As usual Kaspars was itching to go while the rest of us were still trying to stretch a bungy cord to its limits to secure our luggage.
He as already up the mountain and out of sight by the time the rest of us got going. On this occasion it was a spectacular backfire.
A few hundred metres up the valley we started findings bits of Kaspars’ luggage. First a bungee strap, then his jacket, and then his rucksack.
Around the next mountain bend we started finding bits of Kaspars’ bike. First his number plate and back light and then his top box. At this point we were expecting to find bits of Kaspars.
Fortunately he had noticed that his bike had suddenly started handling really well and knew something was wrong. The nuts and bolts holding his luggage rack to the back of the bike, had made a bid for freedom. In the process, so had everything on the back of the bike.
After combing the roadside for the rest of Kaspars’ belongings, we deployed the “emergency temporary fix procedure” and promptly set about his bike with gaffer tape and cable ties, so we could limp to the next village for repairs.
Latvian expression for “Oops“
What a spanner
Kaspars thankfully tempered his cornering technique for the descent down the mountain. Some item or other bounced off the back of his bike and into the verge but we couldn’t be bothered to stop again so no one mentioned it.
We reached a small collection of buildings and workshops and as fortune would have it, we happened across some locals who were cannibalising a Peugeot 306 as spare parts for a Mercedes 230E.
Unsurprisingly they had quite a few spare nuts and bolts and after a bit of spannering, we were on our way again but not before the customary photos, swapping of emails and false promises of meeting up again in the future etc.
An hour or two behind schedule was nothing new except that today we’d set ourselves a massive task to reach a waypoint 350km away.
Our target – the village of Imilchil, gateway to the incredible Dades Gorge.
Kaspars was obviously confident in the integrity of the roadside fix as he was back to his usual speedway cornering technique using both sides of the road.
We were making steady progress again and apart from the odd pee stop coupled with a bit of sight-seeing we got plenty of miles under our belts.
For the second time that day, Kaspars weaved and wobbled to a halt. Surely his luggage rack hadn’t failed again? Nope. This time his rear tyre was as flat as a pancake.
We were tantalisingly close to our destination and had already mentally put our feet up in some comfy guesthouse.
Punctures are without a doubt one of the more frustrating breakdowns as it involves a disproportionate amount of faff and we were already knackered.
And then it started to rain. No one had packed waterproofs.
So in summary, we were stood half way up a mountain in the rain, wearing bin liners. The sun was dipping behind the mountains, the light was fading and the temperature was dropping.
The puncture wasn’t going to fix itself and there was no way we were camping on the side of a mountain (again). Oz strode over purposefully with the toolkit.
The bare minimum of tools we needed was a spanner for the wheel spindle and some tyre levers. Oz had packed five 10mm spanners and a selection of “tools” that looked like they came free with some flat-packed furniture.
With no way to remove the back wheel or get the tyre off we had to deploy the “ dig-yourself-out-of-a-hole procedure”. This basically means using items for other than their intended purpose. Since Oz (as far as we can work out) has no intended purpose, he was sent to the naughty step.
By luck, more than judgement, Oz had packed a pair of mole grips and a pair of pliers. These combined with a large rock were enough to release the wheel spindle. The tyre was then removed with the combination of a screwdriver, bottle opener and one of the shiny new metal struts holding Kaspars’ luggage rack on.
We put it all back together and waited for the dreaded “hiss” that signifies a total failure to glue a sticky thing over a tiny hole.
There was only the glorious sound of silence! We were good to go . And the sun was out again.
Having not seen a soul for hours we rounded a mountain bend and nearly went head first into a group of villagers laden with produce. The donkeys got spooked by our bikes and some minor carnage ensued as people got catapulted out of saddles while tomatoes and oranges started rolling down the hill.
It looked like someone had emptied the kiddies ball pit in McDonalds. After some apologies and general rebuilding of cultural ties, we set off again wondering it we’d ever make our destination.
Somewhere over that mountain…