Hi lads and lassies, I'm back, where was I?
Oh the tunnel, recovery man parks about 200 metres from the mouth of the tunnel and we get the bike off and load the panniers, must admit I'm a little apprehensive about the grip between me and the tunnel as the snow is about a foot deep and the ice under it is invisible.
We say out goodbyes and he slaps me on the shoulder calling me a crazy bastard and we laugh. I'm glad that I can see where I'm going now as my visor and gloves were dried in the cab of the truck whilst I was being ferried around. The bike slips and slides all the way towards the dry tunnel and I am aware of my dashlight flashing but can't read it cause it's thick with snow. Finally I'm in and the road dries, wheew! I can relax for the next 4.9km in the tunnel. I wipe away the snow to see that it's the temp warning light that's on telling me it's -3.5c, half way through the tunnel and it's up to 6c and I'm happy.
As I exit the tunnel I can see it's still snowing but much less and the temp. is at 2c but I'm on a steep descent and am praying to keep upright. After about 10 miles of sheer terror knowing how sore another fall would be the road is clear and the temp is holding steady at 6c and I feel like I've won the lottery.
Barcelona is 160 km away but I'm dry warm and upright which is a big win after the day I've had.
I see a Catalan flag and smile.
I reach Barcelona in a 8pm rush hour and I am thinking of where to stay. Sitting in the 7th lane of merging roads in the middle of the city at 75mph my engine suddenly dies, WTF.
I pull the clutch and try to restart but no good, I whack on the hazard lights and start to more over into the right lanes one at a time, my heart is in my mouth as I realise that all the lanes are moving around the same speed and I'm freewheeling like a fat disabled turkey looking at a thousand hungry men with guns.
Narrowly avoiding all the motors, it was nose to tail in all lanes, I manage to get to the side of the road. I've had GS's for 7 years and they almost never break down, no fuel is the normal problem. I look at the dash and I've ridden 210 from filling up and I know I get 330 miles from a tank so it can't be that. I try to start her and it sounds like there is no fuel so I pour in the 3 litres I carry and boom, starts first time.
I'm off again and head straight for a petrol station where the bike drinks 30 litres in a oner and I refill my spare tank. I work out that when she was lying down in France it leaked out 10 litres of fuel before I got her up, vastly reducing my range.
I bang into hotels.com and decide on two nights of luxury to settle myself back into the trip.
Pleasantly surprised at the hotel view and I settle in for the night.
My back is sore, right elbow and right arsecheek bruised and I know I will be worse in the morning.
JimmyMac
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