shirts, I wouldn't need them. A Uniqlo Heatec base layer seemed to do the trick on the ferry. No jumper, just more light layers. Besides, if I'd been wearing a jumper on the way out I probably wouldn't have met the other bikers I'd heard this story about a guy who came off his bike with his door keys in his breast pocket. One of them turned out to be the key to his heart. It went through his rib cage and the puncture wasn't going to be fixed by Kwickfit, Halfords nor anyone else. Messy. Who knows if it was true but it was enough to make me want a small tank bag. Just to carry documents and a few little things that you need to easily access en route. You know, specs, sun specs, Driving licence, wallet, V5, insurance papers. No, they're still on my phone. Tissues, visor cleaner, pen & paper, small plastic bag to put change in and some lippy. Hoy, no! That's the container for my ear plugs, not lippy. Man up! So I wanted a small tank bag... not....a man bag, you understand. As ever you can't find exactly what you want when you're looking to buy. Magnetic tank bags don't work on the Pornygirly, so that was out. I wasn't overly keen on the baby ones that attach to the gas cap. I thought I'd get absolutely nothing in with the large fitting indentation underneath. Nothing else was quite right. Hmmm, I had to resort to putting one together myself. I've grown to like the Bagster system, I thought it was ugly for a while but for some reason I'd previously bought a Bagster tank cover for The Italian Tart. The clean new one looks good to me. So in the end I got a tiny Autokicker bag, they do good stuff, cut the magnets out so it didn't demagnetise my credit cards. Bonded and stitched on some webbing from an old suitcase strap. Attached the Bagster clip system, job done. Works really well, dead easy to clip the bag in & out and you don't get your tank scratched either. That ones a keeper.
Adios Amigos. Dulcinea had announced that she was going back a day later than I thought. Digesting this I realised the knock on effect. A day less to do the return journey. Longer days in the saddle. Darn. Less time to stop at points of interest en route. I mean good dear, good. 'At the crack of' I borrowed Pedro's 4wd and dropped Dulci with mahousive bag at Malaga airport. Following instructions from Pedro and the Aryan not to return too early, I stopped off at a cafe full of local workers. All eyes followed the Gringo to the bar. "Cafe con leche." Careful, don't say 'por favor'. They don't punctuate sentences with it. The Brits are known as 'The por favoreys'. A fabulous and well deserved nick name. The coffee was so good I ordered another and the worst jam sandwich I've ever had. It was all I could think of in Spanish at the time so I had to order it. La quenta and adios. Back to Pedro's and pack my panniers. Sod it, I left this fleece last time I was here, had to pack that too. The panniers were just as rammed again. Every time I pack them I think I'm doing well, getting better at packing. Then I turn round and there on the bed or the side is one last bastard item, grinning at me. 'Fooled ya!' How'm I going to get that in? ....Every time! I'm not going to unzip the panniers big arse style. It's not going to happen, I'd rather ditch something. Repack, re-roll everything, test the strength of the zips. Those panniers looked like the front of one of Alexi Sayle's suits. Overly tight and any moment the whole lot could burst out. Chat with Pedro, photo, press the button, boom, big grin. Leg over and 'Luego'. I was off, later than I wanted but I was off. Crackle, crackle, crackle. Within a mile on a steep section of road, I had to stop quick on cold tyres, front wheel skid. Mamma Mia. Six miles down the hill, a rear wheel skid! What's with this traction control? I mean ABS. I'm taking it real easy. I'll have to check the setting and my underwear needs checking too. I haven't even got to the bottom of the hill. It was getting hot, the Shatnav was already telling me it needed more juice. Everything was turned on and plugged in. Then it pegged out all together, the first breakdown of the trip. Is this an omen? I hope not. No satnav and no phone. I pulled over in the shade of a tree. I wasn't too worried, I had a map. I like maps but the Shatnav makes it easy. I use both so I have an awareness for where I'm going, that you don't get with a satnav. I was beginning to melt. Lid off, jacket off, inspect the connections. The new 300mm iPhone lightning connector was no longer connecting nor like lightning. It was now a two piece affair and not fit for purpose. Hang on. Didn’t I shove a standard length one in my ‘Drift’ camera kit a year or so ago? It turned out that I did. A small cable tie from the tool kit and it was back on charge again. Happy days. I could even take some photo’s. In the shade of a tree in Almunecar. I'd hardly got anywhere and it was already the heat of the day.
