Travels Without the Flea, France and Spain 2013

[katyotter]

It would be great Lord Snooty, we could enjoy a beer and a pleasant chat. Unfortunately it is not to be on this occasion as I'm writing this from a fairly chilly Devon, having survived the vile weather and returned from the trip on 6th June. I hope you're enjoying better temperatures than us.

 

[katyotter]

Day 6
27th May

In which the sun didn’t shine – the lack of thermals was deeply regretted – the wallpaper could have been so much worse.



We had shutters on the bedroom window so didn’t suspect the awful truth immediately. When they were eventually opened the sun did not stream in, it didn’t even creep in stealthily. Black clouds met our gaze and everything that could blow around was blowing around with extraordinary gusto. Back went the liners in the coats, away went the summer gloves and out came the winter ones again. Apart from all else it was very cold indeed and I could just visualise that line drawn through the word ‘thermals’ on our list of things to take. Very fortunately I’d packed a pair of footless tights to wear with a thin, gauzy top in the anticipated warm evenings - these came in handy now providing, at least, an extra layer.

The plan today was to get as close to Auch as possible. We took the N20 down to Montauban and then switched to the D928 going through Beaumont de Lomagne, the countryside and little villages were really interesting but the weather was too disgusting to stop for exploration or even scenic shots. We eventually came to Morlaas, just above Pau, and let the Sat Nav find us somewhere to stay. It took us to the Hotel 'Le Bourgneuf' which had seen better days but was clean and there. It was quite big and almost empty, only a couple of cyclists there apart from us. Our room was pretty primitive with incredible bright lime and lilac wallpaper, open doors on the empty rooms over the way showed us we were lucky – we could have had a crazed purple or burning orange design with matching ceilings.

Given all of this the place was quite expensive at 62 euros with breakfast and another 45 for a nothing special evening meal - there was absolutely nowhere else to go and we were shattered from hanging on to the bikes when all the elements wanted to do was blow us off. This was the only place where the bikes were both left out, it was a private car park but with no shelter of any kind and it tipped it down all that night.

We went for a little walk around the town in the evening which is how we discovered there was nowhere else to eat. We did find an interesting porch on a church though, with a whole host of different stone characters.

 

[katyotter]

Day 7
28th May

In which John is right as usual – the elements continue their attack – I enjoy the tunnel – we enjoy the hotel – we change our plans.

Naturally it was raining the next morning and we had to pack the bikes in the rain and get on soaking saddles. I spent about ten frustrated minutes trying to get one of my liners into the pannier so that it would close, cutting my hand in the process and dripping blood over everything. John asked if I was putting it in the correct pannier which got a very acid comment from me about questions and stupidity – that was until I realised that he was, of course, right; even more annoying!!!

This is a picture of me in this rather black mood trying to shelter a little in the hotel porch.

 

[katyotter]

Far from improving as might sensibly be expected at the end of May, the weather simply got more desperate every day. Each evening we thought we had survived the worst there could possibly be, only to be quickly proved wrong the following morning. Clearly this day had no intention of being an exception to the rule. Even running at just below thirty through this small, sheltered town, the wind tore at us when crossing every side street, warning us of what we might expect when we hit the main road. Today’s journey was Pau, the N134 and the Somport Tunnel into Spain, the weather made it an endurance test; it was raining, it was freezing cold and the wind was blowing a monumental hooley from all directions at once. We stopped at Omorond St. Marie for a break, sheltering under some trees in a car park and then again at Urdos just before the tunnel.

A pic of me with the bikes in an atmospheric Urdos and one of John with some sudden, feeble sunshine.

 

[katyotter]

The N134 which led to the Somport Tunnel had been recommended as a lovely road with some fantastic views – we couldn’t see any as the mist and rain blotted everything out and now here we were. I’d been a bit worried about the tunnel, it’s 4 miles long and, apart from the claustrophobia, I find all the lights very mesmerising. I’d had no need for apprehension though, it was a delight to get into it – all that dreadful weather was excluded. For the whole length of it we were almost the only vehicles, just a couple of cars at the far end coming in the opposite direction. We had seen no customs on the way in and, equally, there seemed to be nothing on the other side either. We expected a siren, blue light pursuit at any moment thinking we may just have breezed past them. However nothing appeared and we pulled up at a huge but deserted and closed down garage to take some pics. The sun was out on this side of the Pyrenees but it was still desperately windy and utterly freezing.

The bikes and us next to the garage.

