From the Library

[Biggles]

This became the first test for our rig at high speed and we had some misgivings about its stability. The manufacturer recommended a top speed of 140 km/h with the full luggage-fit and since the freeway speed was 130, we thought this would be fine.  And it would have been, except that no one drove at the speed limit.  We joined the flow and I gradually increased our speed as confidence in the stability of the rig grew.  Soon enough we were belting along with the crowd in the not-so-fast-lane while the fast cars and Honda ST1300s blasted past us in the proper fast lane.  We were still making very good time.  It was 250 kilometres to the overnight stop in Brive.  250 divided by 140 equals... a quick trip to town!
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 37

[Biggles]

Needing to make about even-time (averaging 100 km/h) for the trip, we paid our money on the motorway and opened up the throttle.  It wasn't long before Jo was explaining exponential equations as we watched the fuel gauge expire before our eyes.  15 percent more speed was costing us a 40 percent penalty in fuel.  At 140 km/h you could almost see the fuel gauge move as you glanced at it.  Clearly we had the aerodynamics of a barn door.  At home, a day of mixed riding would get an easy 500 kilometres from the 30 litre tank.  With this load on board we got about 400 to a tank on the motorway if we kept the cruise at 120.  Over 140, the little 'feed me now' light came on at about 280 kilometres.  The problem with this was that 95-octane petrol cost about US$2.50 per litre, or better than US$50 every time we filled the tank!  The only saving grace was that at high speed you would run out of country after a couple of days.  We had a tight budget for this trip, however, and we didn't want to miss out on a decent bistro meal for the sake of a quicker trip up the motorway.
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 45

[Biggles]

Interestingly, we didn't see many fast sports bikes on motorways but there were a few big, fast super-tourers.  The Honda ST1300s, BMW GTs and Yamaha XJR 1300s generally had a couple on board in matching leathers and helmets with full and very neat luggage fit.  They slid by at about 150 tucked in behind the big fairings.   
We watched them go with a wave and told ourselves that the decision to bring the BMW GSA would pay off later when the roads got bad and the distances got longer.
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 46

[Biggles]

We were not entirely new to the way things are done in this part of the world so, as soon as the ferry docked, we hustled the Elephant into the melee around the Border Police post.  We paid a generous "tip" to get to the front of the queue and have the paperwork tor the bike sorted, and rolled out onto the streets of Tangier in about 15 minutes.  A quick stop to get fuel and change some money took only a few minutes more, then we were off up the hill and into the thick of the Tangier traffic.  Just like in other parts of North Africa and the Middle East where we have travelled, it is chaos in slow motion: folks wander across the road without any regulation, cars and trucks drift across "lanes" and no-one ever looks at their rear view mirrors. The unwritten rule is always "if I am in front, I have right of way".   The bikes here are mostly tiny mopeds and the cars are small and low-powered so it all has a surreal feel for us.  There is nothing of the lethal intensity of our own traffic with many more vehicles and ballistic speeds.  Best of all, it happens with good humour and the traffic manages to flow despite the best efforts of everyone.
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 90

[Biggles]

It was during our stay in Agadir that the registration of the Elephant expired.  Our solution to this was to pay the renewal over the net and have the label recovered from our redirected mail by Jo's sister Pauline.  The replacement label was then scanned and mailed through to us along with the registration paper itself. 
 At a photographic shop I had the scan printed to scale on photographic paper, trimmed the image and had it laminated.  The completed facsimile was then fitted to the label holder and was so good I left it there until renewal time.  We had found a good hotel at a reasonable price with secure parking for the Elephant so we stayed on in Agadir until Jo's back was in fair shape for travel. 
Each day we walked a little further to give her some exercise.  A few days we overdid it and had a set back, but her improvement was steady.  Once she was walking three or four kilometres we knew our medical crisis had been averted and it was time to go.  We finished our stay at Agadir with a New Year's Eve dinner and a bottle  of Moroccan wine followed by a walk along the crowded waterfront for an ice cream.  It was 34 years since the New Year's Eve we had met in Sydney and I had given Jo her first pillion ride on a bike.  A lot had changed in the intervening years, but not so much as you might think.
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 105

[Biggles]

Although the road surface was often treacherous, with gravel on almost every corner, the riding was a pleasure.  There were stunning sights at every turn that kept us interested and kept drawing my eyes away from the challenge of the road.  As we climbed higher through the valleys we found many kasbahs.  Some were ancient and crumbling back to the earth.  Others were still in use.  All were spectacularly sited in commanding hilltop positions.  On days like this we felt the freedom of the road as a real and powerful force in our lives.  The idea of being out on the road, free to go in any direction, with no deadline or agenda, had always been a romantic notion and a little adolescent and silly.  A day of riding in the Moroccan mountains, even on a cold day, was enough to make us feel like we were teenagers again, off on a road trip when everything was new and exciting.
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 108

