Help me Ronda. On the way down we’d run into the biggest blackest rain cloud you could ever wish not to see. We stopped and looked at it and Baz said, ‘Are we going to put the rain gear on’? ‘No’ was my reply, ’I’m not going anywhere near that, the roads will be lethal’. We thought about going to a restaurant and waiting for it to pass. The clouds were moving west to east. So we got the compass out and worked out that if we headed for the bit of brighter sky to the south west it would take us to Ronda and then down to the coast. Therefore going around the cloudburst. Behind us… In front of us. It was a plan that worked right up until it didn’t. We stopped at the bikers cafe on the road south of Ronda and put the wets on and gave it another 5 minutes. These smooth roads deal with the heat better than UK roads but with rain they can turn into something more like an ice rink. Moving on, or not. Heavy rain was forecast for the last two days so we’ve waited it out at Baz’s place down on the coast near San Pedro de Alcantara. It gave us chance to fix a few things around his place and on the bikes. After various failed attempts to purchase a 12v to 5v charging lead for a TomTom I stripped off the side fairing and found the fuse had gone in the Optimate lead that I’d put in. I don’t know where the fuses have gone but they weren’t in the tool bag where they should’ve been. So a quick visit to the Chinese shop and €1.50 later not only did I have the the fuse I wanted but I also have lots of spares and a circuit tester. Which was great as it meant I could test the leads for continuity. I don’t know why the fuse went, so that could be a remaining problem but anyway everything is all up and running and when you don’t need the TomTom it is behaving properly. Instinct tells me it won’t last.
In Osuna on the return leg. Tapas and a coffee for lunch. What is not to like? In fact neither of us want to go back to the UK.
Yesterday. Yesterday we headed up from the Mediterranean to a small town called Almaden. The dry Ronda road was far more enjoyable than when we’d previously headed down, even though there was some traffic on it. In the dry we could easily slip by and stretch the legs of the Panigale’s. It was hot on the bikes when we filled up down at sea level but unsurprisingly it cooled off as we went up the mountain to Ronda. By the time we reached Osuna it was above 26 degrees. Cordoba was even hotter but as we didn’t stop we were fine. There’s a good chance the layers might start going back on today. We chose Almaden as a stopover because it meant we’d cover a good distance. We’re a day short of what I’d like because of the rain. Therefore we’re going slightly more directly up to Santander. I say slightly because today we’ve added a bit of a detour via Guadalupe. I can’t help it, I’d regret it if we missed out on such lovely roads. We should be in the saddle for around 5 hours today going via this detour instead of 4 hours on the more direct route or 6 hours if we did the really loopy looping route, which we did on the way down. Almaden itself isn’t a particularly attractive place. It turns out that for centuries it’s been a Mercury mining town. In fact it was the world’s biggest producer of Mercury until the EU brought mining to a stop in 2002. Which isn’t that long ago. At the hotel another biker pulled up and we started to chat even though we didn’t really talk each other’s language we can still talk ‘bikes’. Baz’s bike goes down really well everywhere we go. They all know the colour scheme and the name Carlos Checa and the number 7 comes straight out in conversation. This fella was just as enthusiastic about the bikes and the colour scheme and wanted photos. After that he proudly announced he was 77 years old. After some checking it turned out he was 67. ‘Ah that’s nothing, Uncle Baz here is 74 years young’! Baz got his second round of applause. He’d already had one round at the circuit from a bunch of guys who we’re asking, ‘Where we were from, where we’d been and you’re how old? On sports bikes’? When we showed them shots of the bikes and the snow over the Picos they couldn’t believe it. ‘Iron men’ one of them said. Hand shakes all round. Baz and I just laughed. Next stop Avila because we’ve never stopped there before. It’s a nice old walled city to the west and slightly north of Madrid. It’s also at the end of the N-502. Oooh sir! Suits you! As I write this I can hear Señor Triumph already firing up. Time to get going.
