La peregrinacion del apostata
The Apostate’s Pilgrimage
Lets put up a better pic for the front page
A week before
Well, I got to 50 and there was no crises or dramas.
It’s probably best I do something to put that right.
I’d been making plans for a trip away for my 50th but Covid was making plans a bit difficult. You would never know if a country would have an outbreak and suddenly all your plans go up the swanny, so I had to look a little closer to home than the plans for Ecuador or Vietnam.
Spain is a fantastic place for inviting the British, although in many instances, the majority of these visitors are a total embarrassment to the nation, but that was OK for me, because I did not need cold euro fizz lager, discos and fish and chips (more Portuguese and Belgian than British were truth be known, but let’s not get all culinary at this early stage).
The plan – I had ridden though Spain in two day a few years ago and felt a need of having a good look around the place. But how long, a year? That would maybe do it justice, however no.
Having to find something to justify a trip away, I found managing to reach 50 years old as being quite remarkable, and this to be a decent excuse to book 2 weeks out of my life. Too much life can make me a little cranky.
The VAA (Very Angry Airbed), Yamaha T7 was looking forward to a long trip away and although somewhat shaming herself by careering into a hedge in Northern Ireland last year, things appeared to be fairly goody gum drops. We’d been doing a lot of road miles around the UK with work and it would be nice to see some off road and gravel tracks in Spain. I had spent some time and money on lowering her and re-springing to get the sag right on her and now she was easy get on and to live with. Can I say mount? Yes, I can. She was easy to mount and ride.
Like most motorcycle people, I have ended up going on about motorcycles. Sorry.
Anyway, The plan…
I’ve done plans on a fag packet, a cardboard bog roll so here is the new plan. Try entering that into your Audi navigation system!
The marvellous ferry from Plymouth to Santander and then on through northern Spain to Barcelona for a bit of culture and all that jive. After that, to pick up in spirit, if nothing else, the Camino de Catalan, the longest pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela, not walking, I’m not silly, but on a bike so I can go and see some of the more interesting things along the route, like a bit of Andorra, abandoned Aragonese villages, mountains, deserts, big bugger churches, the Calabrian and Galatian coast. Getting lost and finding myself, marvellous.
Many people say the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela is the third most holy pilgrimage behind that only to Rome in second spot and Jerusalem in top place. Possibly a load of old bollocks, but as I grow older, it all about a matter of letting everything to have a chance at justifying itself. From my past days of being a religious bigot, I was perhaps blessed with enough good sense as to understand that the bible had many different things to say to so many people and I have experienced so little of the world, I’m not really in a position to be an authority on anything.
A total rejection of faith in all its forms of the past few years has found salvation from all things faith bound and I am so much happier for it. However, to my surprise, I found the issues of all faiths became of more interest to me. Great efforts and sacrifices for whatever reasons are fascinating things and interest me a great deal.
So, an apostate’s pilgrimage it is, which is a wonderful paradox, such things becoming more and more apparent as time goes by. We’ll give it a go. If I don’t like it, I can ride down to Benidorm, buy a string vest and drink myself silly whilst shouting unpleasant things at Spanish people. Probably won’t make a marvellous saga though!
However, I do enjoy telling a good story, especially when travelling by myself, It gives a bit of purpose and gets you to look at things with more of an inquisitive mind. I am probably also a narcissist, but who isn’t these days!
Preps
Painful arse.
I’ve been doing some big days on the VAA recently and noticed that after a couple of days of 200+ miles days my arse was feeling like an industrial sanded floorboard. Smooth, fair enough, but red and sore. Multiple big days were going to take its toll. A good friend recommended to try a sheepskin seat cover. It was nice to buy something from the UK and boy did it make my bum happy. I almost opened a Grindr account. Something to do with the hairy sheepskin constantly changing the pressure points leaving your bot un-hassled. Big fan. I often take it off the bike and leave it on my work seat for a happy posterior.
But enough of my arse.
I was going to have to travel light so I was opting for few clothes and a few washes regime, which seemed pretty do-able. Most of the time I would be camping to keep costs down and keep everything under control.
Language
I have always found learning languages from a book or tape hard. It wasn’t until I was plunged into the place where I was visiting would I really begin to learn and I found that I would often pick it up fairly quickly. However, that was essentially too late! Spanish has always been a language that I have never needed so I was going to have to start at the bottom and for the past 4 months I have been working though Duolingo which has really been fantastic. Given there is reading, writing, speaking, listening in bite sized chunks I’ve been really encouraged to get down to it and I feel quite confident in being able to get by and have some basic conversations.
I’m told in the north of Spain English is rarely spoken outside of big population centres (and why should it). To add to that there is also the regional languages of Catalan and Galician but I’m just going to pretend they don’t exist and see how I get on. It’s going to be something like Manuel from Faulty Towers in absolute reverse!
Eating
With being a type 1 diabetic, I am a bit obsessive when going a trip when it comes to food. I always need to have a few days supply of food with me, because if I get stranded I can keep on functioning. However, this has caused me to carry massive amounts of food with me when going to places where I don’t know the food customs well. However, Spain isn’t exactly the other side of the world so in the interest of lightness I am going to mainly do some shopping on the road to restock. I hope they will take my Lidl discount card in Spain.
As for eating out, I do love to experience an areas food so nothing is off the table and it is great to ask the waiter for whatever is the local dish. This usually goes well but on occasion it can go wrong. I was once stuffed so full of heavyweight pasta in north Spain my belly button unscrewed. I was so full I didn’t sleep all night and had to sit on the windowsill in me pants to let cool air somehow tend to my poor digestively overwhelmed body.
Nothings can stop me taking a large bag of teabags with me though. There’s nowhere on earth that I have seen that does a proper cup of tea. Animals, the lot of them!
Night before
The plan.
As it gets closer to the off day, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to do any bleeding work at all rather than stare at maps change routes to look at this and that, reading history, tales and interesting things. If I don’t get myself disciplined, I’m going to be taking this work with me!
However, work is boring and making plans for a little motorcycle adventure is the absolute opposite. Good job the boss is me, otherwise I’d get the sack.
Anyway, the plan is fairly set now and unless something massive crops up I have a fairly good idea on what is going on.
Firstly, the ferry from lovely Plymouth to Santander, let someone else do the driving, but if it is rough weather it can be a bit of a puke fest. Fingers crossed on that one!
After that we ride to see the fantastic cathedral of Burgos and then on to Sad Hill Cemetery to see how Blondie and Tuco are doing. A chap is recreating the set of final scenes of The good, the bad and the ugly where it was originally shot. I’ll camp up in the hills there for a bit of old school wild camping. Off to Belchite, a town abandoned after the Spanish civil war and left as a monument to the folly of people fighting amongst themselves. On to the Aragon sea, the monastery of Montserrat and diving into Barcelona.
After a bit of culture, its off to Andorra, my only new country and over the mountain tracks into Spain and the wee roads through to Saint Jean Pied-de-Port the start of the French and most popular pilgrimage.
After that, starting out on a holy crusade, I will bin that and wizz south to go see a desert, in Navarre. That is just such a cool name.
Bardenas Reales desert exploration finished, I will be heading up to the coast for a bit of proper culture in Bilboa, then along the north coast looking for the unspoilt little fishing villages of the Costa Verde and Galicia. There is even a roman lighthouse, the longest running lighthouse in the world. It must have had a bloody big candle.
Then on to the end on the world. Cap Finisterre. Problem is that is isn’t. There is a place in Portugal that is 12km further west but best not to tell anyone as they might get a bit angry. And defo don’t say anything to the Irish because they would love some super-duper pilgrimage site as they are way further out west.
Best keep this one quiet. I wouldn’t want anyone to know and for them to get angry.
On to Santiago for a day or two and bask in the glory of knowing the holy mission has been accomplished, then back through the Picos mountains, back on the ferry and back to work.
Why did I have to say the last bit.
The paradox…
There is a massive absurdity going on here and I am quite happy to entertain it because in many instances our whole lives are a paradox. We need to look after our world, but our very existence is of harm to it. We seek understanding yet we are overwhelmed by new data. We try to empathise but never get close to understanding.
When it comes to all religions and belief systems there are two diametrically opposed views. One is that the truth requires evidence and if no evidence is available, then truth cannot be asserted. On the other hand, is the belief that the truth of religion lies outside of world as we know it and is not beholden to our limited understanding. It’s an interesting thingy and I’ll give it a sniff to see if I can find a way through this. Accepting the shades of grey are far more enlightening than living in black and white.
Sunday 16 May
Up and away at a reasonable hour. It is hard not to feel like a total tosser leaving your wife and the dog behind to go on a 2-week jornt around Spain but this is what I like. It happens infrequently and is a very good reset button. Julie has known me doing this all my life so it’s hardly a surprise and she is most understanding and is not be difficult about it. My best, and not entirely untrue reason is that I am going to spy out some fab places for us both to go in the micro camper.
A nice gentle ride down through the Marches to get to Monmouth and over the old Severn bridge to try to avoid much of the M5. I stopped at the motorway service station there for the first time ever and was amazed at the lack of thought when they made that place. Shift it up a bit and you would have the most extraordinary views. Instead, it was the dreary usual.
Thumping down the M5 from Bristol was fairly de-facto. Plenty of people going on holiday even at this time of the year. People have been missing it, me included!
Plenty of classic campers out on the road too, some very fancy renovations, an appreciable number on the hard shoulder. I totally get the groovy value of these vehicles but it is like riding around on a hand grenade with a really uncomfy seat. It is going to break down because any of the rear engine machines are pretty poor and they really aren’t very comfortable to drive in or try to live in. I know this because I learnt to drive in one and just about every summer holiday from year dot was in one going somewhere dead bohemian. My designated seating position was on the toolbox (with a cushion) behind the passenger seat. Many many fond memories but I wouldn’t do it again in a vehicle like that. More about campers later…..
I had been trading places with a couple of Lamborghinis on the way down, we were doing a reasonable but quick pace and once into Plymouth and me stopping for fuel and last-minute food, I eventually got in the check in queue right behind them.
I was pulled over at security for a check. The lady asked if I had any knives. Well, yes I am camping “can I see them?” oh shite….
It took about 5 minutes to get all my bags of the bike and for them to have a good rummage through. The bag with the camp cooking knives also had the salt in it which had broken open so there was also lots of white powdery looking stuff floating about. Double shite.
