From the Library

[Biggles]

Almost 10 years ago to the day I began posting excerpts from the many motorcycling books I have collected.  They are mostly written by travellers who recount their most interesting encounters from all around the world.  Some of you will have seen many of them before, but since so long has elapsed, you may have forgotten them.  In any case, they are worth a re-read.  I'll endeavour to post a new one every day.

The idea of traveling round the world had come to me one day in March that year, out of the blue.  It came not as a vague thought or wish but as a fully formed conviction.  The moment it struck me I knew it would be done and how I would do it.  Why I thought immediately of a motorcycle I cannot say.  I did not have a motorcycle, even a licence to ride one, yet it was obvious from the start that that was the way to go, and that I could solve the problems involved. 
The worst problems were the silly ones, like finding a bike to take the driving test on.  I resorted to shameless begging and deceit to borrow the small bike I  needed.  There was a particularly thrilling occasion when I turned up at the Yamaha factory on the outskirts of London to take a small 125-CC trail bike out "on test."  I had my L plates hidden in my pocket, but first I had to get out of the factory gates looking as though I knew how the gears worked. Those were the first and some of the hardest yards, I ever rode; now it can be told.
Ted Simon.  Jupiter's Travels p 17

[Mark P]

Good to see these back Mr Biggles. I was convinced you had stopped because you had exhausted the genre.

[Biggles]

Nope- I have more to scan and edit.  Currently 2.7Mb of plain text, and growing.

I might add, before we get underway, that the amount I excerpt from each book is regarded in the publishing industry to fall within reasonable use for review purposes under the Copyright provisions.

[Walshy]

Thanks for kick starting this one again Biggles, great thread.

[Biggles]

I carried out my first-ever major motorcycle overhaul in Alexandria.  I found a cavernous garage near Ramilies Station, haggled bitterly over five piastres for the right to work there, and then received many times that amount back in tea,  cigarettes, snacks and true friendship from the poor men who struggled to earn a livelihood in that place.
I took two days to do a job that might be done in two or three hours, but every move was fraught with danger.  I dared not make a mistake.  Already I knew that there would be no chance at all of getting spare parts in Egypt.  Both pistons, I found, were deformed by heat, and I had only one spare piston with me (a piece of nonsense which inspired more waves of telepathic profanity to burn the ears of Meriden [UK Triumph company]).  The pistons had seized their rings, and I put back the less distorted one after sculpting the slots with a razor blade.  It seemed the only thing to do.  I prayed that I was right.  I had no real idea about what had caused the overheating after only four thousand miles, and felt rather gloomy about it.
Ted Simon.  Jupiter's Travels p 66

[Biggles]

Trivia:  As of today I have 2444 excerpts.  At one per day, we're set for 6 years and 252 days (allowing for 2 Leap Years).
But I keep buying and reading...
Long Live Far Road!   

[Biggles]

"Yes, yes, yes," they scream and, in a flurry of brown limbs, they fight with the Triumph up a gangplank, over a rail into a narrow gangway, through hatches, over sills and bollards, four hundred pounds of metal dragging, sliding, flying and dropping among roars and curses and pleas for divine aid, while I follow, helpless and resigned.  Finally the bike is poised over the water between the two boats. The outstretched arms can only hold it, but they cannot move it, and it is supported, incredibly, by the foot brake pedal, which is caught on the ship's rail.  Muscles are weakening.  The pedal is bending and will soon slip, and my journey will end in the fathomless silt of Mother Nile.  At this last moment, a rope descends miraculously from the sky dangling a hook, and the day is saved.
Ted Simon.  Jupiter's Travels p 73

[Biggles]

It was plainly impossible to move the bike, so I began to unload it.  I noticed immediately that my water bag was empty, the plastic perforated, the contents drained away.  Well at least l had a litre of distilled water.  With all the luggage off I glanced in the gas tank.  Had it been possible at this stage to shock me, I would have been shocked.  There was only a puddle of gasoline left, hardly a gallon.  My fuel consumption was twice what it should have been, and when I thought about it, that was perfectly natural.  Grinding along in second gear over a loose surface in such heat, it is what you would expect.  Only I, of course, had not expected it.
Ted Simon.  Jupiter's Travels p 82

