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Jetlag Jon, Gajano (2026)

22/04/2026

The beast is back on the road! Looking forward to some great rides this summer. Thanks Just Hogs in Rawtenstall for the excellent service!

01/08/2024

My sister Susie Warren did a painting from the photo I've been using as a profile pic. It looks great, it's now gracing the saloon on my boat! Thanks sis!

29/03/2024

29th March
This afternoon the weather improved so I went for a ride in the hills. I planned a loop of about 80km on Google Maps, but it didn't turn out quite as planned. I headed on to the CA-261, which turned out to be a great road with lots of twisties and tight hairpins, climbing up onto a ridge before descending steeply into a wide green valley. Weather was overcast and temperature 14 degrees, traffic was light. Small villages had no signs of life-everything is closed here due to Easter, even yesterday very little was open.

I'd only gone a few miles when my left wing mirror repair failed- a fall on the ACT in the UK last year had somehow wrecked the thread that holds it in, so I'd fitted a helicoil just before the trip. Strange that it survived dirt roads in Morocco, and failed on a tar road in Spain. After putting the mirror in one of the panniers, I carried on up into the hills. It was great to be riding purely for pleasure for a change, after riding all the way through Portugal and into Spain avoiding weather. The scenery reminded me very much of Wales, but on steroids. Countless small roads leading of into the mountains indicate that this would be a great area to spend some time exploring.

Passing through Arredondo, I considered stopping for lunch. There were several restaurants, but they all looked packed. The masses of hiking sticks indicated that these were hikers, hordes of them, quite a surprise considering how little traffic I'd seen. I decided to have lunch back at the hotel, so carried on. Google then turned me left off the main road, as expected. Unexpectedly, this road turned out to be a rough track, threading its way up a very steep hill between small farms. Two dogs attacked me, one of which I out-accelerated, the other, a huge white beast approaching at speed from in front and to my left getting a boot square on it's nose as it lunged at me, mouth agape. A squeal and then I heard someone shouting, whether at me or the dog I have no idea.

After a slow climb up an ever-worsening track, the road suddenly dropped into an incredibly steep descent with hairpin bends. Unexpectedly, I then encountered traffic coming the other way, the first evidently a resident, the next 4 cars tourists with no idea. Perhaps Google had sent them up this track as it had done to me. A couple in an SUV came round a hairpin going too fast, nearly going off the road before encountering me coming down the hill towards them. The driver panicked, slammed on his brakes and then started rolling backwards towards a ditch. Conveniently, his inept maneuvering opened a small gap in front of him, and I swerved round the front of his car before he'd had time to process what was happening. Whether or not he managed to stop before becoming wedged in the ditch I've no idea, and quite frankly I don't care as he was driving far too fast for the road anyway.

After passing several more sensibly driven vehicles, a narrow cobbled street through a village took me to a main road, again full of twisties and hairpins. The similarity to Wales continued, one bit of road almost a carbon copy of Horseshoe Pass. I'd gone some way on this road before passing a place that looked suspiciously like somewhere I'd stopped to take a picture on the way out. Passing another viewpoint I recognised, I considered turning around, but Google showed me getting back to the hotel at 3:39, and the restaurant closes at 4, so I carried on. Roads always look different in reverse anyway.

Coming out of the hills, I stopped for petrol at a filling station and had a nice fast ride on empty roads for the final stretch, arriving back at the hotel in plenty of time for dinner, another excellent 3 course meal with bottle of wine, water and coffee for €18. It's now pi***ng with rain again, and I can hear thunder. Tomorrow I'll head to the ferry port in plenty of time to get the ferry at 1pm. It's been a great trip, despite the issues with the bike, my body and the weather, but I'm looking forward to getting home to the comforts of my boat now.

28/03/2024

28th March.
Yesterday I tried going for a ride in the hills around Poliente, but as soon as I set off, a howling gale and heavy rain set in. I changed the destination to a supermarket, bought some bread, cheese, ham and whisky and rode through a tempest back to the hotel. Dinner was pork chops, egg and chips- there are only about 6 items on the menu at Hostal La Llave, and all of them are what you'd expect to get served in a greasy spoon anywhere in the UK.

