Big Bird Bike Travels

Apparently it’s where the rich and famous go, and the odd criminal, I’m not quite sure which category Gav fits into, possibly famous, just within the blog?

My decision to come to the Costa del Sol was driven by the name, it’s supposed to be the place for the best weather and my body needs some sun on it. Also I chose this particular criminal hideaway due to Gav staying here and I thought it would be a good opportunity for us to catch up. Catching up being an appropriate term as he ‘frog marched’ me the 4.5 mile walk from PB to Marbella. To be fair on him we did go at a pace which was suitable for me, slowly.

The Porsche blends in well in such surroundings, albeit mine is at the very cheap end of the spectrum. Ferrari, Maserati, Bentley, Lamborghini etc were fairly commonplace, so my Boxster was more akin to a Ford Focus in Carlisle.

To be honest Puerto Banus was a bit too flash/upmarket/up itself/out of my budget (choose whichever you think I mean) for my liking, so I decided on Estepona as my next base just 15 miles down the coast, but not before Gav and I had eaten out together a couple of times and caught up with each others’ lives.

Tuesday morning I was pleased to leave the apartment in PB and as I couldn’t access the accommodation in Estepona until early afternoon Gav’s suggestion of the A-397 to Ronda would fit nicely into my day. I don’t think I’ve ever before looked forward so much to going for a drive in a car, and it certainly didn’t disappoint. It’s one of those roads which could definitely bite you on the bum if you weren’t careful. The prominence of warning signs for speed detection by drone and the motorcycle accidents came as no surprise on such a wide twisty road. I stopped for morning coffee break at the bikers’ cafe, but on this weekday I was the only tear-arse in there.

I got a lot of enjoyment from the more sporting drive offered by the paddle shifters (as opposed to the usual auto mode), but after a shortish period of limited thrashing I decided that it would be better for my health and bank account to refrain from such reckless acts.

After Ronda I headed for an old favourite of mine, the sugar cube village of Casares where vultures dare, I love watching them soaring on the thermals above the village and they didn’t seem to be distracted by the sun glinting off my bald head.

Third time lucky

After two not so great stopovers I struck gold in Estepona, it only took a couple of minutes for me to decide to extend my stay from 3 to 8 nights in this lovely apartment, so I will commence my journey north from here on 20th.

My escape from the Cadiz prison cell went according to plan so I headed south for one hour to the scene of The Battle of Trafalgar, well not exactly the scene, but as close as a landlubber can get. Unsurprisingly the Spanish have made no tourist attraction of this momentous defeat to the British Royal Navy back in 1805 and advanced signage is conspicuous by its absence, but Google maps doesn’t harbour such grudges so it guided me easily to Cape Trafalgar. The only battles taking place now are that of the surf boarders with the waves, along this stretch of the coastline it seems to be one of the ‘go to’ places for the sport.

I’d initially driven past the €3 car park assuming it was a tourist rip off trap, not that €3 for as long as you want is much of a rip off. But as I drove down the narrow road, which quickly changed into something more suited to a 4×4 than a low slung sports car with tyre profiles the thickness of rubber bands, I found that there were in fact no other places to park. I returned to the excellent value car park where the attendants gave the Boxster pole position next to their hut, and and were complimentary towards my choice of chariot.

There are a few stalls (lining the sandy lane leading to the barriered off road to the lighthouse), where the merchandise on offer mainly comprised of home made bead and leather wrist bracelets. The two cafes on the same road were very inviting and the one I chose was particularly characterful. The hand written sign prohibiting drug use added to the air of authenticity that this was in fact a genuine surfers’ hot spot, not that I’m judging or anything.

The area had an ambience of friendliness about it with most people being considerably younger than me and smiling, probably due to the effect of the drugs, the dreadlocks and campervans complete the picture of the place.

With the roof down, as it had been for all the trip, the drive across to Puerto Banus was very pleasant, By the time I hit the dreaded A7 near Gibraltar temperatures were hitting 25c, and consideration had to be given to the impact of the sun on my slightly receding hairline. As usual, the entry to the A7 commenced Wacky Races, but I was not taking part and just enjoyed life in the ‘slow lane’.

