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Rode to Ericeira in the morning, a few showers on the motorway but didn’t even get my legs really wet Watching some surfing now, will enjoy the weekend here then spend some quality time by myself at home next week.

Took the Rally for it's first MOT this morning, passed with no advisories. Got feckin wet on the way there and back, thank god it's only one mile to the test station ? No beer this evening as I'm doing 'Sober for October' https://www.gosober.org.uk/?no_redirect=true

Motorcycles were everywhere today here. The weather is perfect.

It's for a very good cause.

Madrid goes into Lockdown tonight! Not before time either......those are the twats mostly responsible for spreading it round the country. Been crossing my fingers there's no lockdown coming here....or I won't be able to do the bike deal Monday.

The weather here is great, not to hot but sunny. The leaves are starting to change colour and the light for photography is grand. Going out today to explore a side forest service road we have passed but never been down. Just getting my cameras ready now to capture the action. ? Then home to edit my latest video project and make up some damn fine homemade chicken soup.....yummmm. Sunday's ride will depend on how today goes. ?

The standpipe was made by Mazvar e Hermanos as a copy of that by Cowans Sheldon https://www.gracesguide.co.uk/Cowans,_Sheldon_and_Co All of the track was ripped up by Renfe, the national rail company.

When we had some of our bikes on display at some county show that bike was there with it's huge round headlight. I made a giant tax disc, laminated it and stuck it onto the round lens when he wasn't looking.

Weather is shit here......but I can't use the Strom anyway as it's in mothballs ready to go to Granada on Monday. So nothing happening here apart from waiting for a call from the Farrier that he's ready to do the horses' hooves. That call could come anytime today or tomorrow depending on how long it takes his hangover to clear. Don't ask......this is Spain! What you guys doing?

Thanks Bob she seems to be getting over it now

No sweat for Bob.......he'll still be legless all month!

Apparently as soon as the impending Lockdown was announced thousands of them evacuated from the city to their second homes to avoid it. And no doubt spreading more Covid to rural areas.

I edited for accuracy

There are false positives but obviously you always have to treat them like a sure thing. A second test settles it. Hope all goes for her!

Nope nothing from me or the kids only the wife, she has had a really bad flu all week, she had a test on Wednesday and it came back positive. The hospital she works in had been on the news lately with a lot of new cases (royal Glamorgan) Because she works there the family can get a test without having symptoms. I'm only having the test because work asked me to see if i could get it because it could impact the site i work on but i think its pointless as the test only says you have or haven't got the virus the day you took the test not when you got it or how long you've had it

Really nice here.

And the new header pic is in!

I have a winter hack ya know, game on people, we;ll see the tough fight it out in February....

