Finished
I'm home. 17 days and over 3000 miles later, the bike and I got back
late last night. The bags are unpacked, the bike has been cleaned,
her oil cap is properly on again, and I have one more day to get back
into gear before I go back to work to pay for it all.
The final day dawned clear enough, and we loaded up and woke the
neighbours all one mile from the hotel to the ferry port. We sat in
the queue for a while, watching the trucks inch through customs. We
met a triumph rider from the Wirral (and boy, was he surprised I knew
where that was) and a Scottish couple on a road king, also heading
home from Cascais.
We chatted a bit, as bikers do, and I begged some insulation tape of
the Harley rider.
My oil cap is temperamental. If you can get it off without breaking
it, you can check the oil, which I had to on Thursday. But to get it
back in, flush with the tank as per a pretty but wholly impractical
piece of design, is another knack altogether. One I lack. Which is why
I seldom check my oil. So since oil-light-gate; it had been 45 degrees
off flush, and I popped it out every time my leg bumped it taking the
bike off the stand. Tape was required before the bike got tied down on
board, and in the absence of gaffer, insulation would do. Hell, I'd
have used sellotape at that point.
The crossing was uneventful if choppy and Guernsey isn't where I
thought it was.
I passed some of the time practicing Kung Fu forms in preparation for
grading, much to the amusement of the Latvian goldwing club. I note
that they confined their pointing and laughing to one deck below and
well out of reach. Considering the size of these guys, I find that
very funny.
We disembarked in the dry and risked it without waterproofs. It may
not have been raining, but clearly it had, and the spray from the road
soaked us from the knees down long before guildford.
I made it home, having dropped off the bike and battled the tube just
in time to collapse in that position technically known as a heap on my
nice, comfortable bed.
Sent from my iPhone
Saturday 23 June 2012
Thursday 21 June 2012
Well Oiled
We gave ourselves an easier day, and left Harry and Route 66 around 10, planning to peage it pretty much all the way to Rennes. So far so good. It started raining around Le Mans, where we hurriedly stopped for lunch. We clambered into our raingear and headed back into the fray. 16 miles later, amid bucketing rain and stormy winds (very violent vents. Again), my oil light came on, overtaking a truck at 120 kph. Panic stations.
I pulled over, sweating and swearing, and explained to Lynn in a rather small voice that my oil light was on. I limped the 30km to the next services with petrol, worrying like mad, and cursing the fact France seems to believe in services that aren't. They have frequent rest areas, which are signposted like services, but only have toilets and picnic tables.
The services sold oil, but not the right type. I called the recovery service who told me to call the dealer. The dealer told me, after a false start with the parts department, which of the available oils would be the least problematic. They also told me it might be oil pressure rather than amount. I checked my oil. It was fine. I called the dealer back, they said don't ride if the lights on (this is 114km from Rennes and the nearest dealer). I called recovery. They put me through to the international office once they had established, after 10 minutes of hold music, that I wasn't in the UK. I had said this first thing, but never mind. International involved another 10 minutes of holding, 5 minutes of completely arbitrary recorded messages and options, and finally, eventually, just when I thought I was getting somewhere, a message saying all English speaking agents were busy, pick another language or leave a message and they'll get back to me in 24 hours. Hm. In the meantime I what? Drink espresso and twiddlemy thumbs? I called my mechanic.
He listened to my sob story and said: it's probably water shorting out the light cable. Ride to the next services, and if the engine sounds normal and happy, ignore the light.
I followed the instructions and behold! The light stopped flickering and the bike purred as usual.
I am changing recovery services.
We made St Malo after about 40 minutes looping through villages looking for petrol, found the hotel and parked up. Or I did. Lynn hit a bad angle and a loose brick simultaneously and had to either slip several discs or drop the bike. At least I could help pick up the bike.
St Malo is a very pretty little port, and we wandered around for ages until we found a menu we could compromise on. In English, too, which is convenient.
Tomorrow it all ends. Here's hoping that includes the rain.
Miles to go before I Sleep
Miles to go before I Sleep
I would suggest, if you're thinking of going to Spain, to visit
Huesca. Stay at the sancho abarca (and possibly explain to the chef
that fish are not vegetables). Then do as we did and look st the
satellite, which suggested we cross the Pyrenees further south to
avoid the thunderstorms predicted.
We headed for barbastro, then for benabarre on the n132 & over the
border on n230. I recommend both roads. They are stunning; the
twisties, the scenery, the cute little villages dotted along them. The
lack of trucks because they're too heavy and there are motorway
options. The cold tunnels often cut into the bare rock.
At one viewpoint, we pulled over for a photo op and ran into the
dunedin chapter, on their way home as well.
We paused for lunch on the border, in a tiny town that had an
ingenious tapas bar where everything was on skewers, buffet style, and
at the end, they count your empty skewers. One way to make you clear
your table. We crossed the border without noticing until i saw a sign
saying Chassee Deformee, which i love as a phrase for bad roads.