We both had a little chuckle, one more nervous than the other, about the white stuff, but yes, my little opinel no.5 pen knife could not be taken on board because it was a ‘lock’ knife. I should have thought about that. What am I going to slice my chorizo with now? I’ll have to buy a Spanish machete. Took another 5 mins to get my bags back on the bike but was soon loaded into the very bottom of the boat, on Deck 10. Deck 11 was the sea floor. I guess they needed all the fat assed BMW GS’s down low to keep the boat upright.
Up to my little room on deck 5. I got myself settled in and them went for a wander. To be honest I wanted to run around like the 5-year-olds were because the boat was huge, I think it displaces more that the new British aircraft carriers. I recon I could get up to top speed down one of the hallways. I also knew I would be told off quicker than the 5-year-olds would, so I had to keep a lid on it. Not fair.
At the rear of the ship was an outside area and a bar just inside. It was going to be at least an hour before we set sail so I bought a pint and sat out watching the loading. Loading took part in waves of different types of vehicles, motorbikes, cars, campers, caravans, lorries etc. It came to campervan lot, and this rather old Talbot camper began its 200 metre dash for glory but once on the ramp it started to sound like a tractor and stopped. Lots of dockers started jumping about and getting excited. The lady of the van (not the bloke driving) jumped out and started doing rolling repairs under the, what has to be a 25 to 30 year old van, with at least a Jurassic age of lichen, moss, grasses and shrubs growing on the roof of it. Easy to see when you are 4 decks above it to be fair. Eventually it got going but if that is the result as you are getting on the ferry, I don’t hold out much hope for an incident free trip. Good luck there pepes.
I saw all of the supercars, including the Lamborghinis shuffled up to one corner on the docks. They were virtually the very last on board. I think the dock workers were having a little laugh! They got on between a load of HGV sized campers and 4 lorries with JCBs on them. These ships tend to work last on last off so I recon the pain isn’t over yet! Bless.
Off we sailed and it was to be honest the first time I really thought it was definitely going to happen. The possibilities of UK/Spain/France (I am travelling on a bit of France and beholden to her rules) changing their requirements and all things being off were not off the table and what was the chance of testing positive some time before I went. Bye bye Plymouth, and out to sea.
So we are on to the first of the big paradoxes of my trip. I really love the overnight ferry but the thought of going on a cruise fills me with the same sort of joy as shitting a Lego garage.
I have a few friends who like cruises a lot so I will choose my words carefully and in addition to this, I have never been on a cruise so I can only image what it is like. Don’t get me wrong, I like people most of the time, but a ferry, on the whole is going somewhere taking people to do something. A cruise is is just transporting people about consuming shit load and spouting out tonnes of bangers and mash two miles from the shore for it to end up washing up on the shore line. You ought to see Split harbour! The main thing docked was badly digested turds.
And people, lots of people, who you can’t get away from. That is worse than the Lego garage. I’d be needing cabin service for the whole trip. Stopping at interesting places, fair enough, but you don’t really do much for those economies. Venice has got so pissed off with cruise liners it is actively discouraging them because the cost is not worth the pain, and banger and mash. Whats this floating up the Grand Canal?
Anyway, it is half nine in the café/bar in whatever time-line I am currently existing, and the ok singer has finished and the magician has come on and I’m beginning to get a bit, ‘I don’t want to be here’. I’m also not that keen on going back to my room as it appear that I am right next to a conduit for bog material from deck 1 to head down to deck 10. Every few minutes there is a woosh and I am sure I can hear a ‘Geramino!!!!’ At first I thought it was next door. I was going to go around to offer some sympathy bog roll but the frequency got to a point of physically impossible.
I might sleep out on the deck!
Monday 17 May
The poo tube quietened down later on and I managed a fairly good sleep although my phone had managed to latch onto France and updated the time leaving me not quite sure what time it was.
We weren’t due to doc until 2pm local time so I had to find things to do. I listened to the whale lady (talking about whales, she didn’t look like one) and tried to have a look at my emails but because the wifi only goes through a satellite, it was like going back to really slow dial up. So I didn’t bother.
I went and had 20 winks but the poo tube was getting really vengeful. Sometimes it sounded like a pensioner falling down the stairs.
I packed ready to go and went and bought a coffee out on deck which was now very warm and Spain like. In the distance I could see the fabulous snow capped Picos de Europa mountains. What a joyous sight! We weren’t too far away.
We were asked to vacate the cabins and now with all my biking gear on, topbox, helmet and little bag with my normal clothes in I wandered about looking for a good view of the docking whilst trying to keep one ear on the tannoy as they were calling people to return to their vehicles by the deck. Being on the bottom deck, I wasn’t holding out hope that we would be anything but last.
We got the call and about 100 bikers descended to deck 2 all hot and sweaty and it just got worse and worse. People were looking decidedly hot and unimpressed as it was taking ages to get the campervans out. It was 26 degrees and bright sun when we got out and it was a huge relief, but yes we were at the very back of the queue going passport and customs.
Oh well. Out onto the Spanish road and every junction the mantra of Right, Right, Right!
Things seemed pretty good, Out of Santander onto the motorway and keep on trucking. A bit of motorway is always a good introduction into a new countries roads, they are never too different. I was heading for Burgos Cathedral but given much time had slipped I was going to avoid that and head straight to Sad Hill cemetery where I would be camping.
Off the motorway onto smaller roads with no one about. Spain is a big place with not many people in it. Every village I came across seemed to be a shut up shop. However, it had a real beauty to it.
Off the main road and onto a tiddler and then an unpaved to take me to Sad Hill Cemetery where they filmed the final scheme of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. I was there well after 6 so there was no one about. I would have quite liked to have my name on one of the graves. However, plenty of people had got there before me, just about every cross had a name on it!
A quick little ride go me onto a track which too me to a place overlooking the cemetery.
Off the track and hidden in some juniper trees I set up camp and found what has to be the best possible camping spot ever!
Made some food with the wonderful smells of the junipers around me and enjoyed the peace and quiet. It was very nice to be away from people for once in a while.
As I was sat staring, a small deer came running by and had an understandable panic attack and run off. Not long after it started making some unholy noises. I was so glad we had met beforehand because if those noises had gone off in the middle of the night, I would have packed up and done a runner!
Tuesday 17th May 2022
To be honest, I didn’t sleep that well. I forgot that I had a slippy sleeping bag and and slippy sleeping mattress and these factors, when adding the force multiplying quotient of camping on a slope soon saw me ending up like a dog forced to sleep in the footwell of a car.
I tried to position bags of clothing and biking gear in the way but it was not long before I was intimately wrapped with them at the bottom left of an already very cramped tent.
To make matters worse, when getting into the tent I was feeling around for the torch and ended up with a handful of vegetation spines which had come through the bottom of the tent belonging to the dead remains of something I could not identify. Some remain in my fingers and kind of said you ain’t heard the last of me gringo!
Motorcycle gloves were useful to get rid of the spines but throughout the night I was finding some stuck to my socks or on my trousers and I was expecting my paper thing sleeping mattress to be going down faster than the Russian stock market.
However, as the night progressed, I remained above the ground and I am fully willing to believe this was the first ‘miracle’ of the pilgrimage.
Every now and again the deer would let rip which would really give you a wake up call. I guess they were out cruising looking for some action as I head them from a number of places around the valley. It appears that the McDonalds car park of the deer world in the region of Salas de Los Infantes was about 20 metres from my tent. However, to be fair, setting up tent next to a McDonalds car park is unlikely to get you a good nights sleep either.
Just after sunrise, I was up and enjoying cup after cup of tea as I put things away and had my breakfast looking over the valley sat in my chair, just me and the valley as far as I could see. Maybe a few deer ‘stag’gering home after a night of copulation.
I was a bit worried that the bikes tyres would be flat after quite a long way from a road, but all was good. Not going to give that one a ‘miracle’ designation because I had goop, a mixture in my tyres to help prevent punctures becoming a flat.
Down the little dirt roads and onto a wonderful winding road in a canyon took me back to the main road which was a joy to travel on. The posted limit was 90kph but up to 120 was very normal. The few towns you would come across would be down to 50 or sometimes 40kph but they were so small and you had been making so much good progress it seemed that it was hardly an inconvenience.
Although there were no staggering hills to speak of, the pass heights seemed quite out of keeping with the UK. 1100 metres in a wooded pass, that is well higher than Snowdon (not Mount Snowdon as many careless media people put it to try and make it something more than it is. If you want to get it right, go back to the original, Yr Wyddfa, but don’t ask me how to pronounce it).
To get back to trees because most conversations I make are tying to lead you there, you struggle to get any kind of tree above 500m in the UK, maybe the odd hawthorn or rowan or junpier, but only a tiny little bush. Same rules clearly do not apply!
On past the rather spectacular Cervera de la Canada monastery which had a bit of Costa del Sol-Colditz seeping from its walls if truth be known. And before anyone Canadian wants to start making new world-old world link ups, Canada has something to do with moo-cows.
We were dropping down in height and the temperature was going up. I was opening zips faster than Uncle Nobby as the school bus approached. At about 30 degrees centigrade, I have to start to think that I am going to be bleeding perspiration and really do need to start to take in large amount of water. Just like every health activist you have ever seen has told you, it would never be enough… Every stop now had to have a ‘Shade’ element to it!
I had acturally turned up in a worrying early heatwave all across Spain, something so abnormal it was even making the news back home.
The back roads of rural Spain really did ask more question than answers. Where was everyone? The whole area was very sparsely populated. Fields were generally smaller, good growing areas eked out of the landscape where possible and the growing season a good few months behind the UK in these highlands? I guess it had been too cold for a long time but now it was going nuts with little transition time between. That was interesting, at lower levels it was clear a much earlier growing season had stated.
The roads felt very similar to Scottish roads devoid of bumbling tourists in HGV campers. Things moved quick with little traffic, the surfaces were good and driving etiquette was really pleasant. Most people seemed to have a good sense of what was going on around them and acted accordingly. I tried to do the same and show my appreciation where I was given courtesy. We’ll see what happens when I hit the cities!
The wee towns you came across seemed almost closed although the design of them sort of encouraged this thought. There were no front gardens, all houses butted straight onto the street and shutters discouraged any curious approach. Yet behind this façade you saw an approach to a more welcoming area with maybe the odd café and interesting square. These people like to keep it to themselves, and perhaps that is reasonable. You wouldn’t want me turing up at your café would you. I probably wouldn’t if I were a separate person
Finally into Belchite, a place I had been wanting to visit because it was an abandoned town. Unfortunately, it was locked up and given the tourist office was closed I had no chance of having a look inside because I needed to find some shade very soon.
