I replaced the condensor and had to have that soldered up by the local Renault garage who did it for free..
It still took me a whole day to get a spark going.
I set off at last on the Saturday heading for Carvoeiro to watch the match. I got it as far as Portimao where it refused to go any further. I finished up pushing it the 12 Km to Carvoeiro but amazingly arrived right on kick off.
The following day being Sunday I decided there was no point trying to get it going as I wouldn't be able to get parts, so went off to the beach and had a bath and a few hours of sun. I spent the evening at Sarahs bar but on returning to my bike someone had stolen my crash helmet.
I was concerned about sleeoping there but a stray dog had followed me to the bike and as soon as I settled down the dog lay down at my side and stayed the whole night.
The following day I moved down to the front where I stripped the bike down and made an improvised test lamp with a torch and set about testing all components. I got the bike going to rapturous applause from the waiters in the bars one of whom went home and found a spare helmet. Old but legal pudding bowl type.
Off I went again to Faro and met up the following day at Sergio's the bar owner who I had befriended when I returned to Faro.
The morning was heavy rain so I sat it out till it stopped and set off for Spain. 8 kms as far as the bike went where it broke down at Olnao. I spent the evening to discover a wire had stripped in the magneto. The following morning I took it to an auto electrrician and had a new wire soldered. No joy as I tried and so too did every Portugese moped owner to get it running. I tested everything again and then found wo problems. The points must have had a meltdown when it overheated in Sagres and had twisted and were not in line, and the wire was only connected by two thin strands of copper wire. Another night and another trip to the auto electrician. then I was off to Spain.
I arrived in Ayamonte by the short ferry trip across the river at the border and a shelter on the river side awaited me.
Maybe not a Virgen but a Saint none the lessI was up early as the time clock had altered and had my morning caffeine fix before daylight.
I was off in the direction of Sevilla via Huelva.
It was a rather dull journey, but I was expecting problems getting into Huelva due to Autovia routes.
I was right and as I rrived at the river in front of Huelva the only access seemed to be via the autovia.
I was trying to be good and find the alternative and made the mistake of stopping a policeman for directions for an alternative route.
He took one look at the back of the bike and told me I had an illegal number plate and was not allowed to continue.
I argued with him, all in Spanish that as it was legally passed in England that automatically made it legal her.
He wasn't having it and was ready to impound the bike.
I continued arguing but ran out of luck when he asked for my papers which were sitting on the kitchen table in England.
I offered to hacve them faxed out but he insisted on the originals.
Now I don't know whether it was my powers of persuasion or whether he just realised I was aresident of England but he just suddenly changed his tone and told me I could go.
It was a scary moment and has left me very wary of getting near any police again.
I went back to the old bridge which was blocked to traffic and noticed a cycle path that everyone was using so off I went.
Half way across I was stopped by a mr Good Citizen who told me I can't ride my moto over the cycle path. I agreed and continued.
On to Sevilla and the same problems.
I turned into a rough estate before the rivers and autovia ring road and watched as a stream of moped and scooters came from the direction of the centre.
I traced their route and via a couple of bridges and tunnels emerged at the side of the centre.
It was far too busy to contemplate entering so continued out to pick up the coast again to Cadiz.
Again confronted by the autovias I stopped at a bar for directions and Jose Javier and a couple of other guys whose names escape me, I was not only treated to directions but also a burgher to boot.
They were great lads and I was off again.
I made it to Dos Cabezas de San Juan wheere it started to rain heavily.
Into a bar and later onto another on the edge of town.
I was leaving this bar to find somewhere to sleep when the manager stopped me and gave me a loaf of bread and a stick of Morzilla and chorizo sausage.
I found a sheltered place on the industrial estate and was just about to bed down when the security guards pulled up in their car.
I had a good conversation with them and they said they would check I was OK through the night.
Five minutes later they were back with another guy who said he knew a car where I could sleep and they would patrol every 45 minutes. They took me there and as I was having my final cigarette of the day they returned towing a large plastic sheet to cover the bike.
The estate cafe was open early and was very popular with the locals so after my fix and waiting for the rain to ease off I was off to Cadiz.
The rain never eased and became an absolute down pour. I was riding over the moorlands leading down to coast and was getting soaked right through.
I got to a place by the coast, stopped and squelched my way into a flooded bar, where I got my first taste of ajo. Ajo is like a humus with some bread soaked in and some veg. seved hot it's delicios. I decided to just get on with it in spite of it raining in the sea as the Spanish say and set offto Chipona. A ghost town in the winter and made Aberystwyth look like paradise.
On to Cadiz.
I arrived and rode down the long straigght main road leading to the old town.
I parked and hit a bar where I sat for most of the evening until the clothes I was wearing were dry enough to walk around in.
I took a walk around the old town and was delighted with the bars and the singing of regional anthems at some tables.
A good nights sleep and up early to escape on the autovia south to Tarif before the police day shift woke.
The road down was brilliant although cold it was gloriously sunny and hardly any cars.
I was taken completely by surprise when I came over the top of a hill and was confronted by a view of the Atlas mountains and Morocco.
It looked amazing and was the first sight of the continent of Africa.
I rode into Tarif and treated myself to a couple of large beers and a ham and cheese toastie to celbrate.
I left Tarif and then the troubles began again with the bike and the autovias.