Hello Barfers and Barfettes, for the 99% of you which I've yet had the pleasure to ride along with, my name is Alex and I"m addicted to motorcycles. About a month ago, my friend alemeno214 - also known affectionately as White Alex and myself came to a sudden realization that we'd be able to plan a two week vacation riding motorcycles overseas. After a fruitless week of fantasizing adventures over the dunes of Morocco or thru the pampas of Patagonia, we had finally decided on a self-guided tour around the Italian island of Sardinia. The two of us had been riding together in a "selective group" of goobers for just under three years now, here's a photo from Quincy 2017 for you to put some faces to our ride report:laughing
With the tour in Sardinia via Barcelona being an 11 day affair, we had 2~3 days of free vacation time which must not be wasted. By chance I had stumbled upon a review on Trip Advisor for a company called Intrepid Trails, their promotional video showed folks ripping factory racing dirt bikes over white sand beaches of Portugal, needless to say no further convincing was needed. 5 days before both Alex's were due for their prospective annual leaves, last minute travel tickets were hastily arranged and it was official...we are doing Europe!arty
As mentioned in my Prologue, due to last minute booking, I had picked to fly with a super budget airline (French Bee) in order to avoid paying beaucoup bucks. This meant extremely limited luggage options, and me wearing my Aerostitch for the entirety of 14 hours from SFO to Porto, Portugal via layover in Paris ORY. I found out via first hand experience that although you can get thru airport security in your 'Stitch, at SFO they did give me the extra pat-down, including back of the hands pat up my crotch for hidden contraband. Thank god a good friend had offered some real potent 420 just before my take off flight, so all was peachy as I stood limbs outstretched, cool like little Fonzie. For 12 hours, I was sandwiched between a super muscleman with arms the size of my thighs having trouble bumping into my elbows, and a boozy smelling but ridiculous hot French girl, who ended up accidentally punching me in the ribs as she tossed and turned in her sleep. Landing at Porto just after 9 PM on a Friday night, I picked up my rental econobox and made the 1 hour 30 minute drive in the dark, out to the charming, cobble stone lined beach town of Figueira da Foz.
Turns out the owner of Intrepid Trails, a lovely couple (Steve and Debbie) originally from the UK, also ran the Paintshop Hostel, where I had stayed for 2 days and 3 nights. For 18 Euros a night, I was shocked to find very clean beds and a friendly, relaxing atmosphere. Waking up refreshed for Day 1 of my ride, Kirk, one of the more senior staff members at the hostel - who also happened to share the room with me, gravely informed me that I had a massive snoring problem. He was a good chap about it though and told hilarious stories about traveling in the USA (he was from London and had a bit of a cockney accent) which made everything he said almost twice as endearing. As alemeno214 had to work an extra day prior to his transatlantic flight, I was joined by two, much more seasoned British gentlemen (James and Julian) on the first day of the grand adventure.
At 9 AM sharp, Steve showed up with his adorable dog, Star, in the Mystery Machine and was ready to pick up the 3 of us.
We arrived at Steve's HQ, where I found this lovely surprise waiting for me inside the garage (the white paper sign read "ALEX BIKE"
After gearing up (full individual enduro kits had been prepared for each of us), we were introduced to the bikes - brand new factory racing Sherco 300s. Being an American and somewhat ignorant, this was my first introduction to the Sherco brand, and boy was I impressed. They were real beauties that easily reminded me of KTM and Husqvarna off-road competition machines.
I found out over a couple bottles of Superbock that Steve, who was to be our guide in Portugal, was an ex-motocross as well as enduro racer who had ridden all around the world, include Baja and Morocco. With only 12 hours of total dirt riding experience under my belt, all of it from my 2 day camp at the now defunct Nor-Cal supermoto ran by Brok up in Sacramento, I came to a sudden and dawning realization that I just might be a bit out of my element and in over my head:laughing. My fear only grew when Steve informed us that the worst hurricane in decades had just left town days ago, he couldn't even drive to his house when it had made landfall due to the large quantity of fallen trees obstructing the roadway. But I was there, geared up and ready for maximum fun, so the 4 of us hopped on our race bikes and hit the dirt.
