Eddy
It’s all very well sitting comfortably in your favourite armchair, reading tales of leather clad bikers riding top of the market machines with matching accessories, off to conquer the mountains that separate countries, as they brave altitude sickness, sub-zero road temperatures and hairpin bends that make your bald spot tingle. It’s inspiring when they grind out the miles through ‘Istans’ and Oblasts, dicing with dodgy cops at barbed wired checkpoints. But what about us lesser mortals who have a desire to do something adventurous if not nearly as stupendous? Surely, there’s reward in taking off to lower altitudes and better attitudes from the guardians of foreign roadways?
So, for me and my trusty Yamaha BT 1100 Bulldog, I planned to mix pleasure with leisure and head to Spain and make a big circuitous route whilst avoiding toll roads, motorways and overpopulated holiday resorts. I came up with the idea of heading to numerous racing circuits which offer a focus for the trip and take in a second passion of mine and aim to ride through various famous and some, not so famous, wine growing regions. I will add occasional places of special interest along the way. The route will take me in a clockwise direction, avoiding all the beach resorts and major cities, you can fly to these places for buttons. I will keep off the autovias as much as possible and hope to conquer a few modest mountain roads of my own. Riding ever further south and west before turning north for home before we hit Portugal. Finally, I plan to complete the circuit on the Atlantic coast between Santander and Bilbao, where, I can languish for a couple of days on a beach, weather permitting, before taking the short hop to the ferry terminal and home. This bucket-list ambition has been delayed and adjusted several times since inception but now, its really happening. I’m going to do it.
Day 1 We’re Off
14:30 hours on a cloudy Sunday afternoon as I set off from the West Midlands to reach Portsmouth and the 22:30 ferry bound for Bilbao in Spain. My 52-item checklist of everything I think I could possibly need, including spare laces for my boots, has been ticked and double checked. I think I’ve packed my soft bags sufficiently for fast loading and safe carrying, besides, it’s too late now because I’m already edging the bike off the estate and down towards the M5 and Portsmouth. I plan on arriving at about 18:30 which allows for minor contingencies. It’s cool, dry, clear and an easy, if somewhat tedious run, involving the A17, a short section of the M4 and then the A34. The final two bits are on motorways; M3 and M27 so let’s get this over with.
The only snag was the M4 section that was gridlocked from the moment I joined it. Filtering put paid to that sufficiently, though I realised I was still nipping along the white lines when everyone was now doing 70mph. Oops. I refuelled in Portsmouth after a bit of searching and joined other bikes at the check-in queues for the ferries at just about 18:30. The dull part of the day was over, I was now officially at the starting point of my big adventure. As we waited to get our passports checked I got into conversation with the bikers around me. Some were actually headed for the St Malo Ferry and fired their engines up to join that queue. The guys directly behind me were a father and son, with Dad on a trike, heading for ‘aimless riding’, their words, over the Picos mountains. It was Dad’s first Spanish run but the son just loves coming back for more. They will be camping, so freedom was their guide. My schedule was slightly more regimented as I had planned a route where I had pre-booked a couple of hotels and set my sights on finding accommodation at short notice at certain other districts as the fancy took me.
As we progressed through the queuing system, one numpty in a car decided to change lanes and force his way in front of my bike as I was about to pull forward, I think he gained 8 seconds to get through passport control. He was then stuck at the back of a long queue of cars as the bikes were directed to join their own lane much further forward. I got talking to a lad who was travelling alone on his first ever crossing of the English Channel. He was heading over the Pyrenees to Roussillon, to visit a pal. He was a little nervous but decidedly determined to do it his own way. I had visited the town of Limoux, where he was heading, and explained how lovely and accessible the place is, he felt reassured and more confident in his judgement to take this route instead of the more obvious choice via a French port.
Lets get going..
