Prologue
A mere 31 years
ago there was a young adult who decided, on a whim, to cycle down western Europe. Now the older adult in me is re-counting the journey with just some Kodachrome slides and artifacts in a journal as a guide.
This all took place before the EU with its common currency and fluid borders. Before the era of the ATM, cell phone, web, and non-smoking flight. It was a trip of uncertainty and yet without any doubt. Why no doubt? Youth and ignorance, I guess. It happened at a time when there was true adventure and unknown - no easy information lookup on your phone. To find the best nooks and crannies one relied on travel books, investigative discovery, and human interaction.
So, indulge me and yourself and come along for the ride.
The approximate route
This all took place before the EU with its common currency and fluid borders. Before the era of the ATM, cell phone, web, and non-smoking flight. It was a trip of uncertainty and yet without any doubt. Why no doubt? Youth and ignorance, I guess. It happened at a time when there was true adventure and unknown - no easy information lookup on your phone. To find the best nooks and crannies one relied on travel books, investigative discovery, and human interaction.
So, indulge me and yourself and come along for the ride.
The approximate route
Spring, 1985
Swish, swish, swish. Who brings old corduroy long pants on a
bike trip? This blows. I don't care how cold the nights are, these are going
into the first garbage bin I see. Luckily, the port town in northern France
where I was, Cherbourg, has garbage cans. At first sight, in went two long pants
and an assortment of other non-essentials. Who brings these things and doesn't bring a sleeping bag or tent? Well, in my defense, I did have a tarp, raincoat and a
cork screw. Not sure if I had an extra tube but did have a patch kit and pump. Biking
gloves? No. Helmet? No. That scares me till today.
The day started with a conspiracy that had been carefully
conspired the night before with my hostel mates and executed at the break of dawn. The goal was to get me
and my bicycle on the road before 7 am. The challenge was to do that before the
massive wrought iron gates of youth hostel encapsulation would be swung open. We opened the large window and, to everyone's delight, I jumped. My bike and panniers
quickly followed. I was off. Heading south I hit a 100 miles of up wind. But,
even in second gear downhill, it didn’t bother me too much. I was enveloped in
beautiful rolling fields all the way to my next sanctuary – the medieval castle
and monastery town perched dramatically on a rock on the bay - Le Mont Saint
Michel.
How did I get here?
The Beginning
The year is 1985. After sophomore year at CMU it was time to have an adventure. What was
the plan, exactly? Well, I had $300 in traveler checks and a month of time in the budget. A steel Schwinn 10
speed bike would be my trusty steed that never complained one bit despite the rack full of panniers and backpack with clothes and who knows what else. My survival gear included a snorkeling mask and a Eurail pass voucher to only be considered as a last resort method of extraction.
I would travel ultra-lite, thinking that summer would provide protection against the elements. I had no tent or sleeping bag -- just a jacket, tarp, and cotton sleeping sack. With these essentials the plan was to cycle from London to Gibraltar through France and Spain. I knew little of many practical details other than a self-proposed route drawn on a map.
This was to be an adventure and I didn't want to over plan. Didn't want to plan anything, really.
I would travel ultra-lite, thinking that summer would provide protection against the elements. I had no tent or sleeping bag -- just a jacket, tarp, and cotton sleeping sack. With these essentials the plan was to cycle from London to Gibraltar through France and Spain. I knew little of many practical details other than a self-proposed route drawn on a map.
This was to be an adventure and I didn't want to over plan. Didn't want to plan anything, really.
Monday 5.20
My mom and dad were great enough to support this un-plan. My dad drove bicycle and me to Newark International Airport from central Jersey and we rolled to the People's Express checkin booth. This is one of the airlines that introduced ultra budget travel and cash payment for domestic flights on the plane. My $99 one-way booking
had vanished! The first life lesson: a booking originating in Pittsburgh cannot be not picked up half way. Luckily, the flight wasn't pre-paid. After a little
poking around we found a Virgin Atlantic flight to London for $129 on standby. Score.
Then we disassembled, boxed, and kissed my bike away.
Then we disassembled, boxed, and kissed my bike away.
In hindsight, I'm surprised that my mother and father were
obliging in this seemingly reckless idea. I made two promises - 1: to send a telegram within two weeks and 2: to get my ass to Holland for a family
reunion in June.
While thankful for the seat to London, I was placed on the last
non-smoking seat in the airplane. Right behind me were about 10 rows of
smokers. Large plumes of freshness overnight in my sleeplessness, mmm.
