The Valentine's Tour

What better way to celebrate the month of love than arranging a camping weekend away at the seaside with your better half, and to ride there on motorbikes, I asked myself.

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Of course, there were some snags to overcome. For starters, Annette isn’t the keenest camper and then the KLR’s battery failed just before we left. But these were minor setbacks, I mused. “Okay, my love, Iet’s make it a rule that we only stop on downhills from now on,” I spluttered between ragged breaths and the torrent of perspiration cascading down my forehead and temples. It felt like I had just been waterboarded by the CIA.

It was the second time in 50 kilometres Annette had stalled the KLR, something she rarely does, but if you have a dead battery Murphy will ensure that this statistic is no longer hallowed ground…just to piss on one’s battery so to speak.

My being out of breath was partly my own fault. Even though I had brought my, by now, highly prized Midas towrope along, for some daft reason I had packed it deep in the bowels of my heavily secured roll-top bag which sat beneath a sleeping bag and cargo net. So instead of unpacking all this and putting Annette’s virgin towing skills to the test on dirt, I decided to push the heavily loaded KLR 150 metres up a nearby hill.