The bikes performed absolutely fantastic, I on the other hand was less capable. The boys had to graciously wait for me at almost every turn-off, to which I was eternally grateful. We started on muddy fire trails which quickly turned into a variety of terrain, from pebble strewn single track to a dense, jungle like trail covered in fallen plants of all shape and sizes. Avoiding broken tree branches and other sharp protruding objects became an instant priority:nchantr
But the sights more than made up for the hardship, we passed thru giant windmill farm on a hill overlooking the entire town, then down flights of mossy concrete stairs in the middle of a national forest park. For awhile, we had even walked our bikes (since the opening was too short to ride in) through a runoff tunnel. In total, I had maybe dropped my bike ~5 times, it was grueling since atop the bike, both of my toes barely grazed the ground, which the constant uneven terrain and narrow passageways only exacerbated. But Steve, who was around my height, had skillfully helped me out of every jam which I tend to find myself getting stuck in.
The highlight of the day for me was: we had rode out in-between golden rice fields on a dirt service road, as we passed this classical painting of a Portuguese countryside, behind the next blind turn the outline of a massive castle ruin presented itself in the backdrop. Only in Europe! We stopped at the bottom of the castle town for our hydration/ice tea break, allowing me to take a quick snapshot of our trusty steeds.
At the end of the first day, I was physically exhausted but feeling triumphant. We rode to the pressure washer in town and watched Steve hose down the bikes one by one, the beer was hard earned:teeth.
After a hard day of "work", James, Julian and me stopped for a couple pints at the neighborhood marina, which had an absolutely stunning view.
After a reasonable priced, dinner of local delicacies and way more beer, wine, and brandy than I can remember, we parted our ways at the hostel and turned-in for the day.
So alemeno214 had wanted to tag team on this ride report, unfortunately he got into an accident over Veteran's Day and ended up with a broken wrist. Please send healing thoughts his way!
I woke up at 7AM with the worst cotton mouth I've had in a long time. The combination of jet-lag, trying to keep up drinking with two Brits twice my size the previous night, and getting up 3 times before dawn to chug 6 bottles of water had really heralded that an A1 day was in store for me. I came down to the kitchen, just in time to see Kirk returning with fresh Portuguese rolls from the town bread shop. At dinner the night before, because Julian had told me he doesn't eat veal ("it's unethical"), I just couldn't say no when James had challenged me to order the biggest cut of Veal steak on this side of the Atlantic. For breakfast, in an attempt to settle my stomach, I fried-up a healthy plate of leftover veal steak and eggs. James, who was finishing up his tea and coffee at the kitchen area, stared at me incredulously and said, "Are you really going to eat that?"
15 minutes before Steve was supposed to come pick us up, guess who finally decided to show? That's right, alemeno214!!! And I was starting to worry he might have missed the flight. Like the beast he is, White Alex had gotten off the plane 2 hours prior at Lisbon (from Seattle!), drove all the way to Figueira, without even taking a coffee break and he was ready to rock.
Steve showed up like clockwork and was super pumped, "today's the day we hit the beach!" I was hardly able to contain my excitement. At the HQ, we quickly suited-up and got on our bikes. All 4 grown ass man had our hearts melted when Steve's 2 year-old daughter, Skyla, waved us off at the HQ balcony with, "Becawful Daddy, the wain-puddles!"
The morning started with warm-ups over stretches of winding, muddy fire roads, which I'd finally gotten somewhat comfortable with just the day before. Not 45 minutes in, Steve told us that it's time for us to try riding on sand. From enthusiastically watching Dakar Rally videos in the past, I'd incorrectly assumed that sand riding would be a piece of cake, since the rally pros all made it look so easy. As I quickly found out, just like hitting a patch of sand on the road back home; and the resulting temporary loss of traction normally puts the fear of god into most weekend riders. Sand riding is the equivalent of having an entire road surface covered in slippery, quick sinking, treacherous f***ing SAND. What had made it even more difficult, was that the sand trail was deep in the woods, it was covered with vegetation, with plenty of detours around fallen tree trunks.
