Sunday – Salamanca to Mérida
True to form I woke to brass monkey weather, a decent layer of frost on the bike seat made me in no rush to hit the (thankfully) dry roads. After a leisurely loading up of Reg, my first stop was down to the local garage to give him his first wash since leaving Carlisle. Once done and refuelled it was now a respectable 3C, but remained pretty much the same for the next 50 miles.
The frosty bike seat seemed to confirm that today I will be leaving Salamanca in -1c, and if the forecasted +17c for my arrival in Mérida (just 170 miles south of here) remains true, it will be reason enough to encourage me to keep heading in that direction!
Yesterday’s 230 mile ride south from Santander to Salamanca was dry but very cold, probably due to the last 200 miles being at over 2,500’. I really felt like I was riding along the roof of northern Spain, although too far east to be in the stunningly beautiful snow covered Picos Mountains, which were clearly in view across to my right. The landscape and big skies’ made me think of the term ‘High Plain’ but even though I may be riding a modern day version of a horse, I don’t really fit the Clint Eastwood film ‘High Plains Drifter’.
I got a good getaway from the ferry port and after a coffee stop about 50 miles into this leg, a fellow Brit motorcyclist rolled up on his Yamaha MT-07. After identifying me as being one of his fellow ferry motorcyclists, my Madrid bound counterpart said he had ridden (along the same road) in hailstones. I looked back north to see the dark clouds, but had stayed ahead in the sunshine, and continued to do so for the rest of the chilly trip.
“Boring isn’t it” says the octogenarian, by way of initiating a conversation with me. “Well if you want to get to Spain with a vehicle it’s either this or drive through France” I replied in a friendly manner. That was enough to allow him to continue with what he really wanted to tell me, which was that in his younger days he sailed around the world in his yacht. I seem to be getting adept at replying to people in such a way that it encourages them to tell me more. A shame I didn’t have this skill as a police officer, it may have come in handy, and prevented me from being labelled as one of the two “most boring bastards in the world”, the other of course being my work partner and buddy Andy M. In our defence the prisoner did say this as we slammed the cell door shut on him.
So back to Captain Pugwash, he seemed a thoroughly decent chap, slightly slimmer than his cartoon namesake, but it took intervention of his wife, presumably returning from the ladies room, to stunt his enthusiasm to tell me his life story. Nevertheless, he still had sufficient time to give me his first hand experience of several countries around the world before she dragged him off to the restaurant, probably muttering in his ear “For goodness sake Arthur, leave the young lad alone”!
I don’t know if he was called Arthur, but he looked like one, or at least how I perceive what an ‘Arthur’ looks like. Who I do know the names of are the ‘Pauls’ and Roger, no not Roger the cabin boy! Any similarity to the Captain Pugwash fable ends here. The Pauls and Roger are fellow bikers, I won’t bore you with the details but suffice to say, all interesting chaps in their own right.
Sitting in a quiet corner of the Commodore Lounge I have time to ponder the trip, and feel better about it. When in England I was starting to question what I was doing, leaving behind family and friends made me question myself. But sitting here I feel more positive, forward thinking, not looking at back. When in Exmouth and Portsmouth I could easily have headed north back into my comfort zone, I was tempted, but now I’m halfway to Spain I’m trying to grasp the nettle, and although it doesn’t hurt at the moment, I suspect it will.
As Andy D and I rode south together down a very wet M5, I was mystified why he would go to all the effort of leaving Carlisle on Tuesday morning to spend two days accompanying me on the English sector of my trip? Most of the riding was on motorways in weather which was typically English, it seemed the lure of visiting The Cotswolds and Exmouth, combined with a few pints out with me, was reason enough to get his bike out of the garage. In any event, it was good to be together for a couple of days even if I questioned it ‘the morning after the night before’!
As the darkness of January hangs over us northern souls like an endless black and purple cloud, we sit in our comfy homes with the lights on and radiators oozing out heat, and we long for brighter and warmer days. The kamikaze hailstones bouncing off the conservatory windows finally convinced me that I needed to search for a comfortable climate to ride the motorbike.
On such a wintery day I surfed YouTube (again) for anything that could give a glimmer of hope that there were still places out there that were not wrapped in cold and darkness.
