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.