I must have dropped the bike a good dozen times within the next hour, even managed to get my rear wheel halfway buried underneath a steep, sandy incline. Compared to the safety of riding on tarmac, it seems the bike suddenly developed a mind of its own, any attempted steering inputs became "mere suggestions" on where the bike and I would eventually end up. What little confidence which I had built up from the day before quickly evaporated within the span of 60 minutes. There were the sudden regrets over years of avoiding the gym, I was having the workout of a lifetime!
Finally, I think Steve got tired of having to stop, come back, and help me pick up my bike for the 20th time. My companions also appropriately remarked that, "Alex had spent more time off the bike then on it the entire morning!" An unanimous decision was reached to head down to the lake, back on dirt. But the repeated heavy lifting had finally caught up with me, it became apparent why James had advised against my choice of steak and eggs just hours before, it was all I could do for a good 15 minutes from barfing my guts out.
On our way to the lake, we came across a relatively high speed, muddy straightaway with plenty of bumps and opportunity for jumps. Steve, who typically let's us ride however we want to, warned that "make sure to slow down near the end, or you'd end up over the bars." And sure enough, about 20 yards from reaching the next checkpoint, I watched in bemused horror as alemeno214 came off a bump at speed, then proceeds to lose control and lowside into a ginormous mud puddle. The splash he had made was glorious!
Having somehow survived a morning full of challenges, we stopped by the local hot spot for a quick lunch. I still find it amusing that the place was called Jet 7.5, so named because you can have a delicious three course lunch combo for the amazing price of 7.50 Euros!
After a brief respite, came the highlight for the day. Yes, it kinda looks like a 90s alternative rock album cover:
That's right, I finally did it, for a good solid 30 minute we tore up a picturesque, half deserted public beach! Hunched over with my ass all the way shifted to the back, and the throttle pinned in 6th gear, all was forgiven. My dream of flying over some exotic beach was now happening IRL, even as I watched alemeno214 who was a good 30 yards in front of me hitting the biggest tank slapper I had ever seen. We were going a good 60~70MPH, and he was kicking up sand as high as two stories! I remember muttering underneath my breath, "Don't crash Alex, don't do it! You know that the Sardinia tour doesn't accept any refunds!" I think Portuguese Jesus must've heard my prayers, because by some sort of miracle alemeno214 managed to stay upright.
We exited the beach by gracefully jumping over a small dune, I impressed Steve by not being the person who got left behind for once (that would be James, who didn't give it enough throttle the first 2 times). I was glad that the struggles in the morning had begun to pay off, I still sucked but somehow was starting to get a hang of riding over sand. The team stopped for a very scenic hydration break:
To be honest, I was totally content as well as exhausted by this point. But Steve, being the ever energetic guide with a contagious sense of positive energy, had more action planned! (I do love how riding through the rural parts of town, he would give the biggest thumbs up to the local elderly going about their day. Some of them even smiled and waved at us.)
Unfortunately by this time I was quickly losing my ability to concentrate, I had some good crashes even looping my bike at one point. But like the Brits told me, "It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt, then it's hilarious!" Boy was I glad that alemeno214 had my back through out the last challenging bits. Overall, it was one of the best days of my life and I wouldn't change a thing!
Waking up at 4:15AM to catch an early flight to Spain, I felt like Mike Tyson's punching bag - sore and bruised all over. If you watch the very end of the video from Day 2, I had severely pulled if not partially torn my left hamstring. The mx-boot got caught on the edge of a raised dirt platform, as the bike kept going underneath me there was a distinctive "popping" sensation that, comically made worse from me landing in the full splits position. Thankfully alemeno214 travels with ibuprofen, which I popped like Skittles for the next few days.