The Magic Carpet. It was a whole day of practice. Knee out, shifting body weight, late apexes, quickshifting, tyre gripping G-force testing fun. All 356Km of it and hardly any traffic on the whole lot. In fact the first 100 maybe 150km it was pretty much just me and my shadow. Otherwise known as Uncle Baz. We slid straight out onto the fabled N-502. At first I wasn’t quite on it, the tyres weren’t warmed up and neither was I but the bends and empty road was coming at me. I eased into the groove and wondered how many bends we would do today. Hundreds, hundreds and hundreds. Who knows maybe even a thousand? All day we’ve wafted from side to side. High speed long tempting sweepers where you can accelerate though the whole thing putting the tread firmly down and every possible variation in between down to tight low geared hairpins. ‘I think these tyres will make the distance’ ‘Course they will’ retorted the shadow, ‘ we’re spending all our time on the side of them anyway’. There were some straights. Uneventful things that they are that just connect the fun bits but there were whole sections that we’re just bend after bend after bend. Swift but sure, not too lairy. If you make a mistake out here it’ll be a long wait for an ambulance or more likely Goodnight Vienna. On the way down from Navalmoral I’d glimpsed something in a field standing underneath a tree. Black, not a dog, too big to be a cat, no tail and it was far to far from the TT to be an overgrown Manx anyway. Then there were road signs which I’d never seen before. The only thing I could think was they were Linx’s. Beware of Linx’s. Sure enough there was a written sign that said exactly that. You don’t tend to get that kind of signage in West London. You don’t get tractor dealerships either. We wafted past the signage again today, interspersed with warning signs for bulls. Thankfully we didn’t see anything like that on the road. Stopping for tapas in a roadside cafe we wondered how 4 people of completely mixed ages, sitting round a table could make so much noise. Then up wafted this young, around 30 years old, unusually tall, slim, Spanish woman and joined them. She was like a casually dressed Gazelle, dark haired, no makeup and strikingly attractive. Not only that, the way she carried herself she seemed completely unaware of the fact. Which of course made her even more attractive. At that moment, I kid you not, Baz took to polishing his helmet. ‘That’s going straight in tonight’s blog’ I said. Raucous laughter. Back on the bikes we swapped for the first time. Everything about Baz’s bike was easier to ride. They’re both Panigale 1199s Tricolore’s but Baz has put Giles Vario bars on his whereas my Vario bars are are still in the shed. ‘Christ’ I thought ’it’s like driving a bus’. They’re only raised about a couple of inches but in makes a huge difference. Added to that he’s got an Oberon clutch slave cylinder which makes the clutch much lighter and a full Akrapovic system. Suffice to say without the flapper valve and a properly breathing engine it is far far smoother. Soon enough we swapped back and headed over the mountain on the 502 toward Avila. Stopping only at the viewing point with the fresh water spring to top up our bottles. Clean water with nothing in it, delicious. All day the sun has shone and as we went over the top I noticed the temperature had fallen 10 degrees from 26 down to 16. It didn’t seem to effect the grip and all too soon the Magic Carpet led us to the enormous castle walls of Avila. Just look at dem luvly bends.
Cracking write up Sam and it brought back fond memories of doing the Avila road solo on my way to Portimao to meet my girls who flew down.
It’s a great road isn’t it. More than I can say for the road up to Valladolid and accross the plain towards The Picos. I had to stop before I fell asleep.
Defectuoso Torres. We left Avila and headed for Segovia. Once again this wasn’t the most direct route but it was a very pleasant morning ride across to the CL-601. South of Segovia the 601 is fantastic. A single carriageway road that twists and turns it’s way up to the point where ‘The Shadow’ previously conveniently left his rucksack. Working on the belief that it must also be good heading north I couldn’t have been more wrong. It becomes a dual carriageway of utter boredom. As good as Friday was, Saturday turned out to be the complete opposite. When we pulled in for lunch a youngish guy at the bar immediately struck up a conversation. ‘How old are you’? Again! I just fell about. ‘Cheeky Bastard’ retorted ‘The Shadow’ He was a biker too and he couldn’t believe how far we’d been on Sports bikes. We couldn’t believe how far he hadn’t been. Apparently, normally young guys ride sports bikes. ‘Well, we are young’! I don’t know if he laughed or we laughed or we all laughed. Everyone is so happy to see motorbikes here. The amount of people that come up and want to chat and admire the bikes is a constant source of surprise and a real pleasure. ‘Normally people ride those big ugly things but these bikes are beautiful’. It was encounters like these that made the day a pleasure as opposed to crossing the plain. Unfortunately it’s a pain crossing the plain but it has to be done. In future I’ll be sticking to the route that heads through Burgos, Aranda de Duero and across to Segovia. Having said that I’d really like to try heading much further east across the Atlantic coast and heading south down from Gijon, Leon, The beautiful Salamanca, Plasencia, Caceres, Monesterio, around Seville and onto Jerez de la Frontera. Although we have been talking of doing a completely different double whammy next year…but more of that later. We’d got cold in the morning as it got down to 13 degrees. We both had to put another layer on and the winter gloves came out again. It’s deceptive as you don’t realise how high it all is. Avila is 1,132 m above sea level. No wonder it was nippy in the evening. At it’s peak Ben Nevis is 1345m above sea level and I wouldn’t be going there in the evening with just a sweat top on. Segovia is 1,005 m above sea level and Reinosa a mere 851m. Still chilly in the evening though. After the surprisingly good tapas at the service area cafe we continued northward. After a period of staring at the horizon while calculating kilometres to miles boredom got the better of