As I pulled into the over-spill car park at the back
of the motorway services I noticed the old grandma sat on the high level paving
stone used to enclose truck car parks in Spain. Her feet were barley touching
the tarmac.
Top centre I spotted what I was looking for, the
loo!
Dismounting the leg strap slapped me for the last
time. Looking around “Trackie man” was watching every move I made whilst
“Mobile man” started walking around to my left.
The three black Fiat cars parked in a line had
strange registration plates, they weren’t Spanish that’s for sure. Without even
thinking I took my Leatherman, opened a blade and sliced the offending strap
cleanly off. “Trackie man” had moved to the boot of the car still watching my
every move.
I was shocked
how easily the blade sliced through the 1 inch wide Cordura strap. I walked
around Mr T and did te same to the other leg strap in clear view of “Mobile man”
wearing a grey hoodie with an oversized leather bomber jacket on top, 19
degrees centigrade. I knew he had seen the blade because he veered away towards
where the grandma sat. She was busy watching a group of children playing in the picnic area.
He just seemed to vanish.
“Trackie Man” however was still looking over, I put
the Leatherman in my pocket . It was no good I needed the loo, removing the key
from the ignition, something I forget to do every now and again, I headed to
the loo disposing of the severed straps as I passed the bin.
There was something very uneasy about this whole
situation but my bladder was full and I didn’t really give a damn, I needed the
loo, now!
Quickly finishing my business I walked back outside
still zipping up, “Trackie Man” stopped dead in his tracks halfway across the
car park heading towards my bike. His black nylon tracksuit bottoms reflected
the sun as he turned around. His red and white Slazenger top flapped in the
light breeze as he walked back to the group of people at the front of the cars.
Three “thugs” standing chatting with what looked like 5 or 6 scantily clad
women. Still no “Mobile Man”.
“What the hell is going on here” I thought to myself
as I took a swig of diet cola and got my sandwiches out of the top box.
It all became clear as I ate my lunch and watched
what was happening just 100 foot away. A truck pulled into the truck car park
section of the services on the far side of the parked cars. Two of the women
escorted by a “thug” walked over to the cab. Moments later only the “thug” and
one of the women returned!
It was 4.15pm on a Saturday afternoon in broad
daylight at the back of a Spanish service station not 50 miles from Barcelona.
I’d just parked up for lunch in the middle of an open air “Knocking Shop”.
I've never eaten a sandwich and scarpered so quick
in my entire life!
Riding down the A1 I feel so at ease, its just gone
10.45 there’s no traffic to speak of and Mr T is running superbly. It felt odd
setting of at 9.00am on a Thursday morning, I always set off at midnight. It’s
just one of my “quirks” still it put me in Folkestone 15 minutes before I was
due to load onto the Channel Tunnel Crossing. I nipped into the A1 Services and
bought a KFC ready for my late lunch on the train then rushed over and filled
Mr T up for the first time since leaving Rochdale. 300 miles on a tank with
fuel to spare, I’m happy with that.
Bye Bye Dover, at last!
Loading turned into a bit of a farce as some chaps
old Rolls Royce decided to dump the
entire contents of its petrol tank in the carriage as soon as he stopped. The carriage
then sealed itself and filled with foam, or so we were all told by the assistant
who drove up to chaperone us all onto the next train 50 minutes later. What a
great start to a 1200 mile trip through France into Spain.
Having eaten my cold KFC I took 20 minutes to get my
head down and try and sleep. Not easy sat on the floor at the side of your bike
but it’s a practiced manoeuvre now.
Heading out of Calais I turned onto the A16 towards
Abbeville. I soon got into my “steady away” riding mode. Annoyingly Mrs Garmin
660 had other ideas and decided I was to come off at the next junction! It took
me cross country for about 55 miles then promptly died! I don’t mean switch off
and back on again, ho no that would have been way too simple, I mean “Ping
Off”. My stomach churned, I could have
cried. Why I have no idea, I wasn't frightened or upset. It was one of those
stomach churning moment where everything you rely on just lets you down. I
thought of calling Jeannie but what could she have done other than calm me
down. I had 1200 miles to ride and here I was a matter of 130 miles out of
Calais in the North West corner of France, alone and gutted.
