Pedro

I thought Vegas was about hookers and casinos, pawnshop and harley dealership?

Taking Maria’s 316i to the portuguese MOT, first time it’s run in two years and feels like it never stopped being a daily driver. Class car! Also the radio has difficulty picking up most stations and the best one is classical music, which adds to the classyness

It's got a silly small front wheel though. Makes sense, a 450 WATER cooled must surely be the basis for a sports bike!

Modern looking

I'm with Marcel on this one. I mean, you buy one or two units of icecream on a normal day. You buy one or two of your man's favourite flavor but put one of chocolate in there for yourself, or mint, chocolate and mint, pistachio!!! Hell, go nuts and get yourself one of something with rum or god forbid cream and nuts, but a full freezer full of your man's favourite strawberry? That's a premeditated multiple orgasms followed by true love and devotion!

I’ve got a fat skying raindeer that stays on all year

I knew about Everts vs. Carmichael, but not about this, what a race from Herlings

It was strawberry!

Go get it, then, Dude! You acted poorly, most women will understand caring for kids.

They say the twin shock setup used to sometimes have some stability problems, at high speeds...

You wouldn´t recognize her after 2 years? I do hope you are making this up...

You found ice cream in the freezer?

I love how Dynas look when they're not lowered, that rear fender is just so pretty. It's a proper looking bike, the fact that it's a 30 year old bike just makes it cooler.

Thank you for the kind comments, guys! You don't need a BMW to do any of this stuff and many bikes would probably be a lot better offroad, but I really appreciate mine and it absolutely suits my riding style.

Clearly he is making them less of an eye sore!

Lazy designing, though. Take an F4 and photoshop the picture by stretching it.

Guy played two rolls in his life, he nailed both, that's not bad.

She would be posting here if that was the case. She'll be home cooking a 5 dish meal for her sons and getting hammered. Or, @Slowlycatchymonkey, going on a big multy day motorcycle ride around the UK too busy to take two pictures and post a ride report!

That is a good looking cruiser. I like that!