 

[katyotter]

And the view we were heading towards.

 

[Nutty]

I'm enjoying this. I should do some work really.

 

[katyotter]

So on to Jaca and the Hotel Oroel which we had pre-booked mainly because it had secure underground parking and was in walking distance of the town. We found it easily thanks to the Sat Navs. The bikes were allocated space on the very lowest floor – don’t know why because it was almost empty – and this meant endless steep slopes down. There was a lift from there to take us up to our room which we discovered was lovely, really spacious, quite luxurious and beautifully warm, we even had a balcony. We had planned to leave the next day for Soria but we decided we could really do with a break so we organised an extra day at reception – not without difficulty due to the language. We both speak reasonable French but almost no Spanish which continued to be a problem the whole time we were there, even right there on the border no-one seemed to have French and certainly no English. I would highly recommend the hotel though, it’s very expensive in the ski season but we only paid 51 euros per night which was really good value for such a nice room and safe parking.

A pic of the dedicated 'office' area in our room showing essential supplies.

 

[katyotter]

It was lovely and warm in the room as I said but it was bitter cold out and John had only brought shorts for walking around in. There were loads of ski shops so we decided to go and see if we could find some warm apres ski pants for him.

This is me with just about everything I could get on before setting out. I spent the whole time longing for my thermals, a jumper and a wooly hat.

 

[katyotter]

And John in his sexy new trousers (he should have been in catalogue modelling).

 

[katyotter]

Newly wrapped up we could just about brave an evening stroll.

 

[katyotter]

I'm enjoying this. I should do some work really.

I'm glad someone is Nutty, I was beginning to think I was casting it all into a vacuum

 

[Nutty]

I'm glad someone is Nutty, I was beginning to think I was casting it all into a vacuum

Seems odd, it's a good report, normally loads of people read them. I guess everyones too busy talking about badges and jackets.

 

[katyotter]

I've managed some of that - not such fun now it's moved.

I've had a lot of views but nobody else has said anything, thanks for your comment though

 

[Piaf]

Thank you for taking the time to post your ride report, good read. Looks like you both enjoyed the trip despite the cold wet windy weather (and cut hand).

 

[katyotter]

And thank you for your comment too, it's not all just disappearing with the gusts then

 

[katyotter]

Day 8
29th May

In which we get a lie-in – we find the Rock Sparrows – we get a bonus bird – we get very, very cold and wet – we change our minds.



Luxury! We could lie in and we didn’t have to even touch a motorbike for the whole day.

One of the things we had particularly wanted to see in Jaca was the rock sparrows because as well as being bikers we’re also birders. These rock sparrows are confined to only a few places, the walls of the Ciudad or Citadel being one of them. It was a very cold day with an accompanying persistent drizzle so it was nice not to be travelling, tomorrow would doubtless be better! We’d brought binoculars (of course) and also two Montane waterproof coats, the sort that fold into a tiny stuff bag; armed with these essentials we set off. The Citadel is one of a number of ancient, Spanish forts and is currently used as a military establishment where soldiers are trained in mountaineering and survival, it turned out to be literally a few hundred metres from our hotel so that was lucky. When we got there we tried walking in only to be collared by an ex-Russian shot-putter with a genial, SS style approach to visitors. We gathered we weren’t allowed in except at certain times and then only with a ticket. We had passed a little closed booth on our way in and were shooed back to that. It was by now absolutely pouring down and very cold indeed, oh how I longed for my thermals and a jumper! We had to wait about ten minutes for the booth to open and then discovered we could only do a tour with a guide and it was quite expensive, however we were able to buy a ticket to go unaccompanied to view the utterly fascinating display of miniature military figures! As this meant access to the inner fort walls which was all we wanted that was the one for us. A whisk round the cased, military figures – the biggest display of its kind in the world - took about five minutes and then we set off to inspect the walls.

Our visit coincided with a military passing out parade with lots of speeches and bands playing – everyone seemed armed to the teeth and I almost expected a shot to whizz by, or at least a shouted challenge, as we made our way under various arches and into disused areas that looked extremely out-of-bounds. Keeping a careful eye out for the shot-putter, we continued our search and were at last rewarded by our first Rock Sparrow quickly followed by six or seven more. Success! We were really cold and shivering by this time so decided to head back for the hotel – I was even far too cold and wet to have the energy to go on into town to see if I could find a nice, warm jumper. On our way back we had an extra birding bonus in the shape of a couple of Black Redstarts on the lawned area outside the Citadel, we watched them for a bit then scurried back to Hotel Oroel and our nice, warm room.

