"Getting Nowhere Fast"
I was travelling over the Swiss Alps astride my shiny new Triumph Thunderbird; all was well with the world. The gods intervened, lifted a million gallons of water from Lake Lucerne and emptied it over my head. It didn't last long, it didn't have to, I've been drier after a dive in a good semi dry.
The Sun broke through and I stopped for a cigarette. Steaming and smoking like a dormant volcano I looked up towards the clearing sky, the Sun glinting off the fuselage of an aircraft caught my eye. It was a Thursday afternoon, " I bet that's the flight to Sharm, they'll be there in a few hours, I wish I was on it " I thought. It would be another six days before I set eyes upon the familiar but gaudy sight of Na'ama Bay.
I've been flying back and forth to Sharm El Sheikh for ten years; it was a very different place then, better in almost every way. Ten years of escorting my students to complete training or take part in further educational courses. When I started I was the only instructor doing it. You can't do that the agents said, you can't do that the established schools said. Well I guess I've never grown up because telling me I can't do something is a sure-fire way of ensuring that I will. Now everybody is doing it, I'm forever running into British Dive school instructors, with their bright eyed and eager students in tow. I remember I have even taught some of them how to do it, I wish I'd kept my big mouth shut.
So here I am, students behind me on my way down to Sharm by motorcycle and wondering if I've bitten off more than I can chew. Yesterday was good but a long day in the saddle through France, good empty roads with a charming country hotel at the end of it, the village restaurant still serving delicious food and cold beers after midnight, the French know how to live. Today another long ride through Switzerland and Italy, it would be midnight before we found our hotel in the middle of Milan, my students are not happy and I am going to kill the agent when I get back.
Milan that ancient city that conjures up in my mind at least a romantic vision, turns out to be a labyrinth of one way streets all of which are full of hookers. In my ignorance I stopped and asked one of them for directions, big mistake. The next day, "Let's get the hell out of Milan ". The only thing I have to say about northern Italy is that it is best seen from 30,000 feet from the comfort of your seat with a gin and tonic in your hand. We arrived at Ancona on the coast of the Adriatic at 5 p.m. having lost one member of our party en-route and got into a noisy argument with a road toll booth operator who wanted a kings ransom before he would let us through to the ferry.
We sailed in the lap of luxury for the next 36 hours travelling down the entire length of the Adriatic and out into the Med. Next stop Greece, my favourite place in the world, we don't have to wear our crash helmets. The Sun is shining and lorries pull over to the hard shoulder to let us pass, the air is rich with the scent of flowers and people wave as we pass. If only the poor old Med. was as rich in marine life as it must have been many years ago, I could live here forever. A flower bedecked hotel on the beach, more good food and cold beer, God's in his heaven and all is well with the world.
The next day another ferry, but this time its five minutes across the bay, jammed in like sardines with lorries carrying melons, people on their way to work and travellers, some on bikes like ourselves, they're at the end of their journey, we're about half way there. There is more traffic on the streets of Athens than you can shake a stick at and it's hot. They're a civilised race and despite the congestion I see no frayed tempers. We get hopelessly lost at the docks and travel a mile and a half on the pavement, no-one turns a hair or pays us any attention other than avoiding getting under our wheels, wonderful people the Greeks, well most of them anyway.
She was dressed in white, a good-looking woman apart from the moustache, which bedecked her upper lip; she had in her hand the manifest for the ferry we had to get on. I didn't have the correct papers and she took an instant dislike to me. It's not easy for me to keep my mouth shut in these circumstances but I knew that if I didn't, we weren't going to get on that ferry. Sixty hours on a rust bucket full of multi-denominational pilgrims to the Holy Land before we docked in Israel and the usual inquisition by security as to why we were there.
The Med. is now on our right as we head south; it will be hours before we turn left into the interior looking for the Negev desert. You fall into it down several miles of hairpins, it's as hot as hell down there and I thank God for liquid cooled engines that are now standard on most modern bikes. One of my companions insists on wearing full leathers, even in this heat. An hour later we are helping her off her bike almost unconscious, feet swollen to the size of Yetis. "Don't worry, " I said lying through my teeth "We'll soon be in Elat ".
Elat, now there's a town to miss if you can, cheap, loud and brash, but the Sinai is just over the border and our last leg of the journey is in sight, well so I thought. A bomb scare at the Taba crossing causes a delay but nothing like the one we encounter at the Egyptian side. It takes them four hours to process the bikes through. It's midnight, we are tired and frustrated, we decide to stay the night at the Taba Hilton, it used to be a good hotel, it isn't any more.
At last bright and early we're off down the Sinai; it was worth it, a magnificent bike ride through desert and mountains at ninety miles an hour on an empty road. I can hardly believe it; we've made it.
Every time I visit this place someone's pushed up half a dozen new hotels, this one is quite nice, the Rosetta on the main drag within easy reach of the college where we will be diving. The manager of the attached dive centre is one of my old students, which calls for a few cold beers before I start teaching the next day.
We had twelve days good diving and I got to dance with a Manta again. When you see one of those things coming straight at you, you can't help thinking "I'm glad these things don't have teeth ". Na'ama Bay is tacky, good grief there's even a McDonalds now, but the diving is as good as ever it was and I can't fault the service that I get from the college so I guess I'll keep going. Tacky or not it's part of my life and I've had a lot of adventures there, one way or another. The only disappointment I had was that when I arrived cock-a-hoop, thinking I was the first to arrive by bike, I found out that a group of Dutch bikers aboard Harley Davidsons had beaten me to it the week before, damn it.
