Spain - the wedding party.
- Thread starter harry the cat
- Start date
believe it or not Magnet and I are up early in the morning. I get the rare treat of riding pillion on the Spyder and we set off down the twisty backroads for the coast. As we're heading down it seems that all the Sunday bikers are heading up and I wear my wrist out waving back.
I'm not a big fan of the Costa del Sol but I have to say that St. Luis de Sabanillas is quite nice.
I'm not a big fan of the Costa del Sol but I have to say that St. Luis de Sabanillas is quite nice.
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We planned and booked our route down because of the wedding but now we're working on a day to day basis, and because we've never been to the Sierra Nevada that's where we're headed. A cross country run to the coast and a seaside trip again to Nerja, selected because a friend of Magnet's described it in glowing terms. When we get there we find another quaint village has been concreted over and we leave without any pictures.
Luckily today's guide, Mr Smooth, has sussed out a back road route which takes us up into the hills and quickly becomes a superb balcony run which eventually leads us round to Granada ring road. A quick main road run and we turn right into the Sierra Nevada and up to our next destination, the Hotel El Guerra. It's well up the mountain road a few kilometres from the ski resort and with balcony views to die for:
Luckily today's guide, Mr Smooth, has sussed out a back road route which takes us up into the hills and quickly becomes a superb balcony run which eventually leads us round to Granada ring road. A quick main road run and we turn right into the Sierra Nevada and up to our next destination, the Hotel El Guerra. It's well up the mountain road a few kilometres from the ski resort and with balcony views to die for:
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Ha ha, you're the guitarist, did you buy one ... Oh no
The wedding was a superb event and it was great to meet up with Decky (Dec on here) and Theresa's family. Lovely lovely folk.
Magnet and Harry ...
Capturing the moment ...
Stephen (Somclan on here) and his lady ... quite simply a joy to be in their company
More to come ...
Just backing up Harry TC
Moving swiftly on. The next morning Mr Smooth and Annie set off back to Estepona to meet up with the remains of the wedding party and ride some of the hills above the coast with Decky and Theresa. The rest of us, having dismissed the idea to go into Granada due to the heat plus the need to book to get into the Alhambra, set off to tour Les Alpujarras, mountain villages set on the southern flanks of the Sierra Nevada. In order to avoid motorways we tried to thread our way through the suburbs of Granada, which proved more difficult than we thought.
Nevertheless we were rewarded with a series of old whitewash villages set in a superb landscape, made fertile by the waters coming down from the Sierras. Couple that with another sequence of twisty roads linking the villages together, and a geordy snowboarder working in a local cafe who rendered my O level Spanish irrelevant. 'Dos cafe con leche, dos americanos, y un the negro for favor? Alright pet...'
Landscape and the obligatory 800GS with 140k on the clock picture:
Nevertheless we were rewarded with a series of old whitewash villages set in a superb landscape, made fertile by the waters coming down from the Sierras. Couple that with another sequence of twisty roads linking the villages together, and a geordy snowboarder working in a local cafe who rendered my O level Spanish irrelevant. 'Dos cafe con leche, dos americanos, y un the negro for favor? Alright pet...'
Landscape and the obligatory 800GS with 140k on the clock picture:
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After another night at El Guerra, which was slightly surreal because apart from us there were only three other guests, who were friends of the owner (It's the quiet season in the Sierra. Picks up again in November when the show arrives). Nevertheless the offend was excellent and the breakfast spread was enough for 30 people.
By now it's Wednesday and we're aiming to be in the Picos by Friday, so we're heading north in the rough direction of Madrid. Coffee stop at a hotel with an iron gate at the side, hollow rather than solid, and matched by a mural on the wall, covered when the gate's open:
By now it's Wednesday and we're aiming to be in the Picos by Friday, so we're heading north in the rough direction of Madrid. Coffee stop at a hotel with an iron gate at the side, hollow rather than solid, and matched by a mural on the wall, covered when the gate's open:
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After coffee we begin to climb into the Sierra de Guadarrama and the Guadarrama National Park. This route has been carefully researched by Magnet and she's done well. it's a mountainous area and it's empty. The roads are increasingly narrow and nadgery and there's very little traffic. In fact the only things I can remember seeing are a big logging truck which slowed down to give us a small gap, a Landrover manned by Park Rangers, waving us to slow down, and a flotilla of Hymer like motorhomes serenely floating along and refusing to budge an inch, with one almost collecting the wing mirror off Micky's bike.
