Discombobulation 2017

Sorry to hear about the bike, Rob. Hopefully it'll be sorted easily.:thumb
 
Hey mate. I'll be happy with 'Hopefully it'll be sorted' :D

Hope the weather got better for ye :thumb

Yep, we ditched the Dolomites plan, and did the RDGA instead. Cracking weather most of the time, although yesterday was a bit moist, with some interesting moments on the gravelly, tar snake laden hairpins.:eek:
 
Yep, we ditched the Dolomites plan, and did the RDGA instead. Cracking weather most of the time, although yesterday was a bit moist, with some interesting moments on the gravelly, tar snake laden hairpins.:eek:

Nice :thumb
Ride safe!
 
Sun, sea and, erm, watersports.

By my usual food and drinking standards when let off the leash, I’ve actually been pretty restrained on this trip. (Honest!). Given it is night one for my pals, fresh from the airport, they’ve gone, what you might say, relatively ‘large’. We’ve partied on until the small hours and it’s been great fun. Some folks I only see once a year, so it’s been just brilliant to be able to catch up.

Fast forward a few hours and it’s the following morning. Pitch black. Early. The curtains are closed in my apartment, and I’m in a kind of fuzzy light dreaming mode. But I can hear a drip, drip, water dripping onto plastic- an sort of rain water overflowing on a plastic pipe sort of thing. It’s odd. I can’t place it in my foggy dreams. Eventually I come to, and look up in the darkness to see at the end of my bed one of our party in my apartment, erm, well how can I put this… pissing, yes, pissing over my pannier bags. Good grief.
'Oi… WTF!!'.. at which point I appear to wake him up. He’s screaming, 'no, no, no.'.. absolutely mortified.. and along with being still pretty hammered looking back on it, it was actually quite comical.
In the morning, I knock up my leaky chum and tell him- ‘Sort it out… You're in charge!' (or should that be 'urine charge..') :D

Just bizarre. I really do think this is the only sort of thing that can happen to me.

36035172862_f663b9076c_b.jpg


After a morning on the beach and finding a spot to watch the start of the First England v South Africa test, I return to my apartment. There’s evidence of laundry and cleaning products everywhere. All of my clothes have been sent off for cleaning, and my pannier bags have been cleaned and are drying to a whiff of ‘comfort’
My map book however, that’s another thing altogether. That you see my friends, would have been the plasticy noise and sits undisturbed, remaining as it was at the scene of the crime. That, erm, I don’t think, is going to make it.
Actually, which reminds me now, I’m going to give him a bloody bill for that.

My travel mule has delivered me a new Amazon GPS, which I christen 'the Cheapie S' It’s got all of Europe pre-loaded, and has a lot of quite nifty functionality. For £84, and even just using it to mess around with, it actually looks quite cool.

36035088822_054c98cf48_b.jpg


A few days later I set it up.

35365872314_f1e61fcc42_b.jpg


And given the electrical problem, take the opportunity to get rid of some excess wiring no longer needed..

36160471936_f86926fd28_b.jpg


I go for a test ride. The bike seems OK, and it seems OK too. Screen a little pale in direct light, but it’ll do for sure.

35365879524_3c80c3a93d_b.jpg


Pondering what to do, I decide that It’ll be better to change plans for the way back. Given the clutch situation, although on the test ride out things are OK, I decide that I’ll be a bit conservative and go to Santander rather than all the way the 1500 or miles so to Caen on the way back. I book it up and take the hit, but this way it’ll be three short 200 mile days, which gives me a bit of contingency time, and I can nurse my horse back to blighty. I talk it through with Brian and he pops by to swap seats back.

Otherwise we kick back, play a very dubious standard of cricket on the beach and have a generally good holiday time.

35809733850_82fd9f8ea3_b.jpg


I discover a Portuguese Cointreau like liqueur which I really get to quite like.

35809747440_f5f1e3baee_b.jpg


:beerjug:
 
Try a "água ardente" if you like a fiery taste....

Sent from my Moto G (4) using Tapatalk
 
And so Northbound..

The week passes and its time to head on. The chaps have a very early flight from Faro airport, so I figure to be up with those guys and away. The temperatures are soaring across Portugal and Spain, so again hitting the road early with pleasant temperatures seems like the right thing to do, for both me and the bike.