We were doing really well for time when we got to Montrejeau just
before the peage. So we decided to take free roads instead. Silly
cheapskate decision - must be those Scots we bumped into rubbing off
on me.
Don't get me wrong: the N21 isn't a bad road. In fact, it would be
quite nice to ride if we weren't worried about the time, because we'd
booked into a hotel just beyond Limoges.
Once you're on the N21, it goes away from the motorway, so it becomes
pointless to try and get back to the peage when you realize how long
this is now taking. My excuse if stopped? Sorry, officer, I must have
been reading the wrong dial on my speedo... Luckily, we didn't hit
cameras or cops. We saw some bike police, going the otherway, notably
in shirt-sleeves with no hi-vis in sight. Clearly not into that idea,
should it actually become compulsory in France.
Eventually, 550 odd miles later, we finally made it to Route 66 where
we were inserting the bikes into the garage when Harry came to meet
us, complete with kilt as predicted. He bought us a drink in his bar,
and then we had dinner. It was my Best meal on trip, even if Chef sam
was more offended by my dietary restrictions than our lateness.
Seriously: stay here if you're between Poitiers and Limoges. And like
bikes.
Sent from my iPhone
I would suggest, if you're thinking of going to Spain, to visit
Huesca. Stay at the sancho abarca (and possibly explain to the chef
that fish are not vegetables). Then do as we did and look st the
satellite, which suggested we cross the Pyrenees further south to
avoid the thunderstorms predicted.
We headed for barbastro, then for benabarre on the n132 & over the
border on n230. I recommend both roads. They are stunning; the
twisties, the scenery, the cute little villages dotted along them. The
lack of trucks because they're too heavy and there are motorway
options. The cold tunnels often cut into the bare rock.
At one viewpoint, we pulled over for a photo op and ran into the
dunedin chapter, on their way home as well.
We paused for lunch on the border, in a tiny town that had an
ingenious tapas bar where everything was on skewers, buffet style, and
at the end, they count your empty skewers. One way to make you clear
your table. We crossed the border without noticing until i saw a sign
saying Chassee Deformee, which i love as a phrase for bad roads.
We were doing really well for time when we got to Montrejeau just
before the peage. So we decided to take free roads instead. Silly
cheapskate decision - must be those Scots we bumped into rubbing off
on me.
Don't get me wrong: the N21 isn't a bad road. In fact, it would be
quite nice to ride if we weren't worried about the time, because we'd
booked into a hotel just beyond Limoges.
Once you're on the N21, it goes away from the motorway, so it becomes
pointless to try and get back to the peage when you realize how long
this is now taking. My excuse if stopped? Sorry, officer, I must have
been reading the wrong dial on my speedo... Luckily, we didn't hit
cameras or cops. We saw some bike police, going the otherway, notably
in shirt-sleeves with no hi-vis in sight. Clearly not into that idea,
should it actually become compulsory in France.
Eventually, 550 odd miles later, we finally made it to Route 66 where
we were inserting the bikes into the garage when Harry came to meet
us, complete with kilt as predicted. He bought us a drink in his bar,
and then we had dinner. It was my Best meal on trip, even if Chef sam
was more offended by my dietary restrictions than our lateness.
Seriously: stay here if you're between Poitiers and Limoges. And like
bikes.
Sent from my iPhone
Wednesday 20 June 2012
Tuesday 19 June 2012
Lovely road, shame about the surface...
A marathon run today. For some reason, travelling by road in the UK is very slow, France is nearly as bad, but Spain is quick. Portugal is an impossible combination of France and Spain.
This morning saw me wake up in Salamanca and finish up in Huesca near the pyrenees on the east of Spain. That's 530km, give or take because that's as the pilgrim walks (we probably rode further but the driving directions take a completely different route). Tomorrow is about the same distance, but hopefully mainly on faster roads. Although, we will be in France...
Today we decided to trust the satnav. That is, Lynn decided to trust the satnav and I decided to keep my mouth shut. Lynn doesn't trust her own reading of the satnav. After the third stop in 50km, I suggested she switch comms channels in orde to hear the satnav before it's too late to indicate and I have to cut up artics to make the turn. This probably saved several years of my hearing as I no longer had her wind noise to contend with. I left my earplugs in cascais.
We ended up on the na-125 through a national park. It's a lovely road, with very pretty scenery. (Almost all of Spain has pretty scenery. This was just a bit wilder). But the surface was increasingly bad, and it didn't help that we were chasing rain. The roads were wet and slippy, but at least our mudguards are cleaner now.
We passed a trio of BMW riders, who waved, but I'll bet they were thinking we had to be lost, harleys would never choose that road. And women, too! Insert every cliche you wish. We did choose that road - we just didn't know what condition it was in.
And if we had? Well, it took us 30 minutes of riding up and down steep cobbles that looked worryingly pedestrian to get out of Tudela, which is a town you could spit across. Satnav says? Just pass me the map already!
Although I will say it has fantastic taste in hotels and tends to pick 4-star ones with parking.
Lynn has just told me the weather forecast is thunderstorms. That could be fun. Not.