The park is also home to the Iberian link, kept in place by miles and miles of green chain link fencing, which must have cost a fortune. Problem is you want to scan fo views and wildlife but you're kept honest by the road surface and a sequence of bend after bend after bend. So this sign is the nearest we came to the lynx:
The park is also home to the Iberian link, kept in place by miles and miles of green chain link fencing, which must have cost a fortune. Problem is you want to scan fo views and wildlife but you're kept honest by the road surface and a sequence of bend after bend after bend. So this sign is the nearest we came to the lynx:
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The mountain range seems to go on forever eventually turning from National Park to a succession of big american style cattle farms, some quite grand, with ranch style house, and separate bunk houses at a suitable distance.
Finally we descend to a small hamlet where, partly due to the heat, nothing appears to be moving except the local cat, and a group of card players sat in the shade outside the local bar. Being hot, hungry, and thirsty, we make our way there and, as official group interpreter, I'm sent inside to investigate. Inside more local men comprising a road gang and other assorted artisans drinking their way through the siesta. 'Menu del dia' is long gone but after a friendly chat and a bit of bartering we manage to negotiate some monster cheese sandwiches accompanied by large cool bottles of water:
Finally we descend to a small hamlet where, partly due to the heat, nothing appears to be moving except the local cat, and a group of card players sat in the shade outside the local bar. Being hot, hungry, and thirsty, we make our way there and, as official group interpreter, I'm sent inside to investigate. Inside more local men comprising a road gang and other assorted artisans drinking their way through the siesta. 'Menu del dia' is long gone but after a friendly chat and a bit of bartering we manage to negotiate some monster cheese sandwiches accompanied by large cool bottles of water:
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After that a relatively short run into Ciudad Real, and small city, south east of Madrid which proves to be clean and lively. The hotel is the Santa Cecilia in the city centre with, again , and underground car park, this time with a polished floor so slippy you can put for feet down and slide along like a skid, if you were that childish!
Quick shower, collect the boys from the hotel bar and it's five minutes walk to the Plaza Major for Tapas and a beer, followed by a chinese for a bit of variety:
Quick shower, collect the boys from the hotel bar and it's five minutes walk to the Plaza Major for Tapas and a beer, followed by a chinese for a bit of variety:
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Great stuff thanks.
Thursday we're heading West in the rough direction of Toledo before swinging North and skirting round Madrid. Initially the landscape is quite bland, but as you get up towards Madrid it becomes greener and more interesting. We find ourselves stopping at the Royal Monastery os San Lorenzo de El Escorial https://el-escorial.com for no other reason than we have come across it by accident and it's a stunning complex of buildings with a rich history. I suspect it's well worth a visit if you're stopping in or near Madrid.
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I have a confession to make. I've made a mistake. The Lynx actually live in the Andujar National Park which is South of Ciudad real. The Sierra de Guadarrama is actually North of Madrid and our next destination, Rascafria, is in the park. As we climb again away from Madrid we come onto a series of roads leading up to a ski resort. It's like riding in the black forest. Hillsides thick with pines and well manicured roads. It's all ascent until we top out at the Valdeski ski resort then we're descending, bend after bend, to the monastery village of Rascafria.
Our hotel, is the Hotel Rural Marcos. It's quite a basic place, but clean and tidy. The owner has to be summoned by mobile because we're later than expected. He's a small lean man with a touch of the ski guide about him. He's also got a touch of OCD I think because we're given three keys, one to the main gate, although you can ride the bikes round the back and bypass that, a door key, and a room key. We're given strict instructions to local everything up and he'll be back in the morning to make breakfast.
Rascafria is quite small, and it's 'raison d'être' is the rather grand monastery. A five minute walk finds us a restaurant which wouldn't be out of place in a major city.
https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Resta...ationId=101&albumid=101&filter=7&ff=170030482
So we camp there doing the Tapas thing until the restaurant opens and wile the evening away again. No pictures of Racafria I'm afraid.Maybe camera fatigue was setting in?
Our hotel, is the Hotel Rural Marcos. It's quite a basic place, but clean and tidy. The owner has to be summoned by mobile because we're later than expected. He's a small lean man with a touch of the ski guide about him. He's also got a touch of OCD I think because we're given three keys, one to the main gate, although you can ride the bikes round the back and bypass that, a door key, and a room key. We're given strict instructions to local everything up and he'll be back in the morning to make breakfast.
