Swansea, April 2012

One Sunday morning both me and Angel got on the F650, destination Swansea. It was just another Sunday rideout to try and get away for a few hours, forget a bit about everything else. Weather wasn't the best, but it didn't matter. Where other men take their women out to the restaurant on the corner, I was taking mine to one 150 miles away. We got our leathers on and set to the open road.

I've set the GPS to take us there on the shortest route, through narrow country lanes, so we can admire the "middle of nowhere", get a touch of barely paved roads. Even with the moody weather, narrow lanes and low riding speeds, it was worth the view.

First stop was at this remote restaurant, right in the middle of nowhere. A huge building, with outside garden and a small pond, ducks running free everywhere. We each ordered a cup of coffee, and a double JD for myself to warm up my blood a bit. We spend there about half an hour enjoying the view, Angel taking pictures.

Shortly we were back on the road, slowly making our way towards the south of Wales. The landscape was turning from plains to hills, and then something locals call mountains. A bit more green, few more trees, an occasional river. We made another stop a couple of hours later at a pub for me to go to the toilet and have a shot of vodka, as cold was starting to get to me, and we got our first touch of Welsh language. I could barely understand what the locals were saying, and they could barely understand me. Apparently even the word "motorway" was foreign to them.

Finally deciding to give up on the conversation we finished our cigarettes and got back on the bike. Along the way to Swansea we were overtaken by a group of "bad boys" on custom cruisers, riding past at crazy speeds. Closer to destination the road became really narrow, going over hilltops and forests, with short glances over the sea. The GPS was set for the Swansea beach as the main attraction of the trip was the open water. We got there around 3 pm, parked the bike up in a deserted parking lot and started walking on the sand.

After a short ride through the city we stopped in the city center to try and get something to eat. Someone recomended "Steak by night" as having the best steaks in the area, but the place wasn't yet open so we went for a long walk around the town.

With full stomachs and a bit revived we went to a nearby pub called "Crowley's Rock Bar". A great place to hang out. Reminded me of a similar place back home. Heavy metal screaming in the speakers, warm atmosphere, welcoming. So we stopped there for a few drinks.

I wished we'd spend the night in Swansea and enjoy the pub a bit more, but we both had work the second day, so after 8 pm we went back on the road. This time, as night was closing in I've set the GPS for the fastest route, fueled up and started the long ride home. Halfway along the route I stopped rushing, laid back on the throttle and set in to enjoy the ride like there's no tomorrow. No worries, no rush, just the road, the wind, the vibration of the engine under me, my girl's embrace and my left hand on her thigh.

We made another cigarette stop 30 miles from home, just before midnight. As we were on the hard shoulder I left the lights on, indicators, and GPS connected, so by the time we finished our cigarettes the bike's battery was dead. Angel had to push me downhill, against traffic flow, to jump start the bike. 10 minutes later we stopped at a petrol station to fuel up for the last time, and set for home.

We went through the front door just before 1 am, happy with a good ride and a good new page written in the Big Book. Trip odometer, 510 km.

UK to Spain and back: Part 2 - The road to England

Alicante is a superb city, and as a Latin myself, I felt at home even without really speaking the language. It shows, to some extent, the long arm of the Roman heritage. Whether we come from Romania, France, Spain, Portugal or Italy, or maybe some other countries that don't really come to my mind right now, the Latin heritage turns us into people that hold tight to family values, open hearts, a people that values less material treasures, and more emotional ties, friendship, openness to strangers, always willing to hear a good story over a glass of wine, always willing to find experiences that tie our friendship bonds tighter. We love to party, to have fun, forever willing to forget about tomorrow and live today while reminiscing about yesterday.

That's how I felt in Alicante. Of course, most of it was due to the wonderful presence of my friends there, but still, the locals had their say in the matter as well. The city is on the shore of the Mediterranean Sea, with an amazing port that constantly draws you to the freedom of open waters, palm trees gently swaying in the sea breeze, clean air and sun skinned people moving about.

