BILBAO was quite the sight. A vast city, soaring motorways. The off ramp from the A8/E70 curved into the downtown core, seemingly suspended in the sky as if by some massive energy source defying gravity. Below were Oceangoing ships, looking like children's bathtub toys. You could feel the life humming, buzzing, throbbing below. It was like arriving in a shuttle from NC 1701 onto another World altogether.
Broad, one way streets carried me into the heart of the City, landing me at the very feet of the Guggenheim. Immediately upon pulling off into a parking lot at the base of the colossal museum, I was approached by a uniformed guard. "I cannot park my Moto here, it is not allowed." I sat on the pavement removing my rain gear, trying to ask him for directions. He was intent on my leaving as soon as possible. It was quite bizarre after such warmth I had received most everywhere. Perhaps his lack of a common language with this motorcyclist, made his attitude seem harsher than necessary to me. He kept motioning to the video surveillance camera pointed at us. It all seemed quite surreal, like a sci-fi B movie. "Big Brother is watching us I have to move you along or I will suffer the consequences."

After a harsh day of heavy rains and wind, I was hoping for a bit of a breather to get my feet back on the ground. I was under a raised expressway out of the weather, it was fairly warm and humid, the Oceans influence strong here. A car pulled up to the gate I had just moments before, skirted. The guard went over to speak to the 2 men in the black BMW 5 series. That gave me a little rest. Didn't last long, the respite was quickly over. He returned motioning me once again to leave immediately. My head was pounding from the torment of the day, I could barely stammer out that I was looking for a hotel, motel, pension, anything where I may get off the bike and rest. My mind was in slow motion and I could barely make out that he was pointing up the hill to a block of buildings where I deduced there must be accommodation. Problem was I had arrived here, to this spot on the pavement via a confusing series of one way roads thru the downtown core.

Feeling I had no choice, I remounted and backtracked into downtown Bilbao and riding a confusing maze, where traffic was fierce and in some ways far more aggressive than even Athens (as if that were possible!) I finally found a spot amongst other parked bikes and scooters, on a narrow one way street where I could park Piroska. Even the parking was an ordeal, traffic was so intense and drivers very impatient as I tried to back the Divvie into the very narrow spot, squeezing by me even as I clutched to and fro with barely enough room for the mirrors to clear the bikes next to me. I was perhaps 3 streets from the museum entrance amongst International Banks, trendy boutique shops, sidewalk cafes and tiny jewelry stores. I walked towards the direction of the Museum very concerned that my gear was fully exposed and vulnerable. The intensity of the people moving about hurriedly, didn't make me feel any more secure. In rain soaked Prexports, heavy jacket and helmet in hand, I headed off trying to maneuver thru the throngs of people. I found the entrance to the museum, a giant set of sails in shining sheet metal, amid massive construction projects. It was closing at 8 Pm, the time was now 6 30. I asked several pedestrians for directions to a hotel but people were generally in too much of a hurry to pay me much attention. One gent, who did speak pretty good English pointed me down the street but all he could offer was a belief that a Hotel was located there. After finding my way to an incredibly posh building overlooking the valley, I felt extremely out of place once I'd entered the lobby. Dripping water from my clothing, I approached the desk outlined by soft back lit lighting. Rooms started at 195 Euros, and there was no vacancy. I could try a Hotel a few blocks east, however the young woman I was speaking with in perfect English doubted I would find anything open there or at the Hilton a few blocks south from where I stood. "Yes" she said, the prices would all be similar.

