International Motorcyclists Tour Club

I have never been much of a sun worshipper and so haven't ventured into Spain before except just over the border on our Norm's Pyrenean Partitour of 2000. This eventful trip began on the Portsmouth quay where a few of our group gathered - including our leaders Mike and Lynne for the midnight ferry. As I crossed the deck being directed to the left, a crewman leapt out ordering me to the right, stell decks and bikes don't mix, this sudden change of direction reduced my trusty steed to the horizontal, leaving me with a job at Cherbourg to tighten my front brake before successfully completing our run to Pons. After a comfortable night we left next morning with Ron, who, for a change had left his vintage machine at home and was now astride an oriental job.

Next stop Prullens in the Pyrenees, our hotel Muntanya sat amongst the peaks where we saw the only snow of the trip. Next morning I decided to see if my GS was the all-rounder its makers claim it to be by following the tiny roads above the village as far up as possible. The track soon degenerated into little more than a dry river bed and when it became too steep to dare to stop she unceremoniously dumped me into the mire! The next hour passed with a thousand curses and the smell of petrol for she had fallen into a hole that was a near perfect fit. I was on the point of begging help when an old Fiat appeared, out jumped a stockly 70 plus year old who without hesitation and trembling like a power lifter put me to shame by restoring my bike to the vertical! Before I could thank him properly he disappeared. Tail between legs I returned for a check over only to endure my fellow members remarks about persuing sheep, (in any case, only one I met had a decent smile)

I left for our next stop with a liberal application of duct tape etc. To Peniscola a name to be pronounced with caution. Which is a typical holiday town with palm trees, long white beaches and an ancient castle on the edge of the bay, our Hotel Del Mar, was of the traditional style with thick oak doors, beams and heavy wrought iron work plus good food too! The next morning I was off to the local parrot sanctuary, no sad creatures performing tricks but popular and rare specimens in excellent condition and the tamest I have seen. I then went to the castle where they were holding an exhibition of the inquistion torture impliments all kinds of crushers, stretchers, rippers and gougers were there including a device which raised the victim in a seated position promptly dropped them onto a sharpened stake! Anyone with a bike saddle like mine could sympathise with this misery!

As we left the next morning our cruiser mounted members Brian and Maisie  accidently improved the rear end of my humble GS at a stroke and whilst I was handed pieces of tailight and number plate by the local kids I thought of my supersticious mother, who peering over her cauldron would say "these things come in threes," anyhow I completed the run to Calpe without further incident. This town is of a lesser Benidorm so no chance of spares here. I found an elderly BMW in a shop doorway and asked the owner where he got his. He eagerly scanned his computer and printed out the nearest main dealer outside Alicante 40 miles away, he also said we could have run out somewhere for a drink but, the dealer first I said. I eventually found the said dealer which seemed likely with a show room of about ten new cars and another with 20 or so bikes. The receptionist did not speak and apparently had no intention of trying to speak English. I was signalled to like a dog to stay. I waited and as I waited some more I noticed all the 4 wheel BMW customers were being refreshed with coffee etc. After 20 minutes or so a a large woman appeared rapidly speaking Spanish, who suddenly stopped looked me up and down and in BBC English said "can I help you?" To her blank expression I explained my condition. "Show me" she said, I took her outside, "you have broken your back light" she said with authority. "I know" I said "Go back to reception and I'll get our chief motorcycle technician" she says. Another 20 minutes pass, still no coffee. She appears again with a short dark haired man. "This is Juan" she says, "He knows all about motorbikes and he's very good" we return to the bike, on approaching, Juan adopts a stalking mode, no one knee staring intensly he cups my bulb with his hands and then slowly like a faith healer moves them over the damage, - along pause- he speaks she interprets, "Juan says you've broken your back light. "I know" I say again. "Also I need a new wheel guard and a new number plate." The translation induces a trance in Juan. "If you like to pay for the parts I'll order them and it will be 3 working days as it's Friday and gone noon. That will probably mean sometime next Thursday afternoon" she says. To her surprise I said "Don't bother" and rode off.

Back outside our hotel with the assistance of Ted 'toolbox' Ketchley I fashioned a tail light from a red plastic coke bottle whilst Brian armed with superglue and some bathroom implements re assembled my number plate into a montage that the great picasso would be proud of which lasted all the way home. I put the bike away and prepared for the evening meal, which in this town can be of good value but you have to earn it by running the gauntlet of an army of waiters all trying to coerce you into their restaurants. Once seated you then have to endure a continual stream of street sellers or untalented musicians none of which seem to understand a polite refusal. As we left for Cazoria the good weather continued for our run to the hotel Montana which lies within one of Spain's national parks. Here is a mountainous region but without snow and apparently scorched by a recent forest fire. Some of our party enjoyed 4 x 4 ing whilst there was quadbiking or horse treks on offer.

I left the next day with our Jap mounted Ron to Albarracin, about half way there we were steaming along nicely on one of the plains roads when we caught up with an ancient bus. I had decided to overtake when I noticed in the sunshine a feebly twinkling indicator as the bus began to turn, - slamming on the anchors on a dry, smooth, dusty road is not a good idea but I had no choice. This caused Ron to clip my topbox and end up under his machine, once dusted off both he and the bike seemed only to have suffered cosmetic damage and to prove it he leapt aboard and completed our journey at full throttle and amazingly left us the next day to tour Greece! (My mother said 3 this was 4). We stayed at the hotel Arabia which is a converted religious college. The town itself seemingly hangs on the cliff face with tiny cobbled streets, our receptionist spoke very good English and with her help we made the most of our stay seeing unusual rock formations and cave drawings.

Our last stop was the Oria hotel in Tolosa, the owner has an old bike collection and had organised a run for a local Basque club, which to our camera weilding members delight finished on Sunday outside our hotel. On behalf of our members I would like to thank Mike and Lynne for their organising skills that made a successful tour and look forward to 2005