The shatnav said it would take an hour to get to Guadalupe. We saw 3 cars the whole way and it took 44 minutes. It was fun. I meant to have a look at my rear tyre but forgot when we got here. I woke early and did some route planning and checked out hotels. This one turned out to be a good decision. Hospideria del Real Monasterio. I’m sure it would be a very romantic place for a stop over with the right person. Only problem is, I’m here with Uncle Baz. Doh! and here he is. Not my type.
Todays route to Segovia. It’s not direct but it’s really good. Sweeping roads, fast roads, 2 x twisty mountain sections and various other bits in between. Let’s hope uncle Baz doesn’t leave his back pack anywhere this time.
At the he biker cafe for lunch outside Madrid. Lunch over here usually starts around 2pm, not before. We hit Avila at 2pm on a Friday and it was awful. The location is point C on the map above.
Baz ordered a Burger but decided the top of it was that hard he’s going to use it as a knee slider this afternoon.
I had it in my head that we’d be getting up early and heading for the ferry today but we’re not due until tomorrow. That gives us time to wonder across for lunch and see if the two women are still serving in the restaurant/bar where I stopped five or six years ago.
These were the beauties! I wonder if they remember me, I certainly remember them. How could I forget! In fact it was eight years ago I took those pictures. Let’s hope they’re still there.
This was yesterday, Baz actually had his bag with him this time but since he left his backpack there they’ve put up a monument to him, with the celebrated backpack.
We went to the bar but the two supermodels had moved and now lived in a nearby town. I had a good chat with the locals and we had lunch. When we left everyone waved us off. One of them shouted with a heavy accent, ‘God save the King’! It gave us all a laugh.
This was bad boy Bazzer’s rear tyre. He’d switched to race mode and that must have switched off the traction control. It’s tear not cracks.
The long way down. This was the first day’s ride. Much of it in rain. As mentioned before on the way to Jerez de la Frontera we’d decided to go the long way down, not because of the GS riding luvvies but because we wanted to go into the unknown. There’s always more in life and we wanted to find it. We were glad we did because there were plenty of good roads. In fact most of the roads we tried were good, only rarely did we come across roads with badly broken surfaces. 2nd day to Salamanca. One morning we headed off in the direction of Albuquerque, yes Albuquerque. I had no idea that the name which for some reason had always amused me originated in Spain. It was a really enjoyable road and as I converted kilometres to miles in my head I realised we had 125 miles of it to use up! What! 125 miles, unbelievable! I thought if it’s all like this, it’ll be great. The summer gloves had come out and the Crane’s floated effortlessly in circles on the rising air above us. The temperature rapidly rose to seriously sweaty when static, making us glad we weren’t. The road surface decayed later on but 125 miles of road that wafted left and right, up and down, you don’t need me to tell you that you don’t get that in England. Part way down that road I saw a crow or some kind of medium sized bird feeding on roadkill on in the opposite Lane. As I approached it grew in size. As I got very near it decided the meal wasn’t worth the risk and spread its wings. My God it was not medium sized at all, it’s wing span was at least 2 metres and more. It took up an entire lane with ease and lumbered up directly into my lane and my eye-line. This thing needed clearance from air traffic control. It was a massive bird of prey, an Eagle or a Buzzard and by now all I could focus on was its undercarriage hanging ferociously right in front of me. Whereupon it decided to turn and go back towards to opposite lane. As it turned we were momentarily headed in the same direction but at very different speeds. With it’s fat legs and vicious looking talons clawing like they were going to pluck me of my bike. I ducked and went right underneath and it was gone, natural history lesson over. ‘Bloodeyyy hell that was close’! Says Baz laughingly over the headset. ‘Copy thaaaat’! And on we went. I wondered how my helmet would have dealt with a blow like that and whether I would have still been on the bike. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to damage such a beautiful bird. If I’d been on a sit up and beg bike, it would have been messy. In fact, very messy. If I’d been on a GS I’m sure I’d have hit it, screen first then my face. A perfectly good reason not to ride a barn door. We stopped for a coffee in Albuquerque and when we were about to leave a local heard the engines and virtually sprinted across the road to talk to us. He too was a Ducatisti, loved the bikes and hoped he’d see us at the track in Jerez. Everywhere we went we’d see peoples eyes light up and they’d smile giving us that sign of approval by putting their thumb and index finger together making a circle with the remaining three fingers pointing upwards. It wasn’t unusual to come out of a gasolinaria and report the cashier had said; ‘Beautiful bikes’. The nearer we got to Jerez the more GS’s we saw, complete with barn door aerodynamics and mahousive ugly metal boxes with filled unnecessary heavy clutter. One guy we spoke to had come from relatively close to the track, complete with boxes. Most bikes you see munching up the kilometres are GS’s. In fact, come to think of it I’m not sure I’ve seen another Panigale fitted out for touring on this entire trip. Except of course for Uncle Basil’s. More maps later.
