I’ve had a bike for just under a year. A restricted, ‘05 registered, Suzuki GS500F that had done a little over 10k miles. This summer I decided to ride to Essaouira, it took 8 days to get there and 7 days to ride home, in total about 3600 miles, and about £1000 (including Ferry tickets, Toll road tickets, European Vehicle Recovery Insurance, Frontier Insurance, Fuel, Food and Accommodation).
Some stuff I’ve learned:
- European campsites are excellent. With clean, hot, showers and usually a shop / café / restaurant and wifi.
- One of the best ‘Plan-Bs’, is to have good European vehicle rescue cover, it gives peace-of-mind
- Truck drivers like to get as close as they can
- Spain can have some vicious cross-winds which usually happen when in heavy traffic, on a bend
- Ferry decks are often swimming in diesel
- Make sure your paperwork is straight before you go (insurance, MOT, V5, Douan for temporary import (D16Ter))
- Take a small hammer to bash tent pegs into the sun-baked ground
- Carry a few spares (puncture kit & bike pump, throttle & clutch cables, cable ties) and enough tools for basic repairs
- People are generally friendly and kind – be humble, have patience and smile a lot
- Do less miles, see more stuff, speak with more people
- Watch out for suicidal wild-life
Before leaving I managed to do a little preparation. I bought a couple of books (campsites in France and Spain )and some Michelin maps, and made a vague sort of plan about where I would camp the first night. The bike was MOT’d about a month before I left, so I figured it was in reasonably good shape – but I decided to change the front tyre about a week before leaving. I also sorted out a document for temporarily importing the bike into Morocco (called a ‘Douan’, and can be done on-line here:
Administration des Douanes et Imp�ts Indirects) and made sure I had copied all necessary paperwork (V5, Insurance etc) , to keep the originals safe.
I bought the cheapest luggage I could find and bungeed it to the bike, along with an old tent. I bought a single ferry ticket to France, collected about 100 Euros cash from our local bank, and off I went.
I caught the Plymouth to Roscoff ferry, arriving in France at about 1530. I’d not driven on the continent for years and was feeling pretty sleepy from the Ferry crossing – so it was quite a shock to be riding on the right and surrounded by a ferry load of cars and trucks. Anyhow, I pottered along, lost track of time and distance and promptly got lost in the middle of Morlaix. I stopped in a small car-park, and decided to ask for some directions – this was going to be a challenge, my French is terrible. My plan being to ride through the centre of Brittany to Lorient, and turn left onto the motorway to Vannes, I asked someone if they could point me in a general direction. The chap immediately said, ‘of course, please follow me’ (er… at least I think that’s what he said) – got in his car and I followed him to a junction that was on my map. I was stunned by this, he was clearly busy, and this was a really kind thing to do – I was very grateful.
Off I went then, following the road numbers down through Brittany - the weather was warm and clear, the roads so quiet and scenery most excellent, life is good. After a few hours (and some fuel) I met the motorway, turned left and followed the signs into Vannes, and immediately saw signs to the ‘Camping de conleau’ – I had the tent up by about 7:15pm and was drinking
in a pretty little bar by the water, watching boats by 7:30pm.
I was up, packed and coffee’d by about 9am, and after a fuel stop, managed to get out of Vannes by about 9:30am. I followed the motorway down to Nantes, drove straight through the middle of the town and out the other side, and managed to find a nice ‘A’ road (erm, not a motorway) all the way to La Rochelle where I got well and truly lost for about an hour. Still, I got to meet some people, we had a bit of chat – and again, someone kindly lead me to the road I wanted to be on, the ‘red’ route to Bordeaux which runs alongside the motorway route. I arrived in Bordeaux about 6.30pm and got lost in the centre of the city, in heavy traffic. I managed to find a large and quiet pedestrianised square, parked up and went in search of directions. I had some very confusing conversations with quite a few people – until a very kind person from a travel agent, gave me directions to Bordeaux-Lac where I found a large exhibition centre (like the Birmingham NEC) and a very expensive campsite , which was just about to close for the evening.
