From My Notebooks In 1973: How It All Started

The journey began in confusion.

At the time I had no place of my own in London and was staying in Putney with friends, John, Graham and Diane, who had to put up with my chaotic preparations. In my room I had the three fibre-glass boxes that were attached to the bike and spent endless hours assembling, and sorting and often discarding the eclectic assortment of things I thought I might need in remote parts of the world of which I knew nothing. Everything was last minute. Even the north-African visas came with only days to spare.

I was due to leave on Saturday, October 6th. My first notes, made on Friday, began with a list of numbers:

American Express Card No: 421 109 604 7 800AX
Midland A/c No: 90739812
Traveller cheque serial Nos. RA72 443 021/5 ($100)
Passport number 535439A Issued 10 Sep 1973
Previous passport number 575911 issued 14 June 1968
Domestic driving licence No 3A/1024534 Exp 3rd April 1976
Triumph registration number XRW964M
Naturalisation Cert. No. BZ233
Engine & Chassis Serial No. DH 31414
Insurance policy no. GB/105/L82d9857 (83) London & Lancashire
Sudan Air Ticket: (British Midland Airways) serial number 001580 5

Even though I was on a bike, Sudan required a return ticket by air for a visa.

Cable Credit Card No CW14602CW
Camera serial numbers: BODY 1 5386100/BODY 2 5413027/28mm 5838503/200mm5852279/55mm 6290789
Tony Morgan Telex No. 99291. Ask for Vera Dormer Tel 037576519
Triumph key nos. Ignition FS 913, Lock EJR 5 Both Union.

You will note the absence of mobile phone numbers and email addresses. Then followed an inventory of my wealth:

Cash. $600 US, Libya 5 Dinars, $Aus 10, Ethiopia 28 dollars, Zambia 10 kwatcha Brazil 38.5 cruzeiros, Francs 50, Balance at bank (all cheques cleared) £1000

I was supposed to start the journey from the Sunday Times office building in Grays Inn road on Saturday so that the paper could print the news of my departure on Sunday.

Saturday 6th October

[Still in Putney]

I started packing, writing letters for Peter Harland to send to Sudan, trying to sort out rubbish, hours sped by, 4pm still not finished.

John enters to say Egypt and Israel are at war. Outside it’s raining heavily, with thunder. Graham and Cheryl [an Australian couple also staying there] are in a terrible state about their air ticket. A strange mood. Everything feels wrong. Jo [my girlfriend in France] is to ring me at Orsett at 7.

At 6pm I am at the ST. The war progresses and must be taken seriously. Thus, on the very day I leave, after six months of preparation, all my arrangements are thrown into confusion. It may even mean going round the world in the opposite direction. A card has arrived at the ST wishing me well, from Mary & David Abercrombie. I pick up TriX film and ST cuttings, and leave. Outside in the rain I drop Mary’s card in the gutter where it quickly becomes muddy litter. Bike won’t start. And I have left my leathers at Putney, where I have already been bid a hero’s farewell.

[Well, the bike did start after all. I rode back to Putney for the “leathers” – some beautiful chaps that Jo had made for me – and then rode on to Essex. Although the paper said I was riding to Folkestone that night I had always planned to spend two more days before leaving England. Tony Morgan, another friend, had invited me to spend the night at his palatial home at Orsett, and the following day I said goodbye to my mother, at Wickford.]

Drive through rain to Orsett. Musto trousers are not waterproof, but next best thing.

[There was no waterproof clothing for bikers that I could find. Tony had suggested tunic and trousers made for yachtsmen made by his friend Musto.]

At Orsett all turns much better. Champagne. Happy times. Jo has called. I’ll ring her on Sunday morning.

Sunday 7th

Mostly at Orsett, reading in ST about my departure from Folkestone the night before. Repacking, timing engine, etc. Then at 5pm to Wickford.