It's Thursday night and we wave good-bye to our companions who are flying back, we have miles to go before we sleep. Down to Thomas Cook, credit cards grasped in our sweaty palms. " I'm sorry Mr. Cartwright, you don't seem to have any money in your account" Whoops! " Don't worry," says Pete, " I'll loan you some." " I'm sorry Mr. Willis, you don't seem to have any money in your account either!" Oh boy we're in trouble. Emperor Divers is managed by Jeremy Benton, an old student of mine. "Jeremy, do you remember when you said that my teaching you to dive changed your life for the better?" "How much do you need?" says Jeremy. "Thanks mate."
We are flying on two wheels up the Sinai. The bus journey, which takes close to three hours, takes us one and a half. We are as high as kites when we reach the border. It's easier getting out of Egypt than in and we blast through Eilat heading for the Negev before the sun reaches its zenith. We don't make it.
It's as hot as hell with a crosswind that on my unfared bike makes my head bounce from side to side. It's like being interrogated by a Gestapo officer. Kate still in full leathers lags behind and I lose sight of her, I signal Pete to pull over. He does so at one of the few filling stations along the route. I look for Kate and wave frantically as she appears. She either ignores me or doesn't see me. Pete is dehydrated and needs a water stop and my T-Bird needs juice, you're on your own Kate. I thought we would catch up with her, we don't. We head towards Bethsheba, nice hotel, no sign of Kate. The next morning it's on to Hyfa. There's Kate, very irate calling me a lot of bad names. Back on the ferry, chill out. Kate relaxes and our visa cards are working again, we are happy.
7am and we're off the ferry and across Greece in a few hours. Back on to a ferry. Two days later we have a long ride ahead of us. We are going to bypass Milan and head towards the French Alps. We decide to ride until too tired to do so then find a hotel. It's a national holiday and everywhere is full! We find one at midnight and collapse into our beds.
Next stop France. It's a big country, you'd think it'd be easy to find. It's like the M25 gone mad, we lose Kate again. I lose Pete and he's holding the money. A slip road takes me to a toll, " Which way is France" I ask. He points in the opposite direction of my travel. I have no Italian money and the toll doesn't take visa. I sit and have a cigarette and sit and consider my options. I don't like Italy is the first conclusion I reach.I pull a big U-turn when a suitable gap in traffic presents itself. Ten minutes later I'm off the ring road and into beautiful meandering Italian countryside. No Pete, no Kate, no money, but I'm happy. The sun is shining, the bike is purring and I'm on my way out of Italy.
I'm heading towards Annecy in the French Alps, a great town, if you've not been there, you should go. The alpine roads burrow through the mountains, ahead of me was one of many. I'm wearing sunglasses under my helmet, I can't see too well with them on but not to worry I'll be out on the other side in a moment. The tunnel is an eternity long, I can't stop to take my glasses off and I'm peering over them like some myopic old codger. This is the Mont Blanc tunnel and when I eventually reached the other side I am stunned by the vista that greets me. Mont Blanc, snow capped, glistening in the sunlight with its glacier running right down to the road. I have to stop to breathe it in. I am in awe of my surroundings; it's a fabulous world we live in. I pootle down to Annecy at 50mph, I don't want to miss any of it, and hope that the others will catch me up. They don't.
The hotel is posh, I shower and wonder what's happened to the others. Pete eventually turns up. Kate's gone on and is heading south to catch a ferry to Plymouth and so nearer to her home in Cornwall. By midnight we're eating Mexican food and drinking French beer in a restaurant, which is just beginning to liven up when we arrive. This is the life; I was born for this.
Reluctantly we leave Annecy the next morning and head north towards Arras. At Dijon we leave the autoroute and weave out way across French countryside, we are flying again. It's a long ride, 460 miles to our final hotel.
As we move north, so the weather changes and we reach Arras soaked to the skin. It's our last night and the weather reflects our mood. The next morning it's still raining but it's only 50 miles to Calais, what the hell, the bike handles well in the wet and at least the rain is warm. Before where I know where I am I'm off the ferry at Dover travelling up the M2 to Rochester and home. It's been a real adventure. Scuba diving and biking go well together.
Next year I'm going to do it again but this time, if I can find a ferry that will take me, I'm going down the other side of the Red Sea to Marsa Alam, staying in a tent on the beach. I've done this safari before, but not by bike, it should be quite a trip.
My companions and their bikes:
Pete Willis ..................Honda CBR 600 1992. Works in a factory by day, plays bass by night.
Kate Randall...............Kawasaki ZZR 600 1997. Teaches bike riding. Safety First - even if it kills her!
David Cartwright…........Triumph Thunderbird 900 1996. Master Scuba Diver Trainer and Ne'er do well.
Distance covered in total: 5000 miles.
Distance covered in the saddle: 2500 miles.
Countries visited:
France
Switzerland
Italy
Greece
Israel
Egypt
Smile Factor: 10.
The End.
or just maybe the beginning!
For further information on this years motorcycle tour, please telephone David on 01634 404329 or Email :- ride.dive@btinternet.com
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