Ian raised a question that others may have been wondering?
Are you looking forward to heading for home or could you manage to stay travelling?
My reply was ‘Therein lies a story, far too big for FB’, maybe even too big for this blog, but I pondered it as I departed my hotel this morning and rode through the vast dry sierras of southern Spain.
I actually enjoyed the solitude of being the ‘lone ranger’, taking my time to stop and take photos at will, of anything that tickled my fancy.
The day had to be managed, the prospect of the predicted 37 degrees meant one thing for sure, Reg wasn’t turning a wheel today and will remain in the shade anchored to a lamppost, even if he did look a little sad.
Embrace what I do have, not long for what I don’t, easy when I feel strong and focussed, not so easy at other times.
But this morning I feel good and positive despite the rain and I’m looking forward to the prospect of riding across the Sierra Morena to my overnight stop at Tomelloso, en route to Valencia. It’s the first outing for the waterproofs and the waterproof covers for the throw over panniers so we’ll see how they perform.
Continue reading “Sierra definition: A range of mountains with jagged peaks”I want you to be with me on my bike trips, not to just read my trip, but feel my trip. I want to share the feelings I feel because only by you feeling how I feel can you really have any idea what it’s like.
I suppose that’s the skill of the author, and although I have often been described as a bit of an ‘artist’, I’m afraid I’m not yet eloquent nor intelligent enough to really share with you what it’s like to be me, or at least be with me.
That is what I strive to achieve, to give you a feeling of being wherever I might be, either geographically or emotionally.
Continue reading “”I welcomed the sit down after nearly three miles of pounding the beat, taking in Jackie’s recommendation of the ‘thousand stall’ Central Market, she knows how shopping features very highly on my list of favourite pastimes, but it was definitely worth the visit even if I did keep my hands in my pockets.
Sitting in the very busy cafe in the narrow street opposite, my usual ‘eager to get done and crack on’ attitude was surprisingly missing, partly due I think to my throbbing feet. So for a change I didn’t mind waiting the 15 minutes for somebody to do the very intricate and complicated task of making a cafe americano, but to be fair it was surprisingly cheap for being in such a prime location at only €1.50.
There was a disturbing moment when even the staff were alarmed at what appeared to be a live chicken escaping from the market, we all heard this loud squawking noise, but it seems it was some woman laughing out loud at the guy she was with, who was one of those who delighted in making his ‘bird’ laugh as much as possible.
Continue reading “Cafe Culture”It was early doors when I left the hotel in Valencia this morning, well just turned 9am by the time I’d completed the onerous task of lashing all the soft luggage to Reg, but it feels more like BST than Central European Summer Time, although it was 24c.
The ride northeast along the coast to Sagunto was pleasant, The Med just 50 metres to my right in some places, and the still relatively low sunshine casting a long shadow across the lane on my left of a solo motorcyclist on a cruiser style bike, it felt good. Even on a two lane motorway on a Saturday the traffic was light enough to set the cruise control without needing to make many adjustments.
Continue reading “Q: Wake, Kettle or Committee?”Reg and I were fully tanked this morning before we departed, that is our tanks were full as opposed to being ‘tanked up’. My late middle age spread was added to by the most amazing continental breakfast I have ever had!
Sunday
I sit at the dining table of my chambre d’hote, a converted farmhouse with pale blue shutters set amongst fields of corn.
I’m at the head of a ten foot long table, the length of it accentuated by the longitudinal red, white and grey stripes. The ceiling is oak beamed and there’s a huge inglenook fireplace to my left.
Also in the room is an antique wooden corn shelling machine and a saxophone on a stand. The white stone walls are decorated with framed rugby shirts.
The floor is tiled, presumably to stay cool during the summer months and there’s the sound of a clock ticking ever so slowly to my right, I assume a grandfather clock.
Two huge oak wardrobes and a typically French louvred screen complete the room.
At the table are five more chairs, two either side, but more significantly one at the other end, all are empty. I am the only guest.
It’s another one of those ‘moments’ of which there’s been more than I anticipated on this trip.
Continue reading “Bikers eh?”OK so I started with a cough, but don’t be alarmed it’s not Covid, it’s that French blue cheese that started the involuntary reflex action. But once I came to terms with its effects I found it very tasty, washed down with a suitable Sauvignon Blanc as recommended by the lovely lady in the cheese shop.
The accommodation I’m staying in is different, No.13 Rue Rouget de Lisle, in a small village east of Tours, convenient really as Reg is off to Tours tomorrow as he has an appointment at the motorcycle hospital, but more of that later.
Continue reading “Tours, in more ways than one!”Just to put all your minds at rest, Reg and I hit the road again at 12 noon and all is well. It was a tiresome 150 mile ride north with lots of lories to contend with and we didn’t arrive here until nearly 5pm. It’s a tiny village between Rouen and Paris (the red dot on the map photo), and the nearest place for something to eat meant a short ride out in the warm evening sunshine.
A few photos of our day:
