Some years ago, Jayney and I took a trip to the Algarve and Southern Spain on the bike. First port of call on this trip was the huge motorcycle rally at Faro. We spent four days there, in the heat, dust and noise. Despite having a ball, when we left we both felt we needed somewhere quieter to mellow out for a few days. A little ‘tent’ sign on the map led us to Alcala de los Gazules which was like a little haven of peace and tranquillity after the crazy world we had just left behind. Back then, the campsite was newly opened and the grass was watered and green and the facilities were all shiny new. That situation has , of course, changed with the passing years, but the site retains it’s tranquil air and ‘away from it all’ ambience.

This was our fourth visit to Alcala and although it got a little busy over the weekend (when it actually rained, incidentally), the place was quiet  and we could watch the wildlife and explore the local area pretty well uninterrupted by noisy neighbours. The site is 3 or 4 miles ouside the small town of Alcala de los Gazules and on the edge of the Los Alcornocales National Park. The leafleat we picked up in the site office told me there are 226 bird species living in the park, including 23 species of Birds of Prey. Every day, especially in the afternoon when the thermals got going, the sky above the site was filled with soaring vultures, eagles and buzzards and the ground was alive with bugs and crawlies of all shapes and sizes(which pleased Jayney no end, I can assure you). We rode out to the local towns of Medina Sidonia and Chiclana de la Frontera. The riding in this area has improved hugely over the years with the improvement generally in the condition of Spains roads. The roads remain very quiet are a joy to ride, especially away from the heat of the mid-afternoon.

The long straight road between the town and the site brings back great memories.

The town is perched on it’s own little hill.

A Vulture/Buzzard/Eagle soars over the site. OK wise guys, which is it?

Some of the local residents didn’t get on with Jayney too well.

The road to Medina Sidonia.

It’s worth a morning out of anyone’s life to stroll around Medina Sidonia.

Many Spanish towns seem to spend most of the day asleep.

The lovely town square could be in the Caribbean.

All too soon it was time to move on so we cut across to the coast, to the tourist town of Conil de la Frontera.  Conil itself is reminiscent of many seaside resorts across the world. It has a fantastic beach with clean sands and more bars and restaurants than you could shake a stick at. It was here that we first bared our snowy white torsos and went in for a dip in the Atlantic. Very nice it was too. The beach seems to run almost unbroken down to Tarifa on the southernmost point and Jayney and I took a couple of days on the bike to explore this lovely part of Spain.

We rode down the the N340 to Tarifa and, because we left before the heat really started to build, it was the perfect ride. All I can say to my biker friends is ‘do it, just once’.

The closer you get to Tarifa, the more wind turbines you see. Tarifa itself is a sea of windsurfing and kitesurfing schools. Needless to say, it’s a breezy old place. The old town however has escaped the worst of these excesses and retains much of its original, almost Moroccan, ambience.

Great beaches everywhere, and there’s always a surf up.

Looking across the Strait of Gibraltar from Tarifa to Morocco.

In places, the ever shifting dunes threaten to take over the roads.

We also took the coast road down through Barbate to Zahara a los Atunes. It’s wild and woolly country indeed, constantly swept by the wind off the Atlantic. But a great ride.

Zahara is a semi-tropical paradise of palm trees and surf.

Wind turbines and Windsurfers. Zaharans make their money where they can.

I could feel quite at home in Zahara a los Atunes(but don’t put me on one of them board things).

With that, our time in Spain was through, and next morning, we set off for Portugal. The trip was about to take on a more serious note as Jayney and I had some business to attend to before we could get back to just enjoying ourselves. More of that later. That’s all for now.

