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.