Waiting in the queue for the signal to board the ship was excruciating. I just want to get started proper. The ferry is due to dock at Bilbao early on Tuesday morning. The schedule includes stopping at Roscoff on the Monday morning but only for a staff changeover. No passengers will alight or board at that point. So, I have two nights to relax in my already reserved cabin and hopefully a placid Atlantic crossing through Biscay and into Bilbao. At 21:45, we were waved on board. The bikers, around 40 of us, were motioned, one at a time, to ride down a steep ramp into the pit of the ship’s bowels. When the bike in front reached the bottom of the ramp safely, the next bike followed. This is not a good time to screw up and lose control with an anxious queue waiting behind you. I edged down successfully, legs splayed, brake levers on super standby. We were herded into a corner and boxed off by cars that followed us down, blocking any chance of a swift exit when we get to the other side.
Unclipping all my baggage and dragging it to the (blue) lift up to the seventh floor, I had then to climb a flight of stairs and walk half the length of the ship to the (red) lift to get to the 9th floor where my cabin was located. All the time the P.A. was announcing that we cannot go back to our vehicles during the sailing and to remember which coloured lift we needed to get to the place where our vehicle was parked. The ship (The Pont Avon) is a decent sized ferry with several eateries, bars and not a lot else. This suited me as I just wanted to enjoy the solitude and feeling of anticipation of what I have finally embarked on. I purchased a salad supper from the cafeteria and a soft drink and when I’d finished that, I retired to my room, ready for a good night’s sleep. An anti-travel sickness tablet, just in case, and I settled down to read, with my MP3 player shutting out all but the gentle thrum of the engines and rhythmic rocking as the ship left the shore.
Monday, and Roscoff greeted us with cloudy skies and a blanket grey hue. Nothing had been painted yet but by the time we departed, the sky had been cleared of the dreary tarpaulin and the sea too came to life in brilliant technicolour. I sat for a while outside, at the aft deck bar, watching the white wake, trailing, perfectly straight, as we ploughed through the calm sea. I’m sipping coffee and feeling so good. I could see the French coast to my right and as I looked out at one point, I spotted a pod of about six dolphins, arching out of the water and plunging back under like synchronised swimmers in wet suits. A guy sitting close to me, with his head deep in a book about the Battles of the Somme, was oblivious of this rare spectacle. I tapped his arm and pointed. We sat for the few moments we had, enjoying the scene. All too soon the pod was indiscernible from the colourations the waves produced. A good omen? I hope so. I hope this whole trip will be speckled with more wonderful moments from Mother Nature’s magic box.
Clear sailing..
At lunchtime, I headed for the top deck and ordered croque monsieur, which was dry, over cooked and repeated on me for the next 24 hours. Thank goodness I remembered indigestion tablets. I didn’t need any more anti-travel sickness pills but my 52-item checklist was not such an OCD affliction after all.
The second night at sea was equally placid, an announcement was made saying we would arrive at Bilbao at 03:00 on the following morning but we would not be disembarking until the scheduled 07:45. Phew, that’s a relief. I didn’t fancy getting up at 02:00, loading the bike and being thrown out onto the streets in the middle of the night. That would be most inconvenient.
Day 2 Bilbao to Los Arcos
Day 2 Route Map Bilbao to Los Arcos
By 08:00 European time I was astride the Bulldog and shuffling backwards to turn around and face the daunting task of ascending the steep ramp from this dungeon and terra firma. The guy heading for Roussillon asked if he could follow me out through the streets of Bilbao as we were both heading much the same way, at least for the first 10 miles. We bade farewell to the other guys and off we set. It was raining slightly but not enough to get the waterproofs out. In fact, the rain stopped the moment we exited the first tunnel on the confusing autovia. We were on our way.