I was going to book some accommodation on the Costa del Sol for about eleven nights, but after my experience of the cell in Cadiz I decided to air on the side of caution and just book 3 in Puerto Banus, it turned out to be a good move. Suffice to say the apartment failed to meet my expectations, maybe in my old age my expectations are unrealistically high, but I will stick with the standards I expect and refrain from turning into a grumpy old man.

Next entry: More from Puerto Banus

Apart from the occasional passenger from a cruise ship, at this time of year the sight of a Brit in T shirt and shorts is quite a rarity in Cadiz, most people are dressed as if it’s winter!

Although the place is a regular port of call for the cruise ships, Cadiz is very much for the Spanish and I certainly am the odd one out, in more than dress code. 

I suppose it was only to be expected that booking a hotel in the historical centre for what seemed to be a ‘competitive’ rate was bound to come with some compromises. The five storey town house has a small roof terrace and cafe (only open 4-10pm) but my room is a little depressing and hence I may well depart a day early. It’s clean with standard facilities, but small with no natural light, a sort of very large cupboard with the ambience of a posh prison cell. I’m maybe over egging the pud a little and being a tad harsh, but suffice to say it’s not really my cup of tea.

Friday morning I tried to find some breakfast, one might think that by 9am the cafes would be open, but it seems that despite the town being on Central European Time, the people are actually operating on GMT! I managed to find a little cafe not far from the hotel where the owner took pity on this unusual looking character meandering around the narrow streets. It seemed that he opened up especially for me, although I had noticed he was about 45 minutes behind his advertised opening time but hey, this is Spain so I suppose mañana is the rule of thumb. I took the easy option and plumped for the special offer of fresh orange juice, a coffee and a toasted ham roll for €5.50, and not long after consumption yet again regretted the choice, I really need to stop eating their bread! But I managed a four mile touristy walk around the town without the need to divert to the nearest servicos, so I’ll mark that down as a result.

Just for good measure I knocked out a 5 miler in the afternoon sunshine so now have a warm head and tired legs. Tomorrow I will drive!

But for now a quick video as a thank you, as I can’t make the coffee morning in Newcastle for all those who have had the same cancer as me.

Paul and Marissa are two friends Rachel and I met on one of our early motorhome trips, they’re still doing the Europe motorhoming thing and Portugal is a favourite of theirs. We knew that we would all be in Alvor at the same time so planned to meet up on Sunday. We unexpectedly bumped into them on the Saturday and ended up sharing a couple of bottles (or more) before our planned meet up the next day, when we shared a couple of bottles (or more).

Despite the hair starting to grow back, the top of my head seems to be lagging behind a little, so for safety’s sake, and with Sarah’s words ringing in my ears, I broke out the factor 50 at the weekend. The next couple of days are due to be cloudy with a bit of rain but it’s still pleasantly warm, by comparison to home!

The car is doing a good job of replacing the motorbike, so far I have had no longing to be on two wheels.

The fact that the hotel seemed to have a large stock of umbrellas for guest use tended to indicate that it maybe rains here more than in the Borrowdale Valley!

For the last five minutes of our six hour journey we had the pleasure of not having the windscreen wipers on. Up until then the rain had varied from just heavy to coming down like stair rods…….. for 360 miles! It could’ve been worse though, we could have been on our bikes, like a few of the other hardy souls who were our fellow ferry passengers. On the plus side it did manage to reach 18c so at least the rain was warm, not that the Boxster roof allowed any to pass, a good test for it.

Our night is in Cáceres, a place Rachel and I have stayed a couple of times in the motorhome, is a regular stop off for such types, of which there were many on the ferry heading for the winter sun.