This morning, the bike wouldn't start. It would fire once when I hit the starter, then just crank with no sign of life. I could hear the fuel pump priming when I switched the ignition on, but it just didn't want to fire properly. After fiddling with the plug lead, checking I hadn't accidentally filled it with diesel yesterday and swearing at it, it still wouldn't fire. Then the battery started to struggle. Meanwhile, it was pouring with rain, as it had been non stop since yesterday afternoon. I asked the manager of the hotel to give me a push start, and it fired at the second attempt and then ran smoothly. I have no idea what the issue was, wondering if anyone else has had similar?

I then set off in a howling gale and rain for Santander. I'd been hoping to take backroads, but the weather precluded that idea, so I took the motorway. The wind was so string I was getting blown all iver the risd, the temperature was 4 degrees and it was raining, so not a very pleasant ride. The tunnels gave some relief, and coming out of the last one, about 20km from Santander, I emerged into bright sunlight. I checked in to Hosteria Gelin de Gajano, in a small village only 15 minutes from the port. Then I went for a walk. The hills to the south were now basking in sunlight, so I went back to the room, put my bike gear on and was just about to set off on a 100km loop I'd planned when I saw it was now raining in the direction I was headed, so I took my gear off and went for a beer instead. The weather has been erratic since I left the Algarve- just starting my second beer, the sun has come out again. Tomorrow's forecast is more rain, so it looks like I'll be spending another day bored in an hotel. Hopefully I'll get a window to go for a ride in the hills. Originally, I should have been on the ferry today, but it got cancelled due to weather. Meanwhile, I'm going to have another beer.

Edit- some consolation from having an excellent 3 course meal, a bottle of wine and coffee in the hotel restaurant for €18!

27/03/2024

25th and 26th March.
I got going early on Monday, at 9am. I was tempted to do a bit of the ACT, but the weather forecast put me off, so I took backroads instead. When I set off, it looked like rain, but after 50km or so the sky cleared and the sun came out, just in time for a lovely bit of road. The temperature rose from the 4 degrees I'd started out in, eventually reaching a balmy 16 degrees. The day turned out to be pretty varied, the road sometimes twisty old tarmac, sometimes new road, once a cobbled dual carriageway. It was a nice days riding, I never got bored, but nothing jumped out at me and said "I've got to take a picture of this", which explains the lack of pics. I did have a nice sandwich in a village cafe, but that's about as exciting as it got. And that's about all that happened- a longish day, about six hours, just under 400km. I ended up near Bragancas, and stayed in a very nice miniature cabin at a place called Cepo Verde in the Parque Naturel de Montesinho, booked as is my habit about an hour before I decided would be a good time to stop. Clouds were building up, the temperature had dropped to 6 degrees and rain showers obscured the horizon to the west. I'd passed a few good spots for wild camping, but the weather forecast put me off- a cold wet spell was imminent.

Cepo Verde is a very nice place. If I'm ever down this way again, I'll definitely stay there again. A mix of camping, glamping and motorhome parking in the hills just west of Braganca, its a very well run place with a great restaurant. I'd accidentally booked it for two days later, but they were happy to change the booking. Dinner was wild boar, shot by a local hunter. The manager owns a Tenere and had put together a route through the park, so I decided to do part of it the next day on my way north, weather permitting. The forecast for the next day was for 2 degrees, with the possibility of precipitation. My cabin had a huge sloping panoramic window and no curtain, looking out on the forest. I went to bed early, anticipating being woken up by the sun fairly early, and dozed off to the sound of owls and the light of a full moon.

The next morning, I was up at 8am, having had about 10 hours sleep. I decided to have breakfast, which started at 8:30. However, I guess they run on Latin time at Cepo Verde. At 9:15, there was still no sign of life in the restaurant, so I decided to head off. The hills were shrouded in cloud, and I could see signs of heavy precipitation. However, the north looked clearest, so I decided to take the minor road through the park. Ten minutes later I was riding in sunshine, though the temperature had dropped to zero. The road through the park was really narrow, though had a centre white line for the first 15km or so and it felt like like I was riding in a miniature landscape. I half expected a cartoon car to come round a bend. Pine trees lent a fresh fragrance to the air, to the west a huge wall of cloud obscured the hills. A few minutes later, it started to snow, though it wasn't settling on the road. After another 5km or so, the snow stopped, and less than a mile away from me across a valley I could see a huge black wall of cloud. Scenery had now changed to moorland,very remiscent of the Yorkshire Moors. Spring flowers added bright dabs of colour to the landscape. I looked for somewhere to stop to snap a quick picture, but there was nowhere to stop except a small clearing next to the road surrounded by trees. I did have the action cam running though, so will upload a bit of video.

After 40km, I joined the A52, having crossed the Spanish border without realising it. I took a detour for a petrol station I'd marked on the map. While filling up, it started snowing again, though not heavily. I decided to take to the motorway to outrun the weather. And that's how the rest of the day was spent, riding at 65mph watching the weather slowly recede in my mirrors. Later on, several times I found myself heading towards heavy weather, only for the road to swing away from it at the last minute. At one point, I found myself riding through a hailstorm with no apparent source- the cloud overhead didn't look any different from what I'd been riding under for the last hour. Sometimes I'd be in sunshine, then in a dull grey gloom, for a short while more light snow. Traffic was light, and I didn't see another motorcycle all day.

A quick mention of bike gear- I'm still amazed at how easy it is to stay warm on a bike nowadays. On my feet, a pair of bamboo socks under Arctic Dry waterproof socks (my Gaerne boots aren't waterproof-my previous go to socks for cold weather have been B&M Bargains Heat Holder socks, which at £5 a pair are far better than any expensive socks I've tried). On my legs, merino thermals from Aldi, a pair of cotton trousers, my fleece pyjama bottoms and Alpinestars Drystar trousers with the liners in. On my top, a Neoskin long sleeved top, a polo neck long sleeved merino pullover, airbag vest, my cheap eBay heated gilet (not plugged in), a Decathlon down jacket, and my Alpinestars bike jacket with the Drystar liner worn over the top. Round my neck I had an Oxford waterproof neck tube and on my hands Lindstrands winter waterproof gloves over an odd pair of liners (I've lost a right and a left one from different pairs). In spite of the temperature dropping below zero at one point and never getting above 8 degrees, at no time in 6 hours of riding was I cold. I'm not plugging any of this gear, I'm just saying it works, and very well. I did have the heated grips on all day.

As is my custom, I stopped about an hour before I thought I'd have had enough to look for somewhere to stay. The sky looked fairly benign ahead, so I picked a rural hotel 120km further on where I wouldn't have to unload the bike, in a village called Mave on the road between Osorno and Santander. I booked two nights, as Wednesday promised crap weather. I'd do the last 150km on Thursday, with plenty of time to make my 16:30 ferry. I'd just booked the Hostal La Llave when I saw a notification from Brittany Ferries. Just as I'd been congratulating myself on my luck in avoiding all the snow and rain, I discovered that my ferry had been cancelled due to bad weather. I couldn't amend the booking online so had to call them. After 10 minutes on hold, I managed to get a berth on the ferry from Santander to Portsmouth on Saturday, and that only because I'm on a motorcycle rather than in a car. I thought of riding through France instead, but my front tyre doesn't have that many miles left in it so I'd need to find a new one in Santander first. I've not been impressed with the Motoz Rallz Tractionator front tyre on tarmac, though its great off road. It's worn out much quicker than I was led to believe, the knobbles wearing unevenly, scalloped badly. Ive never had much confidence in it in wet tarmac. The only consolation is that the dreadful whine it makes on tarmac has receded to an annoying rumble. I won't be choosing this tyre again.The rear however looks like it's still got a couple of thousand miles left in it. Another issue with riding all the way home is that the weather looks pretty crap in France, and it would take me two days of hard riding at least to get to Calais.

So now I'm at this strange hotel in a little mountain village for two nights. Dinner wasn't available until 9pm, and was a very basic though cheap chicken egg and chips. The room here is nice and the bed comfortable though. There was a news program on the television in the dining room, showing reports of heavy snow all over Spain. I've been lucky to miss the snow, I spent most of the day watching it fall in the distance. If the weather is OK later I'll explore the local area on the bike. If not, I'll watch YouTube and read my book. Its raining at the moment. Thursday l'll take some mountain roads to the coast and a change of scenery for my last two days in Spain. The adventure continues, whether I want it to or not.

Pics are a mixture of shots from the road and a few from my stay in the Algarve.

