Dubrovnic

Tuesday 20th September 1983

Dawn broke and as we walked off the beach we were bid “Good Morning” by a militia man. He was a merry soul and we chatted for a while using my limited schoolboy German. He seemed intrigued by our trip plans but after a while it got difficult to understand each other and we parted. We walked into town for a breakfast by the old city wall, and a doze in the sun. Breakfast was our old standby the tinned sardine cocktail with bread and orange juice. A couple of cokes and a few written postcards later, we walked back to where our bikes were parked and basked in the heat on the beach. The water was a clear as a bell and we were soon splashing about in it, washing away our nausea and our weariness. No sooner did you step into the sea than exotic fish began “pecking” at your feet. The water plummeted into unfathomable depths a few feet offshore and enormous fish made us wary.

We dried off in the sun and read for a while before starting our steeds and returning to Dubrovnic. We had come to the decision that this city was not to be missed and was worth back-tracking for. In fine spirits we cruised back along the road northwards. By now we knew the ropes regarding the ferry and in a trice we had paid and were on board. We waited for departure and sneered at the 3 Belgian mega-bikes; the leather-clad, sealed-full-face-helmeted, riders of which scampered about unsure of whether they were coming or going.

We completed our run of 60 miles and found the Youth Hostel fairly quickly. Because of a sodding school party we could only book one night in this marvellous clean and well-run establishment. We wandered down to the supermarket and launched into our greatest meal yet. We made up salami sandwiches with hunks of fresh raw onion, washed down with coke and followed by a juicy orange. We licked our lips with relish having enjoyed every precious morsel.

We walked into the new part of town and were accosted by predatory landladies touting their accommodation in a line along the wayside benches. We got the best bargain for a double room and there ensued our most trying hunt for a place ever. We proffered our scrap of paper bearing the address to a thousand people (must stop writing for a while – no electricity – no fucking light – too dark to see!) who directed us about to everywhere but our goal. We were told to look out for two green doors, but there were at least a hundred green doors in this small area. We abandoned our search for a coke break and set off again with little hope of success.

Near despair, we were on the verge of giving up when a woman led us to the door we sought, up a narrow alley by the fruit market. We returned to the hostel and were delighted to find that our room mates in the 4 berth dormitory were our Dutch biking chums. We chatted in the gloom and shared an army mess tin of hot tea as well as some succulent mauve grapes. We then set off into town together to see the old city which was lit up at night. It was thronging with people, but no wonder, as this ancient citadel is a well-preserved chunk of history standing as if transported by time machine into the present day. We tried in vain to get a coffee but all the cafes were chock a block. We wandered back to the hostel, chatting about military service, motorbikes and the learning of other languages. We got a couple of cokes at a seedy dive near the hostel and retired to our room, rejoicing when the power came on at 23:00 hrs.

A party mood filled the room as George and I wrote postcards composed of slices of Robert E. Howard prose to our friends Richard “Dick Davis” (Sir Furry Pork Ball) and Richard “Wilf” Willis (eldest son of our mentor Pete Willis). The NL boys entertained another Dutch fellow they’d met. George and I were chuckling merrily as we wrote and the Dutch contingent seemed bemused, interrupted by our giggling, as they pored over their maps. George offered them a free copy of our future book if they would swap bikes so that we could continue on their 500cc machines. They laughed! At midnight we hit the sack for an excellent night’s sleep in comfortable beds, unmolested by insects, winged or otherwise.

Bike reading 15,409 miles.