The rain in Spain falls mainly on the Picos. Sure enough when we got back to the Picos Mountains the heavens opened. We’d seen it coming and stopped to gear up. We’d seen a Spanish guy on a sports Suzuki with his girlfriend (or wife) on the back. We could tell from the way he was making progress he was obviously a local so he was worth following and so was his girlfriend in her new leathers. I don’t know what his rear tyre was but in the dry I swear I could see him leaving a black line of rubber and it wasn’t because of the weight on the pillion. We could see the rain coming. It looked far worse than this in reality. We went over the high point and as we came down so did the rain. I was surprised at the speed Señor Suzuki was making in the rain with his pillion but she obviously had faith in him. When the heavens really opened he pulled up into a bus shelter. There was no room for us but as we were geared up we carried on with a wave. Then it came down so hard it would have floated Noah’s boat. We pulled in and sheltered for five or ten minutes under the canopy of a gas station. We didn’t top up because we still had half a tank and it was a brand I didn’t know. I’ve had trouble with lesser known brands in Spain before so now I stick to the majors. The reputable Repsol, Shell, Bp etc. unless it’s a distress purchase and this wasn’t, so we didn’t. Almost immediately after restarting we flipped onto the motorway and headed to a great hotel in a lovely location right on the beach. Basil had found it on Booking.com. We cruised down there past Santander taking in the strange sight of an abandoned car transport trailer abandoned on the hard shoulder. By the look of it one of the vans at the rear of said transporter had decided to burst into flames while on the trailer. Taking almost all the other vehicles with it. Only a couple of vehicles at the front had survived and the cab was gone! How does that happen? Unsurprisingly it was still there next day when we went back to catch the ferry. The hotel was good, the beach was beautiful and we went out in the evening walking 10 minutes to a lively local bar and watched the Coppa del Rey on the Tv with the noisy locals. It was just an enjoyable environment to be in and we had Tapa and Pimientos de Pedron to round off the trip. I had a couple of glasses of red wine and Baz stuck his face into a Spanish measure of Jack Daniel’s and Sprite. Which according to the barman back in Guadalupe is called a Jack and Danny. Knowing a bit of Cockney rhyming slang I can’t help but fall about laughing every time he orders it. On our routes there were many flip flops, left right left and each and every time I was grateful to be on a light bike. I love sticking my shoulder into a bend and testing the G-force. From the very first roundabout Baz said he could see I was enjoying myself because I was. It doesn’t have to be break-neck speeds, just good progress at a level that isn’t going to exhaust you too quickly. Now we’ll face the most dangerous part of the trip, England. They have a new screen on the ship showing the location and the location of all the other Brittany Ferries ships. The sister ship was going into Santander early this morning. We were off the coast of Brittany. Now in the channel. More pics and maps later. Very slow loading on board.
On the way back, going over the mountains on the N502 after you’ve done the climb and all the hairpins, there’s a stopping place complete with fresh water spring. Nice tasting water, Baz topped up his water bottle.
The hotel on the last night was right on the beach, Baz had found it and a very nice location it was too. Corridor of the hotel done like a ship. Bikes locked up for the night. This was about 10 paces from the hotel.