Unfortunately I only stayed there for 2 days, as my holiday was a short one, but it was worth it. Far away from the moody British weather, constant clouds and cold humid air and to some extent self centered people. I didn't do much in terms of visiting places or taking on adventurous endeavors, but I preferred to sit in the sun or swim in the sea like I was 10 years old again.

So, on Monday afternoon I got my luggage ready, all dressed up, poured the sand out of my boots, took a last mouth full of coffee and kissed the sea goodbye. I left Alicante just after 2 pm, this time with a working GPS as the man of the house gently agreed to take care of it for me during my stay. So this time I took a different route back, avoiding the expensive and somewhat dull toll routes. The horizon was now more complex, passing through desert like plains that reminded me of old western movies, through towns and forests and ultimately mountains.

Now that I think about it, my original google map print that you saw on Part 1 may not be very accurate. But again, I'm not very sure. I guess that's the problem with the GPS it tells you constantly which way to go, but ultimately you have no idea where you are or where you're going. If it'd suddenly die on you halfway in your 1500 miles trip, you'd be completely lost. With paper maps on the other hand you have a clear view of the whole picture, but it kills you in the detail.

In the end, whichever way I went, by nightfall I reached the majestuous line of mountain peaks and huge forests that is called the Pyrenees.

I finally reached the French border which came in the shape of a 5 miles long tunnel under the mountain. When I got to the other side it was pitch black and the air was cold so I had to stop to get dressed up. The road became narrow while snaking it's way through forests and mountain passes, across streams and rivers, through small already asleep towns. I was going at a maximum 30 miles per hour, going through bend after bend after bend, meeting only a few other road users from time to time.

Later I got out of the mountains and started to consider whether to try and find a hotel to spend the night or keep on going non stop. Even though I promised my friends from Alicante that I'll stop somewhere for the night, I decided to break my promise and keep on going, heading full speed towards Bordeaux. The idea of staying away from toll roads seemed good at first, but when I realized that the GPS was taking me through the most remote areas, passing corn fields and small farms, onto barely paved roads so narrow that one car would barely fit, and with the petrol tank going emptier by the mile as well as the cigarette pack I had on me, I finally decided to go back towards the motorways. At some point I managed to find a petrol station where you could pay by card at the pump so I managed to fuel up, but I was still running out of cigarettes. After fueling up I made a call to Alicante, pretending that I found a hotel so as not to have them worry about me, and then set the GPS to Calais, fastest route. Obviously it would eventually bring me back on the motorway, although it took quite a while to get there.

After passing a few petrol stations that were open but sold no cigarettes I finally got what I wanted, and ordered a coffee to go with it. I soon decided I should get a few hours sleep as well, so I climbed full dressed as I was into my sleeping bag and onto my bike, resting my feet on the top case and my head on the handle bars.

I had my phone set to wake me up, so 2 hours later I got off the bike and back into the station for some coffee. The was nowhere to be seen yet, but the sky was starting to light up. I made a final check of the bike and set to the open road. Them 2 hours of somewhat uncomfortable sleep were definitely not enough, so I had to stop at almost every petrol station along the way for another coffee break. After getting sick of stopping every 20 minutes I started getting angry with myself, lost some of the clothing and forced myself to wake up completely. Singing in my helmet every song from Manowar I could remember also helped alot and soon the sun was warming my blood and I had a clear mind once again.

The road took me on the western shore of France and the landscape became interesting once again. Of course, as soon as I was fully awake I left the toll routs and was back on country lanes, admiring the full beauty that France has to offer.

Mile after mile Calais was drawing nearer and by this point I was actually anxious to reach home but there was still a long way to go. I've reached the port sometime around 5 pm France time, and the ferry soon took off for England. I was so tired I couldn't sleep at all, so I ate, got a few drinks and kept moving about the ship.

