One week into the ride, three days of which were spent congregating from our various homes. Eventually, the 'Six Pack' were together for the first time just south of Barcelona. No more comparing equipment and checking lists, this was it. Gale force cross winds, making the ride down to Spain quite dangerous but a delicious lunch, brought us together as a group, with Charlie, the court jester, kitted out head to foot in black leather, courtesy of Harley Davidson.

The ferry from Alicante to Oran was surprisingly comfortable and staffed with a wonderfully friendly Algerian crew.

Two huge car decks had vehicles of every shape and age crammed together with barely room to squeeze through.

We watched hundreds of passengers stagger on board dragging striped shopping bags bulging with European goods. But where they went to is anyone’s guess. Rather like the Titanic there was clearly another party somewhere in the bowels of the ship. We arrived into Oran in western Algeria at 0730.

"Help! I need somebody! Help! Not just anybody!" 2_ hours with immigration and customs, the only entertainment being a uniformed guard walking around singing the first two lines of every Beatle’s song that he could recall. Our passports were scrutinised, analysed and probably, for the time it took, shown to visiting relatives; more endless form filling and then an hour's wait for our police escort to take us to the hotel.

Oran, as a city has little to recommend it, but we quickly found the Algerians to be the most hospitable, kind and charming people. From our hotel manager who insisted we used his private house to garage our bikes for the night, to the strangers who rushed into the street to help when one of the bikes was dropped on its side and as we ride we catch cries of Welcome to Algeria from passing drivers.

Leaving early for the 250 mile ride to Algiers, we avoided the direct highway and took the scenic route along the coast. This is what the trip is about, rolling green hills to our right and the Mediterranean to our left. It was very beautiful. The road, too, was a biking delight. Twisting bends and little traffic. Our police escort was obligatory and at one stage we had 12 fully armed special forces bristling with weapons to look after us. We surmised that either we had grossly underrated Charlie’s celebrity status, or the statement from our delightful guide that all the terrorists were bottled up in the hills to the south, was wide of the mark. The police presence is significant throughout the country; frequent road blocks at the entrance to towns and villages, police at junctions and motorway slip roads, random checks everywhere.

We stopped at Tipaza, one of Algeria’s main Roman sites, to walk through the ruins. Founded by the Phoenicians, it sits around a cove on the sea, but despite its UNESCO world heritage status sadly little has been done to protect it. Visitors walk and climb all over the remains with scant regard to their age or importance. As we approached Algiers and the traffic thickened, so the police escort became more aggressive and the ride more dangerous. Straddling the central white lines, cars travelling in both directions were unceremoniously forced off the road to make way for us as we rode through at 40, 50 and 60 mph. 12 hours after leaving Oran, slightly saddle sore and a little shell shocked, we arrived in Algiers and checked into the El Rais hotel, one of the most sordid places I have stayed at in years. Cockroaches crawling around the bathrooms, dirty sheets, filthy carpets. Where is the Four Seasons?

We had allowed a day's sight seeing in Algiers, so we walked through the Kasbah, again a UNESCO world heritage site, hoping for a magical experience of smells and sights, but, like Tipaza, it has little appeal and is in a sorry state and unnecessarily dirty. Down on the sea front the predominant colour is blue. The French colonial buildings are, without exception, decorated with ornate blue balconies, blue shutters, blue awnings, blue doors and all exactly the same shade. It's as though Yves Klein has been visiting.

Today, Sunday, we headed 270 miles south towards Batna, riding up into the hills through deep twisting gorges and rough cut rock tunnels as we climbed 3,000ft up onto a flat fertile plateau. Berbers, their windswept faces peering out from hooded djalabas, selling their produce on the side of the road. Batna is the local town to Timgat, Algeria’s most important Roman site. Covered by a mud slide in the 8th century more remains to be uncovered than is on view but many of the streets are laid out, the shops in the market still with carvings depicting their produce; asparagus, dates etc. It was by far the most impressive we have seen so far.

On Monday we head for Tunisia.