Monday 8th

Leave at 7.15. Arrive Dover 9.30. Buy umbrella. Take 10.30 hovercraft at 11.30. “Electrical faults.” Don’t believe it. Probably just saving money if they can get two loads into the 11.30 trip. Drive as far as Orleans.

Canterbury lamb. Oast houses. Orchards. Sugar beet in France. Huge area devoted to it. Grandvilliers, north of Paris. “Son Parking.” “Sa Zone Industrielle.” Uneventful drive to Orleans. Hotel du Martron. Garage. Bushy gray-haired proprietor. Happy. Had a Matchless and an AJS. Thinks they were much better.

“La Baraque.” “La Baraque Brulée.”

[Two villages]

Tuesday 9th

Fog out of Orleans. 100 miles. Nearly killed on road into Millau. How to allow for suicidal over takers? Remember other roads, fast narrow roads in and out of provincial towns and dangerous home-bound traffic at dusk. I shall have to remember. Slow start. Slow finish. It takes an effort of will to get the speed down. The will to survive.

Wednesday 10th

Millau. The International Hotel. Memories of steam engines wafting in the smoky air. Jo on the plateau. Repacking. Tomatoes and green peppers. Home. The barn so neat, so complete looking. Love. Tiredness. Calm.

Thursday 11th

To Nice. Easy ride. Autoroute (9 NF). Pierre welcoming. [Pierre Guirand was the director of the Westminster Hotel on the Promenade des Anglais. I knew him from my newspaper days.] Meet two American actors and a girlfriend, Ruth. They are Tom Skerrit (c/o William Morris) and Keith Carradine (c/o I.F.A ) in LA.

Did push the bike over outside Gignac, fiddling with the horn. Got a rough taste of what it will be like having to pick it up. In Nice repacked once more. Now have the sleeping bag outside the sack on top with the waterproofs in plastic. Washing bag on top box, with knife and sausage. Also tightened up rear suspension to maximum.

Friday 12th

Felt sleazy. Did some exercise. 7 pushups maximum. Thought again about picking up bike, regret weak arms. Down for coffee, croissant on terrace, having fetched bike from garage. The picture with Pierre. Can’t get the measure of him.

[A woman insists I must be going to Sierra Leone.]

“When in Sierra Leone. Robert Snowden (World Bank). Diana Pitt (his wife is her first cousin.) Aziz 6791108 / Ferahi 4249967.”

Sat/Sunday/Monday

In Rome. First day exclusively on cleaning and looking at the bike. Reset tappet clearances. Rt hand inlet had little, if any. Machine is now quieter, but also vibration just as pronounced. Primary chain seems a trifle loose, but every time I adjust it, it seems to find this same tension. So I’ll see if it stays or gets slacker. Cleaned it. Tightened front crankcase bolt (LH).

Andrew and Gabrielle Hale [newspaper contacts] very hospitable, though he gets up tight often and shows a waspish front to deter invasions of privacy. A pained look that must have developed over years of coping with Italian gusto.

Pensione “Kent House” on via delle Crocce. 3,500 lire a night for three bed room. Family restaurant next door (on the right, facing houses). 2000 lire a meal. (Etrusca in Vittoria is cheaper).

Monday recorded for LBC and felt unhappy about it.

[A new radio station had opened in London and I had an arrangement to record stuff and send them tapes.]

Faced first problems of postage. Wrote out notes for ST. Seemed to spend ages packing again, as always. Tried to buy a few simple things and found them appallingly expensive or unobtainable. (ie. Roll of tape for 500 lire). Must be like an Italian trying to buy ironmongery in Mayfair. Met Oswaldo Marino and learned a few things.

Next week: To Roggiano

This has been an unusual week. In France there has been a day of nationwide strikes because people think the government isn’t giving them what they want, but they can’t seem to elect a government that will, probably because no such government could exist.

In England I witnessed, on TV of course, the most elaborate and expensive act of sycophancy ever devised by any government in the history of the world to flatter one person, Donald Trump, in the desperate hope that he will really think he deserves it. They seem to have succeeded.

Next week, back to reality.