After a little more being lost, getting some fuel and nearly losing my wallet and glasses (which I’d left on top of my panniers), I left Bordeaux by about 10am and managed to get onto a very quiet little road that took me down through the Bordeaux region past big tree plantations, farms, a few vin-yards, a suicidal Deer, and some very pretty villages. After a few more, er.. ‘mis-directions’ and some very helpful people, I arrived at a small and very pretty town at the foot of the Pyrenees called ‘Saint Jean Pied de Port’ at about 6pm, with a nasty ‘clanking’ noise whenever I slowed down … hmmm … I knew I should have replaced the chain. Now, I’m not very mechanically minded – but fortunately decided to carry most of my spanners on the trip. While looking confused and a bit worried, a really helpful gentleman – (who turned out to be the proud owner of a gsxr-1000) – spent some time showing me how to tighten the chain, and explained how, really, the chain was quite buggered. Still, I thought I’d chance it, and hopefully get it sorted in Morocco.
Up and over the Pyrenees the next morning, on a wonderfully twisty road, a bit cold and wet on the top though, down past Pamplona, and left at Logrono (after a quick chat with a Dutchman who had bicycled down from the Netherlands). On the road to Soria, I found a Biker stopped on the side of the road talking on his mobile phone. I stopped to see if he needed a lift, but can’t speak a word of Spanish, and he clearly couldn’t speak any English – anyway, we sort of established that he hadn’t broken down, so off I went. About an hour later, when getting some fuel, the Biker chap pulled up behind me and between us we managed to have a bit of chat and we rode together for about another hour or so into Soria, where he very kindly lead me to a campsite – we shook hands, and off he went.
That evening in Soria, I met a couple of very friendly Harley Bikers on their way home, via Bilboa, after 3 weeks of driving around Spain and Portugal , and some time at a huge Biker festival in Faro. They had been biking in Spain for years and suggested a few interesting places to stay and visit, one being a town called Avilla.
Up at 8, coffee and off by about 9, a great ride across the middle of Spain to the beautiful walled & cobbled town that’s Avilla. After a little routing about, I found an excellent 2-star hostel opposite the Paramour hotel. It had secure garage parking and the couple that own it couldn’t have been more welcoming. After a shower, I spent the late afternoon wandering around the town and found a nice café / bistro / restaurant on a small square – a great end to an excellent day.
Up and out the next day after a decent night’s sleep. A quick fuel stop and it was onwards across Spain. The roads are great, but certainly get busier heading towards the main arterial route down to Algeciras. Quite a long day’s ride, I decided to stop in a town called Monesterio – hoping that there was a campsite nearby (but with a Plan-B of finding a hostel / motel somewhere, and Plan-C finding a quiet spot somewhere off a main road). Just short of Monesterio, I pulled in to a fuel station and met a Dutch couple on big BMW who had a similar plan – it was good to chat with them, they had spent some time in Portugal and were on their way to Malaga. I arrived in Monesterio, to find the town was closed (still mid afternoon) – but found a couple of kind people who gave me directions to a campsite just down the road. An excellent stroke of luck, great campsite with clean showers and pool – which was very welcome, the temperature was scorching.
Left Monesterio at 0830, remembering what my Harley riding friends had said about the chaos that is Seville, and headed south to Algeciras on the motorway. Seville was very busy (certainly didn’t need to get lost there – not sure I would ever get out), and with a little care managed to circle the city and get on the Autopista to Cadiz, then turned left down to Algeciras. I rode straight into Algeciras port (following (and guessing) the road signs) and arrived outside the ticket offices at about 1330. Bought a ticket, was on the Ferry by about 1415 and arrived in Morocco (Tangier Med) at about 1530. I was stunned at how lucky I had been … everything just worked like clockwork, no planning or preparation … I turned up, got on a Ferry and arrived in Morocco. A couple of things nearly caught me out (such as the need to register with Moroccan immigration on the Ferry on the way across – and I was lucky to have completed a D16Ter (
Administration des Douanes et Imp�ts Indirects) and have a printed copy with me for temporary import of the bike (I also had the necessary V5, MOT, Insurance etc). It took about an hour to pass through the port, buy some insurance (in a portacabin like building on the left (behind the queue of traffic leaving Morocco), get some cash from a cash point in the main Ferry port passenger building and leave the port on the main highway. I decided to try and make some progress, and spent the night in a Motel on the main road into Larache. A good stop with a cheap hotel, secure parking, a fuel station and some nice cafes just across the way.