24/03/2024

On the road again-
After a very pleasant week of R&R spent at my brother and his partner's rented villa on the Algarve, I set off north towards Santander this morning. My knee and hamstring both feel much better, though I have to be careful not to twist my knee at all getting off the bike. Today's route was chosen more to avoid weather than for scenery- over the next few days there's going to be some rain, especially along the coast, so I headed up north close to the Spanish border. I had thought of doing a bit of the ACT, but decided to get some miles done while it was dry instead. Strange weather today, it was fairly warm, around 20 degrees most of the day, but with a dull grey overcast and haze that obscured the horizon. For the first few hours, it looked like rain was on the horizon, but it was just the haze. The first part of the trip was nice, starting on small winding country roads before joining the IC1, which had a fair bit of traffic on it. Parts of it were very busy. At Ourique I cut across to the N2, which was less busy but had some very long straights, red and orange early spring flowers beside the road adding some colour to a fairly drab and uniform rural scenery.

Stopping for petrol, I met three guys on very different bikes- a BMW R1150RT, a GS 800 and a Himalayan. They were riding the N2, which they told me was Portugal's equivalent of Route 66. I'd certainly seen a lot if bikes- I probably saw more motorcycles today than on the rest of the trip put together. Some were evidently locals out for a Sunday ride, and several were groups with panniers touring. Just after meeting the 3 bikers, the N2 became quite curvy for a while as it wound it's way through some scrub and olive coated low hills. I was just starting to think what a lovely road it was when it straightened out, running between two rows of tall trees for about 40 miles. Eventually I got bored and took a detour, which proved to be the best bit of riding today- a battered old tarmac road running through a rolling rural landscape, the smell of olives very strong. In 45 km I didn't see any other traffic at all, save in a few small villages. Then it was back to long boring straights for a while. An increasingly overpowering smell of olives in the air eventually turned to thick olive-smelling smoke drifting across the road from a huge factory- presumably some sort of olive processing plant.

At Portalegre, I stopped for a Burger King, as being Sunday, I'd not seen anywhere to stop for food all day apart from a couple of expensive and time-consuming looking restaurants. Save for two coffee's I'd had when refuelling, all I'd had was water from my backpack water bladder, and I knew the place I was staying tonight didn't have a restaurant and was several kilometres from the nearest town.

I didn't take any pics today- the flat grey light, thick haze and lack of anything particularly stunning made it seem rather pointless. I'm now ensconced at Quinta Paraiso, a farm in the countryside near Alagoa. They have shared kitchen facilities, so I might cook some noodles later. Tomorrow I plan to do about 350km, mostly on backroads, which should keep me ahead of the weather. Meanwhile, I'm going to enjoy this lovely rural location.

21/03/2024

I've had several messages asking if I'm OK as I've not posted anything since setting off for Seville. Apologies for that. I ended up doing nearly 600km after deciding not to stay in Seville, instead continuing to Isla Caterina in Spain where I spent 2 days before heading to my brother's house on the Algarve where I'm resting my knee and a pulled hamstring before setting off through Portugal and Spain to Bilbao on Sunday. I pulled my hamstring trying out a French guy I met in Isla Catarina's Norden 901, a ridiculously tall motorcycle that didn't allow me to touch the ground even on tiptoes. I'll post more about that soon.

13/03/2024

11th March 24
For my first 24 hours in Meknes, I was invisible. I first noticed this the night I arrived, while wandering around the medina. Meknes isn't as touristy as Fes, and there weren't many tourists around at this time of year anyway, yet no-one tried to sell me anything. After breakfast the next morning, I once again put on my cleanest dirty clothes and asked the riad to wash the rest. I then went for another walk in the medina and no-one payed me the slightest bit of attention. If I stopped to look at anything, the stall keeper would talk to me in Arabic. I've been told by Moroccans before that I look like I could be from Fes, which is only just up the road, so I guess with my scraggly beard and scruffy clothes I just looked like another Moroccan without money. With my limited Arabic, I managed to greet a coffee stall owner, order coffee, pay and say goodbye without him ever suspecting I was a foreigner. It was great, and made street photography, especially with the tiny and plain Ricoh GR3, a doddle. It also meant no-one tried to persuade me to buy anything or go on a tour I didn't want.

