TRAVERSE 73
Made Like A Gun
Rain In Spain , Magic In Morocco , Friends in France
It was useless to try and fool the Enfield that a trip to the supermarket was as exciting as a trip to a market in Amritsar or Acapulco . This noble machine once pushed the boundaries of motorcycle achievement in the rugged valleys of Pakistan and rode deftly onto narrow canoes in Cambodia during the rainy season when road travel became impossible . It was unfair to inflict ignominious journeys to the supermarket on my two-wheeled friend which looked increasingly forlorn at each weekly shopping trip . It was time for another adventure ! My dance-mad daughter invited me to join her at the flamenco festival in Jerez , Andalucía in southern Spain in February . It was a bitterly cold winter and I was living on a friend ’ s 36m Dutch barge in Bristol harbour . It was in need of renovation and had no heating . The harbour froze in temperatures as low as minus 9 degrees . I saw a tempting opportunity for a bike trip . Within hours the ferry from Plymouth to Santander was booked , allowing
ten days for the journey to meet her . I bought maps for Spain and also Morocco which is just a hop on a ferry away ... well , you never know !
I changed the oil and asked my favourite mechanic to renew the steering head bearing and all the cables . He replaced only the throttle cable , considering everything else to be OK . Later that day the Ministry of Transport tester passed the bike but issued an advisory note to replace the steering head bearing ! There was no time to get the job done . An added excitement to Enfield-riding is the risk that you just might not make it to your destination . There is always that tension to spice up the journey .
Exhausted by months of trying to keep warm at the library and even the Crown Court ( as a spectator ), I set off from the barge at midday on February 13th wearing a shiny new helmet I had struggled to get into it at first . After losing my earrings and some of my hair , I loaded up the bike and rode away . I had just left the environs of Bristol when the bike started spluttering and stalling every time I slowed down .
“ Don ’ t you want some adventure ?” I shouted exasperatedly .
At Crediton in Devonshire it would not restart but a biker-angel rescued me from the roadside , took me back to his garage and sprayed all manner of stuff on the carburettor and got it started . I set off again . Now it was dark and the freezing February chill was creeping into my leathers . The bike stalled and stubbornly refused to start as I reached my friends ’ house in Okehampton where I was to break the journey overnight .
I arranged public transport for the next day to take me to the ferry port . I was fed up with the bike and would go without it . Next morning , just before leaving , I went to say “ goodbye ” to the bike . I gave it a half-hearted kick and it fired into life as if to say “ You ’ re not going without me !”
With just enough time to get to the ferry , I flung on the luggage and set off . It was a crisp , sunny morning and the ride was exhilarating . We made it to the ferry and the bike was strapped down . The two-day voyage to Spain was so relaxing that I almost believed I ’ d imagined the stalling incidents or ( because I am an incurable optimist ) that whatever had caused the problem had now miraculously cleared . I envisaged no problems riding off the ferry into warm , if not sweltering heat in Santander . Wrong on both counts ! Firstly , the bike wouldn ' t start . A kind Geordie helped when he saw me jumping repeatedly on the kick-start-
TRAVERSE 73