Belchite was a town so horribly flattened by the Spanish Civil War once it had all passed the people who lived there could no go back to rebuild it. They left it as it was to a memorial to to folly of waging war on your own kin. It seemed extra important give the current going on with the Russian invasion of Ukraine. There is no political pointers there, it is just, no, don’t do it, don’t kill people for ideological gain. It clearly never leaves you,
I couldn’t get in but I had a little mooch around the perimeter and perhaps the best view of it was the church to the vey south. I’m surprised it has lasted this long with all of the holes in it.
I wish we could learn from history rather than us it as a pretext to start a new awful thing. I fear the western world feel the need to start an new war given Russian has upstaged them in such gross stupidity. Do not underestimate the need for fools to spill the blood of their own, children, women and innocents to further their vacuous dreams. It happens all around the world and some are better presented than others but in the majority of circumstances we the people bleed and mourn for foolish aims.
Patti Smith does a great song from the ‘80s and it is one of my favourites, People have the Power, it is all about a dream she had when people had the power and she dreamed the soldiers and the farmers lay down in the fields to have dreams and lay weapons to the dust. Now call me a what-ever you want to, I’m not really sure what I am myself, but isn’t that better than killing people?
People do have the power and it only the systems put around you, the media, the law, the government that tell you that you have no power. The problem is to make sure the power that overthrows the status quo is good and righteous, self-critical and willing to change, with little in ideological pretext willing to accept the opinion of all and openly discuss. That is the challenge not the push that starts it.
On I went and ended up at the sea of Aragorn which is a bit of a swizz because it a big bugger of a reservoir, with plenty of boats on it, the odd island and other stuff. However if there was a really good BBQ, going on at the other side, I recon I could swim it, probably with water wings, because dying for the results of a yet unknown BBQ is really stupid. However, the camp site, proper one, had a shower, running water shop, bar and place to paddle. I do like a paddle, but the sharp stones turned it into a shear pain fest.
I hope the little girl next to me was not British or was not of sufficient English knowledge to understand when I shouted: ‘Arse curdling, spike ridden, dildo pain’ with some vigour. It was how my rather sensitive feet were feeling at the time of going on my little excursion. From now on its going to be flip flops only, even if I’ve not got any of them, so only the shower floor is going to seem my tootsys. I thought that the lack of preparedness but the rather hot state of my feet would have found some kind of pain pleasure equilibrium but it was all pain, possibly x2 because I had not asked politely. It was a real horror show and I would like to offer an apology to the entire United Nations, even the twats amongst them, for what I said there, I hope we can put it to bed.
Anyway dinner bed and avoid eye contact with anyone else on the campsite. It is the usual approach.
Wednesday 18th May
I had certainly slept better but not long after dawn there was an irresistible cool in the air and I got up to make use of it.
There had been little dew so the tent was nice and dry so everything was packed up fairly quick. However, I was feeling a bit sticky and mildly unpleasant so I made use of a shower which did put me in a happy place as did a change of clothes.
The lady at reception has been very kind to me and after I had told her I was learning Spanish, she only spoke Spanish to me which was most helpful as she was nice and slow. Most Spanish comes at you like tornado so I was very grateful. Only after I handed in my key and we had talked about the weather did she say in very good English, ‘you have a lovely day’. I’m always impressed with people’s ability to speak different languages.
The temperature had risen by 9am when I got on the road to 25 degrees and I had managed to get a bit of a sweat on loading up the bike, but standing on the pegs and letting the wind have its way with my nads was a most satisfying experience. All was right in the world.
The first part of the route was down a fairly empty A road next to the Sea of Aragon and wow, the views were quite spectacular. Steep sided valleys dropped into the reservoir and there was a wonderful contrast from very dry looking arid lands and the blue of the reservoir, it reminded very much of Lake Mead in Arizona (the one behind the Hoover Dam), an improbable amount of water in such dry surroundings.
It was then onto an Autovia motorway where we, most of the time, were moving at 120kph. Usually two lanes and just a small amount of traffic. We were certainly approaching busier areas as most towns we went though had things going on, industry, schools etc, however, it was never too busy.
In the distance I could see some very pronounced mountains and that had to be Montserrat. The Autovia ran though a number of tunnels and we were going up and down quite a bit. Many of the lorries had their hazards on as they were down to 50kph on 2-mile climbs. Driving standards and courtesies were generally very very good.
Off the motorway and onto the wee mountain roads which were pure heaven to ride, rising up and up into a Tolkien esk landscapes.
The monastery has been there for about 1000 years, probably a stronghold of Christian belief as the Moors were pushed out of Spain. I can see the significance here because the 9km ride to the top needed care, and walking up was only for the very pious of those in need of greatest forgiveness.
Motorcycles were allowed to park at the very top next to the coaches which seemed only fair because I was on a mission from God. I was going to see if I could park in the Piaza but best not to push my luck.
The whole place had a very other world feeling to it. The architecture was perhaps not the most astounding but the location was the masterpiece. Wherever you looked the very impressive buildings were framed by the huge rock outcrops. What was nice was there was a very welcoming feel to it. I guess its tourist potential was never underestimated but walkers, dogs, rock climber and just about everyone seemed welcome and I was most impressed by that, very little in the way of don’t do this. Don’t do that.
If you paid and queued you could go and see the world famous choir, but paying, queueing and choirs had, very early on in my pilgrimage preparations, been crossed of the list. In fact the list had been re written without paying, choirs or queueing being given any mention at all.
It was busy with a fair few people about but not too bad.
Tack was kept to a minimum, there were a few items in the gift shop that kind of made me blink. The first was a very nicely carved wooden cross running out at E309 and a plastic baby Jesus in a plastic bag for E1.50 (I guess it was for your Christmas scene). I’m sorry but babies and plastic bags are both mutually exclusive, no matter what the divine nature of the said baby is.
So down from the mountain it got hotter and hotter as I got closer to Barcelona and I encountered one thing after another. Traffic lights at a junction and oh the shock of it a minor traffic jam. Motorists are very biker aware and do a great job of letting the bikes filter though which does ultimately speed up everyone’s journey time.
Following the sat nav to the place where my hotel was took me through a most insalubrious part of town. Indeed, this was where my hotel was and a couple of circuits of the block did not find me a good place to park my bike. There were plenty of moto parking paces which was good, but they were mainly in spaces which looked like scenes from Escape from New York.
My best bet was the corner of a street with cafes and bars nearby. It seemed pretty busy and the best place for it. Most bikes were scooters but a few were larger bikes but I thought it best to lock up VAA and put the alarmed disk lock on.
The hotel was fairly basic but nice. It had everything I needed. After unpacking and another shower I headed out to look around. Coming from an extremely rural to a densely urban environment, was quite a shock to the system. Within 5 minutes I had nearly been run over by an electric bike, quite a few electric scooters, a normal bike and an electric skateboard. I’m not really sure what the ‘rules’ are but I think it would take a few weeks to get really au fait with how this whole thing works. I decided I had to work on the premise that everyone was out to run me over, but with a smile.
I started off down at the harbour because it was a little cooler down there. I had a bit of tapas, some whitebait and lovely tomato bread which seems to come with just about everything and is well nice. Tomatoes here really taste tomatoey. Unless you spend a small fortune at home tomatoes tend to tase of skin water and pips.
Wandered up and down Las Ramblas the main tourist street in the town. The usual, but the air seemed really quite clean, most of the taxis were hybrid, millions of bikes and scooters kept thing moving. Maybe it was also the sea air, but the air was clean. However, quite often there would be a real pong of sewage, mainly in the poorer areas which was a little off putting especially around the cafes and bars.
I went and got lost in the old town, down tiny little narrow streets which was great fun, so much seems closed and shut up in these streets, maybe they come alive a night but between the odd open door you could see kitchens and storage areas. Perhaps there were fancy frontages to properties on the other side but there was no chance of me finding them!
Part of the old gothic town
I went out to eat and found a bustling area with what appeared to be mainly local people. Had a very nice steak and chips and a beer and just sat watching the world go by. I’m interested, but I’m not to sure if I really like it. This is definitely a young person’s city and I guess I am no longer young! I also found myself feeling very tired. So an early night was needed. I was just a little worried that the whole area would go bonkers because of the reported Spanish nightlife. A few doors down from the hotel was ‘Phsyco Punk Live Music venue’ which didn’t really give me much hope of a restful night. Oh well, earplugs at the ready, hopefully Phsyco Punks have Wednesdays off!
Thursday 19th May
Punk Armageddon never happened. Which was good.
I had a decent sleep although being able to control the temperature in the room with the air con seemed to find me either too hot or too cold. Give someone control over their life and it only adds to the problems as both Hitler and Stalin most probably said. Perhaps I’m going in the wrong direction here!
I had a few things that I wanted to see but I had under-researched this town and now found myself with not a lot to do rather than wander around and see what I could see.
I spent most of the morning in a café on Las Ramlas updating the blog and doing some mainly tourist watching. After that a long walk through the old gothic town which was quite beautiful but as already stated, seemed very shut up. A long wander around the famous indoor market and a stop for cheese tapas which was rather uninteresting and very much overpriced.
I had reached the usual early lull in a trip where I could generally hear myself say ‘I’m not bovvered’. Lost in the city with no real purpose did not really help this and it was not where I am at my happiest. Tomorrow on the road will see be in a happier place.
However, in the evening, I headed to the street corner where VAA was parked and managed to steal an outside table and ordered a sausage, egg and chips. Yes I know, proper pushing the culinary experience to the extreme. However, the place was full of local people jibber jabbering away and it was wonderful to be amongst. Only one or two singletons, like myself, had a phone in front of them, instead the air was thick with talk, laughter, smiles and joyous conversation. I think this is my go away with image of Barcelona.
lets jibber jabber and not look at phones!
Friday 20th May
Well what a difference a day makes as I write this somewhere high in the Pyrenees trying to learn Catalan with the campsite owner sat by a mountain river. I think I know my place in the world!