[Biggles]

The wind that had brought rain and snow to the mountains blew itself out across the desert creating a sand storm that limited visibility to less than 100 metres.  We had never been in a sand storm on a bike before and life became difficult in new and interesting ways.  We kept our helmet visors down to keep out as much dust as possible but they became coated with dust inside and out.  To get them clean and return some visibility, we were forced to stop and wipe down the inside of the visors every twenty minutes or so.  The fine dust got in everywhere and we kept all of the vents on our suits closed up to keep it out.  Unfortunately this also kept out the cooling air with obvious consequences.  By the time we got to The Palmeraie Hotel at Zagora we were keen to get out of the sand-blast and get ourselves and the bike indoors.  Like many older hotels, The Palmeraie was happy for me to park the Elephant in its foyer.  The Palmeraie was also like other old hotels in other ways.  The windows didn't seal and our room was covered with a film of gritty dust.  When the gusts of wind hit our second storey room, the windows shook and banged as though they were about to be blown in and the dust was so thick in the air in the poorly-lit hallways that it hampered visibility. Not that any of this was too much of a problem for us.  We had Elephant secured and an acceptably comfortable room, and we managed to find a cold beer and some very tasty food.  In our simple world view, things were just fine.
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 111-112

[Biggles]

In El-Kelaa M'Gouna, we shared our overnight stop with a group of about 16 bike riders from the UK who were spending a week riding dirt bikes in Morocco and following the Paris-Dakar Rally which was scheduled to pass through Morocco not far to the east.  They had only been in the country for one day and one rider already had an arm in a sling with little likelihood that he would remount his bike.  They were all heartily disillusioned because they had just heard the announcement that the rally had been cancelled for 2007 after three French tourists were shot by terrorists in Senegal.
The Elephant wasn't interested in their skinny-bummed KTMs, so in the morning we left them to it and continued to the east and into the mountain gorges.
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 116

[Biggles]

The proprietor of the Oasis Hotel had kindly let us park Elephant in the storeroom and had come around to open the door when we returned from exploring the mountains.  With our limited French and his limited English we struck up a conversation.
"Why are you in Morocco?" he asked.
"Oh, we're just looking around," came the reply.
"Oui, touristic."
"Oui touristic."
"So, where have you been?"  We opened our maps and pointed to the pink highlighted line and date annotations that showed our travels.  He studied it closely and asked questions about places and towns.
"Amazing," he said. "You have seen more of Maroc than me!  Where will you go next?" We looked at each other, realising we had not yet discussed our next destination.
"Perhaps we will go to the south.  Another rider we met in Agadir is down there and he says it is very cheap and there are no tourists," I said, and looked back over at Jo, who shrugged. "Or," I continued, we might go north to the Riff and look at the Atlantic Coast" He considered this lack of certainty for a few moments then gave a broad smile.
"I think I understand," he said.  "You are not tourists, you are voyageurs!"  His words hit us like a bolt of lightning and made us grin from ear to ear.
"Yes!" we blurted out in unison.  "We are voyageurs!"
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 117

[Biggles]

While we ate we chatted to Daniele and heard about his adventure over many of the roads we had ridden ourselves.  As was often the case when we met fellow adventure riders, a bond formed quickly.  In some ways these conversations were very soothing for us.  Riders never ask each other the standard round of questions that non-riders need to give them a context for the relationship.  Much of the experience is already understood and the motivation taken for granted.  We had no accommodation organised for Marrakech and neither did Daniele so we exchanged global roaming numbers before he roared off down the mountain and we demolished the rest of our lamb.
Looking up from our plates, we saw a group of eight Honda Transalps cruising past, gleaming clean and carrying no luggage; their leader setting a conservative pace up front.  We finished our tea, paid a few dollar for our lunch and set off after them.
It seemed like no time at all before we were slipping by the shiny Transalps.  We waved to each one as Elephant rumbled by; a behemoth among the spindly Hondas.  We imagined most of the riders would have rather tucked in behind Elephant's broad arse and come along for a proper ride in the mountains.  That, after all, is what riding in Morocco is about.  That, and barbecued lamb chops by the side of the road!
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 120

[Biggles]

Through all of this, we had been rubbing along pretty well with our Tunisian hosts. Big bikes like ours were very uncommon in Tunisia, so we certainly got noticed wherever we went.  I am surprised that Jos' arm didn't fall off as she spent so much time waving to folks of all ages as we passed through the countryside.  When we stopped, young fellows would come over to look at the numbers on the speedo.  I didn't have the heart to tell them how optimistic they were with our big luggage fit. 
 The guys always asked how big the motor was and the answer of 1150cc left them with a stunned look on their faces.
With our riding suits, helmets, incomprehensible language, GPS and communications setup, we might as well have been space travellers in some remote villages.  Here, even more so than in Morocco, we were a curiosity.  We were, however, clearly strangers and clearly on a grand journey, something easily understood by these desert peoples with their long tradition of respect for travellers.
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 142-3