A solid, half witted start today from me though.. pompltly spilling a dink over my laptop. Bloody hell. So if any lettes ae missing fom my eport today you’ll know what’s gone on. What a complete tosse.

35809722990_f76b1b9a1e_b.jpg


Away we drift from the Algarve, off to the North.

All is going well. The bike seems all good. I follow the Cheapie ‘S’. We have a coffee on the main drag and then disappear onto the back roads. Lovely.

36109056881_50712e026c_b.jpg


Even time to stop for some photies.

36201727336_37416891bb_b.jpg


The Cheapie Satnav takes me onto gravel roads, which I enjoyably follow for a bit before thinking, hang on, this is probably, erm, not the right thing to do given the state of the bike. So I retrace my steps and do a bit of re-routing.
As we get through the day a bit of bad news for the Cheapie S. With the temp now sizzling at 40 degrees, it’s deciding to switch itself off. The thing actually is jolly hot so Iet’s stick it away to let it cool down. Oh well. But I do have the Zumo for reference of where I am.
If only I had a map.. yeah, well we all know there that one went..

But behold, there is some better navigational news. My Zumo finally says ‘not enough memory’ to compute the route and cancels it..so, I can see the map around me and zoom in and out, and that’s really all that I need. :thumb

This calls for a celebration.. More coffee and custard thingamybobs. You’ve just got to..

36109072261_290cd4e678_b.jpg


A few stops are taken including this little oasis spot. I’m in no rush.

36109076151_a4873d9e6f_b.jpg


More winding on little roads. Just going North / North East. Up and to the right. That’s where Santander is, right?

So, its early afternoon now, and I’ve probably gone about as far as I planned to go today, but it’s all going well, so plan will be to rack another hundred miles in the afternoon sun, and that’ll make the next couple of days even simpler.
Well, that was the plan anyway.

North of Abrantes, and suddenly the clutch problem is back with a vengeance. Nothing. Bollocks. I’m kind of in the middle of nowhere here. So I take a decision not to stop, clack it into third, most useable I guess, and then carry on until we hit a town.
A jumped red light later, I’m in a town called Villa de Rei. It is a pretty small place, and with a bit of luck and a bit of eeny meeny miny moe at a couple of roundabouts, I unceremoniously stall the bike outside a café.

I order drinks, phone recovery and hunker down.

A very drunken old woman comes over to introduce herself. We have a discussion in French, where I tell her the bike is dead.. est mort.. and she tells me that she loves me. Well that went well. Eventually she drifts off, I assume to her next bevvy..

About an hour and a half later the recovery truck arrives and we’re loaded up

35409308044_bd14becc41_b.jpg


We’re carted back, not that far actually to a depot just North of Abrantes. The bike is unloaded and after some hampered discussion due to no one knowing what each other is saying, eventually put in a garaged part of the compound.

When you think you have it bad, it could be worse. Drinking and driving, gestures the recovery driver. Yikes indeed.

35850410520_7f8e19c3e7_b.jpg


That’ll take a bit of buffing out.

So now it’s a matter of logistics. From a follow up chat with the recovery guys, the bike will be taken to a dealer tomorrow for diagnostic, which is the first thing in the process of actually working out what will go on.

I leave the key, holding it aloft like some sort of treasure. The three guys there don’t want to leave it in ignition of the bike, so are looking for somewhere appropriate. We settle on the crash bar bag ‘Aqui, aqui’ everyone is saying, so that’ll be that. But the little voice inside says’ eek’. We’ll see.

I spend another 30mins on hold to the recovery line to work out what to do next. It’s now just before six and it seems harder to get through after office hours. But we do, and I tell them I’ve organised a hotel so we can take it from here.
Eventually a taxi is summoned to take me the 15km or so to a place called Pego, just outside Abrantes, which is where my hotel is that I’ve sorted. The taxi pilot - a very pretty and smiley young lady who doesn’t seem to speak English but seems very charming.
In contrast to a whole host of the Portuguese drivers I’ve been driven by, she’s a revelation. It’s quick pace but quite safe and confident. Nice. As she skilfully passes a car I find myself muttering ‘Wow, let’s get married’.
She giggles.
Not so long later we’re through Abrantes, crossing the river Tagus in reverse of my tracks a few hours back and then to a little place called Pego. We find the hotel, but it’s behind locked gates.
She stands at the bell, trying to get through. Plenty of gesturing, looking back and a bit of eye rolling.

