A short ride, for a beer.

It seemed like a good idea, 3rd week in October, book a ferry in 2 days time and ride to Alicante for a beer.  A friend has a house out there, and over a beer the previous week he mentioned it had been a few years since I had visited it (2011 on our way back from South America as it happens). Well, that was it, the seed was sown.

And which bike to use? It had to be the XJR1300. This bike had been neglected in recent years as I had used the (now stolen) Pegaso 650 by default. In fact the last long trip the XJR had down was to the Tarifa via Faro back in 2008.

As expected, the warm dry October weather we had been enjoying broke on the Wednesday as I headed down to Portsmouth for the over night ferry to St Malo. At one point it was more like riding underwater than on a road as my visor just had sheet of water across it and the M6 had about 3/4" of water running across the carriageways.

 

 

 

Still, I  arrived in plenty of time for the ferry, and even had a Red Arrows flypast.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I knew the crossing was going to be a bit rough when they added an extra strap to the bike on the engine bars.

The ship "thumped" a bit in the night, well quite a lot and that meant I had very little sleep, so ai was still a bit tired as I disembarked into the early morning gloom to start my slog down to Bordeaux.

The sun slowly came up and showed me the tree lined roads with autumnal colours as I blasted down the "N" roads and then the autoroute. I had chosen to take the toll roads in preference my normal option of the usually enjoyable Departmental/National network to make sure I got south to the warmth as quick as possible.

 

At the toll booth, I was initially shocked at the 17 Euro fee (I was sure it was way cheaper when we had rushed back in 2015). Anyway, inserted my travel card (loaded with Euros) and that was rejected. Unfortunately I only had a 10 Euro note, so could not use cash and didn't want to use any of my other cards due to excessive charges for foreign use. Eventually I ended up with a bill sent to my phone, to be paid within 21 days. Pity they got the associated registration number wrong.

It was only later that evening I realised my Nationwide debit card account was free to use abroad.

The next leg involved riding over the Pyrenees, these were in full autumn blaze of colour with many reds, yellows and fading greens as I rode up and over the top. Vehicle traffic was minimal to non-existent. 

 

 

 

 

 

When I came out of the tunnel across the border the last of the clouds had gone and all that was left as bright blue skies to accompany down the roads as the twisted and turned their way towards Zaragoza.

 

 

 

The very loose plan involved coming back through France and crossing back to the UK at Calais. But as I sat in the truck stop hotel that night I realised it may not be an enjoyable ride of 300-400 miles per day so started looking at other options and despite it showing as initially full, a later search allowed me to book the over night ferry from Santander to Plymouth.

(Sun set from motel room window)

Navigating had become fun, through France I had a map and intended buying a Spanish one when I crossed the border. But after 3 petrol station visits, none were to be found. So it was the good old fashioned write the road numbers and town names down each day and follow that. Well, with the new fangled Google maps to plot them with. With pieces of paper as a guide I set off across the plains and hills, which meant the day got colder not warmer as I wound my way up past 1400 metres before the long sweeping drop down to the coast.

When I arrived in Alicante I was informed that the boiler was broken, as it was in the region of 24 degrees I just stepped happily into the cold shower.

 

 

The next couple of days incorporated lounging, drinking, chatting, eating and ice cream.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My route back was via Cuenca, a beautiful town on the side of a hill/cliff. 

With it being the end of the holiday season I was getting some bargain hotel prices (bed and breakfast for less than £40) in posh 3 and 4 star establishments.

 

 

The penultimate days riding was over to near Burgos, making sure no motorway style roads were used.

 

This entailed dropping down to valley floors, rising again through hill top villages.

 

 

Past numerous castles and through and up gorges. A stunning area that need a more thorough visit some time in the near future.

 

And then finally over the Picos De Europa and down to Santander. To find the ferry was delayed (by 5 hours). What else to do but hit the beach. (Once checked in we could leave the port area).