Monday 18 June 2012
Lovely road, didn't mean to
So it's over, finito and for that, Cascais heaves a sigh of relief and puts its earplugs away, I'm sure.
We got up, loaded, fueled & outta there. That was the plan. Lisbon's Monday rush hour? Not for the faint-hearted. We got lost, spent ages panicking because we both thought we were looking for the IP2, a fast road with tolls I cannot pay (love it) without realizing it was 6 steps later.
The IP2 is on a computer system that talks to a piece of kit in your vehicle, then charges you later. But you can't hire the piece of kit, nor can you fit one in a foreign vehicle. Love political logic.
Eventually, I saw a sign for Espanha. This wasn't what the satnav had planned, so it sulked by taking us all the way up the N18. This is a lovely curvy road through hills and valleys and sleepy villages. But it's in Portugal, not Spain and it's slow. Especially when you're stuck behind a nervous artic who keeps braking sharply in the bends. The road bends. Get used to it and gear the hell down.
Around 3:30, we were waved into Spain. We should have been ther for lunch. And we promptly lost an hour by going onto Madrid time. Still, too many people had told us Salamanca was pretty (gorgeous) so we pushed on.
I'd got chatting to a couple on a road-king at a fuel stop near Fundao and they told us about a hotel they knew in Salamanca. Just as well, because we didn't get in till 6:30, which is late for hotel hunting and this one has some very secure parking for our poor, abused, filthy bikes. Backroads may be fun and pretty, but they're also full of mud and sand and insects. All with a magnetic attraction to bikes.
Tomorrow we attempt to get to the Pyrenees. Assuming we can tail behind the Basque chapter I saw earlier on the E-80...
Sunday 17 June 2012
National Shame
National Shame
We went for a chilled out farewell dinner at the Palm and of course
got caught in the nightly football frenzy. Holland was playing
Portugal and Germany was playing Denmark. And as I sat amid a sea of
orange, green and red, I felt an overwhelming sense of national shame
- because SA has a helluva lot to answer for, exporting that evil
tactic of hearing aid companies, the vuvuzela. (The kids kicking and
pushing and pulling my chair in their excitement didn't help either).
Sent from my iPhone
We went for a chilled out farewell dinner at the Palm and of course
got caught in the nightly football frenzy. Holland was playing
Portugal and Germany was playing Denmark. And as I sat amid a sea of
orange, green and red, I felt an overwhelming sense of national shame
- because SA has a helluva lot to answer for, exporting that evil
tactic of hearing aid companies, the vuvuzela. (The kids kicking and
pushing and pulling my chair in their excitement didn't help either).
Sent from my iPhone
It's a Wrap
It's a Wrap
The weather's been amazing, the bands and stalks have mostly been
good. The police and the locals have been very understanding and
tolerant of the thunder of about 17000 Harley engines, loud music and
all night parties. I haven't got to bed before the small hours once
this weekend and i haven't wanted to.We won the chapter award, thanks
largely to all 3 custom bikes winning in the custom show even though
all of them were damaged on the ride down. Just goes to show, designer
damage doesn't just apply to jeans.
Also did a mini-chapter ride to Sintra and back, this tine without
getting lost or being told we couldn't park. I do like twisties when
I'm not trying to navigate.
But it's all over bar the shipping and I have one last day to soak up
some vitamin D and watch all the pretty bikes load up and leave before
my own 4 day marathon back to St Malo for Friday's ferry.
Sent from my iPhone
The weather's been amazing, the bands and stalks have mostly been
good. The police and the locals have been very understanding and
tolerant of the thunder of about 17000 Harley engines, loud music and
all night parties. I haven't got to bed before the small hours once
this weekend and i haven't wanted to.We won the chapter award, thanks
largely to all 3 custom bikes winning in the custom show even though
all of them were damaged on the ride down. Just goes to show, designer
damage doesn't just apply to jeans.
Also did a mini-chapter ride to Sintra and back, this tine without
getting lost or being told we couldn't park. I do like twisties when
I'm not trying to navigate.
But it's all over bar the shipping and I have one last day to soak up
some vitamin D and watch all the pretty bikes load up and leave before
my own 4 day marathon back to St Malo for Friday's ferry.
Sent from my iPhone
Moonlighting
Moonlighting
One of the things I like about Portugal is the 24 hour-ness of it. We
went, of course, to our chapter party Friday night and there was, of
course, nothing I could eat. 4 hours and a few mojitos later, I was
starving so we wandered off to our new favourite restaurant, which was
decidedly still serving. We love the place largely because the maitre
d missed his calling and should have been a comedian. (Actually, this
extends to most of the staff. I swear if they had the time, they'd
make a fortune as an ensemble act).
Bruno is brilliant at getting new customers smiling and seated. And
then, despite the excess of tourists/bikers in town, remembers us.
We've eaten here 4 times in 3 days and the comedy has yet to get
stale. I'm a bit bored of omelette but hey. The salad menu's amazing.
So if ever you're in Cascais, look for Bruno at The Palm Tree behind
the Baia hotel.