36109100091_546020e069_b.jpg


Eventually the gate is opened. She says ‘The man here, he is a very kind man’ in a very smiley demeanour. So, clearly English is spoken then.. :D

It was worth the wait. A super place, with Mr Alberty, the owner, who used to live in Chippenham. A very nice chap indeed, actually.

36201755266_2032c9a5d2_b.jpg


'You’re my only guest today', says Mr Alberty. 'The pool water is lovely, I can recommend it', he says.

After I’m my room, a little less flustered, and two Super Bocks up from the mini bar, Mr Alberty returns.
He says 'Would you like to go and have a nice dinner?'.
I say 'Do I look the type of person who would like to go and have a nice dinner?'.
He looks me up and down and says 'Yes'.

Tell you what, he's a bloody good judge of people, that Mr Alberty.

'A car will be here for you at 8, they will take you, and bring you back after. It is all taken care of'.

Lovely. After the complications of today, the simplicity of the evening sounds just the ticket :thumb

At 8pm, I’m out from the room and met with transport..

35850528350_1218e67f26_b.jpg


I'm bid farewell by Mr Alberty, who gives me keys and a blipper for the gate. 'Enjoy' he says 'and tell them to serve you the wine that I drink'. Right ho.

I'm left in the trust in the brother in law of the owner of the Santa Isabel restaurant who is at the wheel of the Discovery. He tells me he's retired and does this a fair bit, all part of helping the family. He's clearly very, very happy to be doing it, and gives me the bonus of a tour of Abrantes with a stop outside the castle at the top of the hill to boot. Lovely stuff.

And not so long later we're at the restaurant. Ah yes, this is the place:

35850530860_e84f8a6128_b.jpg


By now, all of this being restrained with food and booze goes out the window. Give me food/beer/wine/port/etc. I’m not bothered about the order. Just bring it!

When life throws you lemons…

35409475284_369652ee36_b.jpg


Recommended wine is ordered, and turns out to be quite a hit..

Is the beer good, also? I ask. What the hell, let’s find out eh!

36202458646_083e19da66_b.jpg


Oh and it is good, by the way.

I ask what is recommended for dinner. 'Blackened Pork' I'm told. OK- I'm in. It’s delicious. I finish it.. at which point the man returns and says, 'You appear to have finished all of your pork.. would you like some more?'.. It’s too difficult to say no.. and an exact duplicate appears..

36243301875_6a3a38e31d_b.jpg


Dessert then.. and Port is brought.. a bottle left in my custody. Whoa..!

36109181571_6e03ca3f6e_b.jpg


To cap the evening off, I'm then returned to base in a very lovely, bouncy, floaty 41 year old Mercedes E280, again piloted by the same chap as the earlier Land Rover. Given circumstances it’s a perfect evening, I’m going to give that eleven out of ten.

:beerjug:
 
enjoy yourself. Very jealous of your adventure.

Sent from my Moto G (4) using Tapatalk
 
Please can I come on one of your adventures, Rob?:D
 
Really enjoyed reading your report Rob, funny you should mention rain and Jaca in the same sentence, I had been exploring the Pyrenees, as I approached Jaca the heavens opened. Solace was sought in a fabulous hotel where I dined with some captivating touring Australian farmers, much wine was consumed. The next morning I delayed my start because of a fuzzy head but more truthfully the torrential rain that continued, at 11 am the manager told me the weather was unlikely to improve for days so on went the wet gear and off we went with the Zumo 550 set for Santander. The rain just seemed to get worse with each mile, I recall seeing caped, hunched over pilgrims attempting to walk the Camino de Santiago in this god awful weather. Anyway somewhere approaching Pamplona my waterproof Zumo screen went blank and that dear sir is why you were able to buy the replacement I bought from Garmin.
Happy dayz Rob and like Nutty I'm coming on your next trip. 😊
 
Thanks, all :thumby:

robert you many crazy

what now??