As usual, we travelled without a clear idea of a definite destination. However, after our trip to El Berro, we stayed on the bigger,faster roads and mid-afternoon saw us arrive at Castillo de Banos. Halfway between Almeria and Almunecar, this tiny place is nestled snugly between the Sierra Nevada mountains to the north and the Meditteranean to the south.It consists of a tiny cluster of houses, a Bar/Restaurant and a shop and, of course, a campsite. 1km west is a similar sized hamlet called El Lance, and 1km east is the slightly larger La Mamola. I tell you this as I think the lack of anything one might call an ‘attraction’ can be the only reason the site was virtually deserted during our entire stay. Hey, there were people there but it was never more than 10% full. However, the campsite and its facilities and the general ambience within its confines was nothing less than brilliant.

The campsite was just idyllic.

We were pitched only 20metres from the Mediterranean.

On the other side of a bamboo fence, the Med strolled ashore and we were woken each morning by the sound of its waves lapping against the grey sand of Castillo’s tiny beach.

Early morning on the beach at Castillo de Banos.

The other attraction of the place, for us at least, was the coast road. Here, the N340 winds along the cliffs hugging the Med’, taking you through small, and not so small, coastal communities and opening up shimmering new vistas around every sweeping bend. Not many potholes either.

Riding along the coast road was superb.

It was enough just to ride, you don’t need anywhere to go.

We payed brief visits to the nearby towns of Motril and Almunecar, and spent many happy hours stretched out in the sun, listening to the cacophony of birdsong which filled the air on the site from dawn till dusk.

Before we left, however, I wanted to visit the Sierra Nevada National Park, and especially Trevelez, the highest village in these, some of Spains highest peaks. It was a hot and in the end, quite tiring day, but we saw some lovely sights.

Crossing Los Alpujarras on the way to the Sierra Nevada.

There’s no ways like the old ways on slopes like these.

It is one of the best roads I’ve been on in the Spanish mountains.

It seemed strange to see snowy peaks so close by when we were riding in such heat.

Looking across at the snowy Sierra Nevada.

Entering the National Park.

Approaching Trevelez, the highest village in the Sierra Nevada.

Jayney takes a break during a hot day in the mountains.

The following day we dragged ourselves away from Castillo de Banos and headed off to, who knows where.

 

 

 

 

I’ve always been one to try to spend my money wisely, so toll roads are, for me, an unnecessary luxury. However, lessons are learned in life every day.

We left Calp and headed south down the old N340 coast road towards Alicante. The N340 runs, along much of this section, parallel to the AP7 autovia, for which the government charges a toll and therefore few people use. Down to Alicante, so far so good. Then something happens. The landscape turns from a predominantly rural one into a series of newly built towns spreading back from the coast. Each just the same as the last, with rarely any gaps between them. The road becomes a sea of speed humps, roundabouts and traffic lights which means forward momentum is restricted to short bursts before all comes to a grinding halt once more. Just as I felt I was going to be forced onto the toll road, we decided to cut away from the coast and camp up. A quick look through the guide and we were heading for El Berro, a small village in the Sierra Espuna. This in itself was not so easy, because the road out into the hills became twistier, bumpier and steeper as we moved steadily away from civilisation. Finally, we arrived in the tiny village and set ourselves up in what proved to be one of the friendliest campsites in one of the friendliest villages one could wish to find.

View through an El Berro street.

All the local residents were keen to help out their visitors, from the shopkeeper to the guy who ran the local bar, and especially the campsite owner himself.

Some of the local residents going about their business.

The village was placed amidst a lovely rural setting, and the coming days of exploring on the bike promised much.

Peace and tranquility was the order of the day.

We spent the next day swanning around in the sun and exploring the village. Then it was time to hit the road and see what was slightly further afield. We had a couple of things we needed, so headed down towards the local town Alhama de Murcia. The road, however was a nightmare of lumps and bumps, twists and turns. After leaving Alhama, we tried to see two other local towns, Pleigo and Mula, but the road conditions didn’t improve and Jayney decided enough was enough and she was heading for the comfort of her chair in the sun. I could see where she was coming from, so we returned to base. I was determined, however, to see the mountain which gave it’s name to the range, Espuna itself.