Sent from my iPhone
One of the things I like about Portugal is the 24 hour-ness of it. We
went, of course, to our chapter party Friday night and there was, of
course, nothing I could eat. 4 hours and a few mojitos later, I was
starving so we wandered off to our new favourite restaurant, which was
decidedly still serving. We love the place largely because the maitre
d missed his calling and should have been a comedian. (Actually, this
extends to most of the staff. I swear if they had the time, they'd
make a fortune as an ensemble act).
Bruno is brilliant at getting new customers smiling and seated. And
then, despite the excess of tourists/bikers in town, remembers us.
We've eaten here 4 times in 3 days and the comedy has yet to get
stale. I'm a bit bored of omelette but hey. The salad menu's amazing.
So if ever you're in Cascais, look for Bruno at The Palm Tree behind
the Baia hotel.
Sent from my iPhone
Friday 15 June 2012
The Mechanics of It
The Mechanics of It
Every time we fill up at Galpe, Lynn's bike revs very high. She's been
worrying, as have I because if something goes horribly wrong while
she's in front of me... Don't want to think about it. So this morning
I convinced her to take it to the Tech Zone where a very tanned and
tattoed mechanic took one look and said "dirty fuel". Apparently my
bike's fine because it's older and a carburettor, but hers is fuel
injected, so throws a hissy fit about the smallest particles in its
fuel. Diva.
Sent from my iPhone
Every time we fill up at Galpe, Lynn's bike revs very high. She's been
worrying, as have I because if something goes horribly wrong while
she's in front of me... Don't want to think about it. So this morning
I convinced her to take it to the Tech Zone where a very tanned and
tattoed mechanic took one look and said "dirty fuel". Apparently my
bike's fine because it's older and a carburettor, but hers is fuel
injected, so throws a hissy fit about the smallest particles in its
fuel. Diva.
Sent from my iPhone
Eurozone?
Eurozone?
So far, I've spotted chapters from Bahrain, Jordan, Finland, Moscow
and South Africa. In other words, all over.
It makes dinner intersting because this is Portugal, so absolutely
everywhere has the UEFA cup playing in the evening.
We've run into more people we know, done more shopping, some swimming,
some burning (unintentional).
I've also seen: aloes, prickly pears, plumbago, jacarandas, lantern
flowers. What continent am I on, please?
Sent from my iPhone
So far, I've spotted chapters from Bahrain, Jordan, Finland, Moscow
and South Africa. In other words, all over.
It makes dinner intersting because this is Portugal, so absolutely
everywhere has the UEFA cup playing in the evening.
We've run into more people we know, done more shopping, some swimming,
some burning (unintentional).
I've also seen: aloes, prickly pears, plumbago, jacarandas, lantern
flowers. What continent am I on, please?
Sent from my iPhone
21st Annual HOG Europe Rally
21st Annual HOG Europe Rally
We headed off early and got our rally packs, and a Facebook gadget
(just as well, it's stopped working on my phone). We spent a while
watching the bikes come in and congratulating ourselves on avoiding
the queues when we bumped into Grizzly & Sue, then spotted Gavin &
Janet & co arriving at our hotel, which is a very convenient
coincidence.
We tried to do the self-guided ride to Sintra, but couldn't find
parking there and got lost on the way back. All the self-guided rides
here are great if you can download them to your Garmin. If you have a
tomtom or no satnav, well, then you're mildly stuffed.
I also did a Demo ride on v v v nice softail slim, because it was
pretty. And I like Hollywood bars. Pas de comment. They're very like
the fatboy bars and they don't do my back in. So yes, useful to know.
Sent from my iPhone
We headed off early and got our rally packs, and a Facebook gadget
(just as well, it's stopped working on my phone). We spent a while
watching the bikes come in and congratulating ourselves on avoiding
the queues when we bumped into Grizzly & Sue, then spotted Gavin &
Janet & co arriving at our hotel, which is a very convenient
coincidence.
We tried to do the self-guided ride to Sintra, but couldn't find
parking there and got lost on the way back. All the self-guided rides
here are great if you can download them to your Garmin. If you have a
tomtom or no satnav, well, then you're mildly stuffed.
I also did a Demo ride on v v v nice softail slim, because it was
pretty. And I like Hollywood bars. Pas de comment. They're very like
the fatboy bars and they don't do my back in. So yes, useful to know.
Sent from my iPhone
Last Leg/ Straw/ Whatever
Last Leg/ Straw/ Whatever
Lynn's luggage rack bust. Snapped. Soon to be an ex-luggage rack.
Thank heavens we'd pushed on to find bikersbase where Alan can fix
these things! 3 hours of work for him (and lazing around in the sun
for me) later we were finally underway with a fixed, welded, solid
rack. Now it only bounces on actual bumps.
Because it was lunchtime begore we left, we took the motorway to
Cascais. We found the hotel after some minor detours, checked in, did
our laundry & walked to the rally site which wasn't much to see yet,
but had enough early traders for some minor shopping. It's the first
time I've arrived before the official start of the rally and damn,
wasn't that a good idea.