Just before nightfall we reached Dover, where I fueled up and set for the last bit of the trip. To keep myself alert I kept looking for some fun while riding. For example, at some point I decided to make fun of a supersport bike rider so after he overtook me doing over 100 miles per hour fully leaned on the bike, acting like he was on a race track or something, I lit myself a cigarette and overtook the guy at 120 mph, sitting on my big ugly Beemer in a relaxed, laid back position, with one hand on the bars and the cigarette in the other. His face when I overtook him... priceless!

Night kicked in, and, as usual in England, so did the cold and the rain. The last 200 miles were boring to say the least. I was too tired, the rain... dull landscape. I stopped in Oxford just before 11 pm to fuel up and call home to order some beer (of course, in my lack of presence my house mate drank all my stash of alcohol, and I was expecting it, so I sent him to the store before closing time). After having another coffee and some snacks I left Oxford, and an hour later I was home.

Final trip odometer: 3128 miles. 6 days holiday, 4 days riding,  about 55 hours on the road. Money spent: a lot, especially on tolls.

All in all, I can't wait to do it again.

UK to Spain and back: Part 1 - The road to Spain

With the birth of my daughter, plans for long adventures were put on hold, throwing my time into work and family life, and the occasional off-roading session, with just a few Sunday trips across the UK. Finally, in August 2012 I bought myself a BMW K1100 with a plan for a 3000 miles trip to Spain.

After just a few weeks since buying it, changing the oil and filter, cooling liquid, one of the front brake disks and topping up the brake fluid, I've set the departure date.

On a Wednesday afternoon I went to Halfords for the last piece of the puzzle: a GPS with the maps of the entire Europe. Upon buying it, the salesman told me it'll be a good idea to connect it to a computer and do a map update, and I did so thinking that while I get a few more hours sleep before leaving the whole think will be taken care of. So I woke up around 1 am on Thursday morning, had my coffee, checked luggage, tire pressure and other minor details, and of course, GPS update status. That's when I realized that the computer went to sleep in the middle of the whole thing, and the update was canceled halfway through. And guess what? All the maps on it were gone. The fucking thing wouldn't even start any more. I tried starting the update again and it said "2.5 hours remaining" and I wanted to depart within the next half an hour.

Cursing like an idiot I finally told myself "Shit happens!" and left for Dover with no working GPS. I made sure I took with me a notebook along with the check in paperwork to a hotel in Perpignan, thinking that I'll manage to find a WiFi hotspot at some point to fix the damn GPS.

The trip to Dover was uneventful. I enjoyed the fact that I could smoke while riding, with a half liter bottle of coffee in one of the tank bag's pockets. I got to the ferry upon sunrise, bought my ticket and spent the 80 minutes waiting time in one of the port's coffee shops trying to get a fast enough internet connection to update my maps. No success. I tried doing the same thing on the ferry trip with the same outcome. In the end I just bought a paper map of the whole France and got to setting up a trip plan to cross the country to Perpignan.

Calais was a lot nicer now than the year before. The sun was shining, it was warm, and I actually got to see it properly. So I got out of Calais and onto the A16, fueled up, and started for the sun lit horizon. Following the "motorways" was quite simple. Just kept looking down to my map on the tank bag every 5 minutes to check if I'm going the right way. The issue came upon reaching the Paris bypass. Small towns, traffic lights, road crossings, lots of lefts and rights, so quite often I had to stop to check my process on the map. Fortunately I somehow managed not to get lost and after more than an hour I got out of the maze and back onto the motorway.

So I just followed the E5 and then the E9 south bound, occasionally stopping for petrol. The most amazing thing was when I randomly stopped at a gas station for coffee, and even though I still had over half a tank full, I decided to top up just the same. I later realized that that was the last gas station for over 200 miles as we were crossing the mountains. So again, that small adventure god in my subconscious helped me out. 