I’d written down the places, road numbers and landmarks I needed to look for to avoid the toll roads. My sat-nav was programmed to do the same. It’s impossible. It’s rush hour, the roads conjoin, split, join again and force you to stay on the main artery out of here. AP8 (the P stands for pay) is the only route you can effectively take. The ‘N’ roads and other non-motorway thoroughfares were either gridlocked or just plain hidden. And when you are high on a road looking down to your left over the city of Bilbao, it is advisable to keep to the AP roads until you are clear of the place. The road system looks like tangled string down there. We had to stop and pay a euro or two a couple of times before my France bound friend waved a cheery bye-bye as he headed east and I decided to get off the autovia and find an ‘N’ road as soon as possible. I had to get away from the madness of clogged commuter traffic. Within a few minutes I took a slip road, paid a third toll and turned left. I was on an ‘N’ road at last. I was finally where I wanted to be, even if I had no idea where I was. But it was an open country road, and I had to be heading south. Bilbao is built along an estuary so is a narrow, stretched out city and probably very nice but I’m not on a city break. I’m out in the countryside and I am going to explore as much of it as I can.
Navarra Roads
I had exited the autovia somewhere around Basauri. It frustrated me that the list I had written down and placed in my tank bag did not match a single road junction I hoped to see during the run out of Bilbao. I stopped to check the sat-nav and ensure I was heading in the general direction of Vitoria Gasteiz. It seemed, I was, I breathed a great sigh of relief. I still have several hours to complete the 100 or so miles to Los Arcos where I planned to spend my first night on Spanish soil. It doesn’t matter which road you find yourself on once you leave the autovias as long as you’re heading in the general direction you intend to.
Bilbao to Los Arcos
There are options and are all lovely roads that chase through valleys and up hillsides, offering great views, plenty of bends, lots of villages and very little traffic. I rode for quite a while alongside the Rio del Nervion de Bilbao river, which is almost as long as its name. It meandered wistfully for several miles, eventually reaching Arakaldo and beyond there to Murgia. I’ve covered about 50 miles now and have settled into a comfortable rhythm in the ever-brightening sunshine. The mountain ranges around Bilbao are not as daunting as I perhaps feared and proved to be the perfect welcome to riding on undulating foreign roads.
There are junctions inviting you to get back on the autovia to take you to Vitoria Gasteiz but there was no need for that nonsense. I want to mosey. After Murgia I was faced with a choice. The N-622 that whisks you swiftly to Vitoria Gasteiz or the A-3610 that takes you the on the more scenic route to Manurga over hills and down to the same city. The bypass around Vitoria connects with the A-132. I took the more rural option.
I reached the A-132 at Argandona. The bypass was ‘truck’ ridden and the least pleasant stretch since leaving Bilbao. Now, it’s back to perfect riding conditions as I passed within view of oversized churches, way up on the hilltops, surrounded by terracotta roofed matchboxes as villages spill down the slopes. There are so many mountains on the horizons that appear after every corner that I could spend all day pulling up to take photographs. There were times I would see a beautiful landscape dotted with habitation in the most unlikely and remote places and curse because there was nowhere, I could safely stop to capture the scene. Eighty miles completed and Izki proved the ideal refreshment stop. It has a café on the corner, parking space aplenty and I could sit outside to drink my coffee and devour a bocadillo. This was basically a cheese omelette in a baguette, heated. A bottle of water too and when I handed my euros over I was happy to find they’d given most of them back in change. 3,50€. That’s a nice surprise. This happened almost every day throughout the trip.
Coffee Stop
It certainly eased the projected burden on the cashflow. I’m not going to any of the major tourist areas and along with the savings on my daily budget I’m being welcomed, respected and smiled at by the locals and the purveyors. I like it. Fortified, I set off for the final phase of today’s journey. I stayed on the A132, but there is another very scenic route from here, if you turned right and headed over the western hills. It puts a full 2 extra miles and maybe 15 minutes onto the journey. There are always options.