Sent from my iPhone
Lynn's luggage rack bust. Snapped. Soon to be an ex-luggage rack.
Thank heavens we'd pushed on to find bikersbase where Alan can fix
these things! 3 hours of work for him (and lazing around in the sun
for me) later we were finally underway with a fixed, welded, solid
rack. Now it only bounces on actual bumps.
Because it was lunchtime begore we left, we took the motorway to
Cascais. We found the hotel after some minor detours, checked in, did
our laundry & walked to the rally site which wasn't much to see yet,
but had enough early traders for some minor shopping. It's the first
time I've arrived before the official start of the rally and damn,
wasn't that a good idea.
Sent from my iPhone
She'll be coming round the mountain... So tuesday dawned clear and bright so we decided to do a bit of touring. We'd been advised to see the national parks, so we headed for Serra Estela. Pretty Mountain roads, right? Well, kinda. The roads are stunning, the views are better but we hit low hanging cloud and promptly froze. I wasn't wearing waterproofs or thermal layers or winter gloves and i was burningly cold. We stopped off to take pictures, but as our hands were frozen, the pictures aren't the best. So we headed down the far side of the pass and behold! My speedo suddenly read 0 and the engine was suspiciously quiet because the bike had cut out. I have no idea why. I panicked rather deliberately over comma to Lynn and pulled over to the tiny gap between the line and the crash barrier. Luckily, my bike decided to stop messing around and started again as if there'd been no issue. Diva.
She'll be coming round the mountain...
So tuesday dawned clear and bright so we decided to do a bit of
touring. We'd been advised to see the national parks, so we headed for
Serra Estela. Pretty Mountain roads, right? Well, kinda. The roads are
stunning, the views are better but we hit low hanging cloud and
promptly froze. I wasn't wearing waterproofs or thermal layers or
winter gloves and i was burningly cold. We stopped off to take
pictures, but as our hands were frozen, the pictures aren't the best.
So we headed down the far side of the pass and behold! My speedo
suddenly read 0 and the engine was suspiciously quiet because the bike
had cut out. I have no idea why. I panicked rather deliberately over
comma to Lynn and pulled over to the tiny gap between the line and the
crash barrier. Luckily, my bike decided to stop messing around and
started again as if there'd been no issue. Diva.
We stopped in the pretty mountain town of Colvinha for lunch - and
both we and the bikes were stated at for the duration of our stay. I'm
not sure I want to know what was being said, although I can hazard an
educated guess.
We meandered scenically on and up/downward to castelo branco - and had
a major petrol panic when the first two stations were defunct - then
wound up on the motorway looking for Bikers Base near Portalegre.
When we eventually managed to take the right turn off from the IP2
(which has an insane toll system based on post-use postal fees and
can't be applied to tourists) we found an as yet unfinished B&B run by
a very friendly Yorkshire couple. The place will be amazing when it's
all done but for now their stories of the vagaries of portugese red
tape & contractors in general are very entertaining. It was probably
the most enjoyable night of the trip.
www.bikersbase.com
Sent from my iPhone
So tuesday dawned clear and bright so we decided to do a bit of
touring. We'd been advised to see the national parks, so we headed for
Serra Estela. Pretty Mountain roads, right? Well, kinda. The roads are
stunning, the views are better but we hit low hanging cloud and
promptly froze. I wasn't wearing waterproofs or thermal layers or
winter gloves and i was burningly cold. We stopped off to take
pictures, but as our hands were frozen, the pictures aren't the best.
So we headed down the far side of the pass and behold! My speedo
suddenly read 0 and the engine was suspiciously quiet because the bike
had cut out. I have no idea why. I panicked rather deliberately over
comma to Lynn and pulled over to the tiny gap between the line and the
crash barrier. Luckily, my bike decided to stop messing around and
started again as if there'd been no issue. Diva.
We stopped in the pretty mountain town of Colvinha for lunch - and
both we and the bikes were stated at for the duration of our stay. I'm
not sure I want to know what was being said, although I can hazard an
educated guess.
We meandered scenically on and up/downward to castelo branco - and had
a major petrol panic when the first two stations were defunct - then
wound up on the motorway looking for Bikers Base near Portalegre.
When we eventually managed to take the right turn off from the IP2
(which has an insane toll system based on post-use postal fees and
can't be applied to tourists) we found an as yet unfinished B&B run by
a very friendly Yorkshire couple. The place will be amazing when it's
all done but for now their stories of the vagaries of portugese red
tape & contractors in general are very entertaining. It was probably
the most enjoyable night of the trip.
www.bikersbase.com
Sent from my iPhone
Tuesday 12 June 2012
Monday 11 June 2012
Peripatetic in Porto
Portugal appears to have 2 types of road: motorway and crap. That's probably being a bit harsh, but today was a challenge. As the weather forecast indicated the rain was heading east, I batted my eyelashes to visit the dealer in Porto. This would have us heading west from Vila Real.