On my way out there was only one other bike on the boat, and as I didn't see any other British bikes I had started to think I was the only one daft enough to do a trip like this in late October. However at Santander there was about another 20 people with the same idea. Except I was the only one who used the French option to get there.

 

After just over 2000 miles in a week (if I had returned via Calais it would have been 3000) and a five and a half hour motorway ride I arrived home just before 2300 Friday night. 10 days after leaving home.

Heading home.

Two things I've often heard about Ireland are :-

It always rains.

And

The roads are crap.

We have had very dry days, and occasionally the sun came out.

The roads have been good tarmac, and mainly smooth.

The hardest thing to do was find any remote roads, and we searched long and hard. At nearly every turn there was a house or cottage with 10 cars outside.  There are a lot of beaches, which would make it a good summer location, might try it some time.

We crossed the border a couple of times on our way to Dublin and finally found a sign, on the UK side telling people to drive on the left. Nothing on the Irish side.

I can only conclude that it is the British who think there is, or should be, a border.

Dave celebrating crossing a border in one piece.

Ok, it does rain a bit.

Just a short ferry ride, then a bimble through Wales and I'll be in the Turks Head by 1630.

Much Muff Mirth

One of the joys of travel is the variety of place names you come across. It is even better when it is unexpected. 

Dave was probably sniggering long before I saw the first sign.

There is always joy when you can place your helmet on Muff.

Of particular amusement was the Muff Barbers.

And of course we had do go Muff diving.

https://www.muffdivingclub.ie/

On a slightly different theme the Tub of curry Indian was well named.

There are easier ways to cross a border

Dave thought he was auditioning for the remake of "The Great Escape"

After an early ferry, a misty start, visiting the Giants Causeway and some random Game Of Thrones site, we headed into the mountains in search of a small border crossing.

Things had been going well until late in the day, on a wet road, as Dave approached a right hand bend his bike had other ideas and decided it should lay down.

This was a first for me, normally I am the one other people watch flip into hedges.

It was nice of Dave to warn me that the bend might have some unexpected extras, so I wasn't surprised when my rear end twitched and recovered. All I had to do next was make sure I didn't hit Dave. Helpfully he slid away from his bike and followed it into the hedge.

I parked up, ran over and enquired if he was ok. With an affirmative I then checked if he wanted some pictures taking. Got to get priorities right.

With the help of some locals we dragged the bike out and then went about finding as many pieces of the bike as we could.

I kept holding up plastic and saying "is this a bit of yours?" each time he said "no" the locals laughed. Apparently this was a common ooccurrence here.

After the about the 5th passerby asking "anyone hurt?" I thought it was best to replace "No, only his pride" with "only his wallet" as I was starting to get evil stares from Dave.

Remarkably the bike was still rideable and we continued the last 20 miles to Donegal, crossing into Ireland over some moorland road with no indication of the border.

It was decided that we should have a rest day, so Dave set about reconstructing his front mudguard.

Looks like we left a piece in the field.

Dave wasn't overly amused at my choice of location for a test ride, despite my argument that any landings would be softer.

The long way here/there/everywhere

Riding with Dave is always "interesting". Previously we have only ridden together on days out in Wales or Derbyshire, he always hunts out the strange tracks and green lanes.

I now understand his method of route choice.

Plot in start and finish.

Draw a strait line.

Place the base of a protractor on it.

Mark 90 degrees.

Make sure route swings as near as there as possible.

The route from mine to Stranraer (220 miles) became 320 :-)

At one point we were near Richmond, Yorkshire.

When he smiled at me at a petrol stop and said "right, deepest darkest Yorkshire" I knew it would be a good, but long day. Every time I thought I knew where we were heading (Tan Hill or to wave at the Yorkshire Shepardess), he would wing off down a track I'd never considered before.

And then there was day 2, liitle used Ayrshire and Galloway roads and gravel.

Hopefully he won't get bored of me following him everywhere anytime soon.

As we prepared to hop over to Ireland, after a summers day in Scotland,

while packing for our early start, I came across Dave's route plan from day 1.

