I felt good for another long ride today. I had a great night’s sleep. The storm has passed and hopefully took the wind with it. The sun was already up when I weaved the bike out of the car park and the day time staff arrive. I’m back on the E-803 and looking to sail through Plascencia, Salamanca and Valladolid and make up my mind by that time as to whether I aim for Burgos or Palencia. If I can get north of Valladolid, I will have broken the back of this 700-mile trek from Valle de Abdalajis to Cantabria. I’ll take it a stage at a time. I might be searching for a hotel at Plasencia if these winds don’t die down. They’ve been waiting for me all night. There are windsocks at strategic points along this road, particularly at viaducts and today, they are flying at right angles, like semaphore signals on a railway line.

 

Day 11 Caceres to Fromista

 

This is a wide-open road, the viaducts cross valleys deep enough to skydive off. The most notable was the bridge over the Rio Tegus. It’s massive. Once it crosses into Portugal this amazing river becomes the Tejo. I’ve seen it’s estuary as it reaches into the Atlantic at Lisbon. It’s my favourite river, partly because it runs through my favourite Portuguese wine growing region of Alentejo. And partly because Lisbon is such a fabulous city. Unfortunately, I couldn’t slow down or even turn my head properly to look down at the river passing under the bridge. It’s scarily high and the crosswind and busy traffic at that very moment meant I had to concentrate entirely on keeping the bike on the road.

Plasencia came and went, that was easy. Now I’m heading into the Sierra de Gredos mountains which means long ascents with slow lorries and long descents with fast lorries. The views were terrific and at Bejar the road seems to climb forever. The valley on the right narrowed, bringing the high hill on the other side closer. The houses of this town are built all along the top with a sheer drop from the windows instead of back gardens.

I’ve covered almost 100 miles and need fuel and a bite to eat. The next sign that promised services was at Guijuelo. Puttering into town I passed an abattoir. It reminded me that throughout the whole trip I could smell pig farms everywhere. These units all had long houses, like battery hen sheds with one or more steel silos at one end that contained the feed for the pigs. The pork industry is massive in Spain and here in this town they have several slaughterhouses producing the Serrano ham that is so popular throughout the world. I’ve been served it almost every day on this trip, either in a bread roll or with melon. Every butcher shop and restaurant have the hams strung up above the counter as the meat is given several years to cure before carving. The biggest exporter of this most popular of meats is based here. I think the town’s emblem is the image of a pig with the dotted lines showing the joints.

Right next to the fuel station is a café. I love this idea. Many fuel stops have an independently owned café right next to a filling station. To my surprise, the walls inside are festooned with posters and regalia showing General Franco, the military dictator who ruled Spain from 1939 until his death in 1975. Less of a surprise though was a Rael Madrid F.C. scarf displayed above one of the posters.

The proprietor was very cheerful, he served my food and drink to me as I sat outside in the sunshine. When I went to pay I asked if I could take a couple of photographs, to which he agreed heartily. When I said ‘Adios’ he called me back, shook my hand and handed me a token gift of a cigarette lighter with the names of the café on one side and the national flag on the other. I might even take up smoking now as a sign of respect for his kindness and warmth. I love this country.

I’m in the Castille Y Leon region now, which explains the political leanings of some folk in these parts. As regards to wine, I think it’s a far more convivial debating point. Castille Y Leon has several separate and isolated wine producing areas across very different terrains. The result is a wide variation in growing methods and quality of the bottled product. I’m also heading towards Rueda and then Cigales, both, popular domains and both produce enviable results. In all three domains there is expanding interest from established viticulturalists looking to invest heavily in the region. There’s so much more for me to discover. But first I have to conquer Salamanca. It’s thirty miles away and where my route takes me north-east, unless I want to visit Galicia. Its very tempting as the wines there are terrific and the countryside different again from those I’ve visited on this trip. Maybe next year.

I’m feeling fresh still and have Valladolid in my sights. The throttle is open and the kilometres on the sign posts count down very quickly. The road curls up and around Valladolid, giving a good view of the city and some rather grand, modern buildings. As I close in on the next fork in the road, I decide I’m going to take the Placencia route to Laredo, so I stopped to search out a place in that vicinity to stay for the night. La Casona De Dona Petra at Villarmentero De Campos, Fromista. It’s a bit of a mouthful but I clicked ‘book now’ and eventually found it in the tiniest of villages. Don’t sneeze as you approach, by the time you open your eyes again you will have missed it. It’s a wonderful little find.

My room was so sweet, the interior of the hostel is wonderfully rustic yet sumptuous, with a private garden, dining room and a couple of lounge areas. The lady in charge offered to lock my bike overnight in the barn across the way and could not do enough for me. There were a few other guests staying here who all seem to be hikers. The village is on the route of the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage. I did wonder what all the walkers, with hiking sticks, backpacks and miserable faces were doing up here as I passed them on the road from Fromista. Not one of them looked happy. I did speak to a lovely couple from Germany, doing the same journey but they were on bicycles and were very jolly. A Canadian guy was passing through who said he was not doing the walk for religious reasons, he just fancied the challenge. Other than that, everyone else, even those in the bar-cum-gardens just down the road from the hostel looked like they’ve all missed the last bus home. There was very little conversation going on. It created the least friendly atmosphere I’d experienced all trip. As I sat with my drink, I felt like I’d turned up with dog mess on my shoe. I guess I was the outsider. There was a very close-knit ambience in their huddled groups.

I have not a word to say against the folk running the hostel. Relaxing in the garden there was much homelier. I enjoyed my supper and settled easily for a good night’s sleep. I have a very short ride tomorrow. I’ve done 260 miles today and the room and a great breakfast set me back £28. No wonder the hikers were miserable. There’s nothing worse for a moaner than having nothing to moan about.

