A Day of Contrasts

The sight of blue sky and sunny weather beckoned me back down to the coast from the 4 degrees I’d been experiencing just five minutes previously.

The day started with a forecast of showers for the morning, it was actually blue sky and 21 degrees as I finished washing a coating of the Sahara from Reg. Yesterday’s brutal wind had disturbed things quite a bit, including the drier branches of the palm trees, which I frequently witnessed nearly having direct hits on quite a few promenade walking tourists.

But undeterred by the forecast, and to coin a phrase from a hero of mine:

“I have a cunning plan”, and this plan of mine turned out to be about as successful as one of Baldrick’s.

“You see m’lord, as rain usually falls down, then if I get above the clouds it can’t rain on me”.

But I knew I would have to endure a bit of wet weather before I reached the blue sky above, so packed Reg with waterproofs and warmer gloves. I also had another reason for heading out on the bike. I spied a tasty looking road the other day so thought that I would just bag that before the climb to the sun.

Successfully bagged, in what now proved to be waterproof wearing weather, I commenced the climb. It may have been raining, but at 17c it was comfortable rain. We climbed and climbed until the rain made me swear, not the amount, but how much it was stinging my face. I was wearing the open face crash helmet, de rigueur for such an island, but thought the excuse for a beard which I am now sporting may have taken the edge off any needle-like sensation. It wasn’t until I started to see snow at the side of the road that the penny dropped that the ‘hard rain’ my face was being assaulted by was in fact sleet or hail. Soldiering on I passed signs for 1,500 metres (nearly 5,000’ in old money) yet I was quietly confident that by the time I reached the plateau of El Teide, at well over 7,000’, I would be basking in glorious sunny weather. That was until I came to the ‘road closed’ barriers. It seems that the Canarian gritters must’ve been stuck at base camp, and that a sprinkling of snow was enough to close the road. To be fair, there was another 2-3,000’ of climb, so the closure was probably justified even if the young German campervan driver seemed bemused by such drastic measures.

So there was nothing left to do other than a U-turn and enjoy the warmer rain as I lost altitude. By the time I’d returned to the coast, and now 24 degree heat, anything that was wet was drying rapidly. I pulled up in the middle of one of the sprawling seaside towns to de-robe my English winter clothing. This town had a greater air of sophistication about it, definitely a little more upmarket than the Irish pub resort I seemed to be staying in. And it came as no surprise that the language I heard was German! All the tables of the cafe opposite were occupied, and it seemed I became everyone’s favourite person to ‘people watch’. I suppose it’s an unusual sight when all around are wearing appropriate clothes for the climate, and a motorcyclist turns up with steam rising from his bike and clothes. Is he a time traveller? Sort of.

Below is the Relive of the ride, all the photos above are included with a couple of short video sections. I apologise for the music accompanying it, a technical issue at THEIR end! 🙄

Back to the apartment and all that remained was to give Reg his second wash of the day, this time to get all the road dirt off!

Tomorrow it’s a 45 minute ferry to La Gomera.