It will come as no surprise to you that ‘travel’ and ‘motorcycles’ feature highly within my filters on the infamous red and white app, but YouTubers will always struggle to keep me as one of their trusted followers due to my inability to remain interested in anything for long periods.
However, a young motorcycle chap popped up on the channel with a golden nugget of inspiration:
‘Road Trip from England to Tenerife’.
That was all it took to get me fired up, and so the seed was sown.
Continue reading “Intro to Tenerife and Beyond?”It was yet another gloriously warm sunny day as the bronzed skinny 17 year old lad wandered around the immaculately clean streets of the new housing development. The wide roads and low-rise white-washed houses were all fronted by pristine enclosed green gardens, adding to the overall impression that this was more ‘uptown’ rather than ‘downtown’. The owners of such properties were maybe not particularly affluent, but certainly ‘comfortably off’.
The teenager wasn’t on a mission, no errands to run and not going anywhere in particular, he just aimlessly took a random route, to do nothing more than check out the neighbourhood.
As he turned the corner to walk up a slight incline he was suddenly taken aback to see, glistening in the bright sunshine, an immaculate red 750cc Honda motorcycle. He stood transfixed in amazement, gawping at such an iconic and impressive machine. He wondered what it would be like to ride such a huge motorcycle in such a perfect place, and dreamt of a day he might do such a thing. For him this was one of those ‘OMG’ moments. But this was long before the English language had descended into such phrases, a time when three letter abbreviations were not so common and text speak didn’t exist, this was January 1974. The reason for the beautiful weather? It was the Canary Islands.
You will have guessed by now that over the passing 48 years the bronzed, skinny 17 year old has morphed into a white, not so skinny 65 year old, but that long held dream is finally about to be realised.
In four weeks time Reg the Rocket and the old wrinkly, head south again for a leisurely ride to Portsmouth, the 30 hour ferry crossing has us arriving in Santander early on 5th March. We then have three days to bumble along 600 miles of Spain’s finest backroads until we arrive in Huelva. From here we jump aboard again, destination Santa Cruz de Tenerife.
Watch this space………
As there are no grand tours on the horizon, I thought I’d keep the blog ‘ticking over’ with an entry about yesterday’s ride.
A day riding the motorbike seems to ‘kickstart’ my brain, to put into words my appreciation for my life. Maybe it’s my yoga, my meditation, my nirvana? Whatever it is, here is a sample:
Continue reading “Life Fulfilment”As I sit in the frozen wastelands of northern Europe, surrounded by snow, I get frequent reminders of warmer climes.
Carlos, Seville Gav, Estepona Harry, Jean Marie, Caroline and Richard are still in my ‘phonebook’ and report on life across Europe.
I was particularly pleased to get a message this morning from Carlos in Galicia, he has just won his age group in a recent off road motorcycle event! It must have been that extra practice he did when he led me around that dusty track in northwest Spain 😆
Seville Gav is still flitting back and forth between Guildford and the Spanish costas and using his experience to help other would be sun seekers by posting helpful YouTube clips.
Jean Marie is still waiting for the arrival of his new bike, Harry and James still enjoying a more comfortable motorcycling environment, although Caroline and Richard from Amsterdam have been down to the Alps in their campervan 😱 🥶
Back home, I was a little surprised to to find that the editor of the Triumph Owners Motorcycle Club magazine thought that my brief account of the trip was worthy of inclusion in this month’s edition!
I arrived back home in Carlisle at 1210am today (Sunday 26th), just over six weeks and 6,000 miles. I may do a short resumé once the dust has settled.
Thank you for following me! 🤗x
It’s nearly 7pm and I’ve just spent an hour swearing at Eurotunnel, the UK Government, the day two Covid test provider and any other words that turned red on my computer screen! Although the host has a good grasp of English, maybe not so much Anglo Saxon and the place is big enough that she was probably far enough away anyway. The actual Covid test at the French pharmacy (kindly arranged by Amy) was a breeze, or more accurately a sneeze, and I had both a digital and hard copy (that I was negative) within the hour.
I kept reminding myself that it was nobody else’s fault but my own, if I will go away during these times. 🙄
It’s all sorted now so let’s reflect on today……
Continue reading “The Five Empty Chairs”