I had went to bed early, and did set an alarm clock for the first time in weeks, to 06:30. That gave me time to enjoy waking up lazily in bed, procrastinating getting up while enjoying my own company. Breakfast was the only poor one I had this trip, that went nicely with the theme of this visit to Fes, croissants were stale and worthy of one single bite, orange juice hadn't seen an orange since an industrial factory somewhere once processed them, and coffee tasted like Nescafe. In Morocco there's no excuse for non fresh orange juice and shit coffee, but it made sense as that hotel didn't even offer a breakfast free stay, they had to push people to eat it I was ready to go a little after 7, but as I looked around the streets seemed really wet and it was going to be dark for a while after leaving, so grudgingly put my plastic rain pants and jacket on. By 07:25, I was ready to go: Put navigation on heading to Ain Dorij, and rode off, google maps took me out via tiny streets that seemed more complicated than needed, but the low traffic showed me a less seen side of Fes. It was interesting. Getting out of town and rain starts to steadily fall, at 08:15 I had had my only really challenging moment on the road and stopped to enjoy the sunrise a little, on a particularly muddy and poorly surfaced bit of road tilting to the right, I was forced to brake a little and basically slid off the road, I spotted the gravel bit outside the tarmac and simply pointed to that and rode it for a while. I am most impressed at the Mitas E07 + Dakar, they're sound tires even if the manufacturer warns that they have poor performance in rain and cold. 08:15: Rain properly starts to fall shortly later, my phone is now safe in my jacket and I stop for a moment's rest after spotting shelter. Someone takes my picture as for whatever reason I was enjoying it quite a bit. The above was at 08:55, I then put the phone back in my jacket pocket safe from the weather, and rode all the way to Tangier with no need for it. Navigation was easy and although I was riding on less than main roads I knew I had to go pass Ouezzane and then Chefchaouen, it proved easy. Rain didn't stop for the rest of the morning, averaging from hard to very hard and very windy at the same time. I got stopped at a checkpoint and after the initial small talk the officer told me I had been spotted at 95kmh on a 60, I got off the bike with the helmet open, got my right glove off and introduced myself, told him I would be more respectful from now on, but that I was intended on catching the Ferry and wanted to not miss it, all while putting my biggest possible good guy big smile attitude. Then he asked me for my papers while looking at the back of the bike, and asked where I was from as clearly I didn't have a French or German plate, upon the answer of "Portugaise" he enthusiastically shook my hand and after becoming friends sent me on my way with a big smile and a "ride safe" farewell. Portugal is a good nationality to be in Morocco, our national football team shares the same colours, and we both like beating the French and Spaniards. From there it was very smooth to Tangier, if plenty of wet. The last miles before Tangier were dry and windy, which allowed the overalls to dry on the outside. I had money with me so stopped to top up the bike at a Shell station, rode into Tangier feeling like a road worn adventurer, and quickly got lost in lunchtime traffic Stopped at a cafe with outside tables on a common street and ordered a sandwich. While it took forever to arrive I took the overalls off and made myself comfortable. Turns out my overall pants aren't really waterproof anymore, my jeans were wet on the outside all over the waterproof stitches, and my chest and upper back was fully wet too. Good stuff! The bike looked proper and had just proven to be a trusty friend, a true work beast or a war horse: It was good to ride to the port without the blasted rain suit, hang around for a little getting in line for the bike to be x-rayed, it all went easily as if hipotetically crossing between any European countries. The crossing was a little choppy, the storms seemed to have angered the Mediterranean and the boat rocked heavily the whole trip. At first it was funny like so, look at the water level in the horizon: But after a while people started to get a little tired of it, I felt like having a piss but sat firmly in my seat at the risk of falling over when walking or throwing up if standing, two guys started praying to Allah, and a few people had hands on their faces like trying to prevent eyes from popping out. We made it ok though, lack of paperwork on the boat was a bonus, I don't envy people crossing the other way and having to write stuff down, I would succumb to that for sure! Got out of the boat in my due time, and pushed the bike along with all the line of cars that got off the boat before I did. Tarifa looked stormy, so I put the rain stuff back on, the time at Tangier and on the boat had dried my clothes so I felt comfy and fresh. It was past 16:00 by the time I rode out of Tarifa, I had looked at hotels around there and also the weather forecasts, it was rain for the next few days, so feeling fresh after the ride from Fes I decided to go home for the night, Waze sent me via Badajoz which wouldn't have been my preferred route, but as it was raining through Sevilla (or was it Huelva already? I don't know...) I was lazy and followed it's guidance. Storms were littered all around, with orange warnings for heavy rain so I figured there must be a reason for the longer route. Right before entering Portugal I stopped for a snack after riding all the way from Tarifa in heavy rains. 20km into the trip a water barrier descended upon me with such violence that water pushed into my overalls with ease through my neck and wrists. This stop made sense, and the tiny jamon con queso bocadillho provided me with a little comfort from the belly outwards. The beer is 0% alcohol, too. The snack and fuel stop was at 20:09, I made it home at 22:54 and the bike looked pretty much like I did except prettier, just as wet. That was an epic day riding, around 300/320km in Morocco's backroads and around 700km in Europe with port crossing and a choppy ride in the middle of it, I felt like it was a proper day to end a proper trip, and was comforted by a hot shower in my own house, that I grew to love from Maria. Heated up some of Sofia's shepherds pie and opened a bottle of red wine. I was feeling energized when arriving home, despite the long day, but as soon as food and wine hit my stomach and I settled from the excitement of riding through rain storms, I started feeling tired. That night I fell asleep moments after laying down, and the rain lashed the outside of my bedroom walls through the night. On this trip I travelled with Maria and Sofia, and have to thank you all for providing an audience, the taking pictures everywhere provided with a distraction to some of the very intense feelings I had. I got through it and the extreme darkness I feared didn't appear, only sorrow and the memory of loving times did. I hardly ever felt alone on this trip. It was a nice one, there will be more. Thank you for all the nice comments.