To start with, all was okay, although Lynn was complaining about fast roads. And then we hit, in the middle of the mountains, the passing shower we'd hoped to miss. It decided to wash our bikes for us, and its parent cloud wanted to investigate what the rain was up to. In other words, the mountain road was soaked, slow and misty as hell. Thank heavens for hi-vis and Portugal's law about daytime running lights on dual carriageways. It makes it much safer when you hit a sudden curious cloud.
When it's clear, that road must be breathtaking.
And I know: hi-vis isn't cool. But I'd rather be seen than look good for an ambulance.
The run to Porto was pretty good, once we got through the rain. Once we hit the outskirts of the edge of Porto, on the other hand, we hit traffic and potholes and seriously shoddy suspension-slaughtering surfaces. And one ways and detours and cobbled brick vertiginous corkscrews through vineyards. Apt, but far from fun.
The dealer was very friendly, but disappointingly small, although that may have been because most of his stock was all packed up for cascais. He did recommend a place for lunch, just down the road, with Harley riding owners, so we tried that. It was cheap and cheerfully traditional, although I did manage to order a very tasty veggie soup. We skipped dessert but were given complimentary tawny port (the owner felt we had to have port in Porto) which went straight to my head.
We tried to find the coast road after that, but after an hour of struggling to get out of Porto and onto a decent road, we decided the bikes deserved a break from bouncing while fully loaded and motorway'd our way to Coimbra.
Tomorrow some mountain and national park roads, I think. After I check my tires.
Fwd: View from Vila Real hotel room
Sent from my iPhone
Begin forwarded message:
From: Deryn Verner <derynv@hotmail.com>
Date: 10 June 2012 20:12:59 WEST
To: "hog_surfer.13963@photobucket.com" <hog_surfer.13963@photobucket.com>
Subject: View from Vila Real hotel room
Sent from my iPhone
Fwd: Puebla del Sanabria
Sent from my iPhone
Begin forwarded message:
From: Deryn Verner <derynv@hotmail.com>
Date: 10 June 2012 20:11:32 WEST
To: "hog_surfer.13963@photobucket.com" <hog_surfer.13963@photobucket.com>
Subject: Puebla del Sanabria
Sent from my iPhone
Fwd: Burgos, Espania
Sent from my iPhone
Begin forwarded message:
From: Deryn Verner <derynv@hotmail.com>
Date: 10 June 2012 20:08:29 WEST
To: "hog_surfer.13963@photobucket.com" <hog_surfer.13963@photobucket.com>
Subject: Burgos, Espania
Sent from my iPhone
Fwd: St Jean Pier de Port
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Begin forwarded message:
From: Deryn Verner <derynv@hotmail.com>
Date: 10 June 2012 20:07:45 WEST
To: "hog_surfer.13963@photobucket.com" <hog_surfer.13963@photobucket.com>
Subject: St Jean Pier de Port
Sent from my iPhone
Fwd: Friendly French Varadero
Sent from my iPhone
Begin forwarded message:
From: Deryn Verner <derynv@hotmail.com>
Date: 10 June 2012 20:06:17 WEST
To: "hog_surfer.13963@photobucket.com" <hog_surfer.13963@photobucket.com>
Subject: Friendly French Varadero
Sent from my iPhone
Fwd: Ferry Q
Sent from my iPhone
Begin forwarded message:
From: Deryn Verner <derynv@hotmail.com>
Date: 10 June 2012 20:05:23 WEST
To: "hog_surfer.13963@photobucket.com" <hog_surfer.13963@photobucket.com>
Subject: Ferry Q
Sent from my iPhone
Sunday 10 June 2012
Ensalada Mista Something in Translation.
One of the highlights of motorcycle touring is the back roads. On a bike, off the motorway, you have no choice but to experience the land you ride through; from its winds in serious need of a strait-jacket (seriously. A bird got blown into my ribs today through no fault of its own. I just hope it's okay and not too traumatised).
You smell everything: plants, flowers, farms... Factories.
And you end up having lunch in some backwater cucina where non hablo espanol and they non hablo englese. I thought I'd be safe with an ensalada mista. I can pretty much figure out a written menu, thanks to 3 years of Latin (although modern Europe isn't so heavy on the honey-roast dormice). But salad, right? Mixed salad? We're talking lettuce, tomato, cucumber. Carrots and onion if I'm lucky. Last night I lucked out and even got asparagus.
What I got today included egg (fine if unusual) and tuna. On what planet does a mixed damn salad include fish?!
I discovered I have at least a part share in my sister's ability to dissect a risotto, because ten minutes of fork flicking later, I had half a de-tuna'd salad I could actually eat. Alas the rest was unsalvageable.
Now, how do I say ovo-vegetarian in Portugese?
Parts of France and Spain remind me of other parts of Europe, and in Spain's case, also parts of SA: the hills with scrubby bushes remind me of the koppies of the eastern Cape and the Karoo. The more geometric ones, of course, remind me rather more prosaically of the mine dumps and slimes dams between Jhb and the east rand... But all in all, it makes it hard to remember what country you're in, and what language to speak.