Out came the maps and as luck would have it the N29
heading from Amiens to Rouen was only a matter of miles away. Back on a motorway I felt instantly “safe and at home”. What is that all about?
The N28 took me straight into Rouen centre. “You’re
kidding me!” Bollards straight across the entrance of the N138 the main route
to Le Mans. No detour, no diversion, no nothing.
“I think France hates me” I began to think to myself as I
pulled over and took the Garmin out of the mount and removed both the cover and
the battery. Re fitting the battery and cover I tried to switch the unit back
on. “Yes, we have lift off” the Garmin 660 sprang back to life. Sadly it chose
not to re-route but stubbornly insist I “turn right, then turn right”. Looking
around I spotted a sign for Orleans which I knew was South of Paris and just
followed my nose. The route ran through Louviers, Dreux, Chartres, Chateaudun
and curved back to join the A10 motorway at Tours.
Back on familiar turf I headed due South past
Bordeaux and on towards the Spanish border crossing at San Sebastian. 50 miles
short of the border I felt the dreaded fatigue kicking in, it was 4.30am. Having already had two fuel stops en route it was blatantly obvious that I
needed a nap but it was 1 degree C. I pulled into one of the French Rest stops
that appear all the way along their incredible motorway infrastructure. No
petrol station but clean toilet and washing facilities and very tidy parking
bays.
Pulling into a corner slot, separate to the trucks
and among fellow car travellers I dismounted and got my sleeping bag out.
Stuffing a liner inside the bag first of all and laying my fleece blanket longside my bike I got in and snuggled up to the warn engine. Within 35
minutes I was on my way again shivering uncontrollably until the heat from my
electric jacket took hold, stopping the spasms in my back.
Arriving at the boarder the temperature sat at an
unbelievable -2 degrees C. It was colder in Spain than back in England. The
crossing is now totally open and within minutes I was climbing up into the
mountains towards Bilbao but heading South well before reaching it.
"Bilbao in the Snowa"
I could not believe my eyes as I rode on a clear
ribbon of black which cut through a foot and a half of snow! The temperature
stubbornly remained -2 degrees C for the next 3 hours.
Next stop Madrid! Filling up at about 9.00am I tried
to call Jeannie to say I was going to be 4 hours late due to having had a tough
time of things. No reply! I sent a text. Then called Colin, no reply! I was
starting to get wound up. There’s only one thing I hate more than being lost
and that’s not getting a reply on a mobile number.
Guess where I was heading?
Now up until now the only time I had shown the
Garmin any attention was just North of Madrid. The sun came out rendering the
screen totally useless but at least the temperature soared to a sweltering 8
degrees C. for about 30 minutes. I planned on following the E5 motorway all the
way down to Manzanares then cutting East towards Murcia then on to my
destination at San Miguel de Salinas. Mrs Garmin 660 had other ideas and took
me East towards Alicante along the E901. Result!
It turns out the E901 is a peach of a road only
spoiled by one unbelievable issue. A foot of snow either side making filling up
in slush covered forecourts an absolute night mare. 50 miles shy of the
Mediterranean coast I pulled over and took my first photo ever of a Spanish
Villa set in a winter wonderland.
Not something you see everyday
Arriving at Eagles Nest, an urbanisation on the edge
of San Miguel de Salinas, mid-afternoon I pulled up in front of Cheers Bar. After
moving a few bits and pieces around on my bike, I went into the bar.
The Eagle as Landed
“Could I have a hot chocolate please” stood there in
my winter riding attire, stripping off all three neck tubes as I spoke.
Everyone and I mean everyone, in the bar stopped
talking and looked at me as they sat around sipping ice cold beers in the
shorts and T-shirts in the sweltering 19 degrees C. Sheer madness!
Well cutting to the chase the night was spent chatting
to a very nice couple who were kind enough to offer me a coffee. Evening meal
consisted of Rump Steak and Brat Kartoffel in the local German Bar followed by a
Brandy night cap back in Cheers Bar.