I was out of the hotel early and brought VAA around from her parking space to load up. She was not speaking to me for the blatant abandonment with only a planter to connect with. Mainly because I had chainer her to it. I left my helmet on the mirror of the bike, and went up to my room to get some more stuff to put on the bike. When I got down the helmet was gone. I was a little perturbed as helmet theft is very rare. Who wants to stick their head in a used helmet. You can laugh all you like but I am being serious for once. When I went back in to the hotel, the receptionist who was a very nice chap was waving my helmet at me and said not to leave it lying around because it would be pinched.
I need a few weeks to develop it but, I’m sure I can turn this into a fabulously smutty anecdote.
So off I set into rush hour Barcelona. I had been spared much city riding on the way in but now I was going to plunge through the heart of the beast. I had been making mental notes on how things worked as I walked around the city but getting out there on two wheels was mental. It was information overload, to many signs, too many lights, too many things painted on the ground, too many different rules for busses, cars, motorbikes and scoots, cyclists, hybrids of the two and pedestrians.
Added to all of that there would be the ‘silent killer’, the worst and most unpredictable action upon the roads of the City. At any moment people would come walking onto a crossing along with cyclist, electic scooters and electic bikes. I’m sure they were well within their rights to do it but no one had even considered to give me the, what must be a bible sized, bastard manual on it.
I’m putting down the fact that I got 5km through central Barcelona to La Sangrada Familia down as the second miracle in my journey. The fact I had not horribly injured anyone or been horribly injured could be down to so sort of diety. I might also have been lucky.
So the Basilica I Temple Expiatori de la Sangrada… Well you can’t argue that is is not incredibly striking and beautifully put together. A masterpiece. However, 100 years to build it? I bet they got some British contractors in to do it. 'Well we do a few hours, then have breakfast, few more hours then its lunch, then we need to knock off at 3.30 so we can get down the builders merchants, Fridays we finish at 2pm, home by 11am'.
Its taken so long to build the general consensus on Christianity has vastly changed. People are just not that bothered any more and in some ways it is a folly. However it has its own aura so I’m sure it will do OK. I also think if Walt Disney asked Gaudi to make him a church, it would look a bit like this.
So to leave Barcelona, the roads got thinner, the traffic got lighter and I tended to relax a little. I was heading for the mountains, Cathederals of a higher order! The views to Montserrat from this motorway where at times sublime and if I were feeling cheeky enough I would have pulled over to get a pic of a little house clinging to a hill with the mountains behind. But I wasn’t.
3 lanes went to two, two then went to one and things slowed down quite a lot. I soon found myself entering the border of Andorra, which was my first new country on the trip and likely to be my last, however if my passport gets lost I may end up having Rwanda as my next stamp. There was a border guard thing going on here and I had to work out who I needed to pass by or stop at. I stopped at the bloke whom I was meant to pass by and I thing I made him a little angry. Sorry.
Well into Andorra which appears to be a country constructed around a ski resort. And one of those nasty French functional ones like Les Arc.
However, I kept on going and over pass and down dale I came across much nicer places. I was taking a punt on being able to leave Andorra over a mountain pass and track back into Spain. Given the security on the entry I was wondering it if was a good idea to ride 20km into the mountains only to be turned around at the border by unimpressed border guards. However, I was going to give it a go because I am unlikely to try it again.
Andorra appeared very well off. Everywhere was very well presented. Soon I was rising up into the hills and mountains which was most fun, I was beginning to scrape feet on the ground as we blasted around the corners, it was motorcycle heaven with very little traffic hell.
So up to the pass. Things didn’t look promising as a sign said the road was closed because the road was ill and there were lots of falling rocks. However, up ahead I saw a mid-sized Winnebago taking its chances so I felt I’d give it a punt. After getting around the Bago, there was not much to worry me, in a a lot of places the road was beginning to slip down the roadside but that would be many years from now and with the weight of a really big Winnebago.
On up the deserted pass, I was growing a little more concerned on what I would be descending from 2300m which is quite a height for a European mountain pass, The Stelvio in Italy is 2757m and although the views can be magnificent, it is a boring ride and way too popular. The col de Cabris, this pass, was going to be hight at its top but it was pretty unsnowy, so a good start.
Back into Spain the track went from gravel to dried mud and rock within 100m. However, rough in places it was OK, I had a bike and tyres that could handle it and as long as I kept my eyes out front to spot the right route I was never going to be in too much danger. Getting it wrong could see me spat off the side of the track on a long decent to destination fucked. So, careful looking ahead…..
It was actually quite fun because it was so engaging., However it was a shame because ever now and again there was a view to be had and I was never going to see it.
On we went bang, bang luggage began to get a bit fluid but the fluidity of life is what makes up its interest. Into a lovely valley with the odd shepherds hut and a none challenging river crossing to really put the icing on the biscuit. In a non-Naval sense.
On we motored into the valley and the entire reason for the 12km of road (from the other direction) was to the impossibly beautiful villager of Tor. Probably a few remaining lived in houses,, a church and so much sorrow. A place like this would be worth billons in tourist money but it was too far gone too late. I would dearly wish that this place could re-invent itself to people who would want to visit. Go easy Tor!
The road out of Tor became increasing road like, mud became gravel, gravell became macadam, macadma would often rever back to gravel mud or ponds but it was always working its way back to decent black top.
I pulled back onto a normal road after doing one of my long wished for things to do, to go from one country to another off the road. That was spectacular.
I’m not into bucket lists. Its like another consumerist list with strings attached. I’m ready to die tomorrow, I’ve had more than enough, I’ve seen some fantastic things. I will never see the 1/millionth of it.
So away from deep searching of ones innards and a prick badly driving his lambogporcherrari almost goes head on into me as he is on the wrong side of the road as he goes around the corner, soon followed by a similar selection of bellends.
I can't see the fun of these holidays where you take your flashy car to follow 20 other flashy cars around scenic places. It reminds me that in every pack of foxhounds, at the back there is a foxhound who can't smell. He doesn't know if there is a fox, he doesn't no where the fox is, he is just following arseholes.
Have such a car if you can afford it, and also pay for it, but please learn to drive it and stay on your side of the road. If I bought you a colouring book with lots of lovey crayons, you might learn to do a better job of staying within the lines. No? I did my best…
It was getting beyond 300km on the throne and Her Majesty was beginning to use most un Christian comments. I had planned to place HMA (Her Majesties Arse) carefully placed on a camping seat somewhere near El Pont du Suet. But I had to go all Standy Pandy because the bot was in a state of rot.
It was great relief when I found the campsite and it was really small, homely and friendly. I spent some time talking to the lady who owned it as their primary language was Catalan and it sounded nothing like Spanish. I made myself a nice meal and spent an hour outside the restaurant with a couple of beers and for the first time since being in Spain, it was getting a bit nippy. We were very high in the Pyrenees and the night temp was perhaps 10 degrees.
Saturday 21st May
There was no chance of overheating in the night, something I prefer but the condensation was pretty immense. I had enough water to wash my face from a quick wipe of the tent.
Lots of cups of tea got the day going well and I was off before 9am as yet again this was going to be a 350km day.
My first stop would be an abandoned fortified village called Muro de Roda on a hilltop in the Aragon countryside. It seems the primary reason for the location of so many villages in this area was for defensive purposes. So many villages of top of hills. Perfect for fighting off your neighbours, but not so good for water, growing food, business or industry. Perhaps this is why they are now abandoned?
Well up to the top of the hill I rode, sometimes of gravel, sometimes of macadam. There was one couple there but apart from that we had the place to ourselves. It was surprising how big the village was, well walled all around strong defences, there was lots of room inside for growing food, a few houses, now very derelict.
The big question was how awful were these peoples neighbours that they had to build such big walls around their village. They must have been real fuckers of neighbours.
The church has been kept intact and it was fantastic to see. Walking in there from the bright sunlight made every thing look black. As your eyes became accustom to the light, the decorations on the wall along with the alter which someone obviously keeps refreshed was quite a site to see.
It is clear the church had been there for many years as there was a plague hole for the unclean to receive a blessing, or try to pay for one!
I found the whole place to be very interesting. I am going to find out more.
From there I needed to get back to the main road and a signpost stated a
track lead to a village I knew of. Full of bravado, I thought that would be
a fun diversion, it might shave a few minutes off the journey time. Not.
The gravel road quickly descend into a dried muddy track that just a few 4x4s may had travelled in many years, A very steep rock section made turning back possibly a worse prospect. So lets keep going on. I was still very high up and the track was disconcertedly going up. I would soon be running out of land.
Around a corner I came across a heard of massive cows with horns like Viking helmets and seriously ‘I don’t know what you are, but I am clearly much bigger than you and that pop pop bang machine you are on so go sling one’ attitude. I had no choice, it wasn’t easy slipping VAA around the cows big ass and I was expecting a kick at any moment but things went amicably.
The track got a bit exposed in places but, never too problematic. It just needed a steady head and careful planning. I had to stop a few times just to have a drink to cool down and remind myself that this track that doesn’t look loke a vehicle has driven down it since the invention of the motor car is down on the map as a ‘highway’.
We began to descend and it was nice to get into mainly oak woodland which gave a bit of shade and stopped me from getting too hot. Things had got pretty hot as the heatwave I heard reported in the UK was here in Spain. However, I didn’t have any reference point to it so I guessed that this was what the temp in Spain would be. I was still sweating like Boris Johnson getting a call from the child support agency.
I eventually reached the valley floor, and crossing a river seemed to find sighs of civilisation. Relief was coming out of every pour. I’ll take my hat off to VAA for that because she was ever so sure footed on really rough terrain the tyres were well not designed to have a pop at.
The view from the top was most stunning! it then got a bit ropey!
Back on the road and the whole experience had left me feeling a bit wiped out so instead of taking a detour to see another abandoned village I cracked on as I had lost a lot of time dodging certain death, cows arses and trying to find an apparent road.
So head down because the next stop was the Canfranc railway station, made on the border with France as a grand entrance to Spain. Despite its marvellous looks it fell from grace because of the civil war, political changes and a derailment which closed the line on the French side.
It is now being turned into a hotel and other fancy things and the line is being reopened. Just not when I visited. The station is almost finished. Good luck to them.
Over the pass to France, I was hoping for something bit more big mountain pass. There were a few too many trees for it to be an experience, but I’m not going to moan at trees. Some beautiful beech mountain woodlands which would not be seen in the UK.
Turning off the main road I headed up into the hills which was relatively cool amongst the woodland but still a bit too hot. Right at the top of the wooded pass a bird flew out of the woods and startled me, I was already close to the ditch and you guessed it I ploughed into it managing to keep my balance but once a ditch has you, you belong to the ditch.
We stopped with a bit of a jolt and I managed to rip my top box off. Three lovely German bikers who happened to be engineers came to investigate and were so helpful in retrieving VAA and providing a solution on how to prevent the now bent exhaust bracket from catching on the swing arm. A few plastics cracked and broken but nothing a bit of love and attention with the soldering iron could not sort out.
In to Lourdes I came. I was wanting a little look around the grotto and all of that, but it was late and I was in need of food. However, what a place was Camping La Foret, the owners were so lovely, and I put my named down for two freshly backed croissants in the morning.
When I got back I saw a chap with a Rally version of my T7 setting up camp next to me., I had a good converse with the owner and we swapped tales, advice and tips. Throughout my trip virtually every biker had waved each other, and although something less seen in the UK, we are a rare breed and need to keep up this bond. Especially when you crash into a ditch and need 3 people to lift your bike out of it!
I'm looking forward to a croissant in the morning!
Sunday 22nd May 2022
Wherever I go in France, Im always struck how, especially French men, embrace the new day. There is no pessimism about it, it is a proper ‘Bon’ Jour.
Well today was a Bonjour because a nice Frenchman had made me two croissants a few minutes ago. And I returned his felicitation with admiring eyes on my bag of bread product and said ’Cest magnifique!’ His chest came out at that one!
I|t appears that this a daily thing at Camping le Foret as most of the campsite was wandering around with bags of croissants or baguettes. You could have mistaken it for a convention of bread enthusiasts.
The croissants were lovely, especially as they were warm.
Back on the road and heading to the border. The French side of the Pyrennes were very different to the Spanish side, to a marked degree. The Fenech side was verdant with mainly beech forests reaching up to 2000+ metres. The Spanish side was rocky, dry and very short of trees.
I took the little side roads to get to the little pass I wanted to use to go from France to Spain. There was a passing resemblance to the Lake District apart from the mountains here being a lot bigger.
I kept crossing the path of some tourist route named the ‘Circ du Fromage’ and often there would be signs offering home made or local cheese. I quite like the idea of doing a Circ du Fromage, it sounds reet cultured. I bet it ends up at a Pharmacy which sells Rennie though.
I guess it is much better than Scotland’s Whiskey trail which ends up with a police stop and breathalyse. With a chance to end up wearing the bracelets.
I came into a village and it was clear something was going on. Lots of stern people in hi viz jackets but this one chap waved me on, so I reckoned I would be ok. I was soon to be starting up the pass so I guessed a cycle race would be on, given it was Sunday, and soon it was confirmed as cyclists came flying by not far of the speed I was doing. Lots of people sat out on the street on deck chairs waving and cheering the cyclists on. Some even waved at me and in the interest of Anglo-French relations, I waved back.
So up and up and up, I went till we got to some pretty numerous amounts of hairpins bur because I was in a forest I had no idea how high we were and there was none of that exposure feeling when high on a mountain pass. I was more into sniffing the air and feeling how fresh it was.
Up ahead was a car with its boot open and a youth holding on to the car whilst wheeling uphill on a skateboard. I wasn’t going to ask but I hope he was being given a lift up to the top so he could hack down by himself. If he were able to get around the corners he would be approaching hypersonic speeds. Perhaps this was a hush hush defence contract experiment. They could have bought the poor sod some kneepads though.
Getting to the top of the pass a ski resort popped out of nowhere. Its funny, there are so many ski resorts which are totally unknown to British people because no British tour companies go there.
We were now out of the woods and crossing to Spain saw the landscape change markedly as already described. Once out of the mountains the Navarre landscape was dry, pockmarked with the occasional massive lake or reservoir which had an electric blue tinge to it.
It had been a long day but my reason for getting to Teluda was to see the Bandarnas Realas desert just the north- east of it. Technically a desert much is in agricultural production but the shapes of some of the formations were quite unusual.
I got to the main visa point and found a mobile café, so a coffee and cake stop were a must.
The views were quite amazing and understandably, the park authority did not wat to let all and sundry to churn it all up so there were just a few hiking trails and cycle routes though it.
There were no good campsites nearby so I had booked a premiere inn style hotel in Tudela. On my way out of the desert it started to rain. I’d been experiencing a heatwave since I had arrived and now it was raining in the desert. Bleeding typical!
The hotel was on the outside of town and by this time I had reached 50km into my reserve tank of fuel and I was worried that another 20km would see me run out, however, I was in need of a rest and fuel could wait. Something soft was needed for my bum.
The hotel was very good, fairly basic but it had a secure car park, air con and a helpful staff. I was directed around the corner to a restaurant for an evening meal. It was something of the cheap and cheerful variety, lots of families turning up with sometime fractious kids, but it was nice to see that people in different countries are not so dissimilar to yourself. I found my blood sugars to be quite high so I opted for a huge salad which was really quite interesting with cheese, walnuts raisins and a sticky soy dressing. It was quite enough for one person. There was no way anyone was talking English here but because I had been to France, my Spanish had been totally buggered by a much more ingrained French. I was accidently slipping into French at all sorts of inopportune times and because the restaurant was trying to purvey a French type of cooking, all the waiters were really getting in on the fact I was obviously from France.
There was no point in trying to spoil the illusion. No, I am not a Michelin restaurant critic, but please because I accidentally said ‘formidable’ about the salad, it is unlikely to get you a 3star rating.
Part of the joy of travelling alone is that people ‘adopt’ you. I was at this place, having not even verbal, but language, dihorrea all over the place, it was a terrible mess, and all of the staff were giving me a smile and the time of day, speaking slow and helping me out.
Monday 23rd May 2022
As soon as I had got outside it was clear the heatwave was breaking, there was a fresh wind in the air and the heat was dissipating.
I went into Lidl over the road (I was having separation anxiety) to get a few bits of bread and cheese for lunch, Halfway around I realsied I had left the keys in the ignition of the bike so I hot footed it to the tills where of course there was only one person on and I was just beaten to the virtually empty checkout by a slow moving abuela. Oh it took ages and I was shuffling about like I had ants in my pants, but finally once the checkout had moved I could see that VAA was still there.
Out on the road, the cooler air was nice, no longer a constant sweat on. The landscape was deeply rural growing mainly grain crops and rapeseed. I turned off the main roads and headed through the even quieter B roads where a village would be encountered once every 10km or so, it was very quiet, but very productive.
I eventually arrived at my destination, the abandoned village of Aldealcardo. About a mile off the main road along a track the town was not one of the those fortified type villages but perhaps in this case, it needed to be. The road sign was peppered with military sized bullet holes.
I parked outside the village and had a satisfying lunch of bread and cheese. Walking into the village square felt very strange, most of the houses had mainly collapsed, the odd tree growing out them. Long grass everywhere but clear paths around the village. Some buildings were looking a bit like they were about to collapse at any minute, definite leans on the walls.
I followed the sunken road from the village to the church which seemed to be in better condition, it had most of its roof on it but even still, it was looking like a house of cards. I just had a look through the door! Some interesting graffiti!
Back on the road, I followed a beautiful road though little villages, gorges and eventually found myself next to a big reservoir with dam at the end. There seems to be a lot of this going on, perhaps not a bad idea saving this water in such a frequently dry environment.
From here it was main roads and autopistas to Bilbao where I had booked a room. Pulling off at a service station there were two civil guard jeeps looking ominous and a paramilitary dude walking towards me unfolding the stock of a sub machine gun. Oh, I’m not used to things like this. I did a quick 7 day rewind of everything I had done in Spain and apart from a lot of minor and a few major traffic violations I couldn’t really think of anything worth giving me the Chicago typewriter treatment. It was clear he was waiting for someone else. Whilst filling up with fuel I saw at least 4 other similarly tooled up dudes hiding behind trees, cars and caravans.
Well somethings going down, so after filling up I bought a coffee and sat out of the way for a little rest and wait to see if Cornel Decker was finally going to get the A-Team or if a turnip firing machine gun would yet again allow the escapes of these haughty and inventive criminals.
After 10 minutes of pacing around looking hard, there seemed to be a de-escalation and they jumped in there jeeps and sped off. I had found a very comfortable place lying down back against her tree so a 20 minute siesta seemed an achievable goal.
As I got back on my bike I saw one of the civil guards had been taking cover behind a barrel of Autogas. Something like that would be worth 100 000 points on Call of Duty!
Back on the road, the siesta had done its trick and I was feeling bright and breezy. Traffic got busy as we approached the coast. Then we went thought the toll booths and we came across the civil guard again. Something very big had gone down, there was pulled over cars, jeeps and an extraordinary amount of firearms about. Even the bloke waving traffic around the incident had a sub-machine gun. I’m sure someone was setting up a surface to air missile system.
Excitement over, I headed into Bilbao and found my hotel which was located on Shit Street. It was reet rough. Fortunately I could park my bike in an underground car park. The hotel was very nice, the same chain as I has stayed in the night before.
I wanted to have a walk around the old town and find a restaurant in the guidebook I have, because I thought it was time for a treat. Instead I go hopelessly lost and it was like I was holding my phone upside down because if I went left, I would end up right and it all went to pot.
In the end I thought sod this I will head back to the hotel, on the way I walked past a kebab shop and thought, why not. The owner was very gracious in working around my attempts at Spanish. Ketchup appears to sound very similar if you ever need to know.
Outside was clearly a ghetto of mainly black and Asian people. There were police everywhere, and I got the distinct impression that the police were picking on these people. I didn’t know the situation, but I saw 2 stops of people and it struck me that it was harassment. Hey, I don’t know, but I do tend to trust my feelings. I didn’t like Bilbao for this reason.
Back to the hotel and work on a new plan for my route. Because setting up camp and breaking it was eating into the day I was going to shoot over the north coast and stop for longer in Santiago de Compostola and do some day trips from there rather than ride around ladened up.
I had been wondering what an item in my bathroom was for some time and thought it best to put it out there.
Now was this a portable Bidet or something to get rid of skids? I was not sure. It didn’t seem too practical to wash the old rusty sheriff’s badge and the power of it seemed a little eye watering if this was the intended purpose. I recon it was a souped up bog brush and to be honest it worked very well. A bit ott though in my humble opinion.
Tuesday 24th May 2022
Up a a decent time to leave Bilbao as soon as possible. As I wal leaving, a police car was pulling someone over just in front of me. I’ve seem more police in Bilbao than the whole of Spain, the UK reaching here and a good few months before that. I needed to get out quick before I got my collar felt.
That was not hard and out on the road things settled down. However the sky looked threatening. Every now and again it would rain but it was clear better weather was ahead. So I rode through it perhaps3 times hoping to dry out in the clear spells. Suddenly a Vinnie Jones style cloud came around the corner and it began to precipitate with some force. Invariably it was a couple of kms before I could get of the autovista and by this time I was pretty wet.
Getting my wet weather gear on ensured that I would not get any wetter but the cold had set in and I needed the heated grips on and everything zipped up. It wasn’t much fun and I didn’t pay much attention to the wonderful mountains and seas.
It were a bit cack.
I fancied a bit of seaside so nodged off to Suances for a bit of sea. I wasn’t really prepared for the Morrissey Every Day is Like Sunday experience, but that is what I got. It was no tourist season, everything was closed, the only thing going on was a Kids surf school. To be honest the surf looked good!
I found a bar that was open and got a coffee and cake. The chap running it was very kind and accommodating but I got a ‘the poor little idiot’ attitude from his demeanour. I was in the seaside town that they forgot to close down. No matter, the coffee and cake were nice.
Back onto the road, things were slowly drying
and warming up slightly. My mood had changed a bit too. Nothing is ever perfect
when you put yourself at the mercy of the weather. Next stop would be Llanes, a
picturesque fishing village of great regard, apparently.
It was niceish but it didn’t really light my candle so I Foxtrot Oscared.
Off I went to Aviles, not somewhere on the tourist radar but about right for me to make a stop and also a place with a decent looking cheap hotel.
What a lovely place! Very industrial but the old town was really superb. Covered pedestrian areas, really nice squares and churches. I rate it very highly even though it only gets 4 pages in the current rough guide to Spain.
However, the Spaniards will only eat at ungodly hours of the day (most restaurants only open at 8pm) and my constitution forced me into the supermarket to buy something to eat.
Somehow, I got distracted into the booze
isle. Most expensive red wine (it had a security tag on it) was E5.09. It was
also very nice. I am fairly convinced that in the UK we get the most awful
plonk from around the world and a myriad of well known wine wankers paid by the
wine industry to advise us the stuff that comes out of the bottom of the barrel is so fantaisic using really silly phrases.
Anyway, My hotel was pretty cheap, allowed me to keep an eye on VAA and also allowed me to engage with the shower. This was not a shower. It was like an alien face hugger who had done a shit load of PCP! This shower was out to do me personal harm. There was one big up top nozzle, one normal one on a cord and then fixed nozzles aiming at your body with a massive dial to control it all. Off it started. ‘Ahh ‘yer bastard’! Instead of it coming out of the hand held bit that was in my hand I was drenched with the top one with freezing cold water.
Ok, so we got started with the normal bit, but it was a bit powerful. I’m sure bits of my skin were being dislodged. Switching to the top one again ‘You little shit’! it gave me 4 seconds of cold water before it warmed up and started to drown me by the power of the water flow. It felt like a day trip to Guantanamo Bay. Giving the body nozzles a go, ‘You are going to fxxking get it in a minute’ as 10 cold streams of water like a Star Wars blaster seared into my body before warming up but that had to go off straight away and I had to check for internal bleeding.
Absolutely terrifying. To go back to the Alien anecdote ‘In the shower, everyone will hear you swear’.
Wednesday 25 May 2022
It had rained very hard in the night so the choice of a hotel was a lucky one. It was still fairly cold though and for the whole day I wished I had my waterproof jacket on to give a bit of more warmth. Still, the roads were not busy and the view were lovely.
First of all I wanted to see some fantastic
rock formations on the coast near Riberdeo. Of course when I got there the tide
was almost in but the views from above were quite impressive. Even on a calm
day the surf was doing a lot of crashing about. A bit too many rules on boards though. It felt like day release from prison.
I next wanted to have a look at an abandoned village that had been a big user of waterpower. Off the main roads, onto minor ones and ones that were bordering on not a road. Deep into heavily wooded areas with mainly sweet chestnut trees. I was reminded of Celtic rainforests.
The little village of Os Teixois had been turned into a museum as far as I could see. It was however closed.
About 7 or 8 houses in a narrow little valley, it had made use of waterpower, to probably mill grains. So many of the buildings were so unusual and beautifully preserved. I was sure that the place was actually inhabited but there was no one about as I looked around the place.
I guess the most amazing place that I could see was the church, just a little outside of town. No bigger than a garage, it was ornately decorated and appeared to be sometimes used.
Now it was to get to Santiago de la Compostela. It was just over 120km away. The roads were generally quiet as we were well away from any areas of industry or tourism. However, the road crossed the path of a number of Caminos and all of a sudden, there were pilgrims galore in some cases great big lines of them.
I was quite shocked because I had come across
a few pilgrims in some of the towns that crossed the path of the Caminos and
they always had a bit of hunted look about them. Usually quite dishevelled and
showing the signs of being on the road for a long time. They weere on a mission and it was taking a toll.
However the vast majority of these pilgrims seemed to be in fine fettle. In fact, the tolls of the road did not appear to be showing on them whatsoever. I think the rule is you must walk 100km or maybe it s 60km and get you Camino book stamped and then you will get a blessing when you get to the cathedral in Santiago. It appears a whole industry has sprung up around this ferrying people about, providing accommodation etc. It didn’t seem quite right to me if I was being honest but that is just my take on it.
Into Santiago and I soon found the campsite. Which was nice and friendly and quite amazingly international. In front of me I have vehicles from Norway, France, Holland, the Czech Republic and Switzerland. I’m not at all upset the language of choice for discussions between all is English. While my Spanish is improving I still appear to be making an idiot of myself. Cooked up some grub and got my head down, it had been a surprisingly long day.
Thursday 26 May 2022
I had not managed to have a good nights sleep as I was mainly too cold. The air was heavy with moisture and everything was very wet. This made everything very cold and with no sun on me early in the morning it remained this way.
Today would be a rest day so nothing too heavy. First of all a bit of bike maintenance. The chain was slacker than minimum wage security guard and getting the side stand down was like changing the track on a T72.
It didn’t take too long and that was one thing off the mental list of things to do. Next was the washing which was getting to a critical moment of unhygiene along with soring temperatures predicted for the next few days.
There was one washing machine on the site and
it was going at it like a trooper. However, I reached a really sweet spot where
a German lady was transferring her stuff to the drier and said the machine was
free. It was getting the heady cultures of 3.5 lots of t-shirts, pants and
socks. I slammed the door shut, inserted me 4 Euros rushed at a few settings
and off it went 44 minutes. It even put the powder and conditioner in for you. Awesome.
Back to the tent to try to sew up my now ripped tank bag. I had wisely packed my emergency sewing kit for such emergencies; However, I had not gone through my emergency sewing kit to see what was in there. I had two needles one was literally microns big and the other not much better. Trying to thread the fairly thick gauged thread was like trying to park the Death Star on a standard parking space - S’not ‘appenging mate.
I tied to thin the thread down but to no avail. It will have to stay bust. As with some of the plastics, yes I had my most useful heat gun but had forgotten to pack the soldering iron head so no plastic welding possible either. That will have to stay busted too. VAA was at least halfway to passing first auditions for the next Mad Max film.
44 minutes were up and out came my washing into the multipurpose Sainsburys carrier bag I had brought. All of a sudden, aren’t carrier bags a valuable item to have these days. And perhaps so they should be.
I began hanging my washing up on my improvised washing line to find I had acquired a rather nice hand towel. I returned it to the German lady who recognised it as her own and she was well impressed it had had two washed, not just one. I didn’t have the words or the heart to tell her it had been washed with my skiddies for the last of those washes.
Down to items of holiness. I was going to go down to the town and visit the Cathedral and recognise, only to myself my own pilgrimage of sorts. Almost immediately I got lost again and despite really good instructions on how to get to the town, I was zig-zagging like a fighter pilot avoiding flack. Google maps was really giving me the run around and I thought I used to really know my way around a map but these days I am becoming much less confident.
I guess I should have followed the camino trail signs but sometimes they weren’t in the places you would expect them.
So eventually into the old town and yes very nice narrow streets with beautiful buildings. Very well kept too. However ,getting closer to the cathedral it began to get overloaded with people. In fact, it was absolutely bleeding packed. It was not giving me good vibes. There was a massive concert on because apparently it was accession day, also a public holiday which kicked my plans to do some food and repairs shopping in the dick. There was a gigantic queue of pilgrims lining up for over 100m to get into the cathedral with more arriving every second.
I was stone cold unimpressed with the whole set up. As I could not go into the cathedral because I did not have a mask (although the rest of the country did not require one), I was not that bothered. It appeared to a big sausage machine feeding in pilgrims one end and sprouting out I’m not too sure what, the other.
My feelings were for the 'true pilrims' who I had seen really early on, those that had sacrificed much and gone through pain and hardship to get to the same gates and be treated as just the same as the majority who had been fed, watered and waited upon though their pilgrimage.
In the history of the church, money will always pay for a much easier way to get before the bishops and heaven.
Away from the centre of madness, I managed to accidently have a fantasitic lunch whcih went a very long way to make up for my crushing religious experience. I saw and empty cafe chair and the menu had an Englsih translation. I liked the look of the Glaician special soup so I ordered that,. It turns out this what the first course of a four course Galician speicial. Well we will give it a go, especailly as it was just 10.75 Euros.
Well the cabbage, potaoto and bean soup did not get me all Rick Stein, but the clams and lime juice were very nice and after that a pork chop, chips and salad left me full as a bed tick. When asked if I wanted any fruit or ice cream, my face did not require any translations software. I marvelous lunch.
Off I went back to the campsite following the main entrance into the town for the pilgrims. They were streaming in marching with their big wooden and totally impractical sticks. Every now and again you would see the real pilgrims, people who had been on the road for weeks. Showing the signs in their face and clothes. I felt for them because, I imagined they might feel the same kind of anti-climax that I had felt.
However, a pilgrimage is not about arriving, it is about the journey, the people you meet, the way you grow, the things you see and problems overcome so to be honest, I aren’t bothered. I have had a great pilgrimage. And it is not over yet. The destination is unclear, the reasons for getting there unknown but the results will be a better Dave. And that is all I can hope for.
I was nipping out fromthw campsite on the bike for a totally unfruitful search for some food items when I saw a familiar face. Erik for Holland was just coming in as I was going out. We did a quick hola and after I had got back after pulling on the door of every locked supermercardo in town, we got together for a chat.
I guess this was also part of a pilgrimage, to meet and share with you fellow pilgrims. Mine was ending but Eriks was just beginning. He was going to circumnavigate Spain, Italy and the former Yugoslav republics before doing a month of sailing in Greece. Nice one, now that is a trip.
We had a few beers together, swapped stories, we had been over a number of similar mountain passes with very different results. It was quite comical.
We decided to do a ride out to Cap Finsterre and see a few sights tomorrow so we got our heads down for a reasonably early start.
Friday 27 May 2022
It had again been very cold in the night compared to the daytime temperatures but I had slept much better. I have found that amount of sleep at night equates to the need or length of the siesta the next day. When in Rome…..
Erik and I were away fairly early and the cool of the day was quite nice. Up to A Coruna we dropped in to the Tor de Hercules, which is the oldest still working lighthouse in the world. Built by the Romans and upgraded a few time after that. It was rather striking.
The plan was then to drop in to a few little fishing villages along the Galician coast to have a mooch around and have a coffee and lunch.
First up was Malpica Which was Ok but mainly an industrial fishing port. No café.
Then in Corme, which was quite quiet, we spotted a café and got some grub there. Trying to read the menu through google translate was a bit of a bind but we got generally what we asked for and it was very nice.
On from there we dropped into Laxe which was much more a tourist destination and here we should have had lunch but when in Rome, never eat lunch twice.
We headed for the headland which gave wonderful views over the sea.
After that we ended up at Muxia which was a little bit of the both.
That was as far west as I wanted to go Cap Finsterre was only a coupe of km further to the west and I still had to get back to Santiago to get some provision.
We bid farewell, and I wished Erik happy travels. He had a long way to go but I’m sure some fantastic times ahead.
However, I would not come to the UK with that numberplate.
Back to Santiago and to begin planning how to get home. 2 more nights till I was on the ship and I was hoping to ditch lots of food to make the bike a bit lighter. Therefore, I would stop in cheap hotels from now on to make packing up and leaving so much easier.
I got my journey plotted out and all seemed good.
Tomorrow was going to be a long day.
Saturday 28 May 2022
Getting up early before the sun reached the place where I was camping was very useful because once the sun hit you you went into a semi siesta mode and everything too so much longer to do!
Out on onto the road, I was going to make best use of the motorways as they tended to be incredibly quiet and got you places very quickly. From Lugo to Ponferrada the roads cut through impossible landscapes with tunnels but mainly huge viaducts transporting you up to 150 metres above the ground below which was mainly a steep sided hilly area of trees. The engineering was breath taking. This is something very apparent in all areas where I had visited, the roads were incredible. Tunnels and viaducts cut through an impossible to navigate landscape of mountains and deep valleys.
The motorways were very easy to navigate as they were never busy, even in the cities. Navigating town streets on the other hand was quite scary, the silent death being the most upsetting prospect, although to be fair out of the big cities it was not so bad.
As today was more about closing distance on Santander which was 500km away by the quickest route. I was going to do some big miles and have fewer things to stop and see. However, one which I could not miss was the Roman gold quarries of Las Medulas. Digging deep into soft mudstone and then diverting watercourses to flow though them eventually causing a massive collapse the vandalism of the earth has created quite a feature, although I doubt anyone would get planning permission for it in this day and age!
The temperature had got to a really hot stage, well past 30 degrees so I dumped by jacket and wandered into the town which eventually lead me to the walk around the quarries. Everywhere there were very old, 200 year old plus Spanish (sweet) Chestnuts Which ad been cut back many times clearly for the production of Chestnuts. It was lovely to see such a concentration of veteran trees and also to see them as a crop species. I’m not sure how this would pan out in UK thinking on ancient trees but we aren’t in the UK and the continued management of these trees depends upon them producing a crop. Some diseases also did not appear to be helping much.
Further on into the quarry the vertical cliffs and caves became quite severe. I had walked for quite a few kms now and really wished I had brought some water. However, it as now downhill back to the village and I could dodge from one side of the track to the other to get a bit of shade. I’ve never been more appreciative of shade!
Around the side of the mountain a vista could be had to look over the quarry.
It took another long walk in biking gear up a step hill at 33 degrees, but a bit of suffering was well worth it as the entire area was shown. It is amazing that people with so little of what we know and have now used their limited understanding to decimate the landscape to get the resources they craved. Perhaps a lesson not yet learned even today.
Back on the road and through the foothills of what would be the Picos de Europa. Although we were steadily rising, the temperature did not drop but the valleys became steeper and steeper with impressive valleys, dams and roads to get you through them.
I had booked a hotel in Villablino, actually a ski resort, but there was not a lot to suggest that at the moment.
My little room was in a lovely restaurant, café and bar where no-one spoke English, why should they, and a few times I had to revert to Google translate. However, people are very welcoming. A little girl just walked past me waved and said ‘hola’. This is a nice place.
Its Liverpool v Real Madrid in the champions league final. The bar is full of tense Spanairds. I'm going to bed because Liverpool seem to be playing well!
Sunday 29 May 2022
Breakfast saw lots of grinning Spaniards as the nationality of my bike and its owner were evident. Real Madrid won over Liverpool. Not that it excited me in any way possible. The bendy roads on the way before however were.
Today I would be threading a needle thought the small passes and roads of Castile and Leon trying to go from west to east when all the big roads when from north to south. However, the map showed what must be some fantastic roads, passes, gorges and tunnels. Bring it on.
However, by this time VAA had begun to make some really rather mechanically worrisome noises. When pulling off and under load there was a growing clunky grinding noise coming from the front sprocket. However when not under load it was not present. I had noticed it first in Santiago when riding with no earplugs but now it was very apparent even with earplugs in.
Most new bikes don’t come with a top dollar chain or sprockets but I was hoping that this chain would see this trip through. I was now at a critical time of the trip, a chain failure now would not be hard to find replacements but with the ferry leaving in 30 hours-time, it would not leave much time to repair and make the ferry.
So I was going into nurse mode, accelerating very gently getting up in to a high gear as soon as possible and not stressing the drivetrain as much as possible. the roads were lovely with nothing on them early on a Sunday morning and the landscape was a joy. Some time It felt like I was in a warm version of the north of Scotland, other times it felt like being in the limestone environment of the Yorkshire Dales. The diversity of environments was breath-taking.
I was taking regular stops to photograph the scenes. No one really raves about this area, but to be honest it is a real treat.
Upon reaching the top of one pass, I saw the next valley beyond was covered in fog which I was above. Moving into the fog dropped th temperature by a few thousand degrees and all of sudden I was zipping all of my air vents up and not much enjoying the ride. After 20 minutes the road climbed up to the next pass and blazing sunshine and associated temperatures returned., Also an opportunity for a Kodak moment.
Down from there I came across a large number of moo cows in the road. I stopped for a while to see if they would move, but no. so I edged closer, but no. however, I saw a gap and thought I would go for it and a dangle cow took a swipe at me with a horn and a big clunk from its bell. Bovine road rage, who would have thought it.
It was getting towards lunchtime and I was looking for a spot where I could really have a good look around VAA and see if I could see what the problem was, as it was beginning to play on my mind. Visons of me not making it to the ferry because the chain died.
At the top of a pass I pulled into a layby. I had a 10 minute siesta, I’m quite getting into them, and then have a good poke around. Things were worn but not massively. I gave the chain a quick blast with the can of chain lube I had brought and hoped against all odd that such a simple thing would sort things out.
Back on the bike, all those horrid noises were gone. The lube certainly had worked. What a muppet I was. Should I put it down as a miracle. Yeah go on, because I am such a generous spirit. I’ve got another miracle of more substantive worth to talk about but I can’t talk about it until I get home. When I can I will spill the beans.
All lights were now green so I spent the whole afternoon really enjoying riding with a bit of Va va voom on quiet roads with great warm tarmac and exceptional scenery. You can’t get much better.
At 250km from my last fill up it would not be long before the bike switched to reserve giving me about another 80km before I began to try to burn air. Asking the sat nav to give me the location of petrol stations along my route, none registered. That spoilt the fun!
Out with the map, and a moderately sized town Riano was found a little of the route. I’m sure they would have a gas station, but it was Sunday so I may be adding to my troubles. However, nothing ventured, nothing gained, and a full tank of fuel was a bit of an important gain.
A wonderful blue lake appeared, clearly one of the many reservoirs created. However the backdrop of the dry mountains gave an unreal feeling to the landscape which was quite compelling.
Riano came up with the goods, an interesting town surrounded on three sides by the reservoir and large bridges to reach it. Moving back onto my route, I had the advantage of already riding the route so I could give it some. It was most fun and the views were stunning.
I had not realised that the Pico mountains were just a small part of the mountain range which stretched along the northern coast of Spain. However the Picos were really something to see. Very sharp limestone outcrops, very high and so beautiful. There was plenty of snow on the guilles on the peaks. A really magical view.
Dropping into a little valley I came across my final stop off before I left Spain tomorrow. I had gone a little more upmarket and booked in at a Mountain Lodge Hotel Cumbres de Valdeon which was a bit more expensive than what I had been paying but for £71 for the night it was a bit of luxury.
All around were views up to the high peaks and people were so friendly and welcoming. It felt like a golden handshake from a country which has welcomed and surprised me at every turn. And I feel I have not even scratched the surface.
I spent some time working out how I could leave the majority of my luggage on the bike on the boat but keep all of my essentials. When there are certain items which are necessary to say alive, it is important to plan ahead well!
I had managed, by whimpering like an injured dog to get the kitchen opening time down from a clearly Satanic 8.30pm to a moderate Spanish Inquisition 8pm. But I was still ready to eat the cutlery once I had sat down.
A number of times in a Spanish restaurant, there has been no menu because there are just a few prepared dishes. For a starter I had artichokes with a brie sauce and blue cheese topping which I thought was proper top draw. After that I got a cows cheek and tatos which was equally good. They know how to do their cooking here.
I got talking to Christophe from France who had very good English and had arrived on a big GS. He was on a much longer trip and it was great to hear his experiences. It was nice to talk to someone else who shared the same passion for the uniqueness of motorcycle travel along with the ways it can sometimes go wrong. Always good to chat to the motorcycling family.
Monday 30th May My last day in Spain
Clouds surrounded the impossibly beautiful mountains this morning and breakfast was coming late from what I was used to, but this was a place to allow yourself to be bent to and not to try to bend it yourself.