Riding into Mula in the Sierra Espuna.

A couple of days later, I set off alone to ride to the top of Espuna. I say the top, but the Army have taken control of the summit so it’s a no-go area. The ride was exhilarating, with the road becoming ever steeper and countless hairpin bends. The road surface however was far better than those at lower levels which made the ride far more pleasurable.

The Mirador Collado Bermejo, halfway up.

Stunning views make the trip even more worthwhile.

Looking out over the town of Alhama de Murcia.

A view from the summit.

Freedom has it’s limits.

Next morning we left El Berro to head down to the Costa del Sol. It had been a very enjoyable few days.

After a couple of days we left Benicassim, the main reason being that the campsite was, shall we say, not all it might be. We headed south once more until we reached a town called Calp, midway between Valencia and Alicante. Calpemar Camping it was called, and it was like a 5star hotel for campers. And there we stayed for a week.

Right next to the town and only ten minutes walk from the beach, Calpemar’s showers and ,well, you know, everything, were fantastic. Better than at home, Jayney was too quick to point out.

Calp is famous mostly, for its rock. Not the sugary stuff you eat on Blackpool beach. No, this rock.

The Ifach Rock towers over everything.

It’s an imposing sight from all angles.

We had been recommended to try a certain road for a good scenic ride while we were there, so after a day of strolling around the town and getting used to our new surroundings, we set of on the road to Guadelest and beyond to see what there was to see.

First thing we saw was a Motorcycle Museum, an unexpected bonus. 6euros each and we were in, viewing a whole range of motorcycles of a bygone age. It was surprising how many Spanish marques were represented, many of which I had never heard of before. With my riding history, however, it was the smattering of British and American makes which wetted my appetite.

A Henderson, a motorcycle rarely seen in my homeland.

This BSA 500cc Single was a forerunner of the famous Gold Star.

After an interesting hour strolling amongst the exhibits, it was back on the road, to Guadalest.

The road to Guadalest.

Guadalest proved to be just another mountain village with a selection of bars and restaurants for the tourists, but nothing to rip us off the bike at that moment, so it was straight through and on up.

After Guadalest, the road winds ever upward.

The riding through the hills was exciting, to say the least, with endless hairpin bends to keep the unwary alert.

Empty solitude at the top.

We also took a ride up the coast to Cabo de Nao. From here you can see the party island of Ibiza nestled in the shimmering Meditteranean. The ride up was spoilt somewhat by rather too frequent speed humps in the road, but the cape itself is a beautiful place.

A view from Cabo de Nao.

Looking over the cliffs at Cabo de Nao.

Another day in the heat for the Harley.

All too soon it was time to move on, and we left Calp behind for one of our most spectacular destinations so far.

Adios Calp and Muchos Gracias.

George and Sabine run their own Harleys. Reassuring when they’re working on mine.

This didn’t post on my last effort, so as a prelude to the next part, here is George and Sabine from Moto Emotion. More very soon.

Morella is a lovely old town perched on top of a hill some 50 or so miles north of Castellon de la Plana. It is overlooked by the massive fort at it’s centre which towers above the town. It has now been more or less given over to tourism and many of its twisty streets are lined with bars and restaurants. Coachloads of tourists are constantly being discharged at the entrance to the town for their allotted time of wandering around the gift shops and marvelling at the views from over the walls.

Jayney and I pitched up in the early afternoon and set off for the walk up to the town. It was a hot day and the hill is steep, so it was with some relief that we reached the shade of Morella’s narrow streets and set about discovering this unusual place for ourselves.

Morella impresses even before you get there.

The streets are both interesting and provide great shade from the afternoon sun.

The views are breathtaking.

It is like looking down on the world.

We spent a lazy afternoon strolling around the streets before stocking up with some rather expensive provisions andreturning to base. It was then I found out that the headlamp wasn’t working on the Harley. Both beams out. No problem, I thought, just the bulb. I’ll sort it tomorrow.