Found this old run report (wot I wrote for our local TRF group) on an old back up portable drive, pictures are lost apart from a few on my current hard drive pasted below. This would be about 1995 I reckon. WILTING IN WILTSHIRE I was awakened bright and early in my luxury farmhouse accommodation by the sight of John P (looking rather alluring in his special edition Paddington Bear Jim Jams) sneaking into my room and swapping the kettle for his and Phil’s broken one. Strange Dave my room mate had wanted to lock the door the previous evening but I had protested for fear of people talking about us. Luckily, suspecting John would try something like this, I had already swapped them around once. The sound of cursing was just audible from the other room above David’s snoring. Remembering that our super scary landlady was expecting us downstairs for breakfast, I woke David up with my special TRF tipping a person out of bed action (taught only to high ranking Rights Of Way Officers and passed onto me by Graham). David was less alluring in his Madagascan simulated leather cod piece with optional attachments. After enjoying a FULL ENGLISH BREAKFAST (the scary landlady’s capitals) with knobs on, we adjourned to our luxury farmhouse parking area in plenty of time to begin the long drawn out starting procedure on my immaculate DR350 ( well it is underneath the mud). Half an hour later the others took pity on me and had a go at starting it. John looked scornfully down at me and did his usual electric start mime. However I had the last laugh there when he realised he’d lost his bike keys. Strange Dave loaded his rucksack up with high grade coal for his antique £60 Victorian trials bike and topped up the oil (in the running lights). By this time the rest of that fine body of men, the Essex TRF Away team, had arrived. Oh how proud they looked as they struggled to change into their bike gear inside beach towels to protect their modesty. As soon as John appeared with his keys (found in the landlady’s bedroom for some unknown reason) we started off. The first lane was a gentle climb with gentle ruts. Unfortunately everything was invisible under the four foot high grass. At the first gate certain members were a little late due to stopping for a spot of low level sight seeing. The following five mile lane encouraged some to speed up but had some alarming black coloured puddles outside a cowshed. Splash through one of these and your socks are never quite the same again, neither is the bloke immediately behind me who copped most of it in the face. The next few lanes were enjoyed under a blazing Wiltshire sun and the others looked quite happy. I couldn’t have this of course, so when we approached the ford at Stratford Tony I sent David across with his camera and blocked the entrance to the shallow side with my lavishly maintained DR350. Naturally not one of the buggers had the decency to fall off for the camera. My plans thwarted I led my cattle I mean fellow trail riders to Odstock (the place not the Bond villain) where as I stopped to open a gate my goggles (hanging loose) flicked up into my eye and neatly removed my contact lens and flung it somewhere into the beautiful local flora. I didn’t panic, I made the special TRF hand signal for stop your engines and help me look for a tiny piece of perspex in long grass. Thirty seconds later and Strange Dave strangely spotted it, gave it a brief wipe on his babygro all weather bike outfit and attempted to reinsert it into the wrong eye. One eye watering badly I bravely led the motley collection of cut throats, car mechanics and gentleman’s jazz mag producers onward to Porton Down the famous germ warfare laboratory. Fearful that we might leave them with more germs than they started with, we quickly skirted around to Old Sarum. Here I decide to introduce some culture into the other riders lives with a brief explanation of Sarum’s history. However I don’t know any, so instead we just stared at a couple wrestling in some long grass.(Why I don’t know, but we saw a lot of this type of thing. Perhaps Wiltshire couples argue a lot at the weekend.) It was at this point I started to suspect that some of the hooligans faster riders were champing at the bit. Anxious to calm these thoroughbreds before one ran into the back of me I pointed them down the byway that runs cross country to Stonehenge. This track is 40 feet wide, straight for a mile and a half and smoother than Dave’s head. It has grass on it that an old age pensioner bowling champion would be proud of. Why oh why then, 30 seconds after shouting,” run free my proud beauties, get it out of your system”, were they all picking up Derek and dusting him down. His handlebars were rather twisted, in fact John P who has had a lot of experience with boy scouts declared