"My body had arrived back home, but my soul could not catch up."
I had just ridden around the world in 80 days. I was back in Portugal, living in my van, theoretically resting. The problem was that my soul had not received the memo. It was still out there somewhere between Madrid and Vladivostok, looking for the next road.
So I did what any reasonable person would do after completing a world circumnavigation on a Vespa: I bought a broken 50cc scooter for €300 at 10:30 PM from a stranger in a village between Alicante and Cartagena, and rode it 1,000 km to Portugal.
Silly? Yes. Wild? Absolutely. Necessary? Completely.
I was on my way back from a presentation in Ibiza — ferry, bus, the slow grind of normal transport — when I realised I would rather be riding. I spotted the PK 50 on the side of the road. No paperwork. No chassis number. No technical inspection beyond a 50-metre test ride.
€300 cash. A backpack. A German number plate intended for an Ape 50. And the dark road ahead.
I left at 10:30 PM.
Ten kilometres out of town, on a pitch-black country road, the engine died. No tools. No spare parts. No camping gear. No flashlight.
I pushed the dead scooter 10 km through the dark toward a hostel in Cartagena, swearing at my own idiocy the entire way. It was a magnificent start.
The next morning I equipped myself for the journey ahead: basic tools, wire and duct tape from the nearest Carrefour. The Holy Trinity of improvised mechanics.
The Malditos Domingos Scooterclub in Cartagena rescued me — opening a member's garage to fix a faulty oil seal. From that point on I performed repairs at nearly every stop along the route. The PK 50 was not so much a scooter as a rolling maintenance project with occasional forward momentum.
Top speed: 38.5 km/h. On a good day. Downhill.
Seville was where things got genuinely interesting.
The engine required a complete rebuild — including welding the motor cases. I found someone to do it. Problem solved. Then, while I was staying at a hostel recovering from the rebuild, someone dumped sand — or possibly sugar — into my fuel tank.
I discovered this on a highway outside Seville, going nowhere, with a completely blocked fuel system. My friend Jaime Pla came to collect me, drove me to Huelva, and together we cleaned out the entire fuel system before I could finally cross the border into Portugal.
Some people are extraordinary. Some people put sand in your fuel tank. I have met both kinds.
1,000 km at 38.5 km/h. €300 for the scooter. €400 in repairs along the way. Total: €700 and one of the best decisions I made all year.
This trip was self-therapy. The world tour had been a race against the clock — 400 km days, 80 days, no stopping. The PK 50 forced me to slow down. At 38.5 km/h, you cannot race anywhere. You can only ride.
My soul caught up somewhere between Seville and the Portuguese border.
Why did you do this immediately after the world record? Because my soul could not stop. After 80 days of racing around the world, a sudden full stop felt impossible. The PK 50 was decompression therapy — forced slow travel at 38.5 km/h. It worked.
What is a Vespa PK 50? A 50cc small-frame Vespa produced by Piaggio from 1982. One of the most basic Vespas ever made. Top speed approximately 40 km/h. An unlikely vehicle for a 1,000 km adventure across the Iberian Peninsula. And yet.
Who sabotaged your fuel tank? Unknown. Someone at the hostel in Seville. Motive unclear. Effect: stranded on a highway with a blocked fuel system. Resolution: Jaime Pla, Huelva, and several hours of cleaning.
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