Olive Groves & Vineyards – Biking Utopia
At Acedo, I had to bear right onto the A129 and found myself stopping near Mues to photograph the hilltop to my left as the standing stone on the summit resembled a Roman centurion guarding the pass through to the next valley. At least it looked that way from this distance. To the east, on the same hill, I could see a large monastery, which I later learned has fallen into complete disrepair. The ‘centurion’ at the top of the hill was just a weather worn rock, sculpted by nature’s own chisel.
I rolled into Los Arcos shortly after midday. My timing was perfect. I had a date with a winemaker. I’d written to the bodega some time back, explaining my interest in the technicalities of wine-making almost as much as I enjoy the consumption of the end product. I was invited to drop by for a personal tour of the establishment. As I flicked the side stand down, the door opened to the winery and a customer was shepherded to his car with his arms full of boxes, followed by his wife and the proprietor. They all said ‘Buenos Dias, bienvenido a España’, as I removed my helmet.
Bodega Visit
I was then treated, nay spoiled rotten, for the next couple of hours, by the most informative, interesting and detailed tour of the business. Fernandez de Arcaya produce Vina Perquita, classic Navarra wines, of tremendous quality. They also produce kosha wine, the only Bodega in the region to do so. I learned so much my head was spinning. I even learned about the folly of certain techniques adopted by the mass producers, who claim to have the final word on vinification. I could have stayed all day. I was treated like a VIP guest and, being on a motorcycle, I could hardly succumb to any sales pitch even if there was one. But then again, I do have a couple of spare bungee straps and those emergency boot laces in the tank bag.
Los Arcos
My hotel was but a mile away. It’s just on the edge of the town and it was time I checked in, unloaded the bike and searched out somewhere nice for a late lunch. But I have one more landmark to visit before I eat.
Navarre Race Track
The main reason for choosing this location was the Navarra racing circuit, it’s just across the road. I spent twenty minutes checking out the circuit from a high vantage point and rode along the public road that followed the perimeter fence.
Navarre Race Track
After a light lunch in Los Arcos I wandered around the town, snapping away and enjoying the peaceful ambience but the urge to get back on the bike and explore a little further afield took over and I was soon heading south west to Torres del Rio by way of Lazagurria.
Lazagurria
I rode between vineyards and across reasonably flat, open plains watched over by the ubiquitous backdrop of mountains. Until I reached Rio del Torres. This village is built on a steep incline with the predictable church at the top. The whole place is as clean and as neat as a freshly made bed. There’s a nice café here too. The little excursion was well worth the effort but now, it was time for me to head back to the hotel and watch the sunset as I eat my dinner. The Villa De Los Arcos Hotel is attached to a fuel stop with a grocery shop and a very acceptable café. There is parking where I could see my bike from my bedroom window. I finally bunked down to imagined applause that so far, my planning has paid off. What a fabulous first day! I can’t wait for tomorrow. A slight blip came however, in the form of the man in the next room. We had adjoining doors which meant I could hear him talking when he got back from his meal. He was not alone. I heard him call his wife back in the UK. He confessed he had somehow double booked a £100 a night hotel for himself later in the week and it was such a nuisance to get it sorted. Blah, blah, then he spent five minutes saying, or singing, “Love you…. Love you too sweety…. Mwah, kiss kissy kiss”, before finally, the call ended. Then he turned to whomever was in his room with him and said, “Well, that’s out the way, do you want me to re-fill your glass?” I reached for some ear plugs.
Thank goodness for my 52-item checklist. I have travelled around 160 miles today, which included some exploration and a little bit extra due to a self-inflicted detour to get away from Bilbao’s autovia. I am heading for Pedrola tomorrow with the aim to get to Caspe the following day. I’ve pre-booked a hotel in Caspe because it’s the weekend of the Aragon stage of the MotoGP and all hotels for many miles around had already been booked or have hiked their prices to capitalise on the influx of race goers. Pedrola is less than 100 miles away but I aim to take a longer, more interesting route and arrive at the roadside hostel about mid to late afternoon. It promises a different landscape to the verdant hillsides and many towns I witnessed during today’s ride.