Hey Mark. Stay tuned.. :thumb

Really enjoyed reading your report Rob, funny you should mention rain and Jaca in the same sentence, I had been exploring the Pyrenees, as I approached Jaca the heavens opened. Solace was sought in a fabulous hotel where I dined with some captivating touring Australian farmers, much wine was consumed. The next morning I delayed my start because of a fuzzy head but more truthfully the torrential rain that continued, at 11 am the manager told me the weather was unlikely to improve for days so on went the wet gear and off we went with the Zumo 550 set for Santander. The rain just seemed to get worse with each mile, I recall seeing caped, hunched over pilgrims attempting to walk the Camino de Santiago in this god awful weather. Anyway somewhere approaching Pamplona my waterproof Zumo screen went blank and that dear sir is why you were able to buy the replacement I bought from Garmin.

Nice, John.. love it.

Another damaged Zumo to my collection in the drawer.. thanks for number 4.. :)

Happy dayz Rob and like Nutty I'm coming on your next trip. 😊

Please can I come on one of your adventures, Rob?:D

Me too ... me too ... me too :thumb

:beerjug:

A plan is underway. Maybe. If Rob will let us come along.:D

I'd be honoured to have you all in my company on the road.

What I can absolutely guarantee is, is that I couldn't guarantee anything :D

:beerjug:
 
Fiddlesticks.

Problem solving generally doesn’t bother me. That’s what I kind of do for a living. Problems – well, they’re there to be sorted and solved. Obstacles can be overcome; road blocks mean detours and diversions, and that’s all part of the rich tapestry of life. Problems are only as big or small as you make them.
That’s a spirit I’m going to need.

So I slept pretty well, lightly pickled in a daze of beer, red wine, port and pork. But I get up at 8.30 to have breakfast when I requested it for. All most pleasant, the place as quiet as a mouse.

36224453916_27fb9d928c_b.jpg


Ah, that’s good news. My laptop appears to have recovered well from its drenching, apart from the right Shift key, which is not inclined to shift.

I spend a bit of time chasing the recovery folks to find out what is going on. I’m promised calls back in short order which don’t materialise, and then end up chasing again. The issue seems to be that the recovery company can’t actually speak to anyone in Portugal; Everything is done by messaging, and so therefore it’s a long and drawn out process to try to get any sense out of anything or anyone done.

After an extended breakfast I doze in the room but eventually do get a call back. The bike has been taken to a place called Pombal, to a dealer called Jomotos by all accounts. Google tells me it’s a Honda dealer by the looks of it. Boo. But a bit more poking around finds that it’s got another dealership with it, called J&M Motos, which is BMW. Yay! Better.

Another call, more peacemeal news: Our Portugal office are arranging a hire car so you can go to where the bike is. I don’t feel the need for a hire car, but let it slide. Well, fine.

Another call: Where is the key to your bike?
Oh, FFS :(

This was explained, and pinged back, and eventually I call the dealer and they find a helpful chap who speaks English. Excellent. Problem is, they key is nowhere to be found. Not so excellent. Oh dear.
More calls back to the recovery people, who are in process of getting my hire car, but they’re not sure how I can return the hire car, given a minimum three day hire and the forthcoming weekend, blah de blah de blah. After much chatter, to-ing and fro-ing, I’ve got the point across. I don’t actually need a hire car. I need a means to get my spare key over to Pombal. Tricycle, Hovercraft, Tuk tuk, Taxi, Spacehopper, whatever. Just a means to get there, if you please.
(By the way - do we all carry spare keys on our travels, folks? Best to..!)
If I can get there my new friend at the dealer can sort the necessary.

As of now, me and the bike are over an hour away from each other according to Google Maps.

35442891273_b389fccfe7_b.jpg


After what seems an age, it’s arranged. A taxi will come to collect me and take me to the dealer and then we’ll be making progress.
I’m at the hotel way past time to go, but good old Mr Alberty couldn’t have been nicer. ‘Use the room and rest’ he says. ‘I will be working, but call my phone if you need me and cannot find me’ he says genially presenting me with his card.

