Last weekend Mr Wolf & I went on a moto-pocket-adventure leaving everything behind for a couple of days. It was Wednesday night, and we decided to take off early the next day. Excited I scramed to the garage, sorted my saddlebags, the tarp, some tools… maps… & then raced to the petrol station to fill the old Panhaed up. Mr Wolf was nervous, he had never slept out on a moto trip and was worried that his tiny 125 would’t make it, or get on my nerves too soon… Hhhahhaahaha… I kept on telling him what I always said (but he never believed me…) it is not the same to try to keep up with & the old panhead on our daily roads than on the search of a new horizon. When you explore a new territory, is easier to chill, sit back & enjoy the vibes…
Next morning to my surprise the Panhead was sitting, defeated, on a gasoline spill two meters wide… FUCK~!@#$% I cursed. Started looking for the cause of the disaster only to find that it was the worst case scenario… We had a broken tank!@#$ But the trip was far from being cancelled. I jumped on the Triumph but she didn’t want to start… weird… Mr Wolf nodded at me, with those incredulous looks of discontent that only the elder know how to deploy. I kept on kicking & kicking, no worries, I coughed… its almost there, but… noo.. So started the protocol… Fuel? Plenty… Ignition? Nope… Battery? Nope… My dear wife who regularly leaves the kill switch ON had done it again… Put the battery on charge & went to the bar to grab a beer… At 1pm, back in the garage La Sal del Diablo, to my satisfaction, started first kick. Saddled up quick & left in a loud blaze.
We were on the road! Ahead the portuguese border. As soon as we crossed, we headed left, to the Xeres National Park. One of the most amazing rides in my life was just waiting ahead.
On the trip we came across all sort of Biker Breeds and I had kid’s fun looking through Mr Wolf’s ingenuous eyes. First we encountered a horde of “WASPS” (As Mr. Wolf named them). The RRR gang, deep inside their GSXRs & bombs alike. They were amazed & amused to look at these two weirdos, flying low, all geared up on our mutant rides. A dozen no more, stayed behind us for some time wheeling & warming their tires, before disapearing behind the sun, all saluting with the big V on their hand. It was fun.
The second day, riding hard on a semi- off road piste, all gritted & bruised from the hardtail kickbacks, we overtook a bunch of, what Mr Wolf called the, “MOTORRADS”. They were a smaller pack, of five or six. They were all snail riding spanking new GS bikes minus one that was riding a GS like big jap. We were hauling on the dirt and we left them way behind under a cloud of dust. It felt good… But to my surprise, less than five miles ahead the old unpaved path merged onto a five stars black sticky road. In two minutes the MOTORRADS were right on our back and cleanly passed us for good. Five miles after, we were all re-united under the same roof in a lonely Gas Station on a forgotten town. It was hot, and we all took our helmets off. The MOTORRADS looked timidly to the two freaks on the bike with no lights and the gipsy mini jap, but not a single smile… All armed in full cordura suits, robocop boots, modular hemets with Portable GPS, ass heating & intracoms to chit chat… They didn’t quite understand what was going on just in front of their eyes but surely they didn’t like it at all. A few seconds later, the most audacious of them, approached me and asked in a silly offensive tone… Where are your headlights? You can’t ride like that on a public road you punk… I couldn’t help it but started laughing at him, to his discontent… Hhahahahah… The raging little man was so funny… I tried to explain to him that I was allowed to ride from Dawn to Sunset, that it was a historic bike… But he just kept yelling… and I kept laughing louder and louder… While the air got thicker… One of his colleagues, a better educated one… came silently and whispered: Don’t worry, he used to be a road cop…
Mr. Wolf who had silently watched the scaramouche, postulated: “David, those are the El Solitario Impostor fans…”
… Suddenly it all made sense in my head… The ride was resulting more & more clarifying.
We kicked our bikes and left the Petrol station as fast & loud as we could, skidding the way out, and never saw them again. But the day wasn’t over and we still had the best to come. That afternoon, while chilling and feasting on some hazelnuts & single malt, two baby boomers on a a Hinckley Bonneville and an XJR, stopped by. Humbly they offered their hand and asked if my bike was a Triumph… They also wanted to know what was the Mini Jap… the years… if they were road legal… our itinerary… and suddenly, came the question that names this post: You guys are free, aren’t you? BOOOOM!@# That felt so innocent! Pure gold! It made me realize what I have always known but too often forget… We biker freaks are some sort of the last bastions of true free… When they left, Mr Wolf nodded and whispered, “David, I’ll call these the “LEGENDS” and I like them”
I loved riding with Mr Wolf!@#$%^&
The Brit & The Mini Jap by your writer:
The Brit & The Mini Jap shot with expired 35mm film by Mr. Wolf:
Special thanks to Gonzalo and his family for their sweet hospitality.
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