It feels strange flying back into Kuwait as a 'visitor' now that I'm not based here. I still have my residency of course and a bank account and thankfully the house I was living in remains on company books till June, albeit now devoid of furniture apart from a bed. So basically I'm 'camping' here, even using the dinky little cooking set and accoutrements acquired for the trip to take care of sustenance – good practice for what's to come.
And I'm delighted to be reunited with Giselle (yes, the bike), though she's looking distinctly grey and shabby after a month or so's worth of Kuwait's dust blowing around. It's that time of year when winds blowing over the surrounding landmass to the north, west and south whip up the dry desert sands and blanket the city. This in spite of some spectacular rain storms they've had which failed to provide any real dampening effect on the sand. This stuff is incredibly fine and gets everywhere, hence the description 'dust storm' rather than 'sand storm'. At their worst these turn the sky eerily orange (see pic), can reduce visibility to almost zero and result in people wearing face-masks in an attempt to keep the stuff out of their lungs. I've been on the bike in a lesser version of that shown above and it's a bit like riding through fog you can chew.The bike is soon hosed down however and though I'm convinced her month of idleness will mean the battery will need to be recharged, she surprises me by coughing into life at the first touch of the button. I've a lot to do to get her ready such as adjusting the valve clearances, changing the oil, oil filter and air filter. And I have to mount a new fuse box to properly power the GPS (which also has to be mounted) and the electric feed to my tank bag for recharging my phone, iPod etc.
First though, I head over to see Salem at Tristar to check on getting the all-important Saudi visa. He's as positive as ever and, after making a call, says it should only take a few days, asking for my passport, the requisite passport-size photo and a copy of my Kuwait Civil ID. We discuss the relative merits of me riding on the bike's existing Kuwait registration or de-registering to run on export plates. I haven't yet decided, though I'm tending towards the latter.
Back at the ranch, my mate Steve comes over to visit with his lovely wife Zarina, bearing coffee and doughnuts (or donuts as they're called here). Think I've mentioned he has a 1200GS (and a Triumph Sprint ST) back in the States and has kindly offered to take me through the valve adjusting process which he's done so often he could probably carry it out blindfold. The GS is a delight to work on – so long as you have the right tools – and the job is soon done. In spite of the heat (it's already in the 40s here) I prevail upon him to help with fitting the fuse box too. In truth, he doesn't take a lot of convincing. He's a total petrolhead and bike nut who seriously misses his bikes back home, especially since he sold the 650 Dakar he had in Kuwait for a while. On top of this he's a Comms Engineer and, I confess, my relationship with moto-electrics is somewhat tenuous.
The FZ-1 fuse box is a nifty little device that provides a built-in relay offering the choice for any fitted device to be switched on and off with the ignition or powered constantly. This is important as I don't necessarily want the GPS to switch off with the engine, but equally don't want to inadvertently leave something charging in the tank bag and drain the bike's battery. I got it last trip home from the superb Nippy Norman's who specialize in BMW aftermarket gear, having picked them up via the very useful and informative UKGSer.com online forum.
The first issue is finding a suitable permanently powered, switchable source, but we eventually hit on the wire for the PIAA drive lamps the bike's previous owner fitted. That solved and a suitable place identified to mount the fuse box under the seat, Steve starts chopping wires and fitting connectors, before he's called to work and he and Zarina have to depart. He's concerned about the effectiveness of the dry joints we've made and their susceptibility to shorting when I encounter rain – which I undoubtedly will as I head ever northwards. Advice is to get hold of some liquid electrical tape (which I find in ACE Hardware) and liberally coat each joint with care.
This done, I mount the Zumo GPS, fit the tank bag, turn the key and tentatively press the starter. Nothing happens. I fear I've screwed something up until - doh! – I realise she's still in gear after adjusting the valves. Select neutral, try again and she fires up beautifully. The Zumo's running and charging, the tank bag has power, there are no oil leaks from the valve covers and everything seems hunky-dory. Woo-hoo, result!
In the evenings, a bit lonely and seriously missing my lady, I occupy myself packing and re-packing the panniers and tank bag with all that's necessary to keep me going on the road. This means trying to keep the weight (tools, spares) low and evenly distributed, while ensuring essential stuff is reasonably accessible.
I'm also trawling the net trying to find a suitable joint representative body for the Red Cross and Red Crescent organisations at international level. I hope to raise money for them (or some other worthy cause) through sponsorship of my trip. But it all seems very complicated. Who would have thought it could be this difficult to give away cash. Ah well, keep searching.
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