England
Tuesday 5.21
Tuesday 5.21
At the luggage claim I spotted the box and dragged it
through customs. In the arrival hall I quickly decomposed the box and assembled
my ride. I loaded the panniers and rolled down the corridors. Then the air opened into England. Cloudy and cool - perfect for riding.
The next challenge? How to get away from the airport. This would be a recurring
theme. How to get into and out of motor vehicle oriented centers?
Why all the honking? This road is busy and cars driving
fast; little shoulder; and I'm riding on the right. Doh, yes, should be on the
left. This left handed technique would only be required for a few days until the water crossing to the European mainland.
Shortly, I spotted a rural road down the embankment and I lost no time walking my bike down and, for the second
time that day, I was free! Quickly, the green fields, trees, and quaint houses
let me know that my adventure had started. It was surreal. Luckily, here shouldn't pose too much of a language barrier, which almost seemed like cheating. Not to worry, there would be plenty of challenges.
Before too long, another lone touring cyclist came into
view. He and I stopped and conversed. This guy, John, was a Canadian about my
age and was finishing his trip from Greece. His buddies had already left. He
was on a mountain bike with somewhat knobby tires. That was something new and
strange for me. I was on the same steel bike that I had in high school. The
only thing that was new were the tires and tubes. Pretty basic stuff. He mentioned the flat tire count on his trip and I turned my inner gaze to my one
patch kit and wondered how I'd make it.
John and I decided to cycle together. He introduced me to
the 4 o'clock rule. That's when you start the cool down cycle and stop at the first pub
you see. This would become a ritual during the trip when money and opportunity
afforded. After a pint somewhere between Crawley and Billingsworth we set off
again. I could get used to this! And then rain started spittling down; or "pissing" down in his vernacular. I gathered that he had more of the elements in the early spring. Dusk was threatening
and a car pulled over across the road. A lady asked if we needed a place to
stay. £10 ($15) each. Ouch. Way over $10 daily budget but what to do? She explained
how to find her Bed & Breakfast and told us to make ourselves at home - she
would be back in an hour. I wondered why would anyone trust us at first sight. We parked our bikes in the barn and then went out for food and more hydration. I slept like a baby.
Wednesday 5.22
Breakfast was what I believe is a typical English fare of eggs, bacon, and
toast. This was welcome fuel for the day ahead. On to Portsmouth for me. Solo
again. Ready for the new day. A subtle rain again on and off. Every small
village till Petworth was absolutely enchanting. Old stone walls and churches
and story book houses. Approaching Portsmouth I appreciated the nice downhill into the navy port town. After some reconnaissance, my choice was the local YMCA. There was a common area with
table tennis, games, and sleeping quarters filled with bunk beds. Comfortable
enough.
Thursday 5.23
At 6:24 am I got a finger in my ear. I opened my eye and was
amazed to witness this type of wake up call. This old man was on a mission to rub all
the ears in the room. Effective it was. I wonder what HR would say about that
today? By 8 am the bike and myself are on the ferry - over an hour early, I thought, giving
plenty of time to grab something from the shore. Five minutes later
the boat departed. Luckily, an
attendant warned me so I didn't make a potentially trip-ending mistake.
France
A few hours later, the ferry arrived in Cherbourg, France. With barely a semester of French in my brain I had some trepidations about communication, I admit.
A few hours later, the ferry arrived in Cherbourg, France. With barely a semester of French in my brain I had some trepidations about communication, I admit.
Once on land, I checked into the local youth hostel and
decided to acclimate for the day. It was time to get familiar with the French and
Franc. The hostel was 28.5 Francs, which amounted to less than $3. A night
under budget, finally. That means I have some serious cash to play the local market and purchase some food.
Friday 5.24
This is an ambitious day. Almost 100 miles to Le Mont Saint
Michel - a magical destination of a cathedral castle town on a rock in the sea,
with tides reportedly moving along quicksand as fast as a galloping horse.
The wind was strong. It would have been great to have the prevailing winds with me. Downhill in second gear. Up and down long fields without break.
Somehow the miles dissolved by evening. Ass broken and legs quivering I rode along the raised road and entered the gates at 10:45 pm.
As darkness had tightened its cloak I was able to stow my bike under a small walkway bridge and went to celebrate. I had bought my first bottle of French wine, croissants, and sardines. With a giant pull of the survival corkscrew I had packed, the wooden handle crisply snapped off. Not to worry. I spotted some waiters smoking outside and they cheerily obliged and uncorked the bottle without a fee (thank you). Life was sweet. As I sat on a wall along the old street, every passing couple wished me bon appétit. Early to bed under the bridge. The only complication was a small yappy dog that had been let out, presumably to pee. Luckily, there was no escalation of incident and I was able to sleep through the chill of the night.