07th December, Wednesday It was the coldest night since I've been in Morocco, snow covered mountain tops were in sight of where I slept. I woke up with no alarm clock, as has been so for a couple of years except with unusually early work commitments. And since it was dark and still too cold, I laid in bed enjoying the warmth. Dawn was at a little past 8, this is 8:33, bike felt cold just from looking at it in the distance, minimum temperature that night had been 1ºC. It was the first time in this trip that it cranked slowly once before starting, maybe still sleepy! After slowly enjoying breakfast and double the usual amount of hot coffee to allow the sun to kill off some of the early morning cold, I get out and ride off with 4ºC showing on the dashboard. I am definitely heading north and back home, though, first heading is to Fes and then Tangier. Winter is firmly arriving and I am not equipped for it. A little later I stop on an open plain, this is the last wide open spot that I'll see on this trip, so decide to stop and enjoy it for a moment as I had done so before, in 2017. In 2017 it was decided that our next few trips wouldn't be to Morocco, and I distinctly remember passing this road, undergoing construction at the time, and realizing I wouldn't be doing this for a while. Fate proved cruel and I couldn't anticipate how right I was. The road to Sefrou is great, sometimes it almost feels European in a good way. My phone demanded my attention and I stopped for a while, right on the middle of some twisties. Moroccan police is strict with speed limit enforcements, they have just the few fixed cameras around major cities, but all around the country you can expect to find the odd police stopping point armed with a speed gun. For European vehicles some of the 60kmh seem too low, but they really aren't considering the state of some of their vehicles and the loads they carry. A little after the previous picture was taken I was warned by an oncoming car about the radar, and after it stopped by a couple having a cigarette by their motorcycle. They were a very cool couple, spaniards in their 60s, riding a grey and red R1250GSA also with Vario cases, the dude was surprised to see mine on the GSA and like geeks we bonded over how bikes look shit with the tubes required to carry aluminum cases when the cases are off. They frequently ride all over the Iberian Peninsula and Morocco, it was a nice meeting and one of those sort of short contacts with people that warm up your day. Cool bike they had, too! Street dog pack in Sefrou: I made it to Fes quite early, and decided to stay. The couple from before had told me that I would be facing rain storms in Spain and Portugal, and north Morocco as well, and that I should spend a couple of days to wait them out before going if not in a hurry. I'm no good in just waiting around like that and seemed to me I was going to ride through the rain regardless, it was a matter of choosing to do it in one or two days of heavy rain or 4 or 5 days of shit weather. I chose the least time regardless of intensity. Arriving at Fes I got hit with a big time nostalgia, having spent a few nice days here before. Fes gets really hot in the summertime and most of the year it's warmer than you would think considering it's almost northern location. Stoplights sometimes have little sun beaks to make lights easier to see in bright sunshine, here sometimes they melt over the lights from the heat! It's also a place where revolving outdoor publicity signs have airconditioning systems attached, so they don't burn out in summertime. I arrived sometime around after midday, and the temperature made me comfortable compared to the early morning cold. I went looking for a shop where I bought a carpet previously, they had reasonable prices and acted like a cooperative, the selection was immense and they had friendly people there. That shop was now extinct and replaced by a place that now works on the third story of an office building and sells mostly custom carpets to big hotels. They only had one Kilim rug there, it was pretty but the dude wanted 3200 dirhams for it, and I think that was too much, so didn't take it. He was immovable on price, so he can keep it. My hotel of choice made me smile when I rocked up at 13:00 and asked for a room. The dude proved what southern Moroccans think of people from the big cities of Casablanca, Rabat and Fes by being an altive twat and telling me to come back later since they had no rooms ready yet. Since it isn't summertime and I wouldn't miss their amazing swimming pool space, I went across the street and 20 minutes later was having my shower and getting ready to go for a walk. Fes' main avenue, ending at the royal palace's gold leafed doors. I stopped for a snack somewhere where me and Maria used to have dinner at, still the same guy but he was in a bad mood that day, lunch was cheap but completely forgettable, and not worthy of a picture either, and that's saying something considering this ride report 's picture intensity. I walked to the medina borders to see if I could find a rug shop and to walk off some of the afternoon. Getting to the medina was a few kms walk, and the noise, smells and pollution of Fes got me before that. I felt miserable and intoxicated, people had no space for a friendly smile towards a foreigner unless asking for a coin or trying to attract you towards a stand selling something. Cafes showed no hospitality and overall my nostalgia towards Fes was not returned. Next time I'll treat it the same way. Stopped by the hotel for a little, to organize some of the luggage and sit in my bed to relax a little. Went out to find something to eat at night, and sat down to eat some pretty average rotisserie chicken, not on pair at all with what you get in smaller places. I did smile at the table next to mine as I watched three older ladies in traditional but couture level clothings eat their chicken breasts with their fingers, to me that moment illustrated the difference between European and Moroccan table costumes. Did come across a pretty cool street stand selling books, most of them in Arabic but some pretty cool covers there. Searched for a cafe but regardless of the abundance of establishments all I saw were noisy unpleasant places and rude waiters, gave that a pass and went to my room. I had a big day ahead and felt like quiet. I slept ok as I was a little tired from the afternoon walk, but a little sad of the disapointement that Fes turned out to be. Earlier I had booked my ferry pass to Tarifa sailing out of Tangier Ville port at 15:00, it's no big deal making it but I was supposed to get the first proper rains of this trip, and that I did...

That's true, the goats climbing the trees are an amazing show when they do it up in the mountains. Not that it matters since the seeds squeezed for oil are protected inside the shells that need to be cracked open to retrieve them, but the practice of collecting seeds like that isn't a thing anymore. Argan oil went from being a foreign thing to richly valued for the cosmetic industry, and for Parisian chefs to lavishly use it on salads, so value increased exponentially over the last few years. As such, herding is done less and less on Argan, and they're mostly picked like olives.

06th December, Tuesday Dawn at 08:05 from my hotel room. Breakfast my hotel was not included in the room price I paid, and I didn't feel at all captivated by it either, too international and I'm feeling like an adventure. The plan was to swiftly ride out of Marrakech and through the Atlas heading East. Roads are cool, views are cool, weather seems to be behaving, all's cool. I ride out heading to Azilal. Already out of town I am not missing breakfast, but I am missing something to start the day comfortably instead of just water, so stop by a Café Mobile. The quality of the expresso these guys put out from the back of a small van is amazing, 10 times better than the best you can get in most Europe except Portugal and Italy, and even then there might be a case for Morocco's roadside café. The guy is surprised I take pictures of his car, but I tell him that's not very common in Portugal. He quickly says that if I plan on making a Portuguese business he is available as a partner , but being no fool quickly says that in Portugal you probably need fees and permits and taxes, there you just set it up and go. At 6 net dirhams per expresso it IS pretty good business. He did follow good practices on cleaning the stuff and preparing it for the next coffee using boiling water, more so than most cafes in Portugal, I was amazed. Maybe one of these days I'll start going for the more complicated coffees like milk and foams and sugars and all that stuff, maybe after going back to Taroudant and staying in the gay hotel too Azilal is a very civilized place, if I were to go live in Morocco for good and looking for a place to properly live this could well be it. I stop to send a postcard home Tagalf, just a village full of people living a hard mountain life, all the kids smiled and laughed though Donkeys, always stop for donkeys Riding out of Azilal, a young man is hitch hiking along, not a tourist but a kid on trainers and just jeans and a sweater walking along a road, he must have been 17 or 19, I wave back and he salutes me with their gesture of waving at you and then touching their hearts, so I ride back and offer him a ride. Carried him for maybe 30 or 40km in 7 or 8ºC, he should have been freezing but always with a smile and happy to not be walking. When I left him he said he was going up to Beni Melal, maybe another 30km but going north, he had no problems thanking for the ride and I watched as he walked away decidedly down the road, hope he got a ride instead of walking through the night as it's cold there. Stopped in Aghbala, it was 15:17 when this picture was taken. Aghbala has many qualities: it's got a kick ass adventure sounding name, it's busy in a Atlas exotic sort of adventure way instead of nasty city way, smoke from coal grills and woodburning chimneys was wafting through the air, streets were paved with mud covered tarmac, people couldn't give a shit about me being there except for kids, I spotted a little snack place with a hot metal plate, so stop the bike and walk in. The lady running the place didn't speak a word of french but we got along, I managed to get my favourite sardines served inside a bread long with diced tomatoes and onions, it was pretty fucking awesome and flavoured perfectly. Just the kind of thing to pick you up. Picture does not do it justice. Also had a kind of sausage, that feels like mostly paprika inside with little meat, it was quite spicy. I've no idea what it's made of. As I was eating, there was a lady with a child in the back. The little girl completely taken with curiosity came to investigate me from a safe distance. After a few winks she finally gave me the biggest smile, I didn't catch that on a picture though. Nothing like a silly traveller to make women put on a pretty smile for a crazy foreigner Feeling comforted from both a great meal and the warming smiles, I crack on! The plan was to