I have never slept so well in a strange bed in many
a year but my word, was it cold.
With my business attended to, I was invited round
for coffee and toast by George & Margaret. They had been very kind and
allowed me to park Mr T on their gated drive over night which helped me sleep
even better. Many thanks to you both for your wonderful hospitality.
A wonderful couple George & Margaret
Getting ready for the ride home Saturday morning
felt very strange
as I put everything back on, thermals, extra T shirt, heated jacket
and three neck tubes. Which works very well indeed I’ll have you know. It was 20
degree C and George must have thought I had lost the plot but I knew what was
coming!
Filling up just outside San Miguel de Salinas meant
I was all set up for a two stop boarder ride. The route home is very simple
just follow the East. As luck would have it I chose to ignore the now active
Mrs Garmin 6600 and chose to follow the CV10 which I presume is the old road,
as I didn’t incur any toll charges all the way to Barcelona.
Riding North with the sea to my right and the
snow-capped mountains to my left I took everything in, the sun on my back the
sea breeze in my face, it was amazing. It was a glorious 18 degrees C. all the
way up past Alicante, around Valencia and on Northward towards Barcelona.
Before I knew it I was filling up just 50 miles
South of Barcelona. Pulling into the overflow car park for a late lunch due to
not setting off until 11.30am, a full 2
hours later than I’d planned. My first fuel & lunch stop was a little
rushed for reasons previously described but this just added to the excitement
of the journey.
Blue Sky's Straight Ahead
The French boarder came and went without incident,
the roads were void of any sign of snow. How very different to the previous
day. Riding around Montpellier for a change I was surprised as to how much time
it saved me. Lyon was nice a quiet for a Saturday evening, as the motorway
takes you straight though the city centre. (Now here is a tip as you go through
the city, keep alongside the wall with the river too you right, just as the
road climbs get in the left lane as that’s the one that takes you through the
tunnel with the least amount of hassle. If you get stuck in the right lane
you’ll be forced to go over the bridge and around the city centre round about!
Just a tip if ever you find yourself riding through Lyon).
Dijon drifted by as smoothly as the day turned to
night. I was in a travellers trance, never missing a thing. However France had
one final parting gift up its sleeve for me. By 11.00pm the temperature had
plummeted to -2 degrees C. and was further compounded by a freezing fog that
just never seemed to clear.
Eighty miles South of Reims as I passed Troyers at
3.45am I pulled in to re-fuel for the last time. I had to scrap a little the
ice from my visor. The petrol attendant looked at me and shook his head, who
could blame him! I must admit the hot tomato soup drink was just the ticket and
just had to be followed by another, just for good measure.
As I sat looking at Mr T through the window I heard
an English voice “It’s an British plate Mum, he must be bonkers riding in this,
I bet he’s frozen” “Come on get in the car, it’s his choice to ride a bike in
this stupid weather!” A truer word has never been spoken. It is my choice to
ride a motorbike, no matter what France and Mother Nature had to throw at me
and you know what “I Love It!”
Other than the annoying anomaly of trying to guide
me off the motorways and back on at the same junction all the way through Spain
and France Mrs Garmin 660 remained on course all the way back. I’m still not
convinced things are right with it and will have to drop Garmin Uk an email to
see what the issues could be.
Seeing the small yellow backed sign in the bush
reading “Calais 190KM” released two emotions in me simultaneously. The first
being relief! A massive grin crossed my face knowing I was on the home leg. The
second being sadness at the thought that in just 8 short hours I would be
calling it a day on this little long weekend adventure.
3,000 Miles in 4 Day's
Peace of Cake
I was lucky and arrived just at the right time to be
accepted on the new Channel Tunnel Train leaving in 30 minutes loading in 5
minutes. I didn’t even get to call into the shops for a bite to eat. Not to
worry I thought as I’d still got had a sandwich left from mid France in my top
box.
The loading and crossing went smoothly this time
with me being able to snatch 20 minutes shut eye, on the floor as per usual.
I just cannot believe how serenely the ride North
from San Miguel De Salinas to Calais had passed. No issues with Mrs Garmin 660,
no fatigue what so ever, no aches or pains (well nothing worth mentioning
anyway). It was as if the whole journey had been a dream.
As I cleaned
the grime from my visor and
lights it made me realise just how far I had just “floated” 1200 miles in 18 hours, it was just surreal! I
could quite happily have turned around and gone straight back down, or
somewhere else to save on repetitiveness! Still I had a nice 300 mile pootle to
enjoy now up to Squires Café Bar once I’d
filled up at Dover services.
As usual the mad dash from the train terminal took
place, it’s supposed to be a 10 mile an hour speed limit but that goes straight
out the window. Filling up at the services just off the train made me realise it’s
akin to something out of the “Wacky Races” with buses , trucks, cars and the
odd bike (me) all speeding off the stat line 4 lanes into 2 in a desperate
attempt to get onto the M20. Once on the M20 everyone then then has to sit and
watches as the vehicle they have just
sped past coasts on by, it is quite funny really.
The ride up the M20, M2 around the M25 and through
the Dartford Crossing passed without interest of any kind. Turning off the M25
onto the M11 up past Cambridge where the A14 takes over for 28 miles before
depositing me on my all-time favourite stretch of black stuff the A1 North
bound. Don’t ask me why it’s my favourite, I guess maybe it’s because I've finished so many “biking adventures” riding home along it. One thing I do know
is it’s a great strip of tarmac.
20 miles South of Doncaster I pulled over onto the
Services access road to take a mile stone photo of Mr T ‘s tachometer reading
30,000 miles. Not a bad achievement in under 2 years. No were near in the same
league as the “Globe Trotting Giants of Motorcycle Touring”. Never the less, when you consider every single
one of my miles are true leisure miles, I’ve nothing whatsoever to grumble about.
I’m happy with that!
Come On!
Pulling into the “Bike Mecca of the North” known
simply as Squires at 11.35 am I knew there and then I should have filled in the
IBA UK BBG2500KM paperwork. Damn!
Why's Mr T the only dirty bike here?
Still sat eating the most delicious Sunday Roast
Lunch in Squires Café Bar at 12.00 really helped bring this wonderful little
adventure to an end in style. “Now where’s my Rhubarb & Ginger Sponge
pudding & Ice cream” Perfick!
Just don’t get me started on the ride home from
Squires to Rochdale! It was horrendous, but that’s a story for another day.
Europe is a wonderful place and it is right on our
doorstep. Just 35 minute away by Channel Tunnel Crossing (that’s if there are
no poorly Rolls Royce’s on board that is).
So
What’s Next?
Well as far as not having anything in the diary for
February I think I’ve done OK. As for March & April its becoming quite a
busy biking calendar.
March
Saturday
9th Scottish Bike Show Weekend in Edinburgh
Saturday
9th IBA UK RTE takes place at Tan Hill
Tuesday
12th Mr T goes in for his 30,000 mile service
at Keith Dixon Motorcycles
Wednesday
13th Ben arrives from Australia to collect his Kawasaki
KLR650 and duly ship it all the way back to Australia with him. Now that is one
epic amount of traveling for a bike with 72,500 miles on the clock. I can only described
Ben’s commitment to the KLR as “Pure Dedication!”.
Saturday
16th Open-day
at the Zen Overlanders New workshop in Somerset
Saturday
23rd Manchester
Bike Show where we will be showing “Trinity” for the very first time & so
as you can imagine I’ve been polishing her to within an inch of her life in
readiness for the weekends activities.
April
Sunday
7th Prescott Bike Festival takes place in
Gloucestershire
Sunday
21st Ace Café Overlanders Meeting which Ben
& I attended last year
Tuesday
23rd St Georges Day
Saturday
27th IBA UK European RTE takes place at Avignon
in France
So as you can see life never get dull on the “The
Wandering
Walton’s” Biking calendar.
Here’s wishing you all well and if you’re at the
show or just spot us out and about please feel free to say hello.
Until the Next Time
Au Revoir!
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