Working as a tour guide for the Saharacamp of the BMW GS Club in Morocco
The telephone rang. Hello? It was my friend Gérard. Could I just have time to work as a tour guide for the BMW GS Club in Morocco for 6 weeks? Tomorrow it would start. Clear! I'm always up to something like that.
Since I had no time but had to pick up new participants from the airport in Agadir, the two made themselves on the way to the Plage Blanche. What the tour guide with his light rally machine, years of experience and studded tires can not do, but with a twice as heavy LC with road tires for beginners to create. The result was that the two did not show up for dinner at 8pm. Instead, the police called. Motorcyclists were spotted on the beach. When I returned from Agadir at 10pm, I set off in absolute darkness to seek out our two heroes. However, since the tide was fully there and forced one into the soft sand, I did not get far.
In the morning I was faced with the challenge of starting a rescue operation as well as having to make an exit with 10 people waiting. Without further ado, the rescue operation was renamed to a shipwreck tour and off we went with the whole group to the beach. After 10 meters of soft sand much of the first machine out. The BMW R 1200GS LC had not even 10,000 km on the clock suddenly no more drive. It did not do anything on the rear wheel, no matter which gear you took. Not really surprising considering how lousy BMW scores in the long-term tests of the journals 1, 2, 3.
The other participants did not get much further, before they too buried themselves in the sand and wanted to return. So I went alone to the renewed search for the missing person. The ground was extremely soft and I had to drive full throttle for 20 km. I knew that if my speed dropped below 60 km / h, I would hopelessly get stuck and be caught up in the flood. Then the bike would be lost. According to police, the two motorcyclists should have gotten stuck near the camp of the Argan Trophy Rally.
Once there, I drove up the cliff, bumped up and searched the beach. All of a sudden, I felt hot coolant running into my safety shoes. A hose had been damaged by a big stone. I left the machine and dragged the drinking water for the thirsty on foot on until a fisherman told me that he had helped the two of them the day before to get their motorcycles afloat again. Then they drove back.
So I started back again. When I returned to mobile phone reception after a few kilometers of walking, I learned that the two were proudly back in the camp with pride. The evening before, they drove to the city to have their bikes washed. There they took a hotel room because their tent was too uncomfortable for them and did not think it necessary to inform us that they would not come back. The trouble of my two rescue operations had been in vain. No sorry, no thanks. Nothing.
With delicious tea with the fishermen, I waited for the decline of the flood, repaired the coolant hose, filled up cooling water and at low tide also back home, to drive the broken motorcycle in the van to BMW to Casablanka. Shortly before my departure, a recall from BMW announced that the required parts would have to be ordered in Germany. This would take at least a week. So that our participant can drive at least a little motorbike during his short vacation, I rattled off some motorcycle workshops and organized a 125cc rental here for 10 Euros rent per day. The Mietquads were too expensive with 30 euros per hour. Next.