In situations like this, I have always found the best thing to do is sit down, preferably with a coffee and something to eat
Terra Firma date 24/3/16
The following day started cold but with bright sunshine, and none of the expected gale force winds had materialised, although that surprised me, judging by the near gale force wind passing through the toilet during the night.
We pitched our tent and loaded our gear in, ready to be pack free, to explore the delights of the Pyrenees for several days before parting ways. Well that was the plan, immediately upon departing the campsite it was apparent to me Cameron’s bike was showing a distinct lack of power, which to his recollection may have begun after he fiddled with the fuel pipe, cutting it to what he felt was a more appropriate length. That old adage came to mind but I didn’t think he would be in the mood to hear it.
We pitched our tent and loaded our gear in, ready to be pack free, to explore the delights of the Pyrenees for several days before parting ways. Well that was the plan, immediately upon departing the campsite it was apparent to me Cameron’s bike was showing a distinct lack of power, which to his recollection may have begun after he fiddled with the fuel pipe, cutting it to what he felt was a more appropriate length. That old adage came to mind but I didn’t think he would be in the mood to hear it.
We had tried to leave the main road for a short trip up the steep hill to a nearby cafe to get breakfast, but at current speed of Cameron’s bike, it would certainly be off the menu by the time we arrived. In fact when we did arrive, breakfast was most certainly off the menu since the cafe closed down for good. After discussion, it was felt best that we would return up the main road to replenish his small fuel tank and then head to Jaca, where I recalled visiting a motorcycle repair shop with my Suzuki DR 650 the year before (It’s not just Enfields you know). I was pleased with the ease at which I rediscovered my route to the motorbike repair shop, but this was not the same joyous feeling for the Easter skiers, filling the long queue of cars piled up behind us by the time we reached Jaca. The notice on the door indicated it was closed for lunch till 15:00, but as the time was 14:55 this was not a disappointment to us until we discovered the Spanish like to take their Easter early. It was Good Thursday, reason enough for the workshop not to be open for the rest of the day, or tomorrow, and not in fact until Monday.
In situations like this, I have always found the best thing to do is sit down, preferably with a coffee and something to eat, which is precisely what we did in the cafe adjacent to the workshop.
As luck would have it, the workshop owner appeared briefly in what appeared to be an attempt to sell someone one of his scooters, but we took full advantage of the situation and jumped on him to request assistance. This being Good Thursday, we found the owner less enthusiastic to fix our bike than sell his scooter, however we did obtain a piece of oversized fuel pipe and a couple of zip ties, with which I felt we could dispense fix the problem. While I was attempting this procedure, it became apparent to me that the metal nipple coming out of the back of the fuel stopcock was in fact loose, and from what I could make out, the rough end indicated it was broken. The owner of the workshop once more appeared from inside, following his unsuccessful attempt to sell a scooter, and was in no mood to be charitable. My first request for replacement fuel stopcock, for a 1976 TS 185 was answered with a snort of derision and a curt reply, “you won’t get one of those in Spain”, and when I asked his opinion regarding the stopcock nipple, he contested my conclusion: “no-no that’s normal”, he said before slamming the shutters shut and quickly departing to spend the rest of Good Thursday with his family and sulk about the lack of a scooter sale.
As luck would have it, the workshop owner appeared briefly in what appeared to be an attempt to sell someone one of his scooters, but we took full advantage of the situation and jumped on him to request assistance. This being Good Thursday, we found the owner less enthusiastic to fix our bike than sell his scooter, however we did obtain a piece of oversized fuel pipe and a couple of zip ties, with which I felt we could dispense fix the problem. While I was attempting this procedure, it became apparent to me that the metal nipple coming out of the back of the fuel stopcock was in fact loose, and from what I could make out, the rough end indicated it was broken. The owner of the workshop once more appeared from inside, following his unsuccessful attempt to sell a scooter, and was in no mood to be charitable. My first request for replacement fuel stopcock, for a 1976 TS 185 was answered with a snort of derision and a curt reply, “you won’t get one of those in Spain”, and when I asked his opinion regarding the stopcock nipple, he contested my conclusion: “no-no that’s normal”, he said before slamming the shutters shut and quickly departing to spend the rest of Good Thursday with his family and sulk about the lack of a scooter sale.
Having zip tied the oversized fuel pipe in place and the nipple to the stopcock to prevent it coming adrift, we felt this repair was sufficient for us to continue back to the campsite but chose a beautiful empty back road. This took us over a small mountain and passed a bikers only campsite. My thinking was that at such a campsite there would surely be some mechanical assistance available to bikers in distress on a Good Thursday — along the lines of a Patron Saint of Distressed Bikers on Good Thursday.
