Santander was a pleasant 12°c at sea level, so ferry a worthwhile vault over that wintry French landscape, but minor schoolboy error when choosing first nights hotel. I clearly took a gamble on the weather for that time of year, no choice there, just didn’t realise hotel's altitude 2500ft amongst the Pyrenees foothills. Normally, that just wouldn't register, as it didn't with Amy in the car with four wheel drive, heated seats and her crazeee audio books, but with my sensitive old body and 700 lbs between my legs (the bike!) a 5% downward swing in temperature, can really piss me off.
Sunny and bright (though that extra hour of morning darkness is a bit weird) but hard frost this morning, everywhere! Bike cover starched with mountain cold.
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| Hardly fun pic, just proof Im not too big a poof. |
With Amy driving what is a convenient support vehicle (in this case meaning she carried all my luggage in the car and the only bike luggage was cold weather clothing) I had to dress up this morning like the Michelin man and meander gingerly down the mountain over icy roads and stupid fog.
Fog is annoying at the best of times for driving, but on a bike it’s just miserable. The cold dampness gets into every nook and cranny and ices any exposed skin, but more annoyingly it gets on the inside of the visor so is just impossible to wipe away with the glove (the right glove forefinger has a rubber wiper blade for the outside of the visor, but obviously cant reach inside), so you end up having to ride with the visor up, suffering constant face burn and streaming eyes to add to the poor fog visibility....slow, slow riding then!
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| As I descend, the foggy bottom beckons....and meandering into it. |
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| Last look at sunshine before the fog miles |
After a while the totally car free road stretches out and the sun starts to shine again as I head south again, Amy already many miles ahead in her warm car, comfy seat and serial child killer audio book that she couldn’t wait to get back to.
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| Alone again on deserted highway |
Onward to Barcelona, 300 miles, 5 hours...in a car. That means with fuel stops (bike gobbles fuel over 70, but cant overstate the pounding my arse gets on a trip. 6+ hours of arse torture, singing to myself and watching the world go by.
Night in Barcelona (Amy will have parked, bathed and opened 2nd bottle of Pinot by the time I get in), then a day of sightseeing and 11:00 ferry to Palma, Mallorca tomorrow night.
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