After a shower and a rest we discussed the planned route and decided, in the light of the weather, we would alter direction a little to avoid exposing ourselves to quite so much of a pounding. So Soria and Segovia were crossed off and a more direct line for the Picos adopted with Logrono as the target for tomorrow evening. I went online and found a hotel with secure parking that seemed reasonable, being the same price we were paying at Hotel Oroel, and I booked a room accordingly before addressing our need for food.

Supper the previous night had been at the hotel and had been distinctly unimpressive so we decided to hit the town to see what we could find, wearing motorbike coats for warmth we set off. We came across a ‘mob’ of around ten people protesting outside a bank while a couple of uniform and two plain-clothes policemen looked on – nipping a Spanish Spring in the bud perhaps? There were no tempting places for food, no places at all really, though we eventually ended up at a small bar where we had some tapas – the ubiquitous meatballs and some kind of mushroom thing – it was OK and certainly needed by that time, but not outstanding - however it came with quite a pleasant red wine and, at 20 Euros for the two of us, was reasonable value. Little did we know how much we should have appreciated it.


John at the closed booth - drenched but smiling bravely

The Citadel Entrance on its own and one with a soaking, frozen me in it.

A deer wandering around the outer wall - don't ask, we don't know.

 

[katyotter]

Day 9
30th May

In which nothing gets better – we reach another low ebb but lower – the bikes continue well looked after – we see a number of hotels for sale – we’re happy to share with ants.



Up early to pack the bikes and be on our way, firstly having to negotiate the half dozen steep, slippery looking slopes upwards to liberate the bikes from the underground car park. This was followed by what felt like an almost sheer incline to the road (didn’t feel like that on the way in) with cars parked either side blocking the view of the fast-flowing traffic just beyond them, this meant insufficient room for anything more than the front wheel leaving the back one up on the incline whilst simultaneously desperately leaning forward to try to see any minute gap to get into! I almost dropped the bike there, my arms felt the strain for days.

The weather was – unbelievably - worse than ever, it was truly, truly vile! The temperature hovered between 6 and 7 degrees and the wind was indescribable! My husband had modded a screen for my bike (see 650/700/800 GS twins Title: F700 Screen Solution for details)

and the trip so far had been a great test of its robustness, it clearly possessed this quality in spades – if that onslaught didn’t crack it or damage it or dislodge it then nothing short of a sledgehammer was going to; a good piece of kit that screen and, it crossed my mind, that if I ever got home again I’d be able to thoroughly recommend it. At least we’d made the right decision about altering our route. Once again conditions forced us on to main roads and we took the N240 to Pamplona’s ring road and then the N111 to Logrono. The Sat Navs located Hotel Las Gaunas (now known as Las Guano in the Spencer household) situated conveniently between a large filling station and a football stadium. The bikes were once again under cover, another underground park but only one floor down this time. The bloke who showed us the way insisted quite crossly that both bikes should share one space despite the presence of only two other vehicles on the whole floor. Anyway, the bikes were fine and the angry ‘bloke’ seemed to be the security guard too so that was a plus. The hotel was, in a word, grim. The shot-putter with the SS charm from Jaca’s Citadel had a close friend working there as hotel receptionist. “Your passports” she snapped by way of greeting, “What both?” I asked as one had been enough for everyone else and it would mean trailing back to the bike, “Of course both!” as if addressing a particularly irritating cretin. Nothing got any better, our room was horrible - cramped, down at heel and unkempt, cigarette burns in the furniture long ignored. The window could only be opened by standing precariously on a rickety chair to reach the catch which was nearer the ceiling than anything else and the curtains were mock with only some sort of liner that actually pulled across. There was a bar downstairs where we had a beer, litter was strewn around the counter, tables left uncleared and the welcome was indifferent. It didn’t seem a promising prospect so we decided to seek supper in downtown Logrono – couldn’t be that far could it? It seemed pretty big on the map and must have lots of great places.

The bikes underground again.

The charming view from our window at Las Guano, note the sky.