[Biggles]

In Le Kef, I needed to do some repairs to our helmet wiring looms.  These were the cables that linked the speakers and microphones in our helmets with the intercom system on the bike.   We had worn out a set each because of the constant flexing of the main cable where it exited the helmet.  I went to a little hardware store and explained the problem to the owner with an engineering drawing and a few words of French.  He and his assistant went to work finding parts that I might adapt to my needs and after 30 minutes and several revised drawings assembled the selection of bits.
When I asked him how much, he handed me the parts and with a broad smile, said there was no charge and welcome to Tunisia.  We smiled back our most thankful smiles and shook everyone's hand before taking our paper bag of bits back to the hotel to start work on the helmet repair.
It was through small kindnesses such as these that North Africa became the place where we started to understand something of the transaction we were involved in each time we interacted with local people.  We started to say that we were pushed on by the kindness of strangers, and this was certainly true, but it was not the whole story.  We found that each transaction involved an exchange. We would offer our story; the story of strangers and an odyssey, and in return they would offer kindness and their hopes for the success of our journey.  In the final part of the transaction, we would take their wishes and add them to the others we carried with us.   
Each time we told the story of our journey in return for a favour done, we carried forward the expectations of yet another soul.  For it seemed that the idea of the journey transcended culture and that there was a universal belief that to journey among strangers is an honourable thing; a thing worth doing for its own sake.
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 143-4

[Biggles]

In late January 2008, on a rainy Tuesday, we stopped at a busy, muddy intersection at a small market town in the south of the Riff Mountains.  The policeman on duty saw us stop and check the road in both directions obviously considering which way to go.  He left his post and walked over to us and signalled the question "Can I help?"  We confirmed the direction we needed to take.  He then indicated the broader question, "Where are you going?"  We told him our story in a few mixed words of English, French and Arabic, together with a lot of sign language.  A huge smile came over his face: "So, you and your wife go on your bike.  You go to all the world's countries and see all the world's peoples.  Good luck!  Good luck!"
Perhaps that night, I said to Jo, he went home to his little daughter and said something along the lines of: "You will never guess what happened today. A man and a woman came to our town.  They were wearing space suits and riding on a puny elephant with spindly legs and a funny snout.  They told me they were going to see all of the world's peoples and all of their places.  I gave them gift.  I gave them a smile and a wish, and they said that they would carry it over the Riff, over the high mountains, across the endless wheat plains and through the forest of the bear.  And they said that they would take it to the warm Pacific and cast it into the air and it would float back to me."
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 144-5

[Biggles]

With rugged mountains plunging straight into the sea, it was like riding your favourite bike road every day without rounding the same corner twice.  Some of it was challenging.  West of Sparta the mountain road clambered up through dozens of impossible switchbacks but, with the long winter in the Moroccan mountains behind us, Elephant's hairpin technique was close to faultless.  We found ourselves swaying through the hills as though we were performing a kind of swooping dance; a mechanical ballet with an Elephant in a tutu.
We spent hours riding in first, second and third gear (we had 6) entering the corners wide and deep, turning late and hard when I could see the exit then keeping plenty of power going to the back wheel to keep it planted firmly (you have to think about the physics sometimes).  This is the classic bike cornering technique designed to give the rider options and traction and to keep the bike coming out of the corners on the safe side of the road.  Failure to master this simple method has killed more good men and women than the plague.
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 163

[Biggles]

I  have never minded riding in the rain, or riding in gusty cross-winds, or riding challenging mountain roads, but all three together is different matter.  The road twisted itself into a tortured knot of switchback corners and the rain thundered down turning the hairpins into rivers and covering them in debris.  The lightning seemed to strike on top of us and the thunder hit us with a wave of energy that shook us to the core.  We climbed on.  The storm wind ripped down the valleys and hit Elephant with a hammer-blow each time we were exposed from the lee of a spur.  High in the mountains it started to hail.  Big clumps of ice smashed into our helmets and arms and Elephant struggled to keep a steady grip on the marble road.  My arms and shoulders started to ache and I realised that I was gripping the controls too tightly trying to make each input smooth.  I tried to relax by shaking my shoulders consciously to release the knotted muscles and I found myself talking to Elephant, murmuring soothing, wooing sounds, steadying nerves.
The Elephant's Tale  Mike Hannan p 167-8