 

Day 12 Fromista to Bilbao

 

 

I rode back to the Autovia I came to this hostel on instead of taking the longer route via lesser roads because I want to stop a couple of times along this route to capture a few pictures and enjoy the ever- changing landscape. I’ve already ridden over craggy mountains, hot dry plains, through deep valleys, pretty villages and desolate industrial towns and not for a moment was I unimpressed. I took a small risk coming this way instead of through Burgos which has some legendary scenery along that way but within a few miles I was very pleased I chose this route.

The first stretch of the A67 was extremely bumpy but only in the slow lane. HGV’s have obviously ground their own tracks in the asphalt and my hard suspension didn’t like it. Forty miles into the ride I stopped at Olleros de Pisuerga. There’s a church here that’s built into the hillside, where the interior is cut deep inside the cave. If you were to spend all day here, a short walk to a canyon called Canon de la Horadada, is well worth a peek as the rather grand Rio Pisuerga runs through the gorge. For the more serious walkers, looking for breathtaking scenery instead of just yomping energy sapping distances, Las Tuerces park offers giddying views from on high, where surrounding rocks have been formed into fantastic shapes over millions of years from the elements. This whole area is worth more than just a ride through and quick photograph. If I return I will make sure I stay close by and bring some walking boots. I won’t feel miserable out here, that’s for sure.

Just after Villanueva de Henares I crossed into Cantabria, my final province. The road surface here is much improved. I can see the mountains ahead and the immediate hills closing in. This is most enjoyable. I hoped it wouldn’t be just a boring run for my final stint. I left the road again at Reinosa. There’s a reservoir close by called the Embalse del Ebro. It’s the source of the River Ebro. I rode as far as Villafria and stopped to take in the views. The road carries on for several miles along the south shore, twisting and teasing with bends that wriggle like a serpent after escaping prey. I could have ridden around the entire lake, a journey of about 40 miles. I now wish I did. Instead, I skipped back to the main road and kept to my original route. There’s even the option of taking a slight detour on back roads to Laredo after reaching the eastern edge of this beautiful leg. It’s like I thought at the beginning of my trip, there are always options. If I allowed myself to deviate at every whim, I would still be there and not sitting here typing this up.

I followed the Bilbao signs. There are lots of towns along this coast line. Some with beaches and others, inland. I’ve plumped for inland and the enclave of Treto. The hotel Las Ruedo won the prize of putting up with me for the weekend, due to covered parking, breakfast included and an easy exit back on to the A-8 for a 40-mile dash to Bilbao and the ferry on Tuesday morning.

The hotel is located on a roundabout and the big frontage belies its smaller, charming interior. My room is good and all facilities work.

I wash all my laundry and hang it to dry in the bathroom. For the rest of the day, I walked down the hill and wandered around the port of Colindres. And wasted not a single minute doing anything in particular.

During the weekend I explored the wider area on foot, by bus and on my bike. The beach at Laredo is something else. It’s massive, and when it’s busy it still looks empty. Laredo is a great place for a laid back, weekend break. I found a delightful tea room that made a nice change from the usual bar/café format. The cakes are irresistible. Staff in all the bars were extremely accommodating. Food was cheap, except in the hotel, and so was the wine and beer. I noticed quite a number of menfolk drinking their wine from the glass decanter-shaped vessel with a spout, called a Porron.

I took a couple of rides out on the bike towards the beaches and around the coastline. The road to Santona takes you over mud flats where two or more estuaries merge into one. The reward is another cracking beach and promenade where there is a large bullring that would be classed as a premier league ground in comparison to the makeshift metal bullring, I spotted at Azagra in Navarra at the beginning of my adventure.

I also rode inland and up in to the mountains, back towards Burgos. The roads were engaged by dozens, nay scores, of bikers with the same idea. Many of them were on classic bikes, sporting vintage goggles and biblical beards. I noted Sunbeams, Greaves, Velocettes and BSA’s among the more familiar names of Norton and Triumph. The steep, twisty climbs up, over and back down again on narrow roads topped the end of a brilliant road trip around this incredible country.

My bike never missed a beat. It only ever failed to start first time once, and that was when I used the choke in the morning at Antequera where the temperature was already tropical.
Tuesday came around fast. I had a decent breakfast at 07:00 and set off just before daylight could give me a clear view of the hills. The commuter traffic heading for Bilbao kept me on my toes and the twisting road exposed coves and petrochemical plants as Bilbao loomed. Fortunately, the sign for the ferry port is in the opposite direction to the zillions of commuters now clogging the road to Bilbao city itself. I’m freezing. My summer gloves are inadequate for the first time. I was happy to pull into the queue for the ferry home. It’s the same ship I came out on. Other riders gathered to talk of their exploits. The main topic was wind. It was not just troubling me then! It seemed even the most hardened, long distance rider was unnerved by the experience on those exposed fast roads. I feel a lot more comfortable for knowing that.

I ate, slept and read as the 24-hour journey back turned out to be 26 hours. It mattered not. I swapped my summer gloves for my heated winter ones and by mid-morning, I climbed up from the pits of the hold to roll off the ferry into milky English sunshine. 4 hours later I came home to an empty house. My wife has taken off for Rome and at the same moment I poured myself a cup of tea, she text me to say she was sitting in blazing heat whilst sipping Soave as she stared out at some famous Roman landmark. The day after I set off for Portsmouth, she was winging it to some beach in the Algarve. I’ll have to have words. It’s just one big holiday for her.

 

Final Word

 

Tags: Eddy Smith, Motorcycle Routes Spain, Motorcycle Touring, Motorcycle Touring Spain