After approximately 5500 miles, 3 weeks, 8 border crossings, 5 Ferry’s, 2 Bike dumps, 2 broken indicators, 3 severely dented panniers, 2 scratched/dented cylinder head cases, 2 bent wing mirrors, millions of splattered bugs, 1 dead bird, 100’s of mountain, coastal and desert roads, unaccountable beautiful scenic views , wind blistered lips, helmet rubbed scabby ears, only 4 mosquito bites, 2 bug bruised purple eye lids, 1 aching back, 2 aching knees and a huge phone bill!, Im home sweet home.

Before departing ‘la Rive’, Biscarrsone, I left my bucket and spade with my French camping neighbours who helped me lose at bingo last night. I won’t be needing them where im going tomorrow. After 150 miles of long straight roads, I had to catch a short ferry to Royan, near La Rochelle. 195 mile later arriving in Dinon, France, I decided to press on to Caen in preparation for tomorrows sailing. 456 miles completed and 12 hours on a bike seat, his record to date. I had a disappointing, expensive meal in Caen. For the first time on this

Its taken me a while but I have realised the bugs don’t wake till the sun is well up, so I hit the road early before they hit me. I compare an average size bug hitting you between the eyes at speed to being shot by a pellet gun and it’s not a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’. I have suffered several purple eyelids on my travels. I have worked out the yellow splats – bees and wasps, red splats – mosquitos, black splats – hungry mosquitoes and the purple eye lids – the bird size black flying beetle that

I departed the undiscovered paradise in North West Portugal. One day I will return. I cheated for the first time today and after 50 miles of scenic mountain roads, pine forests and gushing waterfalls, then crossed the unmanned border into Spain. I then took the auto route for 300 miles. The road was good with no other vehicles so cruised with ease at 120, then took a short cut on the twisty roads and over the hills into Bilbao, Spain, 439 miles in total. I compare Bilbao with a deserted cowboy town with an over the top traffic system involving

After a 281 mile journey of mountain roads, I’m unsure as to which sure country I’m in, but thinks Barga is in North West Portugal near the Spanish border. The winding roads made it unable to exceed 30 mph making it a long 10 hour ride on ‘Nomad’. A halfway sleep by the roadside was required. The campsite is located high in the mountains in dense forest and im hoping to hear the wolves tonight. The locals speak a unique language, one I dont recognised. I think maybe it’s the accent and compare it to the Portuguese equivalent of

I used the intense thermals to fly the 259 miles through the morning mist from Lagos to Santo Antonio Des Areias, Portugal. I then de toured to an old place of work, Alcochete near Lisbon. I used my nose to locate the distinct lacquer smelling factory pumping out fumes through out the countryside. Nothing much had changed. A new shopping centre and the odd newly constructed industrial unit. Arriving in Santo des Areias, I received a warm welcome from an English campsite owner, who then invited me for dinner with the local ex-pat community. Late afternoon, I climbed Marvao, a hill

Different country, different language and yet another time adjustment. I can’t keep up and think one world, one time, although agree with the romantic languages. The 319 miles from Santa Maria, Spain to Lagos, South coast of Portugal via Seville were long boring roads. I hired a ‘Bengolia’ for the night and headed into Lagos for dinner on my shiny clean bike. Tomorrow I will head further North into Portugal.

I had a restless sleep due to a room full of cockroaches the size of a thumb and the resident cats trying to break in. I left Mohammedia heading for Ceuta (a Spanish Port in Morocco) with the sea to my left and the sun rising behind the silhouette of palm trees to my right. What more could I ask for. The weather was hot with a strong wind, I compare it to a 50000 Watt hair dryer. Whilst riding through the pot holed, farming roads of North Morocco the soldiers in the leading military truck requested a

At 0430, I awake to the sound of crashing waves, then prayers being called. I had to think where I was. Today’s route will take me up 315 miles of scenic coast roads from Imousanne to Mohammedia. Along the way I stopped off to wash the salt and dust from my still broken looking bike. I successfully dodged the donkeys, roaming cattle, oncoming trucks two a breadth, potholes and people trying to sell me hashees whilst travelling at 60 mph. I eventually arrive safely at Camp Said. It was the worst campsite yet. On arrival, I had to peal my

I successfully completed the now sealed Tizi n Techa pass. I would of liked to continue South through Western Sahara, Mauritania ect.. finally reaching South Africa, but I have my wedding to attend. Instead I’m homeward bound finally heading North. The 256 miles of mostly mountain roads from Marakesh to Imousanne were energy zapping. After hundreds of spectacular mountain and desert scenery, im happy to arrive by the sea and locate a quiet campsite in a little fishing village on the West coast of Morocco. The Atlantics huge, powerful waves makes it a suffers paradise, although I dont surf. The

Last night, I got lost in Marakesh. I woke late, aching from yesterdays little tumble. The Riad Guardian did my laundry as it was red with dust from the Atlas paths. I gifted him a miniature cognac in return, given to me by my neighbour before I left Hampton ‘sorry Carol’. For most of the day I relaxed by the Riad pond size pool whilst brushing off the creatures who also joined me. Being the only guest the guardian acted as a my own personal butler and followed me every where acting on every instruction. I took advantage