After successfully returning my rental car at the Porto airport two hours later, I almost hit a snag when the Portuguese TSA lady told me that my 'Stitch must be removed while going through security inspection. I told her that I wasn't wearing anything underneath and, unless she really wants to see me naked, I'd prefer keeping it on. She mutter "that's...not good" and waved me through. :rofl
I landed at Barcelona El-Prat Airport in the afternoon, with alemeno214 joining me shortly after. Sitting in the back of the cab as the Barcelonian cityscape came into view, we both had a wow moment. Compared to the Portuguese country side which we had spent the first couple'o days, this was a true cosmopolitan metropolis.
We checked-in at our hotel and had a very pleasant meeting with Ruben from our tour agency - IMT Bike. Due to the last minute nature of our trip, we had decided on a self-guided package where our bikes, the hotels, and the routes were all prearranged and included. This was especially helpful as we stayed at over 8 different accommodations, ranging from overnight ferry to hotels all around the island of Sardinia. Ruben went over the basics of what to expect (from his decades of experience guiding motorcycle tours in the region), gave us our pre-programmed GPS units, and even made recommendations on our Michelin maps, hi-lighting sections of the trip that would make the most epic memories. The meeting ended at 8PM which was a bit early for dinner in Spain:rofl...we took this time to catch the subway over to the infamous La Sagrada Familia, which left me with the impression of an imposing monstrosity, reminiscent of H.R. Giger's best works:
We made it to dinner at 9PM, just minutes before the official Barcelonian dinner time. I finally had a chance to try some real Spanish jamón, as well as authentic paella. With our bellies stuffed, we retired for the night, full of anticipation for the adventures ahead.
Of course! I've always loved reading others' rider reports. 2A is supposedly having surgery for the wrist today, I'll let him explain the details once he is back on the BARFs.
alemeno214 and myself got up refreshed and could barely contain our excitement, after all today would mark the first real day of our sport touring adventure. We had a lovely breakfast at the hotel then walked across the street just after 9AM to IMT Bike. Ruben opened up the shop for us and quickly went over last minute rental details. For the next nine days the two of us will be spending most of our waking hours atop of two 2018 BMW F700GS'. Neither one of us were particularly fans of Bavarian engineering, we simply came to this decision because it was the most available, baseline rental option in the region, and its relatively light weight/short seat height would prove to be a perfect fit for men of our collectively pint-sized stature.
We jumped on our bikes, forcefully integrated ourselves within the local rush hour traffic, and gradually made our way towards the outskirts of the city. First we rode through the back mountain roads in the hills surrounding Barcelona, the change in elevation had offered stunning panoramic views of the urban sprawl below.
Then we made our way to the town of Collbató, on the southern slopes of Montserrat. Taking a water break underneath the Ermita de la Salut historic church, I was able to snap this shot:
From there we continued on to Montserrat, the majestic mountain range on the very outskirts of Barcelona. Translated from Catalan it means "Sawtooth Mountain", which we were told was quite the sight to behold. The roads in this area are famous with the local riders, it's kind of their version of La Honda Road:
Not only was the pavement race track quality, I think both of our jaws collectively fell to the ground as we made our way up the mountain.
For lunch the GPS led us to Ca la Iaia in Manresa, which we later found out from other Spanish riders in Sardinia to be the local equivalent of Alice's in Woodside. We weren't sure if they were open as it was a Monday and the place was empty, but the door was a jar so we showed ourselves in. After a few seconds of "Hola!", a good natured woman came out from the kitchen. To our relief she responded to our "Hablas Ingles" with "a little bit", through a mixture of Spanglish we were able to place our delicious lunch order,
We had a chance to speak with the elderly owner as she and her husband came in when we were just about finished with the appetizer. She told us that "Ca La Iaia" roughly translates to "Grandmama's house", and the cafe/restaurant was founded by her grandmother. It has since been a local mecca for gearheads as shown by the many photos on the wall. We heard that had we came on the weekend, there would be so many bikes out front we'd have problem finding parking.
After devouring every scrumptious morsel on the table, we head out to further explore the Catalonian countryside:
It was then I made the realization that my GoPro would be running out of storage space soon, unless we made an emergency trip to an Apple store to procure a data transfer cable. We again fought heavy city traffic and arrived at the nearest Steve Jobs Shrine of Worship, located in the center of the posh La Rambla district, directly across the street from the Plaza de Catalunya. Parking in between a sea of scooters, we finally made it inside. After dealing with the accessories genius with the worst customer service attitude I've seen at any Apple Store around the world, we quickly made our exit.
By this time we were ready to head over to the Port of Barcelona, as Ruben had stressed to us that morning to make sure "NOT to miss the ferry for Sardinia". We got our tickets and spent some time chatting with a cocky Swiss rider who had been riding across Europe on his Africa Twin for "the last 6 months" on the docks, and a much nicer Chilean rider from Madrid who is taking his girlfriend for a weeklong Sardinia tour. Then it was boarding time!
It was a long but thoroughly enjoyable day, we were both ready to get some sleep and wake up to the beautiful sight of Sardinia.
As we slept in the claustrophobic cabin, our Cruise Roma ferry glided through the dark Mediterranean waters.
Midnight on the observation deck.
Our "cruise ship" consisted of a smoke filled indoor casino deck, a dog poop infested observation deck (since it's also where the ship's kennel area is located) that owners were able to walk their dogs during the 11~12 hour long seafaring journey, a health day spa section, as well as a "restaurant deck" staffed by short fused, grumpy Italian sailors. The air circulation system badly needed to be serviced as the entire ship smelled like stale sweaty gym socks - that's been trapped underneath a sauna cover for too many days.
Taking a much needed breather at the tail section of the roof deck
Alas, after a simple breakfast of croissants and an hour of people watching on the deck, we were informed at noon that the ship was to make landfall in Porto Torres, Sardinia. Just 90 minutes later, alemeno214 and myself stood next to our motorcycles at the ship's belly, waiting impatiently to disembark:
As the mechanical ramp unfolded, we were greeted with warm rays of sunshine, finally, Sardinia! The town of Porto Torres where we made landfall was an industrial shipping area, we made a quick exit behind the disembarking 18-wheelers out of the shipping dock, this is what we saw:
Fresh off the boat!!
Ecstatic, we waited at the GPS marked lunch spot (immediately next to this beach section) in Porto Torres for a good 20 minutes, until we realized that the restaurant was probably not going to open anytime soon. With grumbling stomachs, a decision was made to stop at the next big town just over 30 klicks out. As we rode along the North Western coast of Sardinia, both vegetation and general landscape reminded me of the stereotypical tropical paradise advertised on TV, for reasons unknown to me Madonna's "La Isla Bonita" played in a broken loop inside my head.
A short time later, we came around a blind corner with Castelsardo in full, glorious view. Past the transparent emerald blue waters of the marina, we stopped for some quick pictures and le BARF salute:
Lunch was at a charming trattoria by the village square, what's better than deep fried, fresh caught seafood...washed down by ice cold local brews?
With our bellies full, the Alex's decided to climb the many flights of stairs connecting the village to the ruined castle overlooking the entire town:
On the way thru town, we passed by a realtor's office with fliers of apartments for sale ~ for the equivalent of US$200K you too can own a two bedroom "luxury" home with million dollar views.
At the castle gate.
Unfortunately tickets were required to enter the castle ruins, with the clock already reading half past 2 in the afternoon, we reluctantly said our goodbyes:
Although our destination for the night was a mere 46 kilometers Southwest of Castelsardo, we decided to take the extra scenic route which took us Eastward, towards the center of the island. The windy country roads were constructed with track quality pavement, we had totally forgotten to stop for the next next four hours until the setting sun and our GPS led us to the remote, sleepy seaside town of Alghero, where we were to crash for the night.
arty