Coffee, fuel and on the road by about 0900, I decided to follow the main highway down to El-Jedida then turn left and follow the main road down to Essaouira. The highway is a great road with some great views but gets a little complex around Rabbat. Between Rabbat and Casablanca there are major road-works, and the trucks get mightily close at times – this was not the time to be looking at the scenery. As usual, I missed my turning and ended up in the middle on El-Jedida – riding along the see front. I stopped for a bit, chatted to a few people, then with a few directions, managed to find the main road to Essaouira. The road to Essaouira is fantastic, with great scenery, and some wonderful towns and villages. I narrowly managed to avoid a snake, numerous Donkeys and Mules, and few large trucks. The view from the top of the hill, dropping down into Essaouira is stunning. I pulled up into Orsen Wells’s garden at about 7pm – to be met by my family, this was a most excellent day, and Morocco is a beautiful country.
I spent about 4 weeks in Essaouira, drinking mint tea and buying fish (there’s an excellent bakery about 100m to the left of Bab-Doukala – inside the town wall).
When it was time to leave, I rode out of town at about 0845– forgot my phone, rode back to fetch it … and finally got under-way about 0945. I followed the same route back up through Morocco, and reached the motel on the Larache road by about 7.30pm, just after the Ramadan fast was broken. The waiter clearly recognised someone who needed some food and gave me as much Harira, bread, water and dates as I could eat – for free, it was Ramadan, how kind is that
.
At Tangier Med port by about 10:00am, I bought a ticket for the slow ferry at an office just inside the port, changed some money at the main passenger terminal building … and joined the queue of traffic. The boat arrived about 1400, left at about 1600 and arrived into Algeciras about 1730. After some phaffing about with a cash machine, I managed to leave the port by about 1745 and got a few miles out of the way. I spent the night in a lovely campsite just through a beautiful little town called ‘Alcala de los Gazules’.
Now, at this point I could hear home calling (I’d been away for 5 weeks, and had work waiting to be done) – so I decided to push on , use motorways – enjoy the ride, but make some progress. So, I got on the main highway, skirted Seville, and spent the night at a great campsite in Tordesillas (just off the main highway – opposite the Paramour hotel).
The next day I was back on the highway, riding through some mind-blowing vistas and over the Pyrenees to a small town called Anglet (near Bayonne). Another great campsite, (next to the airport), but being the end of the camping season, the site shop was closed – luckily a friendly soul showed me where the nearest super market was (10 minute walk up the road).
Back on the road early the next morning, up through Bordeaux on a dual carriage way type road through some pretty countryside, on up through Nantes, to spend the night at a quiet little campsite in a small town called Maillezais, just north of Niort. This is a lovely spot, a really pretty little town.
A short trip up to Vannes again, with the tent up by about 1430 in the afternoon, I had plenty of time to wander around and explore.
Last day in France, I rode up through the back-roads of Brittany and arrived at Roscoff Ferry terminal by about 1pm. Now, I had pre-booked a Ferry ticket (the Ferries were full of Brits returning home from holiday) but had arrived a couple days early. Luckily the kind ticket person at the Ferry port managed to find just one space big enough for a bike on the next boat.
The Ferry arrived into Plymouth at 2130 – and it was dark. This is when I discovered my lights are complete rubbish, so it was a very slow and careful ride up the A38 home.
An excellent trip, the bike needs some care and attention though 
Elaine
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