The roadside hotel in Boumaine du Dads treated me like a king, I loved it. The locals warned of a 7 hr ride to complete the 192 miles to Marakesh via the tiza n techza pass over the High Atlas mountains. It is a route I had planned well. Setting off I could see the snow peaked mountains ahead getting closer. Following the signs for Telouet, the road changed from tarmac to gravel. The now rocky road got steeper. I remembered, before I left my Dad advising ‘take no risks’, it was too late. The pass was too

The next morning, I woke at 0515 in time for a spectacular sunrise emerging rapidly from the sand dunes. After saying our good byes to the cat, we set off on the return camel trek to Masouga in light wind and rain. In the desert? I ask. Reunited with my moto, I hit the road again to Quarzazate via the beautiful Todra Gorge. I again tested my off road skills on a 8km piste connecting Todra and Boumaine du Dades but was unsuccessful. The thought of being alone with no breakdown assistance able to attend the remote pistes, I was

My day off by the desert gave me a chance to relax a little before driving a 4×4 around Erg Chebbi desert and drink tea with the Nomads close to the Algerian border where we were constantly being watched suspiciously by the military from the surrounding hills. I then exchanged the wheels for legs and climbed aboard my designated camel ‘Hamu’ and headed deep into the dunes. It was dry and hot with no wind. En route we joined a caravan, riders being of Spanish, French and Dutch origin. Hamu struggled to keep up, reminding me of the globe trotter

Today, I escaped from Fez. I found yesterdays ride challenging. Exchanging cigarettes with the guard I nervously set off on the 344 mile journey through the mid/low Atlas mountains. I was now used to the rain and had adapted various clothes drying techniques ie when hitting a dry spell, riding with my arms and legs spread. It seem to work. With the cloud so dense I was unable to overtake the 5 mph laden trucks crawling up the mountain. Once over the mid, the weather cleared and to my pleasant surprise the Atlas roads were amazingly well constructed. They made the

I woke to prayers being called, echoing around the mountains. It was raining again. Why wasn’t it light I asked myself, then realised I hadn’t adjusted my clock, it was 0400 Moroccan. I continued to pack and put on my still wet riding kit. I then continued over and around the RIF mountains whilst avoiding the infamous white Mercedes packed with young men. Due to the dense cloud and lashing rain I was unable to see my speedometer. The roads rapidly deteriorated until there wasn’t any. Knee high torrents had washed away the tarmac down the mountain sides. Wanting

After 193 miles, a ferry sailing, a stressful border crossing and a 5 Euro bribe, I arrived in North Africa. I camped in Chefchaouen in the RIF mountains of Morocco, 63 miles south of Ceuta. The smell from the marjuanna fields faintly drifted across the valleys. I will be riding down to Fez tomorrow and hope the weather improves. I have been rained on for the last 4 days since leaving France and doubt I will be attempting any off roading if it persists.

The 263 mile journey from remote Ossa De Montiel to Malaga was expected to be easy, little did I know there would be thunder storms the whole way, making the Spanish roads like ice skating rinks, often loosing the back end to diesel spills left by many tractors working the vine fields (my wifes wine supply). Peaking the final hill to sunny Malaga, the sea was in view and I let out a loud ‘Yessiii, Hola Malaga’ and grinned widely. With the tent pitched, I alarmingly noticed the signs dotted about which read ‘Prohibido Banador’ I decided to walk down to the naturist

Last night the restaurant finally opened. Apparently, the best in Pamplona called Europa. The meal/service was fantastic. Another early night only to be awaken by my American neighbours in the adjoining room. Once back to sleep, I struggled to wake at 0600 to find Pamplona’s residents still partying. I made a few minor repairs after yesterdays little accident and began the 450 mile journey through the mountainous region of Castilla, an 11 hour ride. It was freezing, though I thoroughly enjoyed being the only vehicle on the open road. Later that day, I found a lovely remote campsite and welcomed

I awoke fresh as a daisy having had a good nights sleep in preparation for an early start before sunrise. I used my jet boil and thermorest for the 1st time and recommend them as camping essentials. Last night I predicted rain, I was wrong, it snowed! The 300 miles of snow covered mountains were difficult to ride through and im p….. off about dumping my bike. I find it hard to believe that I will be riding the dunes in a few days time. Once I crossed the Pyrenees into Spain, a hot bath and a hotel room

On board the ferry, I woke tired after only 2 hrs sleep due to a squeaky, vibrating cabin, but glad the crossing into Caen, France was calm. Now in the depth of France, I finally set up camp in Pons after travelling 575 miles since last night. The sun is out but temperatures cool and I predict rain. The bike is running ‘sweet as a nut’, better than ever! but the tom tom dosen’t beep loud enough to warn me I’m riding on the wrong side of the road. I wanted to apologise to the two hand flapping drivers I