Normally the plan for September is a trip to the Eifel region of Germany, the bit next to Luxembourg, where a great week is almost always had by all. The plan for 2017 was different though, a camping trip to Austria was on the cards. Me and Paul were both to reach our 30th birthdays the week before that trip was due to happen, and the Monday of that previous week was a bank holiday. A plan was hatched to see the Pyrenees, a place we had both been semi-seriously joking about visiting for years, and then join the others in Austria. This is what happened..
One L reg CB250 and one H reg VFR750 on the Newhaven to Dieppe
night ferry. Adventure awaits. We set off from Newhaven at midnight, just as my newly fitted sat nav started to play up. Perfect timing.
CB250 starting mileage - 89130, just about run in. I have just had a new
Cheng Shin fitted to the rear and noticed the new cush rubbers I put a
lot of effort into fitting are utterly destroyed. I pretended I ain't seen
nuffin' and set off on it anyway because no other bikes were ready to go on a trip like this.
The CB was very unstable on the sidestand with all the luggage on,
possibly for reasons that would become apparent later on. Getting off
the ferry and into passport control I dropped my passport on the floor
because I'm incompetent, put the bike on the sidestand, went to pick up
the passport and turned around to see the bike toppling over. I nearly
held it up but not quite.. Thankfully the engine bars and panniers meant
there was zero damage, a first for me I think. Or was there zero
damage? Hmm.
Eventually we were vomited into France in the middle of the night, where it was freezing cold and surprisingly misty. The Nav was flickering on and off like a good 'un, which distracted me so much I went round a roundabout on the wrong side and then almost crashed. Eventually we ended up in a small town, looking for some breakfast. Ahh France, land of pastry..
And small, strong coffee.
Paul made me cane the poor old girl down the motorway to our
stop at Limoges as he was fed up of the weight of his bike and something
about minor roads meaning we could still see Dieppe after many (and it was many) hours of
riding. The old girl took exception to this, leaking oil everywhere and
requiring a little TLC to add some working clearance to the rear
sprocket bolts, which due to mega rubbish cush rubbers from Wemoto were
now grazing the inside of the swingarm as the whole lot was wobbling about. Thankfully our planned stop off near Limoges was a house owned by a bloke that Paul works with, where his wife (Shelly) and a friend stay. This Mark bloke is well into his 80s Hondas which makes him a decent fellow but this also meant he had a kitted out workshop begging to be used. This was fortunate. Drink was drunk, and plans made for departure the following day.
As you can see, I have a
delicate touch:
Sitrep: It's a death trap already. The lack of cush rubbers means all the strain is put on
the hub of the wheel, I just have to hope it doesn't break off/up! Also
the clutch is slipping quite a lot when cold. Oh and the exhaust bandage
didn't enjoy the motorway at all, and is now blowing a lot again so she
sounds more like a tractor than a bike. Also France was already hot and horribly humid, there was not a lot to recommend it.
Being slightly hungover from the previous night, the day drew on until Shelly finally appeared some time past noon (a little bit drunk, too) and our promised curry lunch finally arrived. It was very nice but by the time we were done it was being pointed out that it was surely too late to go now and there were still little bottles of Kingsbrau to be drunk. Oh okay then. Plus the company was good, old man Rob with a ridiculous Barnsley accent consistently took the piss out of Paul while Mike had ridden his CD250U across a lot of Europe. Everyone got more drunk. We quickly learnt that drinking is all there is to do in the Limousin. Rob, who doesn't do afters and is a self confessed alcoholic, was drinking by 10AM. The night degenerated until Shelly announced I reminded her of Mark and that I must be homosexual, which was less fun than Rob's jibes at Paul. Eventually even all the wine was drunk from the box and we were down to some horrible liqeur which hardly ever saw the light of day. Never mind.
The next morning we finally left. A month before the trip I had met a Mr David Pape at work who seems to be a guy well into his adventure biking and he seemed to be friends with a certain Mr Sam Manicom, a name I have seen mentioned several times since including by Ren at BAT and at the end of Elspeth Beard's book about her tour around the world. Mr Pape recommended Rocamadour as a nice place to see on the way down through France.. We found it very touristy, too hot and humid, choked with traffic and basically sodded it off very quickly.
We pushed on south, the aim was the Pyrenees. We ended up not being able to find an
open campsite while we headed straight into a storm that was over the
Pyrenean mountains with the most ludicrous forking lightning and blackest clouds.
And then rain. Eventually we camped on some grass by the side of the
road at a tiny place called Pinas because we're a couple of incompetent twats.
Not exactly peaceful..
After rewiring the Nav at the aftermarket power connector (this would become a daily ritual) and losing a screw in the grass (so annoying) we quickly packed up and left before we got shooed away. We made good use of the facilities at a local boulangerie and Paul bought himself a little cake after realising it was his birthday! We pressed on south, through the foothills of the Pyrenees and then finally into the proper mountains themselves.
We headed for the D26 in the Pyrenees proper, a road I had seen years ago on Streetview and was fairly adamant about riding. The reality did not match the expectation, it may have been high but it was very much like the Hardknott Pass - very steep, very twisty, very slow and covered in sheep. Eventually we made it to the top..
Which was just a bit cold and wet. Humph.
Back down we came, into the Spanish side. Back into the warm, and
along one of the best roads of the trip. Many twist, such zoom. We followed a route recommended by ADAC that I had loaded into the Nav, but it was all much the same - sweep and zoom. It was better than the French side though, somehow - not as tight, more sweeping.
We headed for Camping Ain near Jaca on the personal recommendation of Rob M, and he was right. It was good. The facilities were good. The lager in large frosted glasses was good. The food was good, though I was getting quite fed up with bread by this stage. What was not so good was that Paul got a message from his missus stating she had managed to be pushed sideways along the motorway by a lorry and that now she would be using his precious Peugeot 205 GTI. Neither of these things helped with his fragile mental state.
Mountains. Never gets old.
At this point I got a text from the Big Man explaining that Austria, the original
plan, was off and everyone was staying in France the next week. This
meant that, at that point in time, we felt like we had all the time in the world.
Picos? Bit safe. Sierra Nevada, the highest paved road in Europe? All
the way down near the bottom of Spain? What say you, Paul?
"I'd do it".
I tightened my chain, which didn't really work (I'd learn why a bit later), added some oil, stripped back and rewired the Nav again and off we popped.. See you in part 2!
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