Then I went for a haircut and shave, and my invisibility cloak, though not completely faded, had lost much of it's magical power. Kids said hello in French or English, some dude tried to sell me a carpet. I'd changed too much money, so decided to get rid of some- you can't change it back. First was a guy with impetigo in a wheelchair, begging. I gave him 50 dirhams and it obviously made his day- he was shouting blessings after me as I walked off down the street. Then I saw an old woman sitting on some cardboard, fast asleep. I pushed 50 dirhams between her fingers, which woke her up. She looked at the money, then at me, then burst into tears, invoking Allah to thank me. That 100 dirhams would have made no difference to my life, yet for 2 people it made their day. Such a difference from the UK, where giving beggars money more often than not effectively means supporting a drug dealer. After topping up my karma, I went back to Aisha's, where I tried a Berber dish. I didn't enjoy it as much as the tagine of the night before. I then wandered back to the eusd, taking more pictures. Night had restored my cloak of invisibility.

I left Meknes fairly early the next morning after putting all the luggage back on the bike. The first part of the trip was great, winding roads through the hills just north of Meknes. It was quite cool, about 8 degrees when I set off, but the sun made it feel warmer. Then I joined the N27, and initially it was OK, some traffic but it didn't hold me up at all. It was really windy again, and I started getting a sore neck and tinnitus. Gradually the landscape flattened out and too soon I found myself travelling on straight roads across interminable arable plains. Every now and again a village or small town, where the road would detiorate into a potholed mess full of people aimlessly milling about. One small town took me 20 minutes to negotiate. For some reason, Ramadan started a day later in Morocco than in Saudi this year, so this wasn't turning out to be the cruise on empty roads I'd been anticipating.

Eventually, I'd had enough. Traffic was getting heavy, I was tired of 50km straight stretches punctuated by dirty potholed villages, so I took a detour, which proved to be even worse. Still those long straight stretches, but now on potholed, broken tarmac, and the traffic was even slower. There seemed an inirdinate number if horse-drawn carts around, many ,of them with longitudinal bench seats full of people. The dude who sometimes runs a commentary in my head when I'm on the bike wondered if there was a gypsy convention on. I joined one road that was dirt for about 20km, and the dirt was in far better condition than the tarmac I'd been on, allowing a higher cruising speed. Then it was back to the broken tarmac. On one section, the tarmac gave way to a muddy cratered surface with stretches of water. There was a huge queue to get through this section, in both directions, so I couldn't overtake and would have to wait until the car in front had negotiated a crater before setting off myself. Seeing a sign for the A5, I gave up on backroads. Note to self- there's a reason you don't like this part of Morocco much. I should have taken the extra hour and the road past Chefchaouen.

Just north of Larache, Google Maps took me onto a slip road that led onto the N1 Since I'd told it no tolls and no motorways, I was a bit surprised. All the lanes had a big J above them, and there was a barrier. I couldn't see any way of getting a ticket, so pushed the bike back. Then I saw a narrow road bypassing the barriers. In Argentina, motorcycles didn't pay tolls when I was there, and used similar lanes to access motorways. So I went through and, and did my first bit of motorway in Morocco. Google Maps kept trying to take me off it, but I was having none of it. Now I just wanted to get to the ferry. I instinctively knew that I was going to get nobbled as soon as I came off the motorway. And sure enough, I reached a toll booth just before Tangier. My lack of ticket caused the young lady in the booth some consternation before a phone call resulted in me paying 87 dirhams to get through the barrier. Luckily she took my word that I'd joined the motorway near Larache, not Rabat.

Not long afterwards, I arrived in the outskirts of Tangier. At first, I couldn't understand why Google Maps said it would take me 44 minutes to do the last 16km. Then I saw the traffic. It was the worst I've ever encountered in Morocco- totally chaotic, on brand new streets with lots of roundabouts, and masses of it. Traffic lights everywhere, people switching lanes without indicating, nutters on mopeds swerving in and out between vehicles, cars randomly stopping in the middle of the road. From Chefchaouen, I'd have missed this delight. The only solution was some insane filtering- I'd latch on behind a scooter and follow their line for a while, then pick another to follow, then find my own line. Plus it was hot, the bike was getting hot and twice cut out on me.

I eventually reached the port at 15:18, just in time to catch the 16:00 ferry. A Spanish couple on a ZZR 1400, Paco and Emma, were also catching this ferry. They'd ridden straight from Marrakech that day, over 600km, but Paco didn't look like a guy who had too much regard for foreign speed limits. After buying tickets, our bikes were scanned by the huge machine they have, then it was off to customs.