that they had uncannily formed a double fluted sheep shagger knot. Derek was placed back onto his machine and by crossing his arms could still use most of the controls. We all roared up towards Stonehenge on the horizon, whilst humming the theme from the High Chaparral. Nothing could stop us now I thought until I saw the amount of traffic using the A303 which was between us and Stonehenge. In the end using the force, I closed my eyes and just turned right into the traffic. Honestly the language some tourists use, you wouldn’t think they were relaxing on holiday. We passed around the edge of Stonehenge, admired the tourists, and stopped on the byway just behind the monument. “Magnificent, isn’t it,” I cried. “About time they built something else now,” says John. And he calls me a Philistine!! Standing by ancient man’s greatest achievement, I carried out Braintree man’s greatest achievement and started my bike first kick. We headed of to Yarnbury Castle , a huge Iron Age hillfort. It sits next to the byway but is surrounded by fences stopping you visiting it. The next day I spotted a Sarum to Bath milestone sitting 20 feet inside the so called private area. On that day we climbed the fence and passed through the banks and extremely deep ditch for a sit down. Dave immediately began a dried sheep dropping bombardment on those on the other side of the ditch. Realising that his missiles were falling short due to their light dehydrated state, I threw a fresh missile. This went much further but was a bit messy to hold. Luckily as run leader I had taken the precaution of using David’s glove so as not to risk sullying my map. I carefully placed it back inside his helmet without him noticing. But all that was still in the future and Dave’s gloves and helmet interior were still clean as we passed Yarnbury Castle and onto the Salisbury Plain. Here the tracks split many times and there are little or no features to navigate from. Added to this there are numerous extra tracks created by the army that aren’t even on the map. At the first three way fork I used a cunning TRF navigational aid and picked the left hand track. Eeny Meeny Miney Mo took us along the side of the army’s Hercules landing strip and into Little House on the Prairie country. Fearful of unexploded artillery shells I had intended to rely on Dave’s GPS. When he revealed that he’d forgotten the batteries I sent him in front as a punishment. We emerged safely in the village of Chitterne and Dave quickly changed his underpants, put a fresh Hoover bag onto his airbox, emptied the chalkdust out of the old one and carefully placed it in the rear wicker basket for later reuse. Perhaps I should go into greater detail about Dave’s bike. Purchased for a mere 60 notes and authenticated by Arthur Neagus shortly before his death in 1984 from beeswax poisoning, this fine example of late Victorian machinery shows not only the excellence of pre-war Japanese engineering, but also how British tinkering can really bugger it up gradually as the years pass. Dave is immensely proud of his machine and has been known to call out anyone who hints at it’s parenthood or mentions the gear change arrangement. He once let me ride it in deepest Kent by the simple act of stealing mine and riding off quickly. Unable to get out of first gear I screamed off after him shouting the name of the County we were in. He eventually stalled and as he frantically prodded at the kickstart I wrestled him off of my bike. Back in steamy Wiltshire I was finding that as I attempted to travel across Boyton Down, the old eeny meeny trick wasn’t really as good as I’d first thought. After 20 minutes of going around in circles I saw a man with no chin in the middle of nowhere. I stopped and asked if he knew where he was. “Are yooo cheps teyarf ?” He said. Wondering why he was eating a plum I replied that we were. “ More of yooo cheps up yonder”, he enunciated as he pointed at the horizon. I immediately checked behind me to see if everybody was still with me. It was quite possible that with the circles we had followed I may have caught up with my own tail end Charlie. But no, Charlie was still there, so there must be native trailriders about. The posh geezer gave me directions with a warning not to stray onto his fields as some of his “cheps” were using tractors and might chase us. When we finally saw the “cheps”, they were driving about five or six- half million pound combine harvesters. All that money and inbred, I wonder if he wants to adopt me. By now we were coming to the end of the day’s run and as we approached Burcombe I was looking forward to a shower. I asked Dave to stay at the back and make sure no one got lost. This ensured that I got to the shower first and that there was no risk of running out of hot water. THE END