Hopefully the magical mystery tour will continue in the Emerald Isle.

Finally, a trip in the offing.

 It feels like a long time since I've been on a decent bike trip.

Oh, hang on, it is. Not since 2018 (Uganda and the Bol D'Or).  Jean and I had hoped to get to Turkey and Georgia but Covid got in the way (along with family stuff) causing us to delay that trip multiple times.

So I was pleased when my mate Dave suggested I tag along with his Southern Scandi planned trip (Denmark/Norway/Sweden).

The spreadsheet of where we could go, or not, and what tests  and quarantine were required got a bit out of hand. As the year progressed we decided to switch to Spain& France to do some heat and hills. But then France went "Amber plus".  Dave would not be able to isolate due to work if the same happend to Spain.

Really there was only one decent option left, a journey through the CTA (Common Travel Area; England, Wales, Scotland Northern Ireland and Ireland), as UK citizens we get to cross to Ireland (despite it being still in Europe) with less hassles (can be done without passport) or chances of isolation upon return.

The Peg (Peg 1) is prepped and ready to roll. Now we just need some weather.

Our route will be via Stranraer, a few days trying out some Scottish tracks, then over to Larne and of to Donegal for a week trying out the Irish equivalent. I've been very negligent and left all the road planning to Dave. 

In past (day) trips together he has led me astray over some rocky terrain and dirt. In one instance left me sliding down the road during a ford crossing, requiring some extreme roadside repairs.

 Wish me luck.

700 miles, for a crab butty

 Prior to the theft of the Bastard (I'll get over it eventually, honest). I had a little jaunt on the XJR

Friday afternoon I decided to go to Oban, for a crab butty, as you do.
Via Edinburgh (as you do).

Well, weather looked iffy to the south, Scotland was looking warmer and dryer.

I noted that most of England had a similar idea as the M6 was nose to tail until Preston and busy to the Lakes.

I broke the journey up by hitting the B roads (and A6) to beyond Penrith and then Gretna. At Lockerbie I cut across the Borders, really glad I did. Probably the best bit of road during my short spin. A burst of colours, blue, green, yellow, purple and black (the tarmac, BEAR Scotland doing some sterling work on the single track B roads). And rarely a car to be seen.

Following a night of beer and whisky (we were still in the hot tub drinking at midnight), an early start saw me dash up to Stirling and pick up the A84/85, I was surprised how much traffic was around, but as I had chosen to use the XJR it made lazy, short decision, over takes easy. The Peg would have knackered me with being ridden on the edge, ready to go, at all times.

From Tyndrum, as I hoped, all the traffic headed up to Glencoe, and then the A85 in to Oban was largely mine. I'd forgotten what a fantastic swooping road this could be, with some pretty stunning vistas to both sides. 

 

Crab butty secured (the Green Shack), it was 13:00 so really I needed to be heading home. But 1st I supposed I had better do the Glencoe thing (it would have been rude not to).

Noting how most traffic had been heading north up the A82, I took the sensible option and used the A828 up the coast before coming back down past Glencoe in a clockwise direction. The coast road was another blissfully clear route allowing me to take in the views.

Glencoe was a blast, in many ways, as I tucked in behind a couple obviously out for the day and let them carve the traffic (lots of people still going north reducing overtakes).

Then it was down past Loch Lomond (I'd forgotten how big that was). And hit Glasgow by 16:00. At which point I decided the sensible thing was to use the M74 and drop my plans to go across county via Dumfries (I wanted to be home before midnight :-) )

After a bit more motorway dodging to break up the boredom of the M74/M6 (including the M74 being shut at one point which meant when I got back on it was empty...... really really empty), I rolled up back home just after 20:00. A 714 mile round trip.

Although I stuck mainly to fast A roads, that was the right choice with my being on the XJR. As I whizzed past single tracks and "white" roads I eyed them up for coming back on the Peg, another day. (Yeah, well, tht won't be happenning now will it :-( )