Thursday 25th July
I’m writing at 3.30 in the afternoon as the boat leaves the harbour and Bilbao and heads out into the open sea toward home. I’m watching the white oil containers and warehouses move past the window (I chose an outside birth for this journey in the hours of daylight). I have a good feeling about this trip and about motorcycling. I think riding the Bardenas Reales was a bit of a turning point that opened up a new vista of riding and I got a glimpse of what off-roading is like. Though this was barely off road it was very different to riding on the highway. This linked up with all the other unplanned off-road experiences on a bike that is, in theory, designed for this kind of terrain though, in practice, rather heavy. In the usual queue of motorcyclists waiting for the ferry to dock and then to board, I talked to a wiry guy about his beautifully tricked out new 1250GS Rallye (BMW have finally got a colour scheme right). He has a real eye for the extra and advised me with a smile to check out Ali Express for its knock-off of much more expensive Touratech extra parts – which I started to do on my phone as I waited. I’d love to trade up to one of these (a new 1250gs) but the project – in concept at the moment – is the lighter weight modified off road bike. In a group bikers can seem a bit off-putting but when you actually talk to them one at a time, you find really sweet helpful guys (nearly all are men – though a lot of them are riding with their partners) who really love their bikes and talking about them.
The last day went exquisitely to plan with an early breakfast, quick payment (this last hotel was cheap as well as being so good – cool, relaxed, unpretentious, quite busy with good meals), easy packing up and a direct and uneventful journey from start to finish (there was a traffic jam just between Bilbao and the port and slightly warming temperature – just up to 30 at the hottest – but good signposting to the ferry terminal). (This boat is moving up and down a lot more than I remember on the way out, perhaps it is going faster). It was so great to get on (my ride down the steep ramp was a bit wobbly with a bit of foot trailing) and great to get into the cool of the boat, then have a shower and make a late lunch from the last food I had bought yesterday. Now I have 24 hours to do nothing, read to the end of my book, eat, sleep, get up eat again and then head back up from Portsmouth to home. Number one project when home, after cleaning the bike, is to fix the 30 year old toaster that has broken in my absence.
Next morning: Well, last night was rough, so rough that I didn’t feel like going to eat, and neither did many others by the sound of the constant requests over the loudspeakers for people to come to take up their bookings in the restaurant. So after eating a block of halva that I forgot I had, washed down with a little spirit, I lay down on my bed but each time that the boat made a heavy lurch my heart was in my mouth. Perhaps this would be that exceptional event of a regular ferry capsizing, the one in a thousand chance. But it wasn’t of course, and generally by the time I woke at 7.30 ship time, things were calmer and I went up to get a bar breakfast amid people talking about the previous night.
With some wifi I had a chance to catch up on UK and world news which is dispiriting at the moment. And I could see from Google maps that we were just rounding that corner of France that sticks out and soon to turn right into the English Channel. We are due to dock at 2.15. I am in a different headspace to yesterday already, and though I have a few things to attend to, I have most of the next month before having to return to work.
With more than an hour to dock I got onto a UK phone network and learnt that the land I could see out of my cabin was the Isle of Wight. Although we docked at 2.15, it was getting on for 3 before they unloaded the bikes. On this particular ship, the Cap Finistere, the bikes are down in the absolute bowels of the ship. Talking to some other bike riders I learned that there was widespread apprehension about riding up the steep metal ramp onto the main car deck – it isn’t just me.
Riding the 75 miles back to London was straightforward, though from around Merton things slow down tediously and there is the normal road racing between young guys in zippy little BMWs and Audi’s to contend with.
Another trip is over. It has left me with a curiosity for more off-road riding. My dream of rebuilding a light enduro type bike for longer travel is kindled. Also parking in line with, among other bikes, the brand new R1250GS in Rallye colours (and with some very nice add-ons and general farkles) has given me terrible bike dissatisfaction. That’s how the wheels of capitalism grind on, with me as its fodder.
|15th||Home to Portsmouth||75 miles|
|16th||From the port of Bilbao to Carrion de los Condes||169 miles|
|17th||Around the Picos de Europe||229 miles|
|18th||From Carrion de los Condes to Casa Camino||218 miles|
|19th||From Casa Camino to Santiago||91 miles|
|20th||Walking no mileage|
|21st||From Galicia to Palacio hotel||213 miles|
|22nd||From Palacio hotel to Ribadesella||60 miles|
|23rd||From Asturias to Navarra||285 miles|
|24th||Around Bardenas Reales||81 miles|
|25th||Navarra to Bilbao port||152 miles|
|26th||Portsmouth to home||75 miles|
That’s a total of 1,648 miles (2652 km)