Departure: Spain – Valencia, Aragon and Catalonia
Arrival: France – Hautes-Pyrénées
 

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Departing from Valencia

It was the 27th of May 2012 when I found myself in the old Moorish fishing town of Vinaròs on the Valencia coast. It had been a long hot ride up from Cartagena and I was gagging for a shower and a cold frosty beer. I’d ridden up the semi-deserted AP-7 motorway from Cartagena, I say semi-deserted because it seems only truck drivers can afford to drive on the Spanish motorways these days, toll prices are friggen nuts. I’d booked into the Crystal Park Hotel at the edge of town; the owner was a brother biker himself and upgraded my room “free of charge” to an apartment on the ground floor so I could park the RT just outside door – nice. Being a Sunday night and with the necessities done I hustled over to the hotels restaurant before rush hour only to be told the restaurant was closed. It seems business was very slow and I’m 1 of only 3 punters checked into the 30 room motel.

So I headed over to the hotel bar and ordered up a cerveza fría, si señor say’s a wizened, vertically challenged, crooked nosed but endearingly friendly old lady sporting a rather disturbing moustachioed goatee and frightening side burns. After a couple of minutes of watching her hypnotically ample rear unashamedly bent up and over the edge of a deep fridge as she enthusiastically rustled about it’s contents, she manages to evict her now frosted Grizzly Adams only to state, “no tenemos cerveza” –THERE IS NO BEER??? Bloody recession!

After the shuddering shock of the “we have no beer” statement from this truly fascinating woman I did a quick walkabout and found a tapas bar serving mystery meat and spiced rice. Still, anything is edible if the beer is cold enough. Not a great start and you might be forgiven for wondering why the hell I chose to spend a night in Vinaròs in the first place?..

Well from looking at the map it seemed like a good idea because from Vinaròs I’d been told of a series of roads heading inland that lead through beautiful lowlands winding through Aragon and Catalonia. This route in turn leads to a back road cutting its way through Pyrenean gorges into France via ancient Iberian Celtic, Roman, Visigoth and Moorish towns and forgotten monasteries. With a pathological hatred of motorways and only 4 days to play with this route sounded right up my street and it’s why I’m here. I planed to track down one of the best routes into the ancient kingdom of Aragon then border hop along the Pyrenees and ride up the French west coast to Cherbourg.

Aragon and Catalonia

I left Vinaròs at the crack of dawn on the Cv102, then via the T-331 cruised my way along scented farmlands of orange and olive groves leading away from Valencia and into Catalonia. Upon joining the C-12 I rode along the L’Ebre river, then crossing at Benifallet just north of the old Roman town of Tortosa the road opens up into a sublime stretch of asphalt winding up then cutting along the left flank of the Cardó Massif mountain range before turning west onto the wide open plains of western Catalonia. At the town of Maials the Cv-15 joins the Cv-45 and I cross into Aragon at Fraga steering west of Lleida.

So far I’m making very good time, the roads are near perfect with little or no traffic. Then, somewhere just outside of Fraga I meet a couple of Enrique Iglesias impressionists wearing sub-machine guns and Guardia Civil uniforms. Both are starring me down from the 2nd exit of a roundabout, so erring on the side of caution, or possibly calculated cowardice, I take the 1st exit to the A-1234 and mentally give ‘em the finger as is my peculiar custom.

I’m aiming for the N-240 to the ancient and ridiculously historic Roman, Visigoth and Moorish flavored town of Barbastro in Aragon before veering east towards the beginning of the Pyrenean section into France. The landscape is already changing; it’s turning slightly greener, hillier, and ever more interesting. The road is still near perfectly surfaced, it’s fast traffic less curves prompting the RT to be set free of restraint, but I have a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I know from years of riding in Spain that if you see one Guardia Civil checkpoint then you can be dam sure there are more of the sneaky buggers about. So I hold back the Germanic horses and just 5 minutes later as I pull round a blind corner I find two Guardia Civil motorbikes parked up about 100 meters ahead. As I check my speed and flip off my SatNav (now illegal to use “while riding” in Spain) one of the GC Enrique’s complete with a sub-machine gun and aviator sun glasses wave’s me in for a friendly chat, oh joy!

After the usual barrage of pointless question’s one of the GC’s asks me to power on my SatNav and show him that I don’t have any fixed speed checks programmed into the SatNav which is also a very finable offence and I just knew these arseholes were looking for me to fund a new dress for their girlfriends – where as I’d prefer to give their girlfriends something else. Luckily enough my SatNav was nearly as old as my 2002 RT so has no fixed speed check warnings. Then they checked to see if I had a Hi-Vis vest – you dont have to wear one, but you do have to have one if you break down on a road that does not have a footpath, country roads, motorways etc. The law in Spain is confusing on this issue, but it’s certainly better to carry a Hi-Vis vest if you are a tourist in Spain, the law can be interpreted on the spot by the Guardia Civil, and trust me, you never “EVER” argue with those guys as this species has a particularly aggressive nature!. After another solid 15 minutes of document checking they seemed to loose interest (or hope of getting my money) and I’m on my way. Now, I really don’t have any problem with any police force (except the Ukrainian cops) but the Guardia Civil really put sand up my vagina, there’re a right bunch of beavers that will ruin your year if you give them even half an excuse!