me and we peeled orrff into a village to fuel up. Away from the pumps I consulted the far easier to use iPhone maps and it turned out we were on the N611 which was the original road that now winds alongside and underneath the dull carriageway. ‘Perfic. We’ll try that’. In one short section we descended into a ravine and it got really good. The whoops of joy were short lived even though the only traffic on the road was on oncoming R1 and a couple of cruisers. Boredom turned into fatigue and I began to feel sleepy. Not the best thing at 120kph. So the Bar Restaurant at Alar del Rey was a welcome oasis. Once again there was much interest in the bikes and questions about how far we’d come, where we were from. Could they take photos? ‘Si, no hay problema’. When we sat down in the shade the man from Madrid struck up a conversation from the next table. Who, what, where are you from and why here? Because apparently they served the best Crockets in ‘the whole ofa Spain’. Clearly he’d sampled a few and I had no doubt he was somewhere near the truth but Crockets are not my favourite at all. I find them deep fried dullness but maybe I haven’t had the right ones? He kindly offered me one but having not long eaten and endured enough dull for one day I had to explain and politely refuse. I made a note by taking a photo so I could trace it’s location and if I ever make the mistake of coming down this route again I should try this restaurant…and get someone else to drive because it won’t be on a bike. For our last night we are staying in what can only be described as ‘Defectuoso Torres’. ‘The Shadow’ chose it. ‘He know naathing’ but how could he, never having been here before. It is half the price of anything in Santander and it gives us one last chance for a good old blast tomorrow. The village or town is good and far bigger than we’d realised. When we got here there was nobody to be seen. We’d gone through the unlocked main door and stepped back in time. Spookily every now and then the lift door would glide open and disappointingly nobody but a ghost would appear. I had to phone a number and get them to come and check us in. Not the easiest thing with my limited Spanglish. To be fair the double beds are far enough away from each other for Uncle Baz not to hear me snoring and it’s perfectly ok but I can’t help but feel I’m going to bump into the Major, although I wouldn’t mind bumping into Polly. At least the hotel did a fine job of illuminating our bikes in the courtyard. Full sunshine all over the Country.
We’re loaded and lashed down in Santander. The 4 wheeled folk are still slowly loading. I fear it’ll be the opposite on the way back because the group of bikes I could see are all at the stern behind som container trailers with no tractor units.
Smoke on the Water. I realised not only had I been at Fawlty Towers but I was there with Basil, no less. So I took to addressing him in the way Sybil would, just for fun. Fortunately we’d been allocated room 102 as opposed to next door. That would have topped it off. We made our escape and headed cross country because we had time. It was only about 20Km but it took us alongside a beautiful lake. Although we weren’t particularly early the sun was still waking up. We floated over the crest of a hill and I could see cloud down in the valley below. I wondered if we’d descend into a sea of fog, blowing the schedule but as we approached it revealed a fantastic scene of cattle and horses grazing by the lake shore with the cloud seemingly floating on the water. It was lit from behind which made it look like smoke on the water. I had to stop and take photos and I wish I’d taken more. A coach load of people had also stopped to admire the view as it was one of nature’s rare treats. We carried on and hit the road which led us to Santander. Climbing to the peak I calculated and mentally crossed my fingers that we’d have enough fuel to reach the next gas station. I’d learnt to deal with the the Shat Nav turning itself on and off when it lost and remade power connection. I charged it at night and only used it when absolutely needed. Therefore it didn’t need to be powered by the bike. It is what the micro USB connector was designed for and I’ll have to plumb in the correct connection, likw I have on the Multistrada. Thus eliminating the problem. Hands up, user error! Although it has worked in previous years. The Shat Nav however was to deal us one last blow and route us out of Reinosa via some tiny potholed lane and not past the filling station. Thus putting us into a predicament on the way to the ferry. Bummer! Exactly what I could have done without. Most of it turned out to be downhill so we easily made the next reputable Repsol station and treated it to the last top up of 98Ron. Pictures later when we reach Portsmouth and a decent signal. A very patient Baz and the back end of a bus. He’s on the left. On the way down I’d flipped past a small white van. He was obviously a local who, to be fair, was moving along pretty well anyway. I could loose him when we were out of the villages but he wasn’t for slowing to the speed limit in the villages as I was. He kept coming all to close and filling my make up mirror. Eventually I pulled over into a turning praying not to pick up a puncture from the roadside detritus. That would have completely trashed the schedule and put us in a really bad position. The previous days boredom had certainly begun to square off ‘The Shadow’s’ back tyre and mine isn’t much better. Time for some new M9’s when we get back. All was well, the paranoia subsided and we had time for one last Cafe con leche before heading for the port. There’s a new temporary road layout at the port. I decided to trust the signage as opposed to the Shat Nav and it led us on a merry dance past the port and then back again but we got there. It’s obviously work in progress. Baz decided it was a good idea to drop his room entry card at passport control. Fortunately the next biker picked it up, brought it on board and returned it to an unfazed Basil. Personally I’d have preferred it if the blonde Polish girl on a bike had picked it up. Given that Dulcinea is half Polish I do admit to have a thing for Polish girls. Perhaps it’s just as well we took the less entertaining option. Not that it was an option anyway. Too fucking old!