make it back to Imilchil, the little mountain village I had passed through a few days before, and take the lovely mountain dirt pass again, going again to Boulmane and then coming back north up the Todra Gorge. This would add at least a day to my trip but who cares, I make progress... Temperatures drop substancially, it's now about 16:30 and it's been between 6 to 8ºC for the last hour or so, then it becomes clear the more mountain passes crossing the Atlas aren't a good idea, I'll let the pictures tell you why, that white stuff is where I'm heading. I've been to Imilchil and that area in days that saw me enduring 35º before and after, and still being sort of chilly there, it didn't sound like a half pleasant idea to go past there with snow on, so that plan was discarded and I fell back on plan B, Plan B was to go near Zaida, and stay back on the same place I did before. Funny enough that's what me and Maria did in 2017, stayed there once going South and once going North. I went, and about one hour later got there. It was now getting proper cold in the area. I tried the check in and nobody was there, the restaurant and you could go in and rob the place, nobody around, tried to see if the room I wanted was open and it wasn't, then tried everything again and found the TV room, everyone was watching the first half of the Morocco vs Spain match. I got my key and we left formalities for later, quickly had a hot shower and made it there to watch the end of the match. Morocco won on penalties, their goalkeeper "Bono" was gigantic and eliminated Spain. Most people lost their shit, the single one guy in front of the tv not jumping? He's a Spaniard: Now, Moroccans are insane about football, they will now way more about the portuguese league than I ever will, they'll know players names from the first 15 teams in Portugal, and that knowledge extends to Spain, France, Germany, England and Italy, it's amazing. They will watch most things with true enthusiasm, and that day Portugal was to play agains Switzerland. My new friend Mamoud proclaimed he would watch the match with me, so now I had to I had my dinner of preserved citron and chicken tagine, and it was very much amazing, and drank a 375cc bottle of Moroccan wine. It's not the greatest wine, it's below average in Portugal, but you live according to your surroundings What happened next was a thing of beauty, as I sat down to watch the match, 10 minutes after it started there were two guys there; one Moroccan, tall guy built like a closet, had a big smile but only one crooked tooth to be seen, then the other was clearly European. As he didn't say hello back when I sat down I asked if he was Moroccan and he answers with a very distinct superiority: "Moroccan, me? I'm Swiss!" I proudly stated I was Portuguese, and the Moroccan guy just erupted into the loudest laugh, and went to scrub his hands together in a way that clearly meant "game on!" Portugal finished the first half with 2 or 3 goals over the Swiss team, clearly going to win, my Swiss fellow traveler wasn't a good looser. I went out and smoked a cigarette with Mamoud and another guy, now part of the small group of avid football fans. I went and bought another wine bottle, to share with Mamoud, but did the gentlemanly thing and went to offer some to the Swiss, who coldly stated he was having a beer. So, instead of ordering a big bottle I got another small one, Mamoud wasn't much of a drinking and I felt awkward to drink a normal amount amongst company with unknown beliefs towards alcohol. German tourer parked for the night outside the restaurant, I can see the appeal in proper winter: The Swiss made fun of Moroccan wine, and went on to nurse the one sip left on his beer glass for a while, stating that in Portugal we do have nice wine. I agreed, and swallowed my mental response in which I told him that being a Swiss he knows shit about wine. Portugal won 5-1, the dude quickly got up 1 second after the final beep and stormed out, he was a twat and sadly the first contact I had with another foreign motorcyclist. Had another smoke with Mamoud to celebrate, who turns out used to ride a 125cc 2 stroke Yamaha (it went up hills with two big people no problem) said our farewells, and went to bed. It was properly cold that night, but I slept great after a day of motorcycle riding, mountains, good food and a little wine in me, and enjoyed my comfy bed with really heavy covers.

That's quite the new year resolution!