After chillin’ in the hotel for a couple of hours we decided to head to the historical centre just a couple of hundred yards away, however the weather had other ideas! We thought we’d be in lockdown in the hotel bar, there could be worse places I suppose, but after a drink and borrowed brollies from reception we ventured out into the rain. Even at 7pm it was warm rain and didn’t end up being as torrential as earlier.

Tomorrow is looking brighter 🤞🏼

Photos are taking so long to upload that you’ll have to wait for the Cáceres ones.

During the lull, between being discharged from hospital in early July and the re-commencement of chemotherapy in the middle of August, I contracted the travel bug. You may be familiar with the symptoms, a sudden urge to search the internet on websites such as Booking.com, Holiday Weather, Airbnb and Brittany Ferries to name but a few. A family Christmas in St Malo, France was a good enough reason for me to head to Spain and Portugal for the preceding month, so in an instant I’d booked my BMW motorcycle and me on the ferry from Portsmouth to Santander, it gave me a positive target to aim for.

The second batch of chemotherapy started to tire me, and the novelty of all this treatment was starting to wear a bit thin, although the side effects weren’t as severe as the first batch, they lasted much longer and I felt a bit battle weary. The upshot was that the prospect of big mileage on a motorbike was going to be a tad challenging, cue my birthday, which coincided with the end of my chemo at the end of September. Well, it had been a tough year so I ended up treating myself to a car which could make for an interesting alternative to the bike for the forthcoming Grand Tour.

It wasn’t long before I decided that the car would be the better option, a decision which was welcomed by my surgeon and specialist nurse.

The first week or so I will be accompanied by my mate Andy D, not to be confused with Andy M, the latter who has been closest to me throughout not just this year’s trials, but many previous ones.

Andy D is a fellow biker and we worked together when he was a young lad back in the 80’s, he moved onto much greater things within the job whilst I continued to swim around at the bottom of the fish bowl. We rekindled the friendship a few years ago and have done a couple of small UK bike trips together since. After a week of putting up with my company he will return home from Faro airport and I will go wherever the mood takes me.

The late evening of Tuesday 28th we boarded the ferry at Portsmouth and had time for a few drinks in the bar before retiring to the cabin. Through the night and following day the crossing was like a millpond, I’ve actually swam in choppier waters. We saw the obligatory pod of dolphins, albeit tiddlers by the usual standard, and generally spent the daylight hours just chewing the fat about all kinds of stuff.

I’m using the minuscule of dodgy internet connection to post this at about 8pm GMT. At 8am local time tomorrow we should arrive at Santander for the 400 mile drive to Caceres, updates to follow….

Time flies when you’re having fun.

It only seems like yesterday that I was told I had cancer, and yet here I am eleven months on, supposedly cancer free. I wouldn’t say that it’s been fun, but it’s certainly flown by, I only hope the rest of my life slows down a bit, I want to enjoy this time!

When I was initially told of my cancer I looked at the year ahead. It was like looking up towards a dark wooded fell, I couldn’t see very far ahead due to it being such a dense forest. The shadows seemed to hide all kinds of evil and uncertainty. I set foot on the climb, only looking at the ground a few feet ahead, occasionally slipping, stumbling and colliding painfully with protruding rocks. It was a long, tough climb with everything seeming to conspire against my progress. I struggled up the steep slopes, the dark gnarly branches of the tightly packed trees appearing to reach out and scratch me as I stumbled across the slippery surface. My arms and torso sore with scratches, my whole body drained from the effort of the steepness of the hill, but my mind staying positive that the next step was all I needed to do.

After slogging my way up the arduous path I was eventually greeted with a glimpse of brightness shining through the branches some distance ahead. It gave me hope that all would be well. As I cleared the last of the trees I saw the blue sky opening out ahead of me and the sun shining, all was looking good and that’s where I stand now. Clear of the darkness and peril behind me, I look back down the fell thoughtfully and feel a sense of achievement to have cleared the dark forest. The summit is now in view but I know that there are still a few hidden dangers ahead, if I tread carefully then the future looks better than I once envisaged!

P.S. At times I felt alone, but I never was, this was a team effort ☺️