Another abandoned station on the GSSR route in Southern Spain - Fines-Olula in Almeria. It was a busy station both in passenger traffic and materials from Olula del Río, Fines, and Macael......mainly marble. Like all of them it was closed on 31st December 1984. This is Dark Motorcycling!

Yeh......no excuse for that helmet!

What a fantastic location to enjoy a couple of drinks What a great photo and what a smoothie you are This guy is so obviously a mate of Pete, just look at his dress code ?

Meanwhile in Spain........

I really enjoyed going through all the thousands of pictures to post these reports, although I would rather I had thousands more to just keep going. Maybe editing a video or two in a few weeks or days would be a good idea, maybe once I learn how to do it, although to be honest video with voices is something pretty hard for me to do without falling apart. I have to do it properly alone, though, can't have my dog lifting his ears everytime Maria speaks in a Video as it breaks my heart. Assuming the Covid situation is handled next year, I will visit Morocco by myself in 2021. It'll be extra hard because on top of going without her, it was in Tangier that I lost Maria in 2018. But, if it's the same as posting these reports, it'll be tough but at the same time feel familiar. We'll see.

Leaving Fes was uneventful, cool enough in the morning, easy traffic, and we just comfortably made our way towards Tangier via good easy roads A stork's nest is a very good use of a minaret, although I don't know how much the storks appreciate their early morning calls to payer. Having bought a rug for our living room in Fes (I know, the cliché!), Maria was now enjoying a little backrest. We stopped in Tetouan for some light lunch. Tangier was about an hour away, or less, and our plan was to sleep there. At our arrival in Tangier, we are way ahead of schedule, so without even stopping we decide to head for the ferry and see how much the wait is for the following crossing. Turns out we waited for half and hour of 45 minutes, and boarded headed for Spain. It was windy and the Mediterranean was choppy. Maria looking cool while the GS waits to be checked by the X-ray machine. Although the catamarans making this cross are really competent boats, fast and smooth, I felt sick since the moment I sat down inside. Fortunately we were joined by another portuguese couple of were just returning for a few days as well, on a Honda NC750. I forgot their names, and forgot to take pictures as well, but fortunately I accomplished my goal of not throwing up halfway through the trip Getting off the boat in Spain was quick and easy, as always, you´re usually just waved by if you're European. I stop immediately after exiting the harbor, in search of a cafe with a nice firm chair for me to get my land legs back. It's still early, so we decide to ride to Faro and have a rest day there instead of splitting the trip between two days. Sunset was spent on the road, and we arrived at Faro well into the night, having enjoyed a night ride with temperatures as high as 30º through Sevilla. The next day we woke up late, and went to the beach, we did have, after all, a day or two to spare, so spent them wisely before going back home. This had just been my best trip ever, and I was sad it had come to an end. I will treasure these memories forever.

I have a few places scattered around Germany, Portugal, and Morocco, that I call home. It's always hard to leave them after only one night, and this simple hotel in the middle of a windswept plateau is one of them. Regardless, we were to go to bed in Fes tonight, so we made way enjoying a fresh October early morning. I was aware this would be our last big open space in Morocco this year, so I cruised these valleys slower than normal (which isn't fast anyway), and even stopped for a couple of pictures Here I am practicing my intrepid adventurer's thousand mile stare, if the camera's pointed at you don't fear a goofy pose! It was a good thing the sun was now clearing the top of the mountains, as we were both a little cold. I remember enjoying this vastness, aware I would miss this. Little did I know back then, how much I would miss that feeling. Having a sandwich arriving at Fes, with the Morocco Rally cars and bikes passing outside stopped in front of an old dealership with a forgotten S-Class inside, just stuff you notice In Fes, our regular hotel was again fully booked, so we stayed next door, at a less cooler place but with an almost 4 meter deep swimming pool, enough to make my ears ache while going for the bottom. That night we had some sort of tajine with meat after being received with open arms at a known restaurant. We shared it The next day would be a long one, although not in our plans so far.

On the next day, we have a nice breakfast before riding out. The weather forecast was for rain on the coast and judging by our previous days in Tan Tan and Guelmim, we would be getting shitty weather all the way back to Tangier, so instead we decided to go back via the interior which was also very much preferred next to the coast as far as roads and people. It was also understood that we wouldn't be visiting Morocco on the bike on the following year, so might as well be on our preferred roads. Heading north still towards Marrakech, but before getting there we were turning east towards Beni Mellal and then Midelt. Moroccan cruise control: We were now heading to the plateau once again, but before we got there we both spent one of the most uncomfortable hours on a bike ever. Although it wasn't the hottest we've ridden through, the humidity was off the charts, we were soaked in sweat and uncomfortable. My groin ..., well, you know how it feels after a few hours like that. We were very happy to arrive at our hotel for the evening, and I swear it took me less than 5 minutes between arriving for check-in and getting in the pool. There are no pictures of the afternoon because we didn't really care for that area and Maria was too uncomfortable to be feeling like holding up a camera. With every part of me feeling relieved and fresh, we enjoyed a cool evening sitting outside having cold water, while being kept company by chickens unaware of the menu. In Morocco, every animal climbs trees, or was it just trying to escape the cooking pot? A very good night's sleep was had in our very colorfully lit hotel room.