[Biggles]

Scooping the sand out by hand took half an hour, but I managed to make a lane back to the firmer ground.  There was a bit of brush growing on the dunes, and I paved my lane with twigs.  Then, inch by inch, I was able to haul the bike back to where I wanted it.  Again I had lost a lot of sweat, and I got the water bottle out.  It was warm to the touch.  I put it to my lips, and then spat vigorously on the ground, mustering as much of my own good saliva as I could. The bottle contained acid. 
Battery acid.
Ted Simon.  Jupiter's Travels p 82

[Biggles]

If falling were a competitive sporting event, I would be a champion. Sometimes, on deeply rutted tracks like the one between Gedaref and Metema, it was impossible to avoid a fall.
(Getting it up again) was an exhausting exercise because I could not lift the bike without unpacking everything first.
Ted Simon.  Jupiter's Travels p 92

[Biggles]

I have had one more soft fall, but each jerk on the wheel pulls the muscle in my left shoulder and prevents it from healing.  I feel no hunger, no thirst.  I am absolutely wrapped up in this extraordinary experience, in the unremitting effort, in the marvellous fact that I am succeeding, that it is at all possible, that my worst fears are not just unrealized but contradicted.  The bike, for all its load, is manageable.  I seem to have, after all, the strength and stamina to get by, and my reserves seem to grow the more I draw upon them. 
Ted Simon.  Jupiter's Travels p 95

[Biggles]

Why you?  Why were you chosen to ride through the desert while other men are going home from the office?
Chosen?  I thought I chose myself. Were Odysseus and Jason, Columbus and Magellan chosen?
  That is a very exalted company you have summoned up there. What have you got in common with Odysseus, for God's sake?
Well, we're all just acting out other people's fantasies, aren't we?  Maybe we're not much good for anything else.
Ted Simon.  Jupiter's Travels p 96

[Biggles]

The road to Gedaref is worse.  Much worse.  Worse than anything I imagined.  At times, in fact, I believe it is impossible, and consider giving up.  The corrugations are monstrous.
Six-inch ridges, two feet apart, all the way with monotonous, shattering regularity.  Everything on the bike that can move does so.  Every bone in every socket of my body rattles.  Not even the most ingenious fairground proprietor could devise a more uncomfortable ride.  I feel certain it must break the bike. I try riding very slowly, and it is worse than ever.  Only at fifty miles an hour does the bike begin to fly over ridges, levelling out the vibration a little, but it is terribly risky.  Between the ridges is much loose sand.  Here and there are sudden hazards.  The chances of falling are great, and I am afraid of serious damage to the bike. 
Yet I feel I must fly, because I don't think the machine will survive eighty miles of this otherwise.  It is hair-raising and then it becomes impossible again.  The road swings to the west and the sun burns out my vision.  I realize I must stop and make camp.
Ted Simon.  Jupiter's Travels p 100

[Biggles]

Why don't the tires tear to shreds under all this punishment?  Why no punctures?  I think a puncture might finish me, I'm so beat.  Why doesn't the Triumph just die? Unlike me, it has no need to go on.  It protests and chatters.  On one steep climb it even fainted, but after a rest it went to work again.  I hate to think what havoc is being wrought inside those cylinders.
We have such a long way to go.
Ted Simon.  Jupiter's Travels p 102

[Biggles]

It is clear that the bike can barely cope with the combination of load, work and heat.  The road is scarred and ripped to rubble.  It's like following the track of some stumbling monster of destruction.  Halfway up a particularly hard climb, I lose momentum and the bike simply dies on me.  I don't know what's happened, what to do.  I wait awhile and kick it over.  It starts and revs up fine in neutral, but when I engage the clutch it dies on me again.  I am quite near the top of the hill, and I unload the heaviest boxes and carry them up myself.  Then I ride the bike up, and load again.  The plugs and timing are O.K.  What else can I do but cross my fingers, and try to keep up momentum.
Ted Simon.  Jupiter's Travels p 106