When you enter Morocco, you are given a tiny slip of paper by customs which you give back to them when you leave. Mine had vanished. A skinny customs official, the first rude Moroccan I'd met on the trip, screamed abuse at me in several languages and eventually told me in English that I would not be getting on the ferry. He walked off with my passport and started to attend to other vehicles. When I approached him, I was yelled at again. Eventually, it was just me left.
"Min fadlak, Sidi" I said in my best bad Moroccan Arabic. "Please sir". It seemed to do the trick.
"This is your first and last time" he said. He started punching at a small tablet, but I guess it said nah, because next thing he was in a rage again.
"You not going in ferry" he told me, handing me my passport.
Luckily another customs guy then sauntered over to see what was sending skinny dude into such a rage. A few soothing words, and suddenly computer said OK. I was free to go, but first Sidi Customs wanted me to know that my card was now marked. Next time.... with a wag of his finger he was off for his tea break. I think in the end he let me go because he didn't want to do the paperwork or show his boss that he was an uppity little (insert expletive here). It's not unique to Morocco- I've met his type all over the world. I was the last person to get on the ferry, the doors shutting before my bike had even been tied down.

Upstairs, Emma bought me a coffee, and I chatted to her and Paco for the fast and smooth crossing. They are into high speed tourism. Pick a place far away, point the green and black machine at it and get there quick to maximise the time spent there. Why not, if you have limited time due to work commitments? Paco said the bike was really comfortable as long as you were going fast. Like me, they'd worked out that the Moroccan police don't stop tourists for speeding anymore. That day, I'd gone past the second hand-held speed camera I've seen. The cop holding it pretended he hadn't seen me. But don't quote me if you get nicked for speeding in Morocco......

After picking up some bread and ham in Tarifa, I got to Wild House Tarifa before dark. I'd left my Kindle there on the way out, and I'd enjoyed staying there previously. This time I secured a lower bunk, removing the paranoia about falling out of bed. A weird German guy responded to my greeting by saying "You have your thoughts, I have mine, I am not interested in yours". OK dude, enjoy your brain. I went to bed fairly early after an interesting chat with Mark, an English junior doctor with an interest in neuropharmacology.

The plan for the 12th March was an easy day heading to Seville via backroads. A simple plan you'd think, yet I ended up further from Seville than when I'd set off. But that's a story for another day.

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Didn't stop for photos much, most of the day wasn't exactly photogenic, so I've added more of Meknes instead.

12/03/2024

Just a quick update- I'll write a longer post about yesterday later. Needless to say, what should have been a routine days riding to the ferry and crossing to Spain didn't turn out quite as planned. Meanwhile, I'm currently on my way to a campsite near Seville on backroads, just stopped for breakfast.

10/03/2024

09/03/24

In spite of waking early, I didn't get going until around 10:30, which turned out to be a mistake, or perhaps not, as we shall see. It was drizzling as I set off, and a big black wall of cloud was bearing down on the city. Time to get out of there.

The initial part of the day's ride was great, quiet backroads through low brown hills. I left the P3507 and joined the N25- the ominous clouds all around me dictated making miles while it was still dry. Google Maps indicated about three and a half hours riding to Meknes, where the plan was to sit out the forecast rain for a day then head for Tangier and the ferry to Spain on Monday. The N25 turned out to be quite a nice road, though the additional traffic was very noticeable. Scenery varied from green hills to brown semi-desert, similar to the day before after Demnate. Road surface varied from new to old tarmac, all in good condition except for the strange Moroccan tendency to not bother fixing the roads in small towns- often, the good tarmac ends at the entrance to a town or village, becoming potholed, broken and sometimes non-existent. Then as soon as you pass over the last speed bump, many of which are unmarked, you hit good tarmac again.

The rain held off, though I could see a massive bank of rainclouds approaching from the coast. It was really windy, I'd guess 30-40mph, and often halfway through corner I'd find myself hit by a blast that affected my line. Generally it was a tailwind, so I was cruising comfortably between 50-60mph most of the time. Off to my right, the Atlas Mountains looked like they were getting rain too. Yesterday I'd evidently chosen a good day to cross them.

After about an hour, a range if hills off to my right caught my eye. I was getting a bit bored with traffic, so when an inviting looking road appeared on my right, I pulled over and had a look at Google Maps. It seemed I could cut a corner by following this road, the P4313. Immediately I became immersed in rural mountain scenery, the road a narrow ribbon of brand new tarmac snaking through, along and over hills with variations from olive groves to barren sections to treed hillsides. I slowed down for several flocks of sheep being tended by shepherds and their dogs. It was truly a beautiful road. However, about 30km in, the road surface detiorated. Google showed I'd missed a turning and was no longer on a road, despite the presence of old broken tarmac. I turned round and found the turning half a mile back. It was a dirt track in fairly poor condition, disappearing down a hillside. Then it started raining, gently at first, but the sky was black. I had no idea how far this track went before becoming tarmac again, or even if it did. It was about 20km until I would reach the N25 again. I didn't fancy setting off on an unknown dirt road in rain, so was now faced with 27km back to where I'd turned off the N25. And now it started bucketing down, vicious gusts blowing the bike around. At such a low speed, the visor kept steaming up, and after cracking it open, the inside of the visor got wet. Visibility was terrible, and I found that I could see more through rain-covered glasses than through the visor, so I left it open. The rain stung my face, I was reduced to about 30mph max, and consequently the wind was blowing the bike all over the road. This continued all the way back to the N25, which took me about 40 minutes. It was a relief to finally see traffic again.

After 20km of more rain-blasted riding, I pulled into a filling station. After filling up, I parked at an adjacent cafe and ordered a coffee. Time for a rethink. I couldn't continue riding in this atrocious weather. Rabat was closer than Meknes, so I had a quick look at accommodation there. It was all expensive, and I'd already paid for two nights in Meknes. And then suddenly the rain stopped, though the wind still howled. I could see the hills I'd been riding in getting absolutely drenched in the distance. Bailing out had been a very sensible decision- continuing on the P4313 could have been a disaster. From the direction of the coast, another huge wall of black cloud was rolling in. Rabat was definitely not an option. I'd bite the bullet and head for Meknes. It started spitting again, so I quickly paid and got on the bike. I was heading generally north-east from here, so hopefully would stay ahead of the next band of heavy rain. Up ahead, another wall of rain was visible in the distance. I didn't want to catch up with that either. Off to my right, the landscape was obscured by yet more rain.

After 20 minutes or so, I was clear of the rain behind me and the sun even made an appearance. The wind still howled, but was now generally behind me, and being able to ride faster meant it affected the bike less. The one blessing with this wind was how quickly it dried the road. First dry lines appeared, then soon the road was mostly dry. I pulled over to take a picture of a beautiful hilly landscape with a mosque catching the sun, but after the wind nearly blew the bike over I abandoned that idea, and only stopped once more, to go to the toilet at a filling station. At one pont I nearly caught up with the rain in front if me, and at the first sign of drizzle, slowed right down for a while. Then the road swung left, away from the rain, and I opened up the bike for the final stretch. I arrived in Meknes without getting rained on again, quite a stretch of luck considering how much rain was around.

As I'm staying in the medina in Meknes, there's no parking, so I've had to leave the bike outside the city walls in a designated area where a guard is stationed. He insisted I unload everything from the bike, so the hotel receptionist helped me carry my bag and panniers to the riad. The Riad Bab Berdaine is exceptional value for money-I've got a huge, clean and highly decorated room, €33 for two nights bed snd breakfast. As soon as we got back to the riad with my bags, it started chucking it down.

After walking to the centre to change some money, I went to Aisha'a, a local restaurant. It turned out to be the best Moroccan food I've ever had in a restaurant. The harira, a Moroccan soup very popular during Ramadan, was the best I've ever had, and the lemon and olive chicken tagine was the best I've had since divorcing my Moroccan ex-wife many years ago.

Over dinner, I pondered over the days ride. If I hadn't attempted that stupid shortcut, I could quite possibly have spent the last two hours riding in torrential rain. The weather that had been in front of me would have been right on top of me. Had Lady Luck been looking after me, after all? Perhaps St Christopher, whose likeness I wore around my neck, a present from my stepson just before my first adventure to South America? As if upset with my impertinence at harbouring such thoughts, the sky gods saw fit to have the last word, and I got absolutely drenched walking back to the riad.

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Pics are all from another hobby I indulge in occasionally, street photography, all in Meknes.

Jetlag Jon

22/04/2026

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