A Perfect Day

My journey starts with multiple trips from room to bike, one of the hazards of staying in a hotel, but returning for the last bag I'm faced with a now closed, electronic garage door. Can I find a switch? Is the receptionist aware of this? Ah, I'll call the hotel, except my phone is in the last bag, bugger! Somebody will come, but I'm the only vehicle in this very small underground park. Any unlocked doors I find only lead to locked doors, so I return to the offending exit as there must be an internal switch somewhere. Basically, I found a junction box with a small whole in it that looked like a reset switch so I Swiss Army knifed it and bingo.
"I thought you had left" said the receptionist,
"Not yet" said I.
"Forgotten something?" she said, "No, but I was locked in the garage".
"Oh", she said, "I thought you had left". I carried on.

Baring a few circles when a major roadworks confused the SatNav I soon got to Puigcerda which according to the map was where the squiggly bits really started, which they did, but I decided to stop for lunch in Llivia (small Spanish enclave in France).
As I have talked enough before about great winding roads and cannot think if anymore adjectives to describe various types of bends I shall let some pictures tell the story.






















Other than walking over the Pyrenees, back packing when I was 18, this was certainly my first proper venture deep into these mountains. Absolutely totally and utterly spectacular; stopping often to sit and absorb the scenery that on one occasion made the Cheddar Gorge, (which is itself magnificent) look like toy town.
I reach Axat my target for the day and although I barely did 300 kms it took over 6 hours and the concentration had me tired. Half an hour later, I found the most delightful, English lady owned, bijou campsite right by the river I'd been following most of the day

and I've just ordered a Croque Monsieur in the prettiest, leaf-shaded bar (and barn) in this wonderful, stone-built village, Alet-les-Bains. French taste really is chic.

I can't tell you how pleasantly mellow I'm feeling right now, I count my blessings.

A fabulous day's riding, relaxing supper en francais and riverside slumber ... a beautiful day, 'A Perfect Day'.

Good night and vive la France xc

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Onward And Upward

It's 7am and time to say hasta la vista to Barcelona and head for the hills. Had an easy, relaxing day yesterday, strolling the streets, coffee-sipping people watching (which included Iggy-Pop), lunch on the beach and reading. Last year I read about Jack Kerouac's travels in his book 'On The Road'; this year it's Mike Carter's 'Uneasy Rider' tales which is an excellent and funny read if you like travelling. It is also where I learned about the Horizons Unlimited website that I registered with yesterday and why I'm excited about today.
I posted a question on the site asking for route ideas through the Pyrenees and boy, did I get a fantastic suggestion. I plotted the route on Google Maps first before programming a TomTom itinerary, and the resulting blue line that dissects Puigcerda and Llivia (a small Spanish enclave in France), sqwiggles like an intestinal tract. Oh goody!

Off to pack and load up now ... catch you later xc

Horizons Unlimited

Grant and Susan Johnson started travelling the world on a motorcycle back in the 80's.10 years later they started a website for motorcycle travelers. It's a brilliant, incredibly helpful site but when you have 2 minutes free go to the following link and click the video. You'll be amazed at the sort of people that do this ...

http://www.horizonsunlimited.com/about-hu/4-easy-steps

Try it, you will love it.

Barcelona Bekons

No messing about today, let's just get to Barcelona, after all it is one of my favourites. Nothing to say about the journey as I had my head down for most of it and with 400 kms to cover, I just wanted to get there by mid-afternoon.

Arrived in the busy centre around 3pm, parked up on a pavement, right outside one of a thousand cafe's and quickly consumed two delicious capo's. Where do I stay? Thought a trek up into the hills behind the city may offer a villa bed & breakfast with vista but after an hour of hunting and baring the exceptionally well position Hotel Gran Florida at 175 Euros per night, I returned to the buzzing metropolis to seek shelter.