On that day, near where the goats were climbing the trees to get to the Argan fruit, Maria picked a couple of nuts off the ground and brought them as a souvenir. Later, I took the seeds out of their shell and one of them I managed to germinate into a small tree that has been growing for almost three years: It currently looks like this

It was wet as we rode off in the morning, thick wet fog, the kinds of roads we were on and also the worn out suspension and tires in most cars meant traffic moved surprisingly carefully in the wet, I wonder how they cope with snow in places like Midelt where it really comes down and a significant part of cars seem to have had nothing done to them in the last 10 years. I didn't enjoy turning back north, my real wish would have been for us to go further south for 2 or 3 months! Anyway, we were off into the mountains, and surprisingly, this would be the day I was to ride my favourite biking road ever, to this day. Half an hour into the ride, as we turned away from the ocean and started climbing a little, the sun came out and it warmed up instantly, and out came our layers and the camera! In Tafraoute, a mountain town, we stopped at a small cooperative shop to buy one of our souvenirs for this trip. Argan oil is a very labour intensive work, the nuts' shell is split and it's the seed inside that is used for cold pressing for the precious oil. The cold pressing is done with a wooden hand tool, and is incredibly tedious and long work. Traditionally, all this is only done by women, so it's women who set up these cooperatives and run them with barely no influence by men who traditionally are dedicated to herding. It's also their way of controlling cash inflow to the household. This whole area is rich in Argan trees, and it's obviously going to be a rich business since major michelin star restaurants started using Argan oil for salads, as well as the beauty industry started to publicize Argan extract in expensive skin and hair products. In these hills or mountains, we stopped and watched a herd of goats enjoy the argan suits directly from a tree on a cliffside This is the stuff you can't find near tourist traps: We stop by Taroudant in search of lunch, and eat at a big cafe in the center. It was hot and busy, and no tourists in sight except for both of us. I left Taroudant with the feeling that it is a cool place to sleep over for another trip. Busy and big enough to be lively and get lost in but not chaotic and harsh like Marrakech. We were off again, heading towards Marrakech. Our plan was to stop an hour or so ahead and figure out where to sleep, our michelin map showed the R203 as a dangerous mountain road with drops, so I was obviously keen to try it The R203, between Tafingoult and Asni, is the best road I've ever done, look it up in google maps if you want. Starts pretty "European": But as you start to climb, it's not one to ride fast: At the top there is a dirt section, but I fear this might all have been "fixed" when I return for another run. This is a mountain, though, and they get plenty of winter weather here, so I understand why this road might be considered a little dangerous. We stop and check booking and google for a place to stay, and decide on one. Then just show up and ask for rates instead of settling for the internet prices, it was a good choice and was one of the best places we've slept and ate in Morocco. It had a comfy room, a swimming pool, ducks!, and an amazing restaurant that surprised us with Moroccan flavors in a more modern cuisine than we were used to, it was delicious. Dinner was outside, warm enough but with too little light for food pictures. We did have company, as always when eating outside in Morocco. A couple of old ladies from England sat on the table next to us, they were on a cooking learning trip learning different dishes in each town, and told Maria both would love to tour Morocco on a bike. One of them, having owned motorcycles for decades told us her adventures of motorcycling in the 50s and 60s in the UK. Sadly, I forgot to take a picture of them. We slept great.

Snag those doors / hardware and ship to me - I can get $300-$400 a pop for those here. I recently made some doors for a lady and she wanted the old, distressed look. Had to fuck up some perfectly good wood to make it look that way. Made handles from rebar and dinged her $1,000 for them. Felt kinda bad doing it, but I needed some new tires.

Well that's the million dollar question, i have heard the test can't tell the difference between covid and a virus you already have such as the flu how true that is i don't know. so we're all off work now

Well I'm now on total lockdown the wife's got covid. tests for me and the kids today

So, staying at my parents' home, yesterday I get home and there's this guy standing in the street, check this out: