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FAO Fuzz Spain 2016
Posted by : Bogger (80.192.205.206) 
Inappropriate or SPAM?
On Thursday 11/08/16 at 01:45:40
Spain 2016
Before you delve into one mans story of a road trip to Spain. I just thought I would explain that I write these blogs as much for myself as anyone else. As sad as it seems I look back over my previous stories and it brings the memories right back. So if you can wade through, great, if you just want to look at the images, that’s fine.
I tried to keep this trip report as short as possible bearing in mind we were away for nine days.
I failed.
Originally we were going to go to the Alps but the weather reports were not good and a lot of the Alpine passes we wanted to travel to, or through, were blocked by snow still. This was verified at Calais port by a couple on a BMW 1200GS who had travelled down that way and had to make numerous detours and changes of plan.
So ten days before departure we decided Northern Spain would be a good bet. JJ had a route sort of planned as he was going to try this run on his 1970’s BMW later in the year. However we found out about the fuel strike on the Friday as we were going to travel on the following Thursday. We kept scanning the internet for more information to see if the situation was going to get better or worse. It was getting worse. I made a few phone calls over the next few days just to see what every ones opinion was, as to what we should do? The consensus was to wait until two nights before our departure, then make a decision. On the Tuesday I rang BCP and said the fuel problem is worse not better it looks like we are going to turn left at Calais into Belgium then down through Germany. ‘Oh’, came the reply, he said he had spoken to JJ and they were getting enough fuel together to get to Spain.
How on earth are we going to get enough fuel on the bike along with all our kit to travel at least 750mls with no fill ups. I rang JJ with my head spinning. I reasoned that Germany would be safer and I didn’t fancy running out of fuel somewhere in the Pyrenees. My protestations were met with a stony silence……. We are going to Spain aren’t we JJ. OK, give me twenty minutes I’ll see what I can sort and I’ll get back to you. I managed to find 4x5 ltr fuel cans, 1x2ltr and 7x1ltr containers. I don’t know how, but I then managed to find a sports bag big enough and disguise them well enough to get through customs without arousing suspicion. So did the others. All in all, I took, 36ltrs of fuel either in the bikes tanks or in containers. I could hardly lift the sports bag onto the seat. It was plainly, a ridiculous situation. Our plans to travel light were most definitely out of the window.
The ferry was on Thursday and we were hoping to catch the 11.05 am crossing to Calais. Myself and JJ were staying at Petes on the Wed night so we could get a very early start on the Thursday morning. We’ve stayed at Petes a couple of times now. Mrs BCP, better known as ‘Woar Gert’ (apparently a Black Country term of endearment) is very accommodating but it was a bit of a squeeze with four in a bed. A curry was on the cards for the wed night.
So me and JJ turn up at Petes with JJ’s van stinking of fuel, like some bullet riddled WW2 bomber. We felt a bit giddy and sick as we got out of the van. We swapped the bikes into Petes van had a quick natter and headed off to the local curry house. Which wasn’t local at all. I felt like I’d walked the Black Country Way by the time we got there. JJ was well happy as we had passed a goat tethered in the field we had walked through. JJ has a thing for goats. The goat looked suitably and understandably nervous. Curry downed, we then took a taxi to one of Pete’s local hostelries. All was going well until a local Black Country lad started to speak to us. I casually mentioned in passing that Pete was not from around these parts but was a Brummie (he isn’t) who had recently moved over from Digbeth (Birmingham) but was originally from the Hagley Road (Birmingham). Well what can I say. The roof nearly came off the building. Petes parentage was called into question on numerous occasions, at great volume and he was asked in no uncertain terms what the \++*&* he was &^%$££$ doing in this *((*&^& pub. The language was dreadful. Pete tried to protest his innocence but alas the die was cast. Honestly, how we didn’t end up fighting I’ll never know. It was funny though.
This is Pete on the left and his new best mate just before I
said Pete was a Brummie
As we wobbled back to Petes, he kept mumbling ‘woartoveye towld yow, them dow lark Brummies up ere, yowl gerus lincht man’.
Day 1 Thursday Dudley to Dover to Les Andelys, France. Miles for the day, 160 miles
After about 3hrs kip were in the van on the way to Dover. Now Petes van was stinking of petrol. Only about 100 ltrs in the back. Just before the Port we take a left and up the steep winding hill to the secure parking we had booked. The young lady who booked us in was, err very nice. Nige would have referred to her as ‘proper tidy’. We unpacked all our kit. It was about 10.30 in the morning and getting quite warm. None of us had tried all our gear on…and the fuel, until now. It was a ludicrous situation, stupidly top heavy, with hardly any room on the seats. Myself and Pete had our fuel disguised in very large bags, JJ had a top box on the back of his bike and another one strapped to the seat behind him both with fuel in. We literally wobbled out of the car park back down the very steep hill towards the ferry. I have never been on a bike that felt so unstable and indeed unsafe. We got to the bottom of the hill and stopped, just, at the roundabout. I looked over at JJ and asked if everything was ok. I can honestly say I’ve never seen anyone look so pained and forlorn sitting astride a motorbike. All he said was ‘I can’t do this, I want to go home’. This cheered me up no end as I was thinking exactly the same. He went on, ‘We are going to have to rethink this, there’s no way I can get to Spain like this’. I glanced at Pete and could see his knees were about a foot past the front of his leg shields. We wobbled to the ferry to meet up with Nige, not quite knowing what this first day held for us. I don’t know how, but Pete has a massive disagreement with the lady who’s booking us into the Port. I thought security will be called any minute and we’ll be carted off. I think the argument ended with Pete saying in his poshest voice ‘I’m a customer don’t you know. So don’t be so rude.’
We couldn’t see Nige at the port so we had a natter with all the other bikers.
Waiting for the ferry
On this one you can just make out JJ's twin, I'm going to
ruin your holiday, box arrangement
The Ferry itself, was like a nut house. There were screaming and shouting school kids everywhere. Before long we’re at Calais and hit the A16 past the ‘refugee, jungle camp’ towards Abbeville. There was a mass of French strikers on the opposite side of the carriageway blocking all the traffic and the first few petrol stations were closed completely. I was leading and trying to keep the speed between 45-50mph. Incidentally, this was the speed for most of the nine day trip. Anyway back to reality. My backside was absolutely creasing me. Being perched on the front was agony after only twenty miles. Another petrol station was looming and I could make out a figure waving at us. Nige. We pulled in and he joined the happy, not, trio of Cubbists. Our destination for that night was a small town called Les Andelys, situated on the banks of the river Seine, about 145 mls from Calais. At Abbeville we took the A28 towards Rouen and came off at Neufchatel-en-Bray and went across typical rural French roads to Les Handlebars, our new name for Les Andelys. We stopped at the top of the town for food at the supermarket.
Les andelys our first stop of the day
It was a bit rough so two of us kept an eye on the bikes. All provisioned up we made our way through the small town to the campsite. The town was actually quite nice as indeed was the campsite, situated right on the banks of the Seine. In my best French I managed to book us in. We were very relieved to get off the bikes for the day. Without doubt the worst 145 mls on a bike ever. We set up camp and set about re arranging fuel containers, to try to create more room. We refuelled from our cans and I think all of us threw one fuel container away, to create that much needed room. It was still early so we made our way to the campsite bar and had a few beers and a basic but very tasty meal of Normandie Poullet.
Les Andelys campsite and bar
View of Les Andelys Chateau from the campsite bar
Drink? It would be rude not to, cheers
We ate our meals watching the barges go past on the Seine, very relaxing. I nearly wet myself laughing when Pete mentioned JJ’s plight of the top box perched on his seat right behind him. Pete said the box had ridden JJ all the way from Calais like Sea Biscuit. Proper funny.
Day2. Friday. Les Andelys to Ruffec. Miles for the day, 267 miles
We woke up at about 7.30am a bit later than we normally do. Like previous trips we were a bit disorganised on the first morning. We finally got our act together and pottered out of the campsite about 9.15am. We’d only done a handful of miles and JJ pulls over. ‘I think I’ve got a puncture’. Out comes the pressure gauge 29psi, hmm that’s a bit low. Out comes the bicycle pump and after about 2 minutes of vigorous pumping JJ manages to lose about a pint of sweat and another 5 psi out of his tyre. There’s no puncture, just a knackered pump and a knackered and frustrated JJ. Like a Night in shining armour I pull out my Ebay special, CO2 tyre inflator kit and all of a sudden the tyre is up to 55psi. Err best let a bit out eh JJ. JJ suitably impressed, vows to buy one of said inflators. Our route to Ruffec took us through Evreux, Tours, Chatterault, Poitiers then into the small town of Ruffec. This was the day the lad from the C90Club site came past in his MX-5 and gave us a wave. At least I think he was waving? The seating position on the Cubs was now far better, not perfect, but ok. The weight however was still an issue. But we reasoned that the more miles we do the lighter the bikes will get.
Pete fills up on the way, from one of his smaller fuel containers. I said it was ridiculous
Just a wee bit overloaded, perhaps
found myself a Barbie doll by a roundabout on the way to Ruffec. Pete was quite taken with her
The weather had been kind to us for the first two days, this was not to last. All the bikes were running well and coping with the weight ok, power wise. A sterner test of the Cubs lay ahead. We headed into Ruffec, up and into the main town then out the other side in search of the campsite. Half a mile later we arrived. We booked in and were shown to our pitch for the night. The weather was really quite warm and still, a lovely summers evening.
Ruffec campsite
Curry for tea? Now there's a surprise
Good Lord, what a mess you lot. We did leave it tidy
View across the French fields from our pitch
Pete, Nige and JJ headed for the nearest Supermarche and I wandered down to the campsite bar where I got nattering to and drinking with a Dutch guy. Nice bloke. Dunno what he made of me? The lads took longer than I thought and all I could do was drink and talk. Something that comes quite easy to me. Finally they got back and I bade my farewell to my new mate and wandered back to the pitch. Pete had bought some dreadful cider to drink, I think it cost about 40p a gallon. An English guy came over to us and was talking about the fuel shortage and how he was worried about getting enough fuel to get back to Calais in his camper van. Pete had only just discarded his 20ltr metal Jerry can next to the nearest caravan. He offered it to the guy who was proper made up with it. Pete was proper made up to get rid of it. We hit the sack at a reasonable hr about 11.00pm from recollection.
JJ sorts the route for tomorrow
Day3 Saturday Ruffec, France to Mauleon-licharre, France. Miles for the day, 255 miles
Up early again, but still rubbish at getting our act together to get away early. We were still heading South and we were aiming to get to Mauleon-Licharre in the South West of France in the foothills of the Pyrenees. JJ was leading today as he had done the day before. A combination of old and new technology kept us on the right roads. The roads we took and the Hamlets and villages we passed through were idyllic. Parts of France are like the land that time forgot. Really nice. Each morning we checked the bikes over. Checking oil and lubing chains etc. We had all used a bit of oil but nothing major and just kept it topped right up. Our route down to Mauleon took us through Angouleme, Montpon, to Marmande where we stopped for lunch.
Nige is starting to worry about his spokes, or the lack of
We were travelling through the Bordeaux region through all the famous Vine Yards. After lunch we headed for Casteljaloux and then into the forest beyond. Oh can I just add our arses were now killing us. Back to the forest. I would guess the time was about 2.30pm when we entered the forest roads and we didn’t see the other side of it for about another hour and a half. We did pass through the odd Hamlet here and there and the road was almost deserted. The roads through the forest were arrow straight as far as the eye could see. We must have travelled at least fifteen miles dead straight then a bend loomed in the distance. Well more of a kink than a bend. Then the same again another fifteen miles bang on straight. In all I reckon the road through the forest was about 45mls or so with a total of three bends. The only thing that kept us awake was so very nearly running over a wandering chicken.
A quick stop on the forest roads.
JJ has an old bike, therefore he uses old technology to keep us on track
We did back it up occasionally with new tech as well. I didn't know Izal made paper for maps
Finally we could see the Pyrenees looming in the far distance. The good weather of the previous day had now gone. It was dull and overcast with the odd short light shower and the temperature had dropped. As we trundled into the Town of Mont-de-Marsan the rain got a bit heavier and the sky was black. As we were only 60mles from Mauleon-Licharre, we decide to get food for the night now and hopefully let the rain clouds pass over us. No sense in turning up late at the campsite, cold, wet and with no food. It was raining heavily as we came out of the supermarket. We decided to fuel up our bikes from the Supermarket pumps and save our remaining fuel ( 12ltrs or so) for the journey back just in case. Without warning the rainstorm turned into a hailstorm. I was glad we were sheltering under a lean to. People ran for cover, people in cars tried to get their vehicles under cover. The hailstones were the size of marbles.
That's a Euro next to the hailstone. I'm glad I stayed under cover
This went on for ten or fifteen minutes then the rain returned. It was under a leaden sky and torrential rain we made our way to a campsite at Mauleon-Licharre.
See I said it was grim
The reception, luckily, was open. The rain was now of monsoon proportions and the general concensus, was. Sod camping. Let’s see if they have a Chalet for the night.
Ah rain at the campsite, now that's novel
In my best, as in crap, French, I asked if a Chalet was available. Thankfully the guy didn’t laugh and answered in perfect English, that he would ask his mate, whose son owned the campsite. Both of them were in their seventies. He spoke to us in French and luckily because I have been taking French lessons I didn’t understand a word. His mate did and translated for us. Basically for a Chalet for the night it was a hundred Euros. About £21.00 each. Camping would have been a tenner, so we went for it. I got us ten euros discount for cash. The camp cat ‘Sasha’ joined us as we were booking in and to be polite we asked if the bar was open. Be rude not to. So we had some mountain goat beer. I’m sure JJ had a stiffie whilst drinking it.
Goat beer
Sasha the campsite cat
The owner showed me to the Chalet first and was constantly talking to me in French. In fifteen minutes I caught about four words. Finally we were all inside and off came the waterproofs to dry off. I think we had another curry that night. In fact I think we had a curry all but two nights. We recalled the days riding, which had been quite tough. On the way down we had got lost in Orthez. We were following the signs ok through the city, then they sort of just disappeared. We lost at least three quarters of an hour trying to get back on track.
You see so many beautiful places or scenery that it’s difficult to remember it all and quite often one of us would remark how nice a place was or remember something that had happened and none of the others could recollect it. Sometimes it can be something simple like a river scene or a bridge or some other piece of architecture that grabs your attention as you ride on by.
That evening JJ decided to make my Barbie doll a bit more realistic.
She ended up with a bush, armpit hair and a tashe. JJ likes hairy women
That evening JJ decided to make my Barbie doll a bit more realistic. I was NOT amused, how childish. After that she never left my side, riding on my handle bars all the way back home. I didn’t want those rough boys getting their hands on her again.
Day 4. Sunday Mauleon-Licharre to Somewhere in Spain. Miles for the day 91 miles, mainly in first and second gear
The usual routine first thing. A bite to eat and a couple of brews then check the bikes over. The further away from home you get the more nervous you are about the welfare of the bike. All you can do is prep it well before you go and keep on top of the maintenance religiously. Once the bikes were checked we would pack away all our gear trying to put it back from whence it came. By now we were getting good at packing and myself and Pete had finished before the others so went for a stroll around the campsite. There was only one other person camping, a cyclist. Poor sod.
River alongside the campsite
View of the Pyrenees from the chalet
Before too long we were all ready for the Pyrenees that were right on our doorstep. We bade farewell to our hosts and Sasha the cat and followed the river Southwards. Although not raining, it was grim, very overcast and cool. Before 15 miles the rain was upon us. So we stopped and donned the rain gear again. We were steadily climbing still following the river for a few more miles then the really steep stuff was upon us. For me, on the bike with the smallest engine, it was first and second gear all the way to the top. At first you try to rev out in first to give yourself a chance in second gear. But it’s so steep with so many switch back hair pins it’s impossible to make any real head way and then you’re down to first again, to repeat the whole process over again. After a few attempts you resign yourself to first gear on about eight tenths throttle, just trying to be a bit kind to the engine but sort of wincing at the same time.
It don't look that steep, can I assure you, it was
Views over the Pyrenees
Pyrenean Cow
We reach one summit, Erroimendy, and let the bikes have a breather and take some snaps. The rain had stopped by now. We thought Erroimendy was the highest point. Nah. Loads more thrashing to do.
This image is for Harry
Nutter in the Pyrenees
To get to the top and into the clouds had taken us a good two hrs of climbing. It was really cold up on top. We weren’t sure if we were in France or Spain at this point.
Finally at the top, but we were in the clouds
The Road down to Spain was spectacular, breath taking and deserted. By the time we reached the bottom we were all buzzing. At one of the first villages we pull into a petrol station for a rest a drink and possibly a bite to eat. Me and JJ wandered over to get a closer look as to what was going on, if anything. We don’t tend to have cafes and a bar area in our petrol stations. They do in Spain. We ordered some food in fluent ‘guess what I’m miming’ Spanish. Then we got talking to the locals in fluent ‘can you understand me’ English. Luckily a couple of them could speak English. In fact one young girl was brilliant. Turned out she was an English and French teacher. After our food it was time to get going again. We bade farewell to our new best mates.
Petrol station cum café cum bare cum shop
The road to Lake Embalse de Yesa following the River Esca was truly breathtaking. One of the best roads I’ve ever ridden on. It had everything. Sort of raw and untouched, with deep ravines and towering cliffs, hard to fully describe, but etched in the memory. We stopped for a few more photos and a breather at Lake Yesa. As you can see from the images, truly beautiful.
Lake Yesa
At our stop at the garage/bar/café, JJ had asked if there were any campsites locally. The only one she could think of was about fourty miles away in Lumbier. JJ had made a mental note of the directions. I don’t think any of us had been to this part of Spain before. Personally I was surprised how unspoilt it was and deserted. The campsite of Iturbero was on the outskirts of the village of Lumbier which was on the way to Pamplona.
We arrived at the campsite in, thankfully, glorious sunshine. We booked in and were given our pitch for the night. All the bikes that day had running flawlessly except for Petes Clown bike which was popping/backfiring a bit on the overrun. Once we had set up it was still relatively early 5.00pm, so we wandered up to the bar to see what Spanish beer was on offer. We sat outside recounting the days events and basically taking the **** out of each other, like we always do of an evening. As we were supping away the birds of prey were spiralling way above us and over the mountains. Our new Belgian mates said they were Black Kites and Vultures. I don’t think, on many occasions in my lifetime, have I been supping beer watching Vultures go about their business.
Lumbier campsite
Anyway back to the drink. Now we had a taste for it, we forwent food and headed for the lovely picturesque village of Lumbier which was but a stones throw, literally, just across the river Salazar. Myself, Pete and JJ ambled along the dusty track to the bridge and climbed up and into the village.
Really nice stroll into the village
Pete was tired from all the walking, so JJgave him a helping hand
We were all dead happy Well when I say we were all happy
It must be some sort of homing instinct as we just so happened to find a bar on the first corner we came to. This particular night was one of my favourites. Relaxing with the very hospitable Spanish on a warm balmy summers evening. What’s not to like. We wandered to a second bar only 30yards from the first , had a few more drinks and a bite to eat. Unfortunately we had to leave at chucking out time. We were the last to leave. I can remember the walk to the village, but for some reason not the walk back. Dunno why? Oh I do remember , JJ begging for bread from the first bar we had been into, so he could make himself some toast in the morning. You can take the lad out of Lancaster etc etc.
Day 5 Monday, Lumbier Spain to the tiny village of Almunia de San Juan, near Barbastro, Spain. Miles for the day, 166miles.
Whilst packing away we were chatting about where to head to next and various ideas were thrown around. There was talk of us heading into Barcelona but we reasoned that it would take us a bit too far South West and make the journey back towards home a real trial. JJ has some places in mind that he wanted to visit, not too far away from where we were and then head in the general direction of Lleida and just see what the day brought.
Pete tries to look after the Clown Bike as best he can. Sorry lad it's a lost cause
Packed away and nearly ready to leave
Just got to consult the maps first
Our first port of call was to be the mediaeval mountain village of Sos del Ray. We retraced our steps of the previous day and headed back along the shores of Lake Embalse de Yesa. We made for the head of the lake to get to the other side. Up until now the roads in Spain had been like a billiard table. Smooth and well surfaced. However, I don’t think they pay their road tax on tother side of the lake. To say the roads deteriorated would be an understatement. You couldn’t ride in a straight line, there were just so many potholes and the surface was rutted and very rough. Three miles later the road is blocked off for some reason? We take a small off road detour around the road block and resume our journey. Apart from one cyclist, who obviously dodged the road block like us, the road was completely deserted of cars, people, anything what so ever. Coming from and over inhabited Island like ours, it does feel a bit surreal.
We are leaving the lake behind us now and steadily climbing. The road surface is no better and we are pottering along at 20-30mph. Before too long we approach the deserted, derelict village of Ruesta.
Ruesta and the views back across Lake Yesa
Then it’s climb, climb, climb to Sos Del Ray. After Sos we carried on to the tops overlooking the vast plain.
Views across the plain
Sorry couldn't resist this one
Oh and we do stop in the daftest places
The roads were back to their best again. We dropped over the other side of the mountain range and down into the village of Uncastillo. We waited for BCP. He was nowhere to be seen. We turned around and headed back out of Uncastillo. Half a mile up the road Pete is starting to unload his bike. The back tyre has a puncture. There is a positive out of this. At least it wasn’t my back tyre. Just as the wheel is about to come out the heavens opened. Oh joy.
Teddy about to come out of the pram
A couple of Spaniards who drove past asked us if we were ok, which was nice of them. The problem turned out to be a tiny nail. No not Petes bike. We know that’s a nail. As Pete put everything back together I mended his tube for him, as I’m a caring generous sort of chap. We had a look at the maps again and decided we would head for Lleida with a view to then turning North to head up and over Andorra.
Nige was a bit worried about the road surface which had deteriorated again as he now had four snapped rear spokes and he didn’t fancy a collapsed wheel in the middle of nowhere. Petes bike was backfiring badly at this stage. A situation which he found highly amusing. Pikey bike. It was mid afternoon and time was starting to ebb away from us. Luckily the road surface changed and we were back on the really smooth well surfaced roads again. We were heading for the town of Huesca and the road there was just fast sweepers for miles on end. Probably the most satisfying road I have ever ridden, it was that good.
Views on the way to Huesca
We stopped in Huesca for fuel and headed out towards Lleida. Petes bike was annoying everyone, but mostly me, with it’s backfiring, which was louder and more persistent than earlier in the day. He took great satisfaction in pulling past me then shutting off the throttle. Brwoaaarm…………BANG, BANG, followed by the Brummies shoulders jerking up and down as he chuckled to himself. Tit. We pulled off the main road for a detour to Barbastro to get the food and drink for the night. We consulted the maps and the sat nav to try to find a campsite. It was pointing us in the direction of the village of Monzon only eleven miles away. Campsites in France are everywhere. Campsites in Spain are few and far between. We stopped just before Monzon. The sat nav was wanting to send us to somewhere else. Not sure what happened, but we were now going to find another campsite in the tiny village of Almunia de San Juan. Only eight miles out of our way. In no time at all we were there..and riding out the other side with no sign of a campsite. Oh Lord here we go again. As we roll back down the hill towards the village again, Petes bike, right on cue…BMooooaarrrm BANG just as he passes a team of horses who are watching us go by. I think they thought it was a starting gun, as they all, as one, raced off across the field. Probably lost forever. Even I thought that was funny. After a few minutes of pfaffing about we find the campsite. Which was run by a German lady. We seemed to have dropped on with decent campsites this trip, this one was no exception.
Almunia Campsite
Hmm, what’s for tea? Curry. Same as every other night. Not complaining mind, just observing. In one of the sleepy villages we had passed through and old guy did a double take as we trundled by and stood and gave us a round of applause. Nice one. Not sure whether he thought we were heroic or just plain stupid. I’d like to think the former, but almost certainly it was the latter. Nige was really worried about his rear wheel so that evening, off it came and the four broken spokes were replaced. We zip tied the spokes together to try and add a bit more strength. I believe he got home without further breakages.
Nige sorts out the new spokes
Day 6 Tuesday Almunia de San Juan, Spain. To Foix, France. Via Andorra. Miles for the day, 200 Miles
Guess what's for breakfast. Curry
No only joking
We awoke to a glorious summer morning. Got ready and hit the road early. Well earlyish. In a village with two streets, JJ managed to take us down the wrong one. No sooner said than mended. We were heading for Lleida and took the A road which ran alongside the new motorway. I don’t know why they built the motorway there were no vehicles on it, as indeed there were no vehicles on the A road, bar the odd tractor. All around us was farmland as far as the eye could see. There is a marked difference in the landscapes of France and Spain either side of the Pyrenees. You could tell Spain was more of an arid landscape whereas France is very green and lush. We could see Lleida looming in the distance and luckily the A road we were on skirted us around the city and towards Andorra. It was starting to get a bit more hilly and I was riding along thinking how beautiful the scenery was. It would be nice to explore in a camper van and take a bit more time to investigate the area more closely.
Nice Renault 8 on the way to Andorra
I don’t know if you’ve been to Andorra? But it’s a weird country. It’s extremely steep, everywhere, and no sooner are you in it then you are out. Andorra is also full of petrol stations and supermarkets?? So guess what we did in Andorra. Yup, got some petrol and went to a supermarket for something to eat. Oh I also visited the car maintenance isles in the Supermarket to buy some jubilee clips and silicone sealer to try and sort Petes exhaust out. The noise was ridiculous.
Andorran stop
We thought we had better get a shift on as the climb out of Andorra takes a while as it’s so steep. We managed to get split up on the way out. Two of us took the overpass and the others the underpass. Not to worry though, the road joined back up some 300mtrs further down and we just gave each other a knowing nod and a wry smile.
It was a slog out of Andorra, a scenic slog mind and the engines were once again being pushed hard. The higher we climbed the colder it got.
Run out of Andorra to France
Once we reached the summit it was proper cold, with snow still everywhere. We thought we would take ten minutes to catch our breath and take some photos. I manged to get my Cub on the centre stand, walked four paces. SMASH, over it went. The screen broke and the indicator was bent at ninety degrees. Ah well. The photo opportunity was cut short as the clouds rolled in obscuring the view.
Hurrah, the top, yes those are snow mobiles
My bike about four seconds before it toppled over
Nige spoke checking AGAIN, He's not paranoid, honest
Time to get to Foix, which was another sixty miles or so away in France. The mountain road down into France is all switchback hairpins and you keep egging yourself on to take the next bend just a bit quicker than the previous one. Luckily none of us ran out of talent and all stayed upright. Even though we were now in the valleys it was still cold with the odd bit of drizzle here and there. We came off the main road and headed for Lavelanet to get food etc. As we pulled on to the supermarket carpark Petes bike backfired like a BSA Goldstar. Two women who were standing nattering, levitated at least a foot off the floor in shock. I don’t know whether it was the shock of the noise or the sight of a big daft Brummie careering down the car park isles, with a manic grin on his chops. ‘Whoaaar didyer see em jump’. Tit.
We found a campsite at Lavelanet rather than get to Foix. It was getting late, perhaps 6.45pm. Pete was trying to light his Coleman petrol stove and not having much luck. It’s about as reliable as his bike. I’d only turned away for a second or two, then I heard coarse language and turned to see the Coleman stove scribing an arc towards the heavens, as Pete had had enough and launched it. Ahem, we cooked on my stove after that little incident. I set about trying to sort his blowing exhaust. More in hope than anything else, there was a big split right near the manifold. Curry for tea. Oh my airbed kept going down on me in the night. No, no, no not that type of going down. Not holding the air type going down. So I dumped it and for the rest of the holiday. Holiday!!! I slept on the floor. Not good at my age. 27yrs old, Ahem.
Lavelanet campsite
Oh dear
Beer can to the rescue
One bodge later might just save my sanity and hearing.
Day 7 Lavelanet to just North of Limoges. Miles for the day, 296 miles
We actually managed to get up early for once got ourselves ready and set off for the mediaeval village of Mirepoix. At this stage it wasn’t raining but dull and overcast. Mirepoix is a lovely place and well worth a visit. The old timbered square is a site to behold. Some of the beams were massive and the carvings unique.
Ready for the off towards Mirepoix
Entrance to the mediaeval square at Mirepoix
Not far on from Mirepoix it started to rain, waterproofs on. The rain never stopped all day and for a lot of the time it was torrential with very poor visibility. We made our way North on the back roads through Castres and on to Albi. With the weather being so bad, riding was anything but a pleasure, more of a chore. At Albi we had a quick chat as to what to do. We decided to head West on the D999 to Montauban. Not before I had got us lost in Albi though. Nige managed to get us back on the right road, thank goodness. At our little chat In Albi we had decided to have today and tomorrow to get as many miles under our belts as possible, so we would have it easier, the closer we got to home. As an aside the clown bikes backfire was back with a vengeance. Pete was made up. Tit.
We stopped at a small village on the route to Montauban for a bite to eat and a drink. I thought we had a couple of Pain Au Chocolate to eat but the clown bike had spat them off sometime during the morning, to be squashed by some passing Renault 4 no doubt. Not to worry just across from where we had parked there was a ‘snack bar’. So me, Pete and JJ amble across for bite to eat. Apparently French snack bars don’t sell snacks? So I ordered three coffees. Pete doesn’t drink coffee’ woaar arr whanuh cup er tay. So I asked the guy for a tea. He turns around and picks up this ornate wooden box. Oh my God! My crap French has mortally offended him and he’s getting the duelling pistols out. He opens up the box and I’m ready to pick my fire arm. Oh, it was just a selection of teas. Pete starts asking for Tettley or Yorkshire tea but in the end has to do with a herbal mint tea. Puff.
Stop at the 'non Snack Bar'
Le Choisier campsite
Our very damp pitch for the night
Le Choisier Chateau
At Montauban we slipped onto the A20, Peage and collected our tickets from the booth and shot off up the motorway and into the gloom. Up the hills we were slip streaming cars, lorries, each other, anything that moved quicker than us. Anything to maintain momentum. After fifty miles or so we see the toll booths up ahead. I get my ticket out of my pocket and it’s like a very limp, very wet lettuce leaf. I try to get it into the pay booth slot, credit card ready in the other hand. Will the ticket go in. No chance. I have a glance behind me. Oh God a queues forming. I try again. In the ticket sort of goes in and promptly rips in half and is chewed up by the machine. Oh fer ****s sake. I’m getting a bit panicky now. I wave the other vehicles back and I spot Nige at the next booth. I spin around and join him at the barrier. Great we’re through thank God for that. Well, I say great. What was not so great were the two Gendarmes at the other side waiting to pull me in for non-payment. Luckily his English was pretty good and he starts giving me a bollocking for not paying. I tried to explain my predicament and how I wanted to pay etc, but all he kept saying was that it was an offence. I said I know it was but, but, but, but, but ah bollocks to it, I just gave up when he said he was going to fine me. How much, I asked, fearing the worst. Total it was under thirty Euros. The cost of the Peage was over eleven Euros. So it was about a fourteen pounds fine. He’s also whingeing about the bikes not being fast enough for the motorway (how rude) and checks the size of the bike engines via the V5. To add insult to injury, whilst he telling me off JJ is showing the other Gendarme, my favourite Barbie doll and asking if it’s an offence or not to have one on board a bike. He said it was not an offence as such, but just not right and shook his head in bewilderment. When we rode off, after this debacle, both the Gendarmes were laughing and taking photos of us. Damn cheek. Oh it was still pouring down. We finally made it to Limoges and a few miles further up the motorway we pull of in search of a campsite. Only a couple of miles down the road we happen upon Le Chateau Leychoisier campsite at about 6.00pm. We ask if they have a chalet for the night. Unfortunately it’s camping only. So we set up in a light drizzle and mop out the inside of the tent with a T shirt. Happy campers? Not particularly today. A quick shower and a change of clothes and we are all feeling a bit better and it just so happens the bar/restaurant is situated in the Chateau itself. Very elegant it was too. Of course we sampled some of the local beers and indulged in a rather pleasant bottle of white wine. The chef very kindly brought us out some pizza, free of charge, I say how civilised. Err, we were the last ones to leave the bar AGAIN.
Day 8 Limoges to Les Andelys. Miles for the day, 317 miles
Get that death trap off the road. Leaving Leychoisier
The next day we awoke to rain yet again. Not pouring down just a steady drizzle. We bade our farewell to Leychoisier and jumped straight back onto the motorway. By now my headlamp had packed in and the left indicator was working intermittently. No doubt due to the fall in the Pyrenees. Did I say it was drizzling, nah forget that it was now pouring down. We had decided in the bar the previous night to try to get to Les Andelys again to the first campsite we had stayed at. Another big day in the saddle in horrible conditions lay ahead. We made our way up past Chateauroux where we came off the motorway to get to Blois on the A roads. We came to a roundabout about thirty miles or so before Blois and there were diversion signs. This took us onto the smaller roads. Still more diversion signs. We were in the Loire Valley and we had seen quite bad flooding during the day. We were travelling in a Westerly direction and we needed to head North. We turned down a lane and came on a road block. You could see the road ahead was flooded leading into a village. The Gendarme told us to turn around. We could see the water wasn’t that deep, as people were wading through it. As she was telling the car drivers to go back I went forwards and guided by a local made it through. The others followed. It was only a foot or so deep.
Pee stop on the way North. Hmm wet weather gear back on
We were determined to get to Les Andelys and at about 6.30pm we pulled into the campsite like four drowned rats. The river Seine was now a raging brown torrent and was at least ten foot higher than it been on our first visit. There was no way we wanted to camp that night. So once again we asked for a Chalet. They said they only did Chalets for two nights minimum. I asked if they could make an exception. Non monsieur. To be fair they were polite about it. Pete said he was not camping that night and we should try the small hotel not fifty yards away. Seeing as I speak fluent French, Pete pushed me through the door first. Unfortunately the Madame of the hotel could speak no English. They did have two rooms with twin beds and breakfast was included I could understand all that. Be she was going on about something initially I did not understand. Then it clicked. It was fifty five euros per person per night including breakfast AND evening meal. Sorted, we’re in. There was even an area we could park the bikes around the back. Well chuffed, we went to tell Nige and JJ. JJ was made up. Nige less so?? Basically Nige wanted to camp!! Are you mad man, we all said as one. No he was deadly serious. He felt it was ‘cheating’ to stay in an Hotel. I said to him if he wanted to camp that’s fine but I was going to stay in the Hotel. JJ and Pete agreed. As we unpacked the bikes around the back we just managed to convince him to stay with us. The next day he admitted it had been the best night of the holiday. The meal that night consisted of a help yourself starters of Prawns, snails, mussels, cold cooked meats, salad bar etc. There was a choice of main course, then cheeses then desert. Oh and in with the price was half a carafe of red wine and another of white wine. We all thoroughly enjoyed the food and the refreshments and indeed the evening as a whole. We were the last ones out of the bar again.
Oh look we're drinking...again
And he didn't want to stay in the Hotel. Welshmen
Oh Lord I think a French bloke has just called Pete a Brummie
Jurgen Klopp on the piss
It was a good night mind
Packing away behind the Hotel
We say goodbye to our little French Hotel
Day 9 Les Andelys to Calais. Miles for the day 142
Our final full day in France. Breakfast was typically French. A crusty baguette with butter and jam and a coffee. The owner asked me if I wanted a small or large coffee. I didn’t fancy a thimble full, so opted for the large. It came in only what can be described as a large cereal bowl. No handle. Obvious. By the time I’d finished breakfast I felt wired. Pete drank the coffee in the absence of any tea. But he had to go to the toilet three times before he left the Hotel. Oh it was raining and rained all the way to the Guines campsite, just outside Calais. We did get lost a bit on the way to the motorway, but soon got back on track.
Comfort stop on the way to Calais
There was a small memorial stone in the layby we stopped in.
I Wikipedia'd ? this guy when I got home. Brave bloke and we treated him very shoddily after the war
We wanted to get to Guines as early as possible have a meal in the bar and chill out. We arrived in Guines about 4.00pm. We thought we’d try our hand a final time and asked for chalet. No chance all taken. Another night in the wet and for me, another night sleeping on the ground. Ace.
Guines camping pitch. Seems a bit wet underfoot
Always wise to take a few spares
The evening went to plan we had our meal rehydrated in the bar and got talking to a bunch of Dutch Hells Angels. After two pints they went to bed. Lightweights. We had been the first into the bar and as tradition would have it, we were last out. In the morning it was a quick brew, shower and head for the Port.
Oh bugger, work on Monday. And can't you tell from the expressions.
We were all knackered. At the port we are waved at by the officials to start to embark. Pete starts his bike up and the bloke next door in the camper van looks and just shakes his head in disbelief at the racket the bikes making. Hang on a second mate, I’ve had to put up with it like that since Spain pal. Pete gave him the thumbs up. The clown bike has always frightened me. But on this trip it’s frightened campsite owners, dogs, cats, women in supermarket car parks, young children and horses. The list just goes on and on.
It's taken its toll.
Highlights of the trip. All of it, same as usual. But the first night in Spain was good as was the Hotel in France. Niges new phrase made us chuckle ‘ He’s got eyes like a shit house horse’. I’ve yet to work on and Ode. ‘An Ode to Hagley Road Pete’. I was surprised how empty Spain was. I was surprised how wet France was. I wasn’t surprised the bikes made it. Cubs. You just can’t beat em. Total mileage on the bikes was 1910 miles, with one puncture, one broken exhaust and four broken spokes. Not bad going for four shopping mopeds and four blokes of a certain age who should know better.
Bogger
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