In the mean time I made sure my top box was packed with all I needed for the voyage back and loaded up a few things on the bike to make leaving easier. I even had a, I’ve just woken up, but I will have a little siesta. I could really do a lot with these siestas if allowed.
Breakfast was nice and I chatted for a while with the owner who had made the cows cheek meal and he was so pleased to hear how much I enjoyed it and appreciated that it should have taken a lot of time to make. However, 4 hours…. That is cooking with commitment.
I bid Cristophe farewell, and the hotel with a definite purpose to return.
Today would be a relaxed trip of just 180km to get from my location in the middle of the Picos to Santander. However, instead of taking the quickest routes I wanted to take the back roads, to enjoy the splendour of the mountains before I had to descend into real life.
Firstly, a tiddly road into the very heart of the Picos from my overnight at Posoda de Valdeon to the dead end village of Cain de Valdeon.
Top draw. Massive cliffs above you, squeezing into an impossibly narrow valley floor.
It was magic. Turning around and heading back though the valley was double happiness because you knew what was coming. Very good making you small material.
Out from the village, the road slowly rose towards the cloud level and into it. It had not been too warm on my departure from Posoda de Valdeon. But things got a lot colder. The bike was saying 11 degrees. Or some random number bullshit Fahrenheit that I’m not at all interested in learning about. The way forwards – backwards?
Anyway, bikers jackets usually have so many zips on them to allow you to regulate your temperature. Very often you mare opening a pocket rather than a useful air vent to it pays to stop aond find the right zip. Using other zips can also get you into even more trouble.
I had started the day fully zipped up but to my joy I emerged from the clouds and the temperature leapt by at least 10 degrees in the glorious sunshine and marvellous views.
So a stop to open up all the zips. 10 minutes later I was plunged into the clouds again and it was another stop to zip up. This happened at least twice, but may as well be comfortable!
However, I may moan but the views were
somewhat enhanced by them being revealed whilst coming out of the clouds. You
would be riding along in the relative bordom of the clouds and as it becaome
lighter, the occasional sliver of blue could be seen and you lived in hope that
the road woud continue to rise rather than descend you back into the cloud. On
breaking through it would be a rapturous feeling of escaping the cold and
invariably the view of the mountains floating above the clouds would be
fantasitic. And then a fight with the zips.
I worked my way into the centre of the Picos on small roads covered in hairpin bends. There lots of dangle bell cows about and they always seemed to relieve themwelves on hairpin bends. I think there is a bit of a conspiracy theory going on here. Perhaps cows aren’t actually vegetarians. Perhaps the wait at the bottom of cliffs with the BBQ going for bikers who have gone over the barriers after slipping on the cow pats. Its probably revenge for all the leathers.
One descent into the clouds was really quite rough. Some bikers had even stopped because of it. The cloud was really thick and so dense it was condensing on my visor making vision quite hard along with very limited distance of vision. I slowed down to crawling pace at times because a sudden hairpin could really send me to destination f’ed. The cloud went on and on, and once I realised that I had the perfect hairpin bend warning tool, my sat nav, I relaxed a little. Once through the clouds I judged that to be one of the most difficult crossings I have done on this trip. I've done river crossings, off road crossings and now I had done a cloud crossing!
I parked up in Potes, one of the main towns in the Picos and had a wander around looking at the market and many bridges in the town. It is very proud of its bridges and so it should be.
Out of Potes and through a few fantaisitc ravines, and then over a tiny little road away from the main trails I drew closer to Sandander where my ferry would be leaving in a few hours. Although the sat nave was telling me I would be arriving in good time, my progress across the map was painfully slow given I was doing a lot of ups and downs on squiggly roads. I decided not to worry about it, yet.
I needed to find a supermarket to fill up with food for the ferry journey back. I was running low on insulin so I needed a low carbohydrate diet for the next few days to avoid using too much insulin. Salad, sausage and cheese it would be!
Eventually I was deposited on the motorway after my last little mountain road and found my way into Santander looking for a supermarket. I got myself well and truly lost and just as I decided to give up I turned around the corner and found a Lidl. It felt like I had come home! I bough a big box of salad, sausages, cheese and a bit of chorizo, a totally carbohydrate free meal and hopefully tasty.
Arriving at the port, it was bonkers. There were massive groups of Spanish bikers heading for the TT. Getting loaded onto the boat took some time and although I purposefully arrived just before the end of check in so I would be loaded on later and get a better position for getting off earlier, I again managed to get stuck in a corner making me one of the last to get offloaded again.
I approached my room with trepidation, hoping not to be anywhere near a poo tube. Unfortunatley there was an aroma of Barcelona lingering in the corridor and it did smell like the contents of Gillian McKeith's handbag in a few locations, but once underway these aromas disappeared. As for long drop bangers and mash, it sounded nice and quiet. Result! Up on to deck to watch the final camper vans being loaded on. At the very back of the queue was a landrover.
I had an empathetic moment for the poor people on board. I’m sure it would be more than at the back of their mind that there may not be space to fit them in. However when we set of there were no one left on the docks so a good job done by the loaders who every day have to put a forever changing 600 piece jigsaw of cars, bikes lorries and campervans together with some of the pieces being somewhat incompetent at their job.
The journey home was long and tiering and somewhat uneventful apart from overtaking a police car at an indicated 85 due to the lows sun in the sky. I think they must have had bigger fish to fry.
So home. joyous to see Julie, Elliot, Harry and Winnie again.
Bike went away in the garage after 3065miles, unpacked and an oh so comfortable bed.
Epilogue
So it is time for the Epilogue.
I returned home and was soon launched back into work and the usual, but it was nice. Good to go away, even better to return.
Bike was in a state, a few repairs needed.
I am ‘left’ in awe of the diversity of the landscapes that I saw in northern Spain, from one hour to another it left a deep impression upon me. From semi-deserts to soaring mountains and everything in between, the place was amazing.
As for the people, hospitable and fun. The more relaxed Mediterranean attitude shone through and is a pleasure to be around.
It has become clear to me that I have grown older and find big cities like Barcelona less interesting, of more interest to younger people. It does also smell of Gillian McKeith’s handbag in so many areas. They need to get decent lids on the sewers.
However, the joy of finding quiet places far from the maddening crowds and then ridding though them at 10 000rpm spitting out bits of road all over the place makes me feel at peace.
Actually, I am kidding there. It was nice to go see and slip away again, hoping no one ever noticed I turned up. The quietness of rural Spain was of enduring pleasure.
Language was a terrible failure. I had really tried but the mix of different languages really did scupper me and I resorted back to Honky talk for much of it. Google translate was quite useful though.
VAA was brilliant, just kept on going, reliable and comfortable, even though I forgot to lube the chain. A fantastic bike, that I won’t be getting rid of in a long time.
I’ve joked about miracles but it’s time to come clean. It was not the place to start talking about such things when I was away because there were other things going on at home which required much more concern.
My little ‘off’ on Sunday 22 was actually quite serious. I had gone down a ditch and smashed my shoulder into a bank and used my chest as a shock absorber on the handlebar. After being retrieved by my wonderful 3 German engineer friends who had checked me out and seemed fairly happy with my body movements, the adrenalin began to wear off and I found myself in a lot of pain. Riding was OK but getting on and off the bike was seriously painful and my right arm was not much use.
I was fairly convinced that I had broken my collar bone, and perhaps a rib or two, the bruising, still quite apparent now really did suggest this.
However, the only way to get back was to ride through France to cross via the channel, and that was no more than 4 day less than carrying on. Or march into a hospital and hope the insurance I had taken out would not see me in some horrible situation. Like insurance usually likes to put you in.
Carry on it was, paid for this holiday, I have. As Yoda is often heard to say at the TUI check in desk. I didn’t sleep well, and struggled with the bike, paralysed with fear of dropping her and not being able to pick her up again and this created a bit of a pig on a unicycle performance. As the week went on, the pain was beginning to slowly subside. A week and a half on, movement is coming back and I can now even squirt deodorant on each armpit, which is a relief to everyone.. I was giving the right hand one an extra blast to make up for the left hand one but I don’t think it was equalling out.
Broken bones, probably not, but sore as shite rubbed into an open wound. We’ll give the fact I was able to carry on a half a miracle point but have to deduct ¼ of that because it hurt like fuck for the majority of the trip.
I started this blog with a bit of a joke about this being an apostate’s pilgrimage. I can’t say that I gained any religious fortitudes from it, the majority of the religious symbols that I saw being almost Disneyland, a manufactured religious experience to provide a benefit to the expectant soul. And, to be fair, I’m sure they got that.
Maybe that is good enough for many people. I should not judge.
However, if I were to revert to a former life when I was proper religious, I guess I would have most likely found god in that abandoned church in Muro de Roda, and most certainly in the face of the few pilgrims who had done many miles, were thin and trudging on. Those who had suffered in their pilgrimage, for whatever reasons. I hope they got their reward. I worry they were treated like the rest of the ticket punching brigade. These people needed recognition, but I imagine they would not receive it. Not worth walking for, in my opinion.
In my mind, I found god, in the smile of a petrol court attendant, in the kind word of someone who brought me a coffee, in the pride of a man who had made me a hot croissant freshly baked for my breakfast, in people who embraced me as friend because I was by myself, in people who rushed to my aid and would not leave me until they were happy I was alright and in the indescribably beauty of the nature that I saw.
I would hope that those people who had made the Camino in good faith to whatever their cause will have found the answers to life’s big questions on the road and not at the cathedral.
Not that I was really on any hell bent voyage of discovery, I learnt:
I should judge so much less and step back to look and learn.
I should never expect anything to be as what I expect it to be.
If it gets stuck in front of your face, eat it. Ask, what it is later.
Stop more. Have a look around. Ask questions.
Appreciate what you have.
All of the above can be interchanged between the wonder of a god or the kindness and decency of people and wonder of the natural world. Pick from it what you like, I’m just telling a story.
Thanks for reading. Not sure what is coming, or when. Go easy with each other.
I dedicate this blog to the memory of my good friend Will Silva, who died amongst his friends in late 2021. Will was a lifelong friend of my Dad and I and provided a much needed temporary home in Seattle for me on my first ‘big trip’, around the USA in 1993. A doctor to a continent, adventurous pilot, ever giving of his time to the destitute, a wise man of so much experience. The world waits for his presence to be filled. Go easy Will.
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