Miles were going away, and so was the sun. Sometime just after sundown I managed to reach Toulouse. Tiredness was starting to kick in. I stopped to fuel up and asked someone how long will it take me to to reach Perpignan. They told me it was about 2 hours, so I told myself "Fuck riding fuel efficient!" and I went towards the sea at 90 miles per hour, hoping to get there sooner. By my calculations a full tank would get me there so no more stops before reaching the hotel.

The air was getting colder as night was kicking in and the sea shore was drawing closer. Got to Narbonne just after 11, and half an hour later I reached the outskirts of Perpignan. At this point my paper map became useless. Not because it was dark or anything, but first of all I had no idea where the hotel was (yes, I was smart enough before leaving NOT to print a google map location of it), second of all the level of detail on the map wasn't high enough to show me any city roads. So I rode blindly into Perpignan, aiming for the city center, thinking I'll be able to find a taxi driver or something able to direct me to Hotel Aragon. Again that small adventure god showed it's face. I only stopped once to ask some youngsters for directions, and the hotel proved to be 300 yards away, just around the corner.

I parked up, sat myself on the side walk and lit a cigarette thinking: "For fuck sake, that was a long one!". I grabbed my tank bag and my side cases and went for the hotel entrance. Closed. Rang the buzzer twice before a sleepy voice answered. Told the guy who I was and that I had a reservation, the voice replied that I had to take care of myself to the room, the key was on the desk, and then opened the door. My plan was to check in and then go out for something to eat, as all I ate throughout the day was a sandwich, but since the guy was sleeping, I decided to forget about eating and not bother him anymore. So I went to my room, had a shower and checked the internet connection. There wasn't any. I was still without a working GPS.

I woke up just after 9 and went out for coffee. Found a small pub opened so early on a Friday morning and I quickly ordered a white coffee and a double vodka. I bottomed out the vodka while the bartender was fixing my coffee and went outside to enjoy the sun. While having the coffee I made the day's plan. Departure at 11 towards the beach in Canet-en-Roussillon, spend there a few hours, maybe grab breakfast, and leave for Spain after noon.

Went back to the hotel, packed my things, dropped the key at the front desk and asked for directions for Canet Plage. My bear was waiting for me patiently, as eager as me to get back on the road, so we made our way to the sandy beaches.

Canet Plage was as beautiful as I remembered it. I spent half an hour on the beach and another good while walking around, buying souvenirs both for me and my friends in Alicante, and finally having breakfast.

After breakfast and a pint of cold local beer I got back on the road, destination Alicante. Back on the E15 I stopped at the last French petrol station before the Spanish border. I fueled up and bought a paper map of Spain. Spent a couple of minutes having another coffee while planning my way ahead, and off I went. Passed the Spanish border with no difficulties.

 The road south was amazing. It was so hot that even wile riding I had to go down to only wearing a leather vest, which in the end lead up to red shoulders, the sky was perfect blue with just a touch of white clouds to improve the scenery. Spain in itself is just as beautiful as France, with mixed landscape. The sea breeze gave a touch of saltiness to the air, so I loved even the smell of it all. While riding the coast I managed to catch glimpses of the Mediterranean from time to time, even though at times the wind was so strong from the left that I had to counter balance the bike.

 Past Barcelona, as evening was drawing in, the sky turned cloudy, but there was no rain and it was still warm. The trip took me through hills and snaky roads, leaning in at high speeds just for the fun of it. All in all, it was an amazing trip.

 Finally, around 9 pm I reached Alicante. As the town is quite big I tried different petrol stations in the quest for a town map. There were none to find. I called my friends and they managed to give me a few way points, having to stop at some point, tell them where I was and wait for them to come and pick me up.

Thus, after almost 2 days and 1500 miles to account for I finally reached my destination, happy as a pig in shit, somewhat tired but with an enormous thirst for some cold beer. That night we went out, had some pizzas on the beach, bought some alcohol and spent the night drinking and laughing.