In self-defense against the easily confused mind, therefore, they've all apparently developed distinctive scents. I couldn't tell you what france's is, though, because it always rains when I'm there.
Spain smells of musty sweet hay, like old thatch, and periodically of honeysuckle. The Eastern Cape smells of that unidentified fynbos plant whose savoury fresh scent spells holiday to me.
The Karoo smells of heat, mainly. And Portugal? When I crossed the border on the za-925 from Puebla de sanabria (excellent road. Lots of pretty Curves Perilous as my English-speaking mind translates the warning sign), I smelled lavendar. It grows deeply purple along the roadside in place of spain's honeysuckle and poppies.
We paused in braganca, then tried to take the recommended pretty ip4 to Vila real.
This was down to a misunderstanding between me and Lynn while planning. I was thinking we'd overnight in braganca, she figured it was a nice day, so push on.
And hit massive roadworks, because the ip4 is being turned into the A4 which = motorway = not free anymore, or won't be when it's finished. Which = nearly running out of petrol and satnav failing us because all it's data was pre-roadworks. We limped into a tiny town which thankfully served petrol on a sleepy Sunday afternoon. We both breathed again, crossed our fingers, looked up hotels and decided that it was either back to braganca or on to Vila real.
Glad Lynn won that round, because we have scored in Vila real with a room overlooking a stunning gorge. Pics to follow when I can make them behave.
Saturday 9 June 2012
Sensational Horizontal Orientations
The d932, 918 & 933 are all very pretty roads, if anyone's planning a trip through south west France. Just thought I'd mention it. This morning started (after lengthly debate last night over dinner and spilt water and uninvited advice from the sociable German couple at the next table) as an A-road day: no motorways. Partly be wise they charge and mainly because they're just boring.
So we loaded up, got our motors running and headed out on - well- the byways through the Pyrenees to Pamplona. Let me just say: at 08:30? The mountains are flipping COLD. In spite of several layers. But it was a very pretty road and we wound down one side of a valley and suddenly noticed as we went up the other side that we'd changed countries. I love that about Europe. It's so subtle (especially when the languages are similar/ identical, so you don't notice until the petrol station).
In Spain, they have a very interesting way of warning you that the road has more switchbacks than Thorpe Park and you better be wearing tungsten kneepads. The immediate English translation (doubtless inaccurate) is 'sensational horizontal orientations' and boy, are they ever! It took us a good three hours to wiggle our way to Pamplona, and a further two to curl our way into Estella where I got the freezing hell in and stopped for coffee and patatas bravas (so prefer Spain to France for food).
We then got confused by signage and roadworks and completely missed our planned route, instead wandering along some very pretty side roads which were great and pretty until we realised that none of the villages we'd gone through had gasolinera... At which point, we panicked. My bike doesn't have a fuel guage and lynn's has no reserve tank. Neither of us fancied pushing the things if we ran out of petrol. Been there, done that and really outgrew that t-shirt. So the hell with avoiding motorways. I took o er navigating and changed course for Logrono. We found petrol shortly after but I stayed in the lead because frankly? My sense of direction and cartography is better than Lynn's. Most people's are.
Spain doesn't seem to do fences. In most places, the gap between the road and the field is a riot of poppies (which then also take over the field), alysum and what I think might be harebells. Every now and then you get a spate of yellow bushes that smell like honeysuckle. Sometimes the wheat/ lettuce/ random crop grows all the way up to the road and into the cracks at the edge of the hard shoulder. It's all extremely pretty when you have to pull over and wait for Lynn to take pics of the building sticking out the cliff face which you're beginning to wish you didn't point out. (I'm working on the photo thing. Today's pics will have to wait though, as my camera wasn't behaving. On facebook for now).
Eventually, we got to Burgos and told satnav to find a hotel. It decided on a 4 star one with parking. I went in with trepidation as to the €€€, but I think Spain's economy is worse than I realised because it wasn't bad, especially to someone who slept in France last night.
Tomorrow, if we're lucky, we might make Portugal. Otherwise I guess it'll be tapas for supper again. Like that's a hardship.
Satnav knows best....(?)
So we programmed Bayonne into the satnav the night before, all the better not to waste time. Yeah. Because in the morning, we loaded up, got under way, trusted the satnav to get us out of Bordeaux and heading south-west. Only, the satnav got a bit confused. My grasp of French geography is patchy at best and it took me a while to feel sufficiently lost in France to make Lynn pull over. We'd gone 70km in the wrong direction. Satnav decided we meant bayon, not what we actually typed in. So we turned around.
That little jaunt, by the time we got back to point A, cost us about 2 hours and all my petrol. So we stopped to fill up and my immobiliser promptly decided not to register. Uh-oh. Can't move. So Lynn, having originally said my spare keys were too well packed to extract(this was back in London) now had to unpack completely to find them in case it was the battery in my set that had gone. Nope, in the end, just random black-spot interference with the signal. So that was another 30mins wasted.
We eventually paused for lunch in a sleepy little town where a sandwicherie was still open. I saw a Varadero parked up in front of it and a helmet on a table, so took that as a recommendation. Not a bad decision, as the rider was very friendly and chatty, although his lack of English and our lack of French made for some inspired charades. His pillion did her nest to translate between giggles.
We didn't make Spain. We barely made the Pyrenees. But in the end we wound up in st Jean de pier pont, which is a tiny little basque town famous as a pilgrim route crossroads since the 11th century. As you can guess, we arrived in local history month/ the start of pilgrimage season - I'm still not certain which. But we found a hotel that didn't do wifi or hairdryers but did understand about bike parking and let us park in an enclosed little shelter round the back.
We then wandered up and down and around until we'd worked out the kinks from rising a solid 9 hours, and I felt sufficiently well-rested (motivated) to practise my kung fu forms against a plane tree (they deserve it; they give me hayfever).
Next stop: Spain
Friday 8 June 2012
Acid rain
Peering out the ferry portholes, it was hard to tell if it was raining or just cloudy. We decided to disembark and see, before getting all excitable about raingear. It was drizzling. We pulled over and extracted our waterproofs from under the various bungees. In a hurry, in the dismal driech morning, we hurried putting them on. This turned out to be important, because we then pretty much waterski'd blindfold from st. Mali to Rennes to Nantes. Seriously, it was chucking it down stingingly, burningly hard so our glasses and visors fogged up about 3 seconds flat, and the roads were so waterlogged even without more rain we'd have been aqua-planing. The spray from the artics just ensured nowhere was safe from splashes. And the hurried donning of raingear meant I hadn't done the Velcro properly so I leaked. Thus obviating the point. Oh, well - at least it was warmer than the road to mont blanc last year.
After Nantes, the rain eased and we got pretty much blow-dried to Bordeaux. The French put up notices saying 'vents violents. Soyez prudents'. Well, yeah - after yet another involuntarylane change caused by a gust toying with over a quarter ton of fully loaded hog + rider. Spain is cracking down on people changing without indicating. If this wind doesn't drop, I'm in muchas trouble.
But we made it to Bordeaux, mainly by deciding stuff it & taking the peage. (surprisingly cheap for the distance we did. And maybe it's my saffa side, but I don't mind tolls so much when I can see where the money went).
We took a scenic (ie satnav) route to the hotel, which was prebooked and actually in begles, not Bordeaux. But only (when I got into the room and its wifi) 500m from the dealership.
Hey! None of that! I did history last time, this time it's dealerships. Nice ones, too. The Bordeaux one featured a rocker c like lynn's but with a vastly nicer pillion seat, which promptly inspired a number of cracks (as I'm the only person who goes pillion on hers - when mine's misbehaving/at the mechanic).
A couple of glasses of very nice Bordeaux red (and yes, debating the comparative merits of wines when I don't speak much French and the waitress doesn't do much English ranks as high comedy anywhere), I amnow ready for a good nights sleep before tackling tomorrow's big challenge.
(the Pyrenees? Basque country? Navigating in a foreign language? Actually, it's probably going to be loading the damn bikes in the first place).
Thursday 7 June 2012
And we're off! Or not.
Got to Portsmouth with only a minor shower and a brief detour via being slightly lost in Southsea. Between 2 signs saying seafront and Lynn chirping in my ear, I second guessed myself and took the wrong turn off. But we got there, stupidly early despite lynn's major packing panic which saw a complete repack take place in an NCP.
We met up in the boarding queue with the Lithuanian brothers and friends, who we already knew were on our ferry. We compared packing notes for a whe, but I got distracted by the seriously cool car convention going on.
I mean it: a car so vintage you could see where the horse used to go to a lovely yellow and black Rolls with the wide curvy mudguards/ running boards to about 7 other heavy vintages (yes, including Austins).
Having told the oldest one's driver how seriously cool his wheels were, I met a couple of overly energetic gents on bicycles - one from iCape Town, who chatted about bikes (he has a BMW bike at home) hayfever and hyenas, until it was time to board (finally).
On board, I had learned from Croatia and thus had cash. In 2 currencies. The ferry was hands down the best thought-through I've been on, mit cinemas, decent live acts in the cheaper-than-London cocktail bar and supeisiny veggie-friendly food. I'm always surprised by that with anything French- they're not generally good with lactose-intolerant veggie. As usual, though, my stash of brown sugar was needed. Europe just can't seem to get the hang of that, for some unknown reason.
Next stop? Bordeaux
Monday 4 June 2012
Packing and other disasters
So I have too much stuff. This is a perpetual problem on the bike. I don't have enough (waterproof, attachable) luggage and I need too many last minute things. Which, along with bank limits and a 4 day weekend are causing problems because I also need to get forex. With cash as I resent paying a 2% fee just to use a debit card. Like that's fair - it's my damn money. Credit card fees I get, because it's their money, but debit cards? Hello? Can anyone say money-grubbing banks? Oh well.
Guess it puts paid to a nice new piece of bike luggage. Back to trying to cram everything into one bag and hoping like hell all the hotels have irons.
And while I'm hoping like hell? Please could it stop raining? Thanks.
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