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Published: December 13th 2010
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Rainy days
along the Spanish coast Crossed the border into Pais Vasco at Behobie, a relative short up and down along the coast which marked our 3rd entry into Spain on the trip.Suddenly there was a feeling the circle was closing fast,in a few days we will be back in Santander where, twenty eight months ago we pedalled off the boat and wheezed our way slowly into the Pico's de Europa with barely 300km on the clock.Thirty three thousand kilometres later on busy roads we stayed sharp and focused as we cycled with the rest of Spain into Donostia.
Armed with a tourist brochure of the old town pensions and guesthouses we searched high and low for accommodation, but for these cycling pilgrims there would be no room at the inn.Each land lady had a different excuse, two nights minimum,no bike space,no answer,triple prices,owners not here.Whatever the excuse,I just got the feeling our faces and appearance didn't fit the criteria for this town.Are they frightened or repulsed by my long hair and bearded face, my dusty clothes and dirty shoes? They shoudn't be, considering these middle aged women spend a lot of their time praying to a long haired ,bearded ,dusty clothed,sandal wearing man. Ah,
but he is pure, they would say. Yes, he didn't judge a book by its cover, did he!From the book of Mudyshox, Chapter 3 Verse 7.We tried but after ten 'no's' and freezing our asses off in the street, it was time to go.If i'd had a lion i'd of let it loose in the streets.In true heathen style we camped and got pissed instead.
Its a hell of a ride along this coast.The road hugs the mountainside which is cloaked in cloud and forest,out at sea the rain falls like grey sheets of lead into a cold and angry sea,froathing at the mouth(I know how it feels).Stopping in a village to dry the tent we are looked upon with disproval by strolling Spaniards.Locked away on their peninsula, they live sheltered lives, anything that moves outside the ordinary short back and sides is open to a prejudice view.I lived in Spain for two and a half years back in the 90's and i'm sad to see that many haven't changed.Old ladies used to cross themselves and hurry away when they looked at me and my friends, but then we had very, and I mean very dangerous hair.
Somehow
keeping dry
another day another downpour we missed a sign to take us further along the coast and headed inland to the mountains.Following the cycling mantra of 'not going back' we changed course and pushed on heading up into the hills as light faded and the rain began to fall once again.After a late camp and a booming thunderstorm we got on and hit the hills taking on energy zapping five and ten kilometre climbs through cold wet forest.The last push reduced Tati to tears,weve been on the go for eight days since Bedarieux, riding only in wind, rain and cold, focused on a committed date for the ferry at Santander in three days time,the only one to get us to England in time for my sisters 40th birthday celebration.
Trying to think only in the short term, even day by day seems too much to handle right now, ten km or fifteen km at a time.The weathers getting on top of us thats for sure , sick at being cold and wet all the time.At least this is a good sedative for coming home.Suddenly the thought of a flat in Gloucester isn't such a horror story(no offense Gloucester).
Fortunately there came a downhill,
unluckily this is where I found I had further back wheel problem's. A slight bulge has begun in my rear rim.From experience ( plenty of it) I knew my Alex rim from Kunming had had it.Using only my front brake on the wet roads we made a frightening descent in the bone numbing cold heading for the port of Bilbao.
Apart from traffic Bilbao wasn't too bad to get into.It was mainly downhill and the directions to to the bike shop were spot on.Half an hour after entering town I had a 39 euro no frills brand new back wheel.Or number six as I call it.Thats crazy, six back wheels, one every 5500km. I cant even count to six!Within twenty four hours of finding the problem , the old wheel had deteriorated fast and was on its last legs as we approached Bilbao's hostel,pointed out to us by a guy who thought it was a shelter for the homeless.We fitted the bill.
Refreshed after showering, washing and a good nights sleep ,we picked up our first sign post for Santander late in the morning.With a new wheel I felt more confident with my bike although I began to
have a personal dental breakdown.A tooth I'd damaged about two months ago was really beginning to play up and was only being held back by powerful Turkish painkillers.I have to get it sorted in Santander,its fucking killing me, even with fez sized tablets.
The skies began to clear somewhat, we even saw the sun just long enough to shout ''where the 'kin hell have you been'' before he ducked behind a cloud , shirking his responsibilities once again.We found camp, late into the evening darkness, it had been fairly built up and fenced farmland kept us off the land.It wasn't a great campspot,under a street light along a very quiet village lane,but it would have to do.Although we didn't know it at the time, this would be our last camp night of the trip.I' ll miss this simple life.Ive never been materialistic, you can live out of a bag or two forever.It doesn't take long to forget phone's, tv's and sofa's.You don't need a cooking pot for every occasion.Ive only had one pair of trousers for two years.One pair of trousers but six back wheels.There was no time for reminiscing, we thought we'd camp in England, but then again
we hadn't seen the weather forecast.
It was supposed to be so easy today, 30km, hotel, drinks.Oh no! Firstly the Santander signs dried up, making us take a wrong turn (up hill naturally), then as we picked our way back we ended up going for it on the motorway.Illegal as hell but alright until the hard shoulder ran out and was replaced by a metre high concrete wall.It was pure danger.Why did we even think of carrying on?I can laugh now, but at the time it was frightening.Imagine cycling on a motorway in your country, out with the trucks hammering past you at 100kph.I thought, 'fuck, we were so close to making it and now were gonna get trashed'. One km along the wall we jumped over it and dragged the bikes over amist the sounds of blaring horns and shaking fists.Beep bloody beep!Dropping down onto a dirt road we ploughed through lake sized puddles and found our way back to the road we should of been on.A closer shave than Gandhi's head.
After that it was plain sailing into Santander.It was busy ,but since we weren't being sucked under trucks it felt alright.It felt good to get into town.Although the trip isn't done yet, we have closed the circle.We even got accommodation first ask.We drank and made merry and tried to figure out our feelings of our accomplishment, you dont ride around the world every day.We're not Mark Beaumont.( cyclist joke there).Pats on the back all round, although theres still a bit of work to be done.
I got my tooth half done (root canal).Tati went on a shopping frenzy and bought boots slightly smaller than the Petronas towers in KL.The following night we were sailing away from the lights of the Spanish mainland.Tomorrow night England would be within our sight.Time to go home.
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Marcoelitaliano
Marco Daprile
Two Questions :-)
Question number one: what a "dangerous hair" looks like? Question number two: who is Mark Beaumont? ... questions apart, you deserve more than a pat on your shoulder; as you said, you don't ride around the world every day. Besides, you'd already deserve it for the mere fact of braving out in december's freezing rains... Marco