I made several crossings of the Ebro but will only inflict one on you:
A typically Spanish scene
I didn’t find the speed limits any bother as I was in no rush (although the very few Spanish drivers generally were, so I let them last me). On the exhilarating mountain sections there were quite a few Sunday power rangers and I also let them race past me, although the Wing was doing a pretty impressive job on the twisties.
When I got to the Ebro delta the bike got its introduction to gravel roads, fortunately dry and well packed as I had no wish to be dropping the bike
. You can see the fertile river plain and the mountains behind from which I had come
I then had to take an autovia which is different from an autopista; parts of it were like I imagine Route 66, old roads that were now little used and with shuttered/defunct restaurants and other businesses along them.
And my mind wanders back more than 50 years to 1968 when I sat with my brother and sister in the back of a boiling hot VW variant as we travelled across Spain from Lisbon, heading for Le Havre and with tent packed on the roof rack.
It makes me really appreciate the ease of travel with modern GPS piped to my helmet and the ability to book a hotel room as I approach the city and then ride directly to it. (I still recall my parents navigating through city centres with a Michelin map, and some tense moments too!
)
So I decided on a hotel in the old city and had fun navigating there as the last leg was ‘pedestrian only’ so I got some old fashioned looks as I rode to the door and parked up
The receptionist warned me I risked a fine so I moved the bike to one of the abundant nearby motorcycle parking spots where it spent a cosy night
This time I put the disk lock on!
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