Rascafria is quite small, and it's 'raison d'être' is the rather grand monastery. A five minute walk finds us a restaurant which wouldn't be out of place in a major city.
https://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Resta...ationId=101&albumid=101&filter=7&ff=170030482
So we camp there doing the Tapas thing until the restaurant opens and wile the evening away again. No pictures of Racafria I'm afraid.Maybe camera fatigue was setting in?
I notice my spelling's getting a bit erratic. Must be getting ride report rust. Still press on eh?
Next morning starts with a blast back through the mountains and a drop into Segovia which is too good to miss. It all goes a bit haywire when our leader for the day Bilko descends down a narrow 'loading only' street, followed by me, purely out of solidarity, and the others decide to stay legal. I'm promptly blocked by a delivery van , and by the time I reach the bottom there's not a bike in sight. No problem because a few yards to the right is the aqueduct so I park underneath it.
This move attracts interest from the Policia National quite quickly but in fairness they're firm but polite, and, once I explain that 'hay perdido mis amigos' I'm redirected to a nearby motorcycle park on the legal side of the chain fence. Texts are sent and we regroup for a coffee and a few pictures. The aqueduct is quite an impressive structure and not a sign of gobbo:
Next morning starts with a blast back through the mountains and a drop into Segovia which is too good to miss. It all goes a bit haywire when our leader for the day Bilko descends down a narrow 'loading only' street, followed by me, purely out of solidarity, and the others decide to stay legal. I'm promptly blocked by a delivery van , and by the time I reach the bottom there's not a bike in sight. No problem because a few yards to the right is the aqueduct so I park underneath it.
This move attracts interest from the Policia National quite quickly but in fairness they're firm but polite, and, once I explain that 'hay perdido mis amigos' I'm redirected to a nearby motorcycle park on the legal side of the chain fence. Texts are sent and we regroup for a coffee and a few pictures. The aqueduct is quite an impressive structure and not a sign of gobbo:
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After Segovia we're trying to make ground so it's a quick hop on the track to Valladolid, before we turn off and head North. We ascend through a landscape of manicured olive groves onto a rather austere plain. It's wheat country but the crop has been harvested, so only the stubble remains. The roads are narrow and arrow straight with only small villages to give you some perspective. They're all fairly similar with crumbling sandstone buildings set around a church. The church is usually the only building with any obvious signs of maintenance.
We pull into one of the villages looking for lunch but it's not looking promising. The place resembles a post strike pit village, with a Spanish twist, down to the two teenage kids, one with bottle bottom glasses sat in the window frame of an abandoned building. The only sign of life is a group of women sat on plastic chairs in a back yard. One of them kindly directs to a nearby square and at one end is what could loosely be described as a hotel frontage. No one stops to take pictures.
Inside we're met by a waiter, dressed like a bartender in a western saloon, and ushered to a surprisingly nice dining room. Menu del dia is the only option but it's pretty good as usual. Nobody fancies the dessert though and they don't have ice cream so we pay up and make a move. Before we get to the bikes the waiter re appears and hands out ice creams. He must have legged it to the local shop so we left happy. Top man but a level of service not unusual in rural Spain IMO.
We pull into one of the villages looking for lunch but it's not looking promising. The place resembles a post strike pit village, with a Spanish twist, down to the two teenage kids, one with bottle bottom glasses sat in the window frame of an abandoned building. The only sign of life is a group of women sat on plastic chairs in a back yard. One of them kindly directs to a nearby square and at one end is what could loosely be described as a hotel frontage. No one stops to take pictures.
Inside we're met by a waiter, dressed like a bartender in a western saloon, and ushered to a surprisingly nice dining room. Menu del dia is the only option but it's pretty good as usual. Nobody fancies the dessert though and they don't have ice cream so we pay up and make a move. Before we get to the bikes the waiter re appears and hands out ice creams. He must have legged it to the local shop so we left happy. Top man but a level of service not unusual in rural Spain IMO.
On our travels though both northern Spain and northern and central Portugal, it has been apparent that the local bar/restaurant always seems to have dining room far far larger than would seem necessary, because just about everyone in the locale goes there to eat lunch. Must be because it saves them the long trek to buy food at a supermarket
Off again then across country and the mountains start to appear, covered in some parts with clouds, which we'd forgotten existed. Eventually we make our obligatory stop at Riano and that old bike sneaks into the pictures again. The on over the hills to the Hotel Infantado at Ojedo which a lot of you will be familiar with I suspect.
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