Next morning we left Morella and returned to the coast at Benicassim, near Castellon.We got settled in a campsite near the beach and took a walk along the promenade. And boy, what a promenade. Goes on for miles. But a good leg-stretcher and lovely views along the beach on the way. The following morning, I took off the front of the headlight to pop in the new bulb before we went out to explore our new home. Bulb looked good but the bulbholder was completely melted on one side. Turning on the light simply resulted in the awful stench of burning insulation. Not good. Saturday morning, no bike. However, technology to the rescue and Mr Google soon  found a possible solution.

Moto Emotion in Castellon replied straight away to my email and met us en route to make sure we found them OK. As soon as we arrived, George set to work with his testers and screwdrivers while Jayney and I whiled away an hour chatting with his good lady Sabine. It seems they had started Moto Emotion six years ago after moving from Switzerland. They both ran their own Harleys and we shared the experience of both having ridden the Grossglockner high mountain road in Austria in the past. Within an hour or so, George had worked his magic and a new bulbholder was supplied fitted and working.

Muchos gratias George and Sabine for helping us out on a Saturday afternoon. Stop by and say hello to them if you’re in the area. I did, and I’ve got the ‘t’shirt to prove it.

Moto Emotion at Castellon helped out in my hour of need.

That night, we settled ourselves in at a campsite at Lloret de Mar, maybe 40miles east of Barcelona. Well known as a tourist resort for generations of sun-starved Brits,  Lloret in April is a quiet, not unpleasant town with lines of almost empty bars and shops selling the usual paraphernalia attached to the family beach holiday. The campsite was good and cheap though, so we stuck around for a couple of days, and it gave me the chance to take the bike up the coast road to the unfortunately named Tossa de Mar. Destination notwithstanding, the road is a beauty, twisting mercilessly atop cliffs from which you look out across the purest blue Mediterranean. After 8 months of British winter and 3 days in France, this was bliss indeed.

On the road to Tossa.

The deserted beach at Tossa de Mar.

After a couple of days, a dodgy weather forecast and a general boredom with Lloret sent us southward once more. It being Sunday, we decided it would be a good day to travel through Barcelona without too much hassel, so we eschewed the ringroad and hit Barcelona centre. Big mistake. The city never sleeps and we became part of it’s swirling, whirling centre, carried along like a twig in a flood, cast hither and thither amidst the scary streams of traffic. Everyone knew where they were going except us, so we ended up just going with them. Eventually we popped out the other side like a cork out of a bottle and carried on south a little ruffled, but physically unharmed.

Gaudi’s unfinished masterpiece is impressive even from a distance.

We were sorely tempted to park up and take the tourist bus.

From here it was a straightforward run down the coast, trying to avoid the toll road, and we ended the day at a lovely campsite in the unspoilt fishing village of Ametlla de Mar. We took the bike for a run around the amazing Ebro Delta. It was a great day.

The lovely, unspoilt fishing village of Ametlla de Mar.

Brilliant riding amongst the rice fields of the Ebro Delta.

Get old ugly mug out the way will ya?

I just had to post this shot of the Ebro looking it’s very best.

Thanks to Jayney for the ‘On the Road’ shot at which she is becoming ever more proficient.

Before long it was time to move on again and we decided to head inland for a change.We had heard good things about a hilltop town called Morella, north of Castello de la Plana, so we set off into the hills.

First sight of Morella from the south.

Please wait for the next exciting episode to see how Steve and Jayney get on in Morella, how a problem with the Harley was fixed, and lots lots more.

Finally able to upload some photos, so here are a few to illustrate my last post about the trip south.

Looking back at Plymouth from the deck of the ferry to France.

The lovely little French town of Port Louis.

Crossing the Pyrenees.

The weather cleared as we headed south for Barcelona.

Looks like I can post OK from here so we may stick around for a while. Besides, the sun is shining and the scenery is great. More posts soon. Thanks to all for your interest.