As we turned into the bikers' campsite, the appearance of an overlarge, long-haired, bearded, Hells Angels–attired Harley biker was not entirely as I imagined a patron saint to be. Indeed this was not the patron saint of Distressed Bikers on Good Thursdays. There was no workshop, the only engineer was a visiting ship’s engineer, and the Hells Angel referred to my bike as one of those shit bikes, which I felt was a bit rich coming from someone with Harley written on his denim waistcoat. Due to his size and my lack of Spanish vocabulary for swear words, I did not dispute his claim too loudly but chose instead to drive off with Seb dribbling oil over his not-too-shiny boots.
As we turned into the bikers' campsite, the appearance of an overlarge, long-haired, bearded, Hells Angels–attired Harley biker was not entirely as I imagined a patron saint to be. Indeed this was not the patron saint of Distressed Bikers on Good Thursdays. There was no workshop, the only engineer was a visiting ship’s engineer, and the Hells Angel referred to my bike as one of those shit bikes, which I felt was a bit rich coming from someone with Harley written on his denim waistcoat. Due to his size and my lack of Spanish vocabulary for swear words, I did not dispute his claim too loudly but chose instead to drive off with Seb dribbling oil over his not-too-shiny boots.
Back at the campsite, I enhanced the broken nipple repair on the fuel stopcock by supergluing it into position before reapplying the zip grip. This was my third choice from my available spares: the first would have been metal glue that I didn’t have time to purchase before we left; the second would have been my all temperature silicon, which unfortunately got left behind in the chaos of departure; so RapidFix superglue it would have to be.
It was decided by Cameron that he would not make it to Barcelona, his first chosen midway destination, and still make it to his final destination—not at the current speed he could muster. We decided instead to continue south together, albeit Cameron would start out on the back roads the following day, and I would set out on the subsequent day having caught up with my washing.
It was decided by Cameron that he would not make it to Barcelona, his first chosen midway destination, and still make it to his final destination—not at the current speed he could muster. We decided instead to continue south together, albeit Cameron would start out on the back roads the following day, and I would set out on the subsequent day having caught up with my washing.
We spent the evening in a cafe adjacent to the campsite, which served wonderful food and gave me the opportunity to talk to the owner of the campsite, Catherine. I was intrigued to know why all the olive trees at the campsite still retained their olives. Catherine explained that olives are green on the trees and harvested before the 15th October to produce green olives. After this, the remaining ones will blacken slowly until they are harvested in December to produce black olives. This year, most went black in just one week before the 15th October, and the old people in the area said they had never experienced this before in their lifetime. Olives on some trees did not go black at all, and despite the strong winds over winter, they still have not fallen from the tree. Locals think it is stronger radiation from the sun that could be the cause.
Twenty years ago, when Catherine first moved here, winter night-time temperatures used to regularly be -5 to -12, and the ice on the swimming pool was 20cm thick. But since 10 years ago, they rarely have night-time temperatures of even -5 or -6. The flowers on the almond trees used to bloom between 15th February and end of March, but this year it was January. In May and June, my white walls used be coloured with black butterflies, and when you'd go out with the horses, you'd disturbed clouds of them. Catherine said now you can hardly see them.
Animals that used to hibernate don’t hibernate, and some birds are not migrating anymore.
Because the old people have lived a long time with nature, they can see the changes.
Twenty years ago, when Catherine first moved here, winter night-time temperatures used to regularly be -5 to -12, and the ice on the swimming pool was 20cm thick. But since 10 years ago, they rarely have night-time temperatures of even -5 or -6. The flowers on the almond trees used to bloom between 15th February and end of March, but this year it was January. In May and June, my white walls used be coloured with black butterflies, and when you'd go out with the horses, you'd disturbed clouds of them. Catherine said now you can hardly see them.
Animals that used to hibernate don’t hibernate, and some birds are not migrating anymore.
When Catherine first arrived in this area from France, everyone had a beehive at their house—it was just there—but now they have to be managed with antibiotics or they die. If the winds come from the south one year, most of the bees die because of the chemicals sprayed on the crops and olive trees, but with winds from the north they are filtered by the forests of the Pyrenees and many more survive.
In Pyrenees, we are very connected to the earth, but the problem is that 50% of the world's population lives in the city, and they are disconnected from the earth. So how can they protect what they need to live if they don’t have a relationship with it?
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How will people eat if the weather is changing so many things?
In Pyrenees, we are very connected to the earth, but the problem is that 50% of the world's population lives in the city, and they are disconnected from the earth. So how can they protect what they need to live if they don’t have a relationship with it?
Across The Handlebars is also available as an email newsletter. Click here to subscribe to Across The Handlebars blog posts, and only blog posts.
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