The cafe at Santillana de Campo, 100 miles south of Santander, couldn’t have been better, it ticked every box I needed ticking!
It was only 9.30am, which really did have all the makings of a true time of an hour earlier, and I’d already racked up 70 miles in freezing temperatures.
I knew the ferry departed sometime in the afternoon at an even number, for some reason the number 4 stuck in my mind, but on Tuesday night I thought it best to check. I was right, it was an even number, the number 2, with check in at least an hour before. No problem, allow a good three hours and I’ll be there in plenty of time.
I woke to a stunningly beautiful morning, a cloudless sky and a frosty Reg, as the sun was just beginning to make an appearance the temperature was zero, it felt very much like a winter’s morning. Although the sky was the palest of blues it faded to a thick band of white along the horizon, you know, that band of white that says ‘This is bloody cold’!
When planning the trip I knew that the vast majority of the six weeks I would be away would hopefully be in the twenty degrees, so the bike gear I chose was appropriate for that, which means it wasn’t appropriate for this! It was a compromise I was prepared to make, so knew that I may have a few days of discomfort, and this was going to be one.
I layered up with as many as I could comfortably wear, without feeling and looking like a Michelin Man, and headed off for the first leg of the 170 mile journey to the ferry. It was very cold and quite busy with commuters until north of Palencia, where I could set the cruise control for a slightly illegal 82mph
Dismounting the bike after an hour in temperatures ranging from zero to 5c, my speed making that about -13 to -3, was enough to seize up pretty much everything that would normally move. It was as if all my joints had been set in plaster, a tricky scenario when bringing about 400kgs of bike and luggage to a standstill. Fortunately I managed to get a foot down before Reg and I just crumpled into a heap on the cafe forecourt, and I found a suitable place for Reg to sit in the sun whilst I stripped off in the cafe. Everything that could be decently removed was, even my boots to help thaw out my feet in the very bright and sunny cafe.
I made the most of my break, a Spanish version of a small bacon butty washed down by two of their so called ‘large’ coffees. With both Reg and I suitably refuelled the rest of the ride wasn’t as demanding as I expected.
The snow covered Picos Mountains made a lovely backdrop to the patchwork of lush green grass and orange and brown ploughed fields. As the motorway meandered its way, a la M6 through Tebay gorge but on a much grander scale, between the lower mountains, it confirmed to me that northern Spain really is my favourite part of this country.
Much of this part of Cantabria makes me think of Austria, with the lower snow covered mountains and rolling green foothills and woodland areas. What distinguishes this part of Spain from its alpine cousin is the red pantile roofs of the houses, there is no doubt this is Iberia.
The ride down to the coast felt so easy, in every respect. We seemed to go downhill for about 70 miles, Reg was purring along as the temperature kept creeping up. I was surprised that whilst still at snow level, the temperature gauge was showing 12c, and it continued to climb as we descended. By the time we arrived at the port it was 18c and very comfortable.
There was a group of bikers whom I was directed to park amongst, and we shortly all boarded the ferry before all the other riff-raff, a very good day’s timing!
Apologies for no photos, ship’s wifi is limited!
