7000 miles, 5 weeks, one rider, one bike, one Europe.
Discussion
Deranged Granny said:
Kewy said:
Glad you've sacked off the (not)Mrs and sightseeing and back to hobo traveller mode. Lisbon was not your finest rock&roll moments 
Less comforty beds and more ants please.
Many thanks for the constructive feedback!Less comforty beds and more ants please.
Thank you for the kind words and with apologies for the delay...
Day 15
Morning has broken, and so has my back. Who’da thunk sleeping on granite wasn’t a great idea?
Before sunrise
Sunrise
I rise early at ten to six for two reasons. One, because sleeping on granite has become impossible, and two, because I am worried about being run over by a pished farmer in his tractor.
However, being in sync with nature does have its advantages and it does give you that smug feeling of satisfaction, knowing that everyone else is still tucked up in bed, while you have the roads yourself. You can make a lot of progress on the empty roads in the morning, even if it is soon rural Spain’s version of rush hour - where you pass two cars an hour rather than one.
That Spanish bull thing that everyone has a sticker of on their cars
Today’s aim is Madrid, so I am taking in the Sierra de Gredos north east of Plasencia. Unfortunately, the weather stays damp and cold most of the way, but there is still ample opportunity for fun as the roads slowly dry out.
A typical landscape round these parts
The bike is starting to look a little crusty. Is that rear tyre looking a little worn?
Purely by accident, following the N-110 out of Plasencia, I stumble upon what turns out to be the ancient walled town of Avila. Desperately in need of warming up after five hours riding in the wet and single digit temperatures, I stop for an inauthentic lunch in a café chain, buying the hottest food I can find; a wholly underwhelming pizza. But at least I now have an excuse to explore the town.
It’s a pretty cool old town, built on a hill and dominating the surrounding area. There’s not a lot going on, but it’s jam-packed with buildings crammed in right up to the town walls – no room for expansion here.
Now warmed up, I head on towards Madrid, via Scotland.
This place really was more Scottish than Scotland. The temperature, the wind, the winding roads, the windy roads, the lack of traffic, the landscape; all unmistakably Scottish. If I had been dropped there out of a plane, and if I survived the fall, if it wasn’t for the slight ruddiness to the soil I would have sworn I was in the Highlands. It was a real surprise to experience this kind of landscape in Spain.
Scotland
You can just make out the Loch in the background
More Scotland
More Scotland
After leaving Scotland, I arrive back in Spain.
Then, after hours of riding through relative emptiness, I round a bend to be faced with THIS.
One of the most dominating buildings I have ever seen, it turns out it’s the monastery of San Lorenze de El Escorial. It’s bloody enormous. The Spanish like a bit of pomp. Naturally, it required closer inspection.
Stumbling across places like this is what makes travelling by bike without satnav so much fun. Everything is a surprise – good and bad!
I take a quick look round but, despite the blue skies in the pictures, don’t be fooled, moments later, there was another biblical rainstorm.
Interest in the palace suddenly somewhat diminished, I head back on the bike towards Madrid, perfectly following the same path of the rainstorm.
After a few front end slides, I realise that the tyres aren’t quite coping with the rain as well as I thought, so I hunker down behind the screen for the short slog to Madrid. Note to self: Southern European roads have naff all grip in the wet.
After some “inefficient routing” but absolutely not getting lost, I find the centre of the city and instantly love it. I had been intending to just pass through Madrid on my way up to the Pyrenees, but straight away I love the vibe and decide to book in to a hostel for the night to do the city justice and explore. At least I have, for once, made the intended destination of the day.
Following a quick look round to get my bearings, I head back to the hostel and give in to their offer of a three course meal and unlimited sangria for €10. This turns into a “pre” drinks session – I lose count after the 18th glass of sangria - not that they will be “pre” anything for me – I need an early night. I exchange travel anecdotes with the other yoofs, mostly Aussies on year-long tours, who make my trip look like a trip to the shops. One couple have done nearly every single country in Europe by bus (no thanks!) and have been travelling since January, and an American girl who is part way round Europe on her summer break.