 

[katyotter]

It was, indeed, big. After ten minutes or so of assorted streets we came to the main town, there was a huge fountain there, forming a roundabout, and we noted that for the direction back. A lot of wandering yielded a vast quantity of department stores and other such unsought things but nowhere nice to eat. Every new turn brought more of the same. In the end I saw a guy parking a BM and I asked him where the restaurants were, this was necessarily in my few words of Spanish most of which would have been unhelpful in any situation and lots of sign language. They were, as we’d suspected, all together and we followed his instructions and found them. A couple of beers were definitely called for which we enjoyed under the canopy of one of the many cafés outdoor enclosures. It was about 6.30 by this time and we were getting very hungry. On enquiring about food we were told that the kitchen didn’t open until 9.30 – shock, horror! We tried at one nearby and were told 10.0pm! We knew we couldn’t possibly last that long without fainting away as we’d only had peanuts for lunch, there was no alternative but to return to the hotel and see what could be foraged for there. The initial route was easy and we quickly got back to where we’d seen the biker, a couple more streets and we were glad to see the fountain we had noted on the way in. Except, on closer inspection, it wasn’t our fountain but one just like it….. We carried on confidently but soon discovered that there were quite a few such fountains, the Logronese seemed remarkably fond of them, a little more mileage turned up at least three dozen. Looking around at this point there was absolutely nothing that we recognised and we were, quite simply, lost. Now I feel John should take the bulk of the blame here since he is normally possessed of a fantastic sense of direction making it quite unnecessary for me to take any particular note of unfamiliar routes when he’s there so - totally forgivably - I hadn’t. So we tramped the streets of Logrono, tired, hungry, thirsty and at a very low ebb. The language barrier now became immense – in France I could have asked anyone and enjoyed a cheery chat about it, but not here. At length John decided he would ask an old man or men, he reckoned they would be the best bet and the most helpful, a chattering group of four fortuitously happened along and John asked. Much arm-waving and repetition of ‘rotunda’ and several minor disagreements later, we had a rough idea of a direction to follow. Follow it we did, for what felt like another couple of miles, when – at last – we began to recognise the odd thing, a shop, then a bridge, a junction and so on, and so we found our way back to the unprepossessing Las Guano and jolly glad we were to see it, it was 9.0pm. We went into the now even messier bar and really enjoyed a draught lager then set about a disgusting plate of greasy spaghetti Bolognese each. I don’t know what the meat was, something’s ring-piece and gristle was my guess, but at least it was food. We didn’t bother with anything else, our appetites had diminished, so we headed for our room to hit the essential gin supplies. Tomorrow would definitely be better and Logrono could consider itself crossed off our visiting list forever.

 

[katyotter]

Day 10
1st June

In which John would prefer a stable – the weather worsens (!!!) – we see a number of hotels for sale – we happily share with ants – the bikes fall on their tyres again.


Awoke on this first day of June to black skies and scudding rain. We breakfasted in the even messier bar but at least there was someone cheery behind the counter. We packed up the bikes and checked out, we had nowhere particular we were heading, just Burgos and then on as far as we could in the direction of the Picos. John said he would sooner stay in a stable than another town. The rain had ceased to scud and started to energetically throw and the ever-present gales were even more zealously ever-present and it was bitter, bitter cold; the weather was, in short, desperate. We collected the bikes from our cosy little nook on the first floor of the car park and then discovered that the exit meant a circular journey to the lowest level followed by a severely steep slope upwards to finally emerge. This came out in what had been a totally empty car sales area the previous evening but, as we had seen from our window, was now packed solid with parked vehicles and milling people for what seemed to be some kind of Car Sales Fair. The slope we had to ascend came out somewhere amongst all of this and it was so acute that it was impossible to see anything over its horizon, we just had to go up in a very committed manner and hope. Fortunately my sudden burst upon the scene didn’t actually slay anyone and I managed to get out of the way quick as John was behind me. With such an auspicious start what might the day have yet in store? The Sat Navs dispatched Logrono with ease and we were soon bounding along the road to Burgos, receiving even more than what had now become our usual elemental battering.

We stopped at a roadside café and actually saw a British bike parked near the entrance. We had seen no other bikers to talk to since the couple on the ferry! The rider was a really nice guy from Stroud which is not all that far from us. He had been in Portugal visiting a friend and was heading back up to France but was feeling pretty lonely and absolutely fed up with the weather. He asked if he could tag along with us for the next few miles, he knew he couldn’t communicate on the road as he didn’t have Bluetooth but he said it would be such a nice change. Naturally we were glad for him to join on behind for what was about 15 miles and there were lots of hoots and cheery waves when we had to peel off there for Burgos, we were really sorry that neither of us had thought to ask for his email address.



A break on the periphery of Burgos, it's stopped raining but it's 7 degrees and blowing a mega-hooly.