Terra Firma Date 21/03/2016
Pardon me I have let the euphoria of the moment get in the way of a courteous introduction and Golden Globe–award thank-yous.
I’m travelling with my son Cameron for part of this adventure until we part ways to discover our own destinies. Cameron is in his mid-20s and keen to discover his new chosen path in life, which will be eco-friendly farming using Permaculture methods on an affordable piece of land in Portugal. He will travel to a retreat in the mountains of Portugal, learn skills about eco-friendly living and take the opportunity to see what land may be available for his future. He is riding a 1976 Suzuki TS 185 a sweet trusty little steed, and though a little furtive, it is clear she looks up to my trusty mount although he is much younger.
As for me, my motives are complex and unclear to everyone including myself but I shall try to explain. Perhaps I could start with a phrase coined by a recently acquired acquaintance who is fast taking on the role of my mentor and friend. Martin Wittering has called me “The Shouldn’t Be Traveller” and I confess much of me agrees with him. Firstly, it is fair to say I am not a spring chicken in the fresh flood of youth or quite frankly the summer stream of health. The fact is I’m getting closer to 60 than to 55 these days, and my list of ailments grows rapidly so, starting at the top and working downwards...
An old eye injury requires nightly treatment ointment, otherwise I wake in the morning with a piercing pain as my morning eyelid flutter removes a small part of my eyeballs surface; fortunately being the fastest repairing part of the body it is sorted by lunchtime. A recent allergy test, leaving me with a temporarily swollen red arm, indicated significant allergies to a whole host of natural and unnatural products, requiring daily antihistamine tablets. My heart tired from the life of stress I impose on it requires tablets to reduce my blood pressure morning and night. And those allergy tests indicated the source of my newly acquired asthma, reducing me now to a twice-daily puff of an inhaler, emergency asthma attack pills and ventilator to fill my pockets alongside those other unnecessary necessities of life that now burden the slim line of my hips.
These works cover the top half so starting just below the mid rift line would be my old back injury, leaving a ruptured disc spooning up against my spinal cord when not slept on correctly, so startling to the nerves descending to my thighs, it sends them into a knotted frenzy of a pulsating cramps. This is not only excruciatingly uncomfortable but occasionally occurring in public leaves me embarrassingly writhing on the floor, most noticeably during a local Liberal Democrat meeting—one that preceded the Nick Clegg era, back when Liberal Democrats were both liberal and democratic. The next item of impaired anatomy is fortunately my knee leaving everything between my lower back and this in good working order, unless you consider IBS a condition and not an affliction. The knee is a consequence of a motorcycling accident due to limited experience and a flat footed control neither of which has improved before taking this journey which I suspect is more reason for Martin’s inspired title “The Shouldn’t Be Traveller”.
My motivation, other than to prove an over the hill clapped out machine can still be a world traveller (no, I am not yet talking about the motorbike), have more serious origins. Indeed it is the case that this journey nearly never commenced and was postponed at the last minute for a week, ironically for the same reason that it was inspired. Several years ago I lost a good acquaintance at the young age of 51 from that undiscriminating disease, cancer. This event motivated me to complete several unfulfilled missions in my life, namely to discover unfamiliar places and people on my motorbike and to write that children’s book, long time inside me, bursting to get out. To my total dismay and disbelief, on 1 January this year, my lifelong and closest friend of nearly 50 years informed me he also had this dreaded condition and is currently battling to overcome it. He too is now determined as soon as he is well enough to take his licence so we may travel on the roads of France together and reminisce about the wonderful caravan holidays we took together with our families. It was quite agonising decision as to whether to stay and support him or to travel and inspire him back to good health, but with his blessing I am on the road.
This leads to the book inside me, one of a two teenagers: a bewildered and hesitant hero, Rob, and the feisty firecracker, Jenny. Drawn into a world of mystic and intrigue they understand little about, they commit to each other as they are enlisted to travel the world on a quest to save our planet from catastrophe. I have no claim to make as a great writer but do enjoy telling a story, and for this I need real life experiences. So this is me setting out unsure, uncertain—sometimes outright terrified—but hoping to find great places on the planet, wonderful people connected to the planet and out of the ordinary adventures I can write about.
I have acquired various bike modifications, pieces of kit and clothing that I am trying out, including environmentally friendly BAM bamboo clothing, more of which I shall account for later. Of course what you really want to hear about is my chosen steed the motorbike, which has been unfairly maligned in some quarters. This is a redoubtable Royal Enfield Sixty5 with a cross dressing four stroke 500cc Bullet engine currently masquerading as a two-stroke. It has a tendency to be a little incontinent when put to bed but nothing that Tena or turning off the fuel stopcock won’t cure. A little hesitant on all one cylinder when first started and an inclination to burp and fart throughout the day, in fairness not unlike a lot of us fellas. However with his ego stroked and his rubbers caressed he throbs away happily for hours at a time.
I always felt it was unfair to those people at an award ceremony whose endeavours have elevated their chosen artist to that of nominee to go unrewarded when their star or starlet fails to win; therefore, in the certainty that I never receive an award, I shall take the opportunity to thank those people now. There are various people who have supplied me with work, parts and advice for which I’m grateful: Hitchcock’s, Crooks Suzuki, AW Motorcycle Parts, SCR Racing, Dave Wood Racing. But four people stand out and need a special thank you. Firstly my mate Dave, who kindly offered me the use of his man shed for a few days and in the end loyally turned out every evening after work and one day at the weekend for nearly 2 weeks to help with my planned transformations on the Enfield. My thanks to Glenn with his endless assistance on my wide-ranging computer problems, and despite his horrendous workload, he found time to rig up my own bike charging system for all my communications and filming equipment. Then as previously mentioned Martin Wittering of Torque Racing was a massive help and support, with his endless well of knowledge regarding overland biking, his technical input and practical advice when I was struggling with the hard way to do things. Most of all, when I had my doubts, Martin’s encouragement—with comments like “anyone can do this David, even you”—kept me on the right track. Lastly, the person with no technical knowledge, no understanding of motorbikes and a mild scorn for my idea is of course, my wife. For every person that has a wacky crazy idea to fulfil, there is a grounded, sensible, and hard-working person behind them, which is in this instance my wife.