With a heavy head I get ready for bed, just as all the others get ready for a night out. I am sorely tempted to join, but after three hours’ sleep on granite the night before, the allure of a soft mattress, in a dorm with six snoring people, is too great to pass up.
Day 15
Morning has broken, and so has my back. Who’da thunk sleeping on granite wasn’t a great idea?
Before sunrise
Sunrise
I rise early at ten to six for two reasons. One, because sleeping on granite has become impossible, and two, because I am worried about being run over by a pished farmer in his tractor.
However, being in sync with nature does have its advantages and it does give you that smug feeling of satisfaction, knowing that everyone else is still tucked up in bed, while you have the roads yourself. You can make a lot of progress on the empty roads in the morning, even if it is soon rural Spain’s version of rush hour - where you pass two cars an hour rather than one.
That Spanish bull thing that everyone has a sticker of on their cars
Today’s aim is Madrid, so I am taking in the Sierra de Gredos north east of Plasencia. Unfortunately, the weather stays damp and cold most of the way, but there is still ample opportunity for fun as the roads slowly dry out.
A typical landscape round these parts
The bike is starting to look a little crusty. Is that rear tyre looking a little worn?
Purely by accident, following the N-110 out of Plasencia, I stumble upon what turns out to be the ancient walled town of Avila. Desperately in need of warming up after five hours riding in the wet and single digit temperatures, I stop for an inauthentic lunch in a café chain, buying the hottest food I can find; a wholly underwhelming pizza. But at least I now have an excuse to explore the town.
It’s a pretty cool old town, built on a hill and dominating the surrounding area. There’s not a lot going on, but it’s jam-packed with buildings crammed in right up to the town walls – no room for expansion here.
Now warmed up, I head on towards Madrid, via Scotland.
This place really was more Scottish than Scotland. The temperature, the wind, the winding roads, the windy roads, the lack of traffic, the landscape; all unmistakably Scottish. If I had been dropped there out of a plane, and if I survived the fall, if it wasn’t for the slight ruddiness to the soil I would have sworn I was in the Highlands. It was a real surprise to experience this kind of landscape in Spain.
Scotland
You can just make out the Loch in the background
More Scotland
More Scotland
After leaving Scotland, I arrive back in Spain.
Then, after hours of riding through relative emptiness, I round a bend to be faced with THIS.
One of the most dominating buildings I have ever seen, it turns out it’s the monastery of San Lorenze de El Escorial. It’s bloody enormous. The Spanish like a bit of pomp. Naturally, it required closer inspection.
Stumbling across places like this is what makes travelling by bike without satnav so much fun. Everything is a surprise – good and bad!
I take a quick look round but, despite the blue skies in the pictures, don’t be fooled, moments later, there was another biblical rainstorm.
Interest in the palace suddenly somewhat diminished, I head back on the bike towards Madrid, perfectly following the same path of the rainstorm.
After a few front end slides, I realise that the tyres aren’t quite coping with the rain as well as I thought, so I hunker down behind the screen for the short slog to Madrid. Note to self: Southern European roads have naff all grip in the wet.
After some “inefficient routing” but absolutely not getting lost, I find the centre of the city and instantly love it. I had been intending to just pass through Madrid on my way up to the Pyrenees, but straight away I love the vibe and decide to book in to a hostel for the night to do the city justice and explore. At least I have, for once, made the intended destination of the day.
Following a quick look round to get my bearings, I head back to the hostel and give in to their offer of a three course meal and unlimited sangria for €10. This turns into a “pre” drinks session – I lose count after the 18th glass of sangria - not that they will be “pre” anything for me – I need an early night. I exchange travel anecdotes with the other yoofs, mostly Aussies on year-long tours, who make my trip look like a trip to the shops. One couple have done nearly every single country in Europe by bus (no thanks!) and have been travelling since January, and an American girl who is part way round Europe on her summer break.
With a heavy head I get ready for bed, just as all the others get ready for a night out. I am sorely tempted to join, but after three hours’ sleep on granite the night before, the allure of a soft mattress, in a dorm with six snoring people, is too great to pass up.
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