A quick surf of the internet and I found a place with ensuite, free WiFi, 24 hour reception and private secure  parking, all for 40 Euros and centre, it certainly is, just off La Rambla.
Hmmm ... the room is most definitely small and cozy but perfect if you're my size! Frankly, it's fine and for the price in this quite expensive city I'll have it ... for two nights actually. I have riden over 1,100 kilometres in the last 3 days and I would like to give my rear a rest, not that I need an excuse to spend time in the beauty that is Barca.

Right I'm all settled, have brought you up-to-date and re-formatted my previous blogs that don't format well when posting via mobile. Sounds crazy but I'm off on a sushi search ... probably my most favourite bite and need a fix as it's been some time.

Sayonara xc

It Just Get's Better ...

I awake to another beautiful day after a food free evening given the over-indulgent lunch. An Activia yoghurt marginally dents the emptiness and I'm ready for the road. I hope to get to Valencia which as mentioned is a good 400 kms with a timely half-way stop at Albacete for lunch, the MotoGP and the British Grand Prix.

I already pre-programmed the GPS with various waypoints before shut-eye and hope the biking Gods weren't too busy; well it is Sunday after all.
Within 100 metres of turning right out of the campsite I knew I'd been blessed, the road contoured the rolling hills and with 10 minutes I was in the zone. Tight bends, hairpins and switch-backs galore, never a flat piece of road as I climbed and descended the olive tree smothered terrain.
Even better, I was alone on this day of rest , not a vehicle to be seen for kilometre after kilometre. The dynamics of the ride reminded me of the Ligurian Hills in Italy last year, with stretches of barrierless, mountain clinging road leaving your fate totally in your own hands. Christ! A sign for Aldeaquemada, that's my first waypoint; can't be there already, only feels like I left the campsite 5 minutes ago.

A glance at the TomTom, the screen still like a plate of red spaghetti, and yes I've been weaving like a spawning salmon for over 40 kms. Time for a coffee.
I find a tiny cafe where 6 men, all in green, may be forestry workers given the heavy soled boots, who have just been served a carni-feast. Steaks, chops, chorizos, pork bites, tortillas, beer, wine and baskets of bread ... and it's only 11am. I'm guessing they've either been up since 4am or this what happens in the hills on Sundays. But they talked, no, shouted, all at the same time, at such a pace that each sentence sound like one word, only pausing for each fork-filled mouthful. Very friendly bunch who glasses high, cheered me off. I could have stayed and listen to them for an hour, however, I was keen to return to hot tyres.

I don't want to bore you but the road just got better and better all the way to Albacete (baring the last 20 k's), that's well over 150 kilometres of bends, proper bends.
In fact, one stretch, where I did meet with other bikers, was full of high speed, long sweeping bends and S's and the black tarmac looked and felt like it had been laid the day before.
I mentioned yesterday that the edge of my tyres were kissing tarmac, well today, they were making love to it. Such a rush. There really are biking Gods!

I search for and find a restaurant with bikes parked outside and join the televised German MotoGP 6 laps into the race to be soon followed by GB F1. I have some 3 hours of viewing time to consume so lunch is on and the adrenalin has time to seep from the holes in my boots. One beer, one wine, olives, winkles, chicken skewer, tuna salad, coffee and the Spanish equivalent of Bailey's but nicer (on the house) ... 11 Euros the lot!
After much whooping and cheering, I leave with handshakes and general biker type adios's and return to a more belly-full sedate pace.

If you ever find yourself on two wheels (or four for that matter) in Spain then this route is a must. In order, Santa Elena, Aldeaquemada, Villamanrique, Villanueva de la Fuente, Albacete, Casas-Ibanez, then Valencia although the last 60 kms is straight.
I must mention my BMW R1200GS, she was simply outstanding today; 225 kilos of bike, 50 kilos of luggage and 75 kilos of me, she handled like a dream and must have surprised the odd sportsbike I passed. Well balanced, sure-footed, German engineering. Wundebar!

I'm now in a campsite by a lake to the south of Valencia which I will visit tomorrow before deciding on my next port of call.

Sleep well, I will, nite nite xc


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Live To Ride, Ride To Live

Leaving Seville after a day to remember, I fire up my trusty steed and we aim for Cordoba, about 180 kms NE. A previous consultation of the terrain feature in Google Maps (which I use constantly and is brilliant) reveals that the most direct route is flat so I set the GPS to head straight for the hills to the north and my first real encounter this trip of winding roads (and peculiar road signs).

When I say winding, they're not quite the switch-backs and hairpins of the Alps or Romania's Transfargasan but very enjoyable nonetheless with the edges of my Continental Trail Attacks regularly kissing tarmac.
A coffee stop at El Pedrosa, a small, almost deserted village gives me a chance to catch up with messages, one of which reminds that it's the British Grand Prix at Silverstone this weekend. I check the kilometres to go and realise I can easily get to Cordoba, find a place with a TV and watch today's Qualifying over lunch.And that's exactly what I did.
As the 'Quali's' only last about an hour, I immediately ordered a dish of incredibly tasty large prawns, described as langoustinos on the menu, that were so yummy I needed all the bread in the basket to polish the plate to its last micron layer of garlic and herb butter. Deeeeelicious!
Oh look, it's raining at Silverstone and the Qualifying has been temporarily halted by a rainstorm that's going to last longer than 10 minutes.

"Señor, muchos grande gambas, por favor."

Well, had to be done and I did. Outstanding! ... even the second time around and another plate left clean enough to bypass the dishwasher. Won't mention the results other than what's happened to Jenson and thank you to Jennie Gow (BBC F1 5Live Team) for the ReTweet.

Prawned and Qualified, I continue my journey NE is search of a campsite that takes me over 100 kms to find, but the end result is a worthy hillside view of the classically, deep red and orange terrain that I've been weaving through all day.

I set my tent in the shade, its front door facing the desirable breeze and I'm ready for an early night. Tomorrow, I shall head for Valencia on the coast, another motor racing venue, which is a good 400 k's from here, Santa Elena.

The heat has been relentless today that had me open-jacketed and in jeans for the latter part of the route; it was still 37 degrees as I pulled into the campsite and that was at 7pm!

Great riding, great day xc

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Sevilla by Noches

Flamenco; having opted for the non-dinner, non-tapas, just watch the show cheap seat that had me sat in the balcony looking down on the heel-worn stage, I ended up with what I thought was the perfect view.

What a performance, made all the better by a very enthusiastic crowd. 

As this was my first true flamenco experience, it was for me an extravaganza of foot-tapping exhilaration. The last time I felt this way was at the Hammersmith Apollo, London while revelling in Michael Flatley's Riverdance. Boom! The stage lit with rose garnished, tight-haired, high cheek-boned ladies, all very striking in their dark-eyed makeup, oozing passion in that slightly stern 'Don't fuck with me'  look, accompanied by dominantly proud,  high-elbowed postures of matadorian men that even with neck-high waistbanded trousers, still managed to look undeniably masculine.

The industrial work-rate of their feet was staggering; at one point, the lead man's Cuban-heels, with toes off the floor, vibrated a sound that would have left a military drum roll asking. The clapping, double-clapping, off-beat clapping, thigh slapping, slapping-slapping, galloping castanets, fan swirling and fingertip-wearing guitar playing, all combined into such mesmerising magnetism that the only drink I had was the first one that came free with the ticket. The hour and a half went that fast! I could wax on lyrical, but I'll bore you, however, I found the whole performance incredibly strong, deeply passionate and immensely uplifting.

I left El Patio Sevillano with my feet above the pavement in a Bobby Darin, "Beyond The Sea" kinda way and headed for El Rinconcillo. Full of dance and song as I walked, I realised that I had an internal void that only Jamon Serrano Iberico could neatly fill given that my previous intake had been grateful party left-overs of Activia and a banana at 9am.

El R (well I have been there twice now) was buzzing, matching my still twitching feet, and I didn't waste time launching into Gambas and Vino Blanco de la Casa ... nice! The rest of my menu was created by generally pointed at other customers dishes for my relay of tapas, as my Spanish is all ish and no Span.

I am actually writing this as I eat so please excuse any errors as the Vino de la Casa has been flowing for three hours and has since been replace with a 'tipico' Spanish compliment to cafe; a herbal based digestive that is exactly that, although quite obviously not alcohol-free.

Also worth noting is that my 'cuenta' is bugger all; I know this because, as fore mentioned, it's written in chalk on the bar, although Miguel (see pic) did do that wavy-hand thing a couple of times when serving the odd tapa. Maybe he thinks I'm a restaurant critic.

Anyway, one more for the road and I'll head back to the hotel. I'll publish the post now and add pictures later. 

Sevilla, te amo ... Buenos noches lovely people (that means you too) xc

Sevilla by Day

After a good nights rest, I spent a good amount of time this morning researching two of the many traditions that characterise Spain and especially Andalucia. Flamenco Guitar and Dance, and Tapas. Thanks to mainly TripAdvisor and Lonely Planet's websites along with some general surfing of the internet, I easily created a list of places for reconnaissance also making sure I took full advantage of this beautiful city while I wandered.

I set off weaving through the very clean, rabbit's warren of narrow, cobbled streets that are home to many small bars and restaurants and soon find myself in the canvas-covered, shopping district of Sevilla.
As everywhere in Europe literally every shop has sale banners (in Sevilla's case "rabajas") all over their windows describing the huge discounts that are available inside. I look to take advantage of prices myself as I could do with a pair of hole-free jeans and they are plentiful at 25 Euros. The main problem being they all seem to have a 34 inch inside leg as standard which is a little surprising as I feel quite tall in Spain even without my Cuban heels. I resist the jean need even though I have a sewing kit with me and continue to tick-off the tapas bars on my list as I flat-shoe stroll through the attractive old town.

As I walk in a very likely, ever-widening circle, I open into the tree-lined Avenue Carlos III and take the vine covered walk-way that separates the massive boulevard from the river.

I take my second cafe-con-leche of the morning.
As I sip, I notice the 'El Patio Sevillano' across the street, advertising 'Flamenco Clasico' and immediately inquire. El Patio was established over 60 years ago and its professional, classical guitarists and dancers will play two one and a half hour performances this evening, the first starting at 7pm.
Excellent ... I have found exactly what I was looking for and all I need now is the perfect tapas bar to follow.

I had already marked a couple of maybe's on my tapas list but as I approached 'El Rinconcillo' located on a corner in the back streets, I could feel the tapas-vibe I was looking for from 50 metres away.
I must have walked 3 to 4 kilometres by this point but when I entered the ceramic and wood clad bar, it was worth every hot-cobbled centimetre. The thankfully, air-conditioned enclave was full of chatty locals which makes it all the more perfect as I quickly realised that I was the only foreigner in the place, although the rapid, Spanish firing verbels emanating from the barman suggested he too thinks I'm a local. A common problem I encounter all over Europe especially after 5 sun-bathing days. The first small beer doesn't touch the sides and after the barman adds the cost of my second beer, with chalk,on the well-worn, wooden bar, I manage to establish from him that the place will be open well into the early hours. It simply could not be better and I am really looking forward to my flamenco-filled return.

I'm back at the hotel now and will end this missive so I can catch a two hour siesta before what is likely to be a late one in English terms. Hopefully, I'll have time before check-out tomorrow to share my Sevillian entertainment experience.

Ta ta for now xc

Locked and Left

After 5 days of absorbing sun and booze, the party packed its suitcases with the inevitable knowledge that fun things have to end at sometime and by 11 o'clock this morning, I had fondly waved goodbye to the final, friend-filled airport taxi. As the last to leave, I closed and shuttered the windows of the villa with the now sun-banished, dark rooms leaving me a little deflated. I locked the front door to return the keys, the sound of the lock echoing around the quiet void of the foyer. It was a proper treat and a truly fabulous time, full of laughter and the finest banter that can only be achieved in the company of long-standing friends. Thank you Mark, a 50th not to be forgotten!

The bike loaded, although this time with a few extra kilograms of party leftovers, I freewheeled down the long, steep, off-white cobbled driveway; destination Seville, Spain. An hour into the journey had me feeling very tired, the obvious side-effect of 5 days of fun and having  finger-tipped my usual "Avoid Motorways" SatNav instruction, I was being reliably informed of the three and a half hours still to go. I gave in and asked for "Fastest Route" which had me in the centre of Spain's fourth largest city in under two hours.



I have never been to Seville before but I'm so glad I have had the chance as, so far, it is very impressive. Probably the Andalucian Region's finest city, Seville has many long and wide, tree-lined boulevards that divide a maze of narrow, cobbled streets and hidden squares. The grand buildings are both varied and magnificent which, according to my readings, have Roman, Islamic, Gothic, Rennaisance and baroque heritage. (Photos borrowed from the internet)


Whilst riding around one of the largest old town's of any European city I've visited, I'm sure, on occasion, I was a two-wheeled 'pedestrian-only' given the odd looks I was getting from the many coachmen with their coach and horses, waiting patiently for tourists.
I was still tired so pulled up to enjoy a large cafe-con-leche in a cafe that had a network of small tubes spraying water mist from under each umbrella; a welcome respite in the 35-degree city heat. I used this opportunity to iPhone-search accommodation and very easily found a cobbled-street located, small, typically Andalucian-styled hotel with secure underground parking. After 3 trips back-and-fore to my now checked-in and parked motorbike, I realised I was frankly, ready for bed but I desperately want to enjoy a lazy evening of tapas and local wine.Got it! Stay two nights, you have the time.A quick call to reception had an extension easily arranged so I can spend the rest of today recovering then the whole of tomorrow to consume this glorious city with a long, slow, tapas finale. Perfect.
I shall report on my Seville sensations once experienced but in the meantime I hope you are enjoying the sunshine back home (sorry, couldn't resist that one). Oh and mother, turn the heating off, it's bloody July!
Buenos dias xc

Park Up And Party

I last talked to you from a roadside hotel having just completed 650 kms of wind-battering, motorway riding. A somewhat plastic hotel breakfast had me back on the relentless tarmac of the A62 which led me straight into Portugal withing the hour. Besides the immediate and obvious difference that transforms the flat open plains of central Spain to the rolling, substantially greener hills of Portugal, my introduction to this Atlantic-exposed country was the tuneful hooting and enthusiastic thumbs-up from a BMW driving, young driver who seemed very excited that I was riding in his national lands. This was followed by an overly persistent, large man trying to sell me an iPhone 4 while I was filling up at a motorway service station; he finally understood my unwillingness to buy at my 11th and slightly louder "No!"

Covering 500 kms in very good time, I arrived in Cascais on the coast, west of Lisbon, at 3pm where I met up with an old workmate who has been living there for some years. I have been to Cascais a couple of times previously and it was really terrific to be back as it is a marvelous place; spacious, marsh-mallow cobbled streets and pavements, excellent fish restaurants and the clear-skied heat of the sun lessened by the constant ocean breeze. An extremely pleasant evening in my friend's newly acquired town-centre restaurant had me cheering my decision to break up my journey to the South with this stop-over and a pleasure to experience, once again, the warmth and friendliness of the Portuguese.

After catching some fish for the restaurant at the local market, I was back on the road heading south again, on the final pre-party leg of my trip.

An easy run and I arrive at the villa about 4pm ... a huge place, already full of 10 people (5 couples), all long-standing friends of the birthday boy.
A warm and cheery welcome was soon followed by a well-earned dip in the pool where I could have stayed for a week.

I will be here until Thursday so won't be blogging as I also know all these wonderful people very well and have done so for many years. Once this party starts, it will not stop. Oh, here's the jolly gang ...