I glanced at my watch... It was 7 pm and already getting dark in the cloudy sky. I would need 2 nights, the museum didn't open until 10 am the next day and I suspected it would take several hours to view, that meant another stay. Hmmm 400+ Euros, if I could find a room? To top it off, my chain situation was getting progressively worse. I had really noticed it on the ride thru the city. A constant jerk and loud clatter whenever I let the clutch out. Once out on the street I decided to try and find the hotel that she had suggested, but after walking for another 10 minutes crossing back and forth thru the various construction zones, I was unable to locate the building. I decided that I would try and find another accommodation as by now I was not only exhausted but quite nervous about my gear. It took me yet another 20 minutes to find the location where I had left the bike. The gear was fine but if anything the traffic had picked up, a gridlock on the street I was on. A delivery van was parked across from me and traffic was attempting to squeeze by, cars coming within inches of my front fender. I had to wait for a break before I could even roll the bike off the stand, space was so limited. I sat there on Piroska for several minutes before a female motorist allowed me to move into the long, seemingly endless lineup . It took me several tries before I was able to find my way back to a familiar traffic circle, where the streaming fast moving cars and delivery vans carried me off to parts unknown. It was tough missing out on the Museo, but as one of the most important people in my life had cautioned me... you just can't get to all of it.

I was screwed!

The clattering each time I de-clutched was very bothersome and I pulled over to find my right side chain adjuster with a 1/4 inch gap from the swingarm. There was no where I could pull over to inspect it further and I was getting somewhere, nowhere fast... with the sun going down. The sky threatened to open up at any minute to add to my concerns. Finally at a light I pulled up next to a late model VW and tapped on the drivers window. A young man speaking English answered. "How can I get out of the City!" I shouted over the din of the traffic. He began explaining when the light changed and we had to move off. Several blocks later, at another red, I pulled up again... "Follow me, it is too difficult to explain."

By this time my head felt like exploding, I did as instructed and he led me thru a maze of city streets and traffic circles for at least 20 more minutes until finally, with his hand out the drivers window and pointing right, I veered off flashing my light and beeping my horn as a thank you to this stranger who had saved my life!!!

It wasn't over yet, several more miles of on ramps, off ramps before I merged into the 6 lanes of the bypassing E70. The rains began again in earnest, I had taken my rain gear off when I had first stopped, and was only wearing my riding gear at this point, but could not see pulling over to don the protective clothing. It was 8 PM. The Guggenheim was closed, certainly to me for this trip. Streams of traffic carried me southeast towards Vitoria Gastez on the AP68 toll highway. Normally I avoided these roads like the plague, but in the dwindling daylight, totally exhausted... I couldn't have cared less. All I wanted at this point was a dry room with a hot shower. Traffic flashed by my road speed of 90 kph, travelling at slightly subsonic speeds, soaking me as they went by, oblivious to my predicament. This is the Not so fun part of long distance travel. I finally found a highway hotel for 75E, where fortunately there was a covered parking spot attached to each room. It was almost 9:30 pm. I had been on the road since 9 am that morning.

Unfortunately, I couldn't rest yet. Under the cover of the carport I removed the rear wheel and checked for any abnormalities, but other than the too tight chain, I couldn't find any. After the second go round I spotted the master link that Dudas had installed back in Hungary, the one I had questioned in it's design. Sure enough, the backing plate had come off and the only thing holding the link in place was the tension on the chain! What had been happening was that the tightness of the drive train was pulling the chain and axle forward. As the axle was at the foremost position and the slot in the swingarm wouldn't allow the tire to move further forward, the axle was being deflected loosening the chain adjuster on the right side. Tightening the adjuster thereby re-aligning the axle was only a temporary solution. The torque on the left side would twist the axle soon afterwards once again leaving the adjuster spinning on it's adjustment bolt. To add to this misery, the pins were totally loose on the inside of the master link, and the rear plate was virtually about to fall away into space. Had this happened there would have been nothing but tension to prevent the clip from working it's way outwards and disappearing. At the very least, I would have lost the chain. Of course, depending on where this happened... well a shudder went thru my spine.

Man... was I f___g pissed at Dudas Zsolti!!!

The good news... I had bought a replacement master link from a shop that first day on the road while still in HU. The question was, would it fit this chain?

With limited lighting and tools I fitted the link. I found that the rollers on the new chain had been ground off flat with the plates to accommodate that piece of crap of a master link they had installed. The new clip fit but without the O rings, creating a potential trouble spot later on, but I didn't care at this point. At least I had some confidence that the link would "hold" the chain together and not kill me in the process. Did I mention how MAD I was at this point.

I slept like a rock! Dead to the World, but at least alive.

PS: Take that Shadow for a ride, you'll smile all the while.