Mr Alberty working, coordinating affairs of the roof:

36113623731_139d278e88_b.jpg


A little later I pack up ready for the off. Perhaps packing will get ye taxi gods to summon me a bloke in a Skoda. Getting a little twitchy, I decide to take the five minute walk down to the gates to see if there’s any sign of the promised taxi. Sure enough, there’s a guy pacing up and down irately on his mobile phone. So I call M. Alberty, get the gate open, and ten minutes later we’re on the road, haring along.
Not the best driving, and most of the time spent taking calls on the phone, but we get there and certainly quicker than Google Maps suggest. Today I’ll not be complaining. Much to do.

Ah, here we are, and there you are.

36080795732_3a9888d21d_b.jpg


The guy I’ve been speaking to appears as soon as I’m out of the taxi; he seems to be a sort of concierge for the dealer. I explain that I’m trying to get the Ferry in Spain on Saturday, so all efforts would be appreciated. He’s swift of foot and rocks off to explain things; he definitely gets where I’m at. That’s handy. The bike is quickly shuffled off and taken away and resolved to be worked on - right away. An urgency I wasn’t exactly expecting but very welcome.

Just before I arrived at the dealer in the taxi the breakdown folks call me; this time it is a guy from the Portugal office called Miguel. He asks where I’m at and where I’m going. Rolling back a little more, whilst in the taxi, I booked a hotel in the centre of Pombal. I managed to do this touch and go I reckon before throwing up (I’m not a good passenger, and hats off to the booking.com app).
Miguel asks ‘do you want the taxi to take you on to the hotel after leaving the key for your bike?’ It’s a moment of common sense and clarity and really welcome given how annoying it has been to sort anything so far. So absolutely, yes, that would be great. I give him the address and details of the hotel. Five minutes later the taxi driver phone rings (amongst the many other times when his phone rings): Taxi driver says ‘Sim, sim (yes) a lot and OK’ and then leans over to me and peers at me through his aviators.. ‘oooootel’ he says.
Odd bloke, but cushty.

So we’re back off into the centre of Pombal, just five minutes or so back to town from the dealership. I’ve got all my bike gear in arms, flopping around, and bags with bits and bobs. The taxi driver helps me with my things into the hotel and very pleasantly bids goodbye. A few minutes later he returns with my headphones that have dropped out of my pocket. That’s a nice touch.

So, we’re at the hotel – The Cardal Hotel now, slap bang in the centre of Pombal. It’s a modern, functional hotel and really quite nice. There are two chaps behind a high counter. One older chap that checks me in, and a younger chap with a comedy Mr. Bump style bandage around one of his thumbs. He offers to help me with my bags and bits and bobs, and before I can say no he’s carrying as much as possible with the comedy arm and thumb outstretched. He almost shuts it in the lift door. That was close and we both have a chuckle in the lift.
Into the room, and I tip him. He really genuinely doesn’t want to accept it. I have to really insist.. aww.. he’s only a young chap, and he’s pretty much blushing. Really quite sweet.

The room has a shower straight out of Buck Rogers, so I’m going to blast myself silly and do my washing.

Suitably freshened up I’m off down to reception. Can you recommend me a nice restaurant for tonight? Older reception chappy tells me ‘Certainly sir, across the square and behind the palm tree. A place Called Vintage’.
I realise I’m in need of cash. Is there an ATM? ‘Oh yes sir, on the other corner’. A plan is hatched, minimal fuss once again.

Later, I’m seated in the very restaurant by a welcoming young waiter with excellent English to make up for my shortcomings. In a day of hassle though, once again it's a welcome simplicity.
There’s no menu I can understand, but he’s really happy to talk me through the menu options in detail. I ask for, and gratefully accept his recommendations, which incidentally taste as good as they look. I can almost nibble the screen here...

36080810562_c569f67437_b.jpg


Followed by..

36113547871_8af6190469_b.jpg


Somewhat later, I pinball back to my room, a wee bit elephant’s trunk. A pleasant view from the room into a warm night.

36113624891_b03e0c9ddc_b.jpg


Zzzz..

:beerjug:
 
You certainly have a knack of turning lemons into lemonade!:D:thumb
 


Back
Top Bottom