Well, I was planning to tell the story of the first few days, as normal, with words and pictures. However, the connection we are on at the moment is too slow to upload photos so I’m afraid words will have to do.

Sorry in advance, dear readers, if this surfeit of scribble becomes boring before the end,but here goes.

So, the big day has finally arrived and at 6.30am, Jayney and I set off for Plymouth ferryport for the crossing over to Northern France. An hour and a half later, we were warming our seats in the onboard café awaiting the 6hour crossing to Roscoff. As we left Plymouth Sound, Jayney had a text to say that her parents were waiting on Plymouth Hoe to see us off. We waved, of course, but it was difficult to see features from a mile away.

The ferry was very quiet, one of the advantages of off-season travel, so queues at the checkouts were non-existent. Plenty of room on the sun-decks too.

On leaving the ferry at Roscoff, a border guard asked where we were going.’ No idea’ would have seemed like an overly glib answer so I mumbled something about Spain and Portugal and we were on our way. We took the road south from Roscoff through Morlaix and then on down to L’Orient, on the south coast of Brittany. After our disgustingly  early start to the day , we were both feeling enough was enough, so around 6ish we pitched up at Port Louis, just across the estuary from L’Orient. We were right by the waters edge, but the biting north wind kept us huddled in the warm and off the streets.

Next morning, the sun rose and swept away the overnight chill. After breakfast, and before setting off again, we took a walk around Port Louis and found a lovely old, very French, seaside town. We bought a Baguette just like one of the locals. If it had been warmer we would have stayed longer but with the weather forecast for the north quite bad, we wanted to get further south before settling into a more relaxed way of living. So once more we were heading South, firstly on some small ‘D’ roads, then a blast down the motorway to Nantes. We then cut across to the coast and stopped at La Plaine sur Mer. After hitting the supermarket, and feasting on Brie and Olives, we decided to hit the town. Unfortunately, we couldn’t find it, and after an hour of walking through parks and backstreets, we gave it up as the night once more turned unseasonably cold.

That night, the rain started and just didn’t stop. We travelled all the next day through a continuous  downpour and  by days end, had reached the small town of Pons. It was too wet and miserable to venture out so we ate,slept and felt much better the next day. Our mood may have improved by the next morning, but the weather certainly hadn’t, and the heavy showers which greeted the dawn, soon joined hands to form one, long torrent. Again it seemed pointless doing anything but travel, so onward we went, ever south, in the vain search for some sun. The night saw us set up in Laruns, in the foothills of the Pyrenees. Lovely little town, with spectacular mountain scenery all around. A window in the weather allowed us a brief walk and a visit to a local bar before bed.

By the morning, it was raining again and we set off to cross the Pyrenees through the Col de Pourtalet and cross into Spain. The rain  stopped, but only because it turned to driving snow. By the time we reached the border there was several centimetres all around but the road was mercifully clear. However, on dropping down on the Spanish side, the weather cleared and we headed for Barcelona in warm sunshine….Yippee!!!

Hi out there in the Blogosphere. I haven’t been able to post for a while as I couldn’t get into WordPress. Don’t ask why, I don’t understand these things. However, thanks to a blogger called Dead Grim and Frostbitten nominating these scribblings for an award, I’ve finally overcome the gremlins and have returned from the ether.Thanks D G and F, I’ll get back to that in a future post.

Anyway, the lovely Jayney and I are in Southern Spain after almost two weeks on the road. We are just beginning to get into the laid back, travelling groove we will need to see us through this long trip across the continent. Things are good and the sun is shining on us.

I’ll start to recount the story of our trip so far in the next post. However, until then, for newer readers,or for those with a shorter memory, please refer to the January postings on the blog for a precis of how things have come to be.

Riding across the Ebro Delta on Spain's east coast.

The photo above was taken a couple of days ago by Jayney as we crossed this unique landscape where the principle income is from rice and Flamingoes.

Hopefully, more soon.