Olvena

I’ve been on the road almost 3 hours and as wonderfully relaxing as the ride has been so far I’ve only covered 250km so I needed to get cracking, and as I pull away from the check point I mentally give the Guardia Civil the finger and head towards Barbastro. From Barbastro I head towards my first stop off point of the day, there is a tiny mountain village called Olvena nestled in the mountains north west of Barbastro off the N-123. Olvena has sparked my interest for no particular reason other than it’s built on the side of a cliff, probably so they can spot the Guardia Civil pirates coming and have time to prepare an appropriate welcome, probably involving sharp objects, old fruit and donkey shit.

Catalonian Pyrenees

From Olvena I followed the N-123 along the Rio Esera, skirt along the Lago Barasona lake and onto what should be listed as one of the great stretches or road in Europe, the A-1605, this is the road I’ve ridden 350km from the Valencia coast to find! I came across this road the previous year by chance and I’d been dreaming of returning for a whole year. From the small town of Graus this road leaves Aragon and leads into the Catalonian Pyrenees on, as far as I’m concerned, one of the most beautiful roads in Europe!

The scenery is simply mythical as the A-1605 passes through some of the most beautiful vistas I’ve ever witnessed, all the while the Titans of the Pyrenees loom ever larger as this road lays claim to its intent to cut its way deep into the very heart of this mountain range.

This road is littered with ancient monasteries in which could only have been the remotest areas possible in their day, even now this road seems as remote as it’s possible to get these days. I was loving every second of it and better yet, no sign of bandits – eh, Guardia Civil! My wrist twitches, the throttle opens, and I laugh manically to myself as the BMW’s engine roars to life and I let loose my German panzer to blitz the open road. I give a fleeting thought for my friends at home who could never understand my love of motorbike touring. I smile even as I spare a tear in pity for them.

I ride along the wide dried rocky river bed of the Río Isábena, which becomes a murderous torrent every Spring with snow melt and I’m reminded of the landscapes from old spaghetti western movies, and justifiably so as many were filmed around here including the American Civil War scene in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. The land is wide, open and grandiose, if I didn’t already know I was in Spain I’d never guess where I was, the Carpathian’s, the Rockies, New Mexico maybe?

This is the true beauty of the Pyrenees, it’s just so different from the Alps, and the landscape of these mountains never seems to cease changing as you move from east to west or from the Spanish side to the French, changing from arid semi-desert to sub-tropical in a heart beat!

I’m now deep in the Aragon Pyrenees in an area known as “el bressol del Regne d’Aragó” – The Cradle of the Kingdom of Aragon.

French Hautes-Pyrénées

Passing a deserted medieval village seemingly lost in its own version of “A Fistful of Dollars” about 40km from Graus, the road looses its silky top surface. In the blink of an eye I round a corner passing the isolated 9th century Monastery of Santa María de Obarra and the A-1605 goes native, diving head first into a series of steep gorges along a narrow paved road, in places no wider than the length of my RT. The only thing separating me from a mortally annoying fall into the gorge is an intermittent knee high barrier, but hey, if you’ve ever ridden up the Col d’Izeran through thick cloud then this is a walk in the park!

After an adrenalin fuelled run the A-1605 unceremoniously dumps me onto the N-230, a busy and Guardia Civil laden runway through the Tunel de Vielha and across the border into the French Hautes-Pyrénées. After passing through the tunnel I take my last opportunity of getting cheap petrol in Spain before being stopped by the Guardia Civil just before the border where they “yet again” check my documents and SatNav, generally looking for any excuse for me to help them put their kids through college, bloody camel fisting pirates!

This time I’m not bothered however, I’ve had as good a day as I could ever possibly wish for and I have more of the same lined up in the coming days as I make my way along the spine of the Pyrenees towards the Atlantic. I’d already reached the state of bikers nirvana I had so desperately needed and I mentally give the pirates the finger for the 3rd fecken time today as I roll towards my bed for the night. I’m headed for a biker friendly chalet called the Chalet le Chapeau Bleu in Saint-Béat which I’d found last Autumn, as good a B&B as you could ever hope to find and run by an English couple called Ron and Carol. A few beers, good home cooked food and a bit of banter to finish off the day, Ron is a biker himself so I know he has beer in the fridge, it really doesn’t get much better than this, or does it?

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In my next post my journey continues and a rogue squirrel gobbles my nuts!

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Tags: Aragon, Catalonia, Catalonian Pyrenees, Chalet le Chapeau Blue, Col de la Core, Col de la Crouzette, Col de Menté, Col de Péguère, Col de Port, Col de Portel, Col de Portet d’Aspet, Col de Soulor, Col du Tourmalet, Col d’Agnès, Col d’Aspin, Hautes-Pyrénées, Motorbike Routes Europe, Port de Bielsa, Pyrenees Biking Routes, Pyrenees Routes, Pyresees, Route des Cols, Route des Cols Pyrenees, Saint Beat, Valencia