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| Passing through quaint towns |
The wind was strong. It would have been great to have the prevailing winds with me. Downhill in second gear. Up and down long fields without break.
 |
| Finally, the prize in the distance |
Somehow the miles dissolved by evening. Ass broken and legs quivering I rode along the raised road and entered the gates at 10:45 pm.
As darkness had tightened its cloak I was able to stow my bike under a small walkway bridge and went to celebrate. I had bought my first bottle of French wine, croissants, and sardines. With a giant pull of the survival corkscrew I had packed, the wooden handle crisply snapped off. Not to worry. I spotted some waiters smoking outside and they cheerily obliged and uncorked the bottle without a fee (thank you). Life was sweet. As I sat on a wall along the old street, every passing couple wished me bon appétit. Early to bed under the bridge. The only complication was a small yappy dog that had been let out, presumably to pee. Luckily, there was no escalation of incident and I was able to sleep through the chill of the night.
Saturday 5.25
It was the most enchanting wakeup call in the world. Church
bells and singing echoing over the ramparts. In spite of the warming sounds I was very cold. Must move. Since the main gate to the inner monastery was still closed and, since it was low tide, I decided to walk
around the city outer walls along the sand. Half way around the rocky mound there stood a small chapel facing the sea in total calmness and defiance. Magic all around.
The sun coming up, glimmering on the sea. Then after a climb back to the ramparts I took in the sun in full glory, shimmering on the water and rooftops below.
The sun coming up, glimmering on the sea. Then after a climb back to the ramparts I took in the sun in full glory, shimmering on the water and rooftops below.
At that point the center gates opened and I took a tour
through the majestic cathedral and monastery. The tour starts at the top and as
you deepen from floor to floor you travel through time. At the bottom you
arrive at Roman and even older foundations.
Around lunch time I decided to move on south. Unlocking my
bike, I rolled with a light heart down the ancient cobblestone streets and headed over the causeway back to the mainland.
"Do you want to have Dinar in Dinar"? Excuse me? Along the road a car full of four men smiled vigorously at me and asked where I was heading. I said south. They said west. Why in the world would I oblige? Well, it's hard to explain to 21st century people. This was a time of innocence. It was a time to discover and meet people. Intuition told me this was harmless and could be entertaining. I would not be disappointed. Besides, I wasn't in the mood to fight the wind today. On their recommendation I stopped and swam and tanned on the St Malo beach for an hour. Warm air and beautiful.
 |
| St Malo, I believe |
In Dinard my new hosts once again drove by and they were all
smiles again. A somewhat unlikely mix; a young Cambodian, a dance photographer,
a Cannes shop owner, and the ring leader, who I found out soon enough, was a TV
celebrity. We went to an awesome traditional crepe restaurant. All the while
people stared and gossiped. I asked why and he explained. Nice to be a celebrity for a day.
Back at the hotel, they offered to buy me a room but I said
I would be happy to crash on a mattress. They respected my space.
Sunday 5.26
After a wonderful breakfast, I heartily thanked my hosts.
They were genuinely amused. They even gave me a contact in Madrid - a famous
dancer, I was led to believe.
Another windy day.
Back and butt broken I arrive in Redon at 9:30 pm. At this rate it will take five days to reach Spain. In spite of the record high dollar my $10 a day budget is not working so well. No inside bed tonight. I write in a bar and socialize with the locals as best I can. After a cozy stay I go out alone into the night and search for a quiet lodging place. Behind a warehouse I secure my bike and crash.
Not making everything rain proof is the first thing I remember when woken by the thunder, lightning and rain dumping out of the sky. Sleep was no use. Need to find shelter. I rolled my rig along the streets until passing an open portal with a roof. I rush in and crash again.
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| One of the many wonderful scenes |
 |
| How about a house on a tower? Sure, why not? |
Back and butt broken I arrive in Redon at 9:30 pm. At this rate it will take five days to reach Spain. In spite of the record high dollar my $10 a day budget is not working so well. No inside bed tonight. I write in a bar and socialize with the locals as best I can. After a cozy stay I go out alone into the night and search for a quiet lodging place. Behind a warehouse I secure my bike and crash.
Not making everything rain proof is the first thing I remember when woken by the thunder, lightning and rain dumping out of the sky. Sleep was no use. Need to find shelter. I rolled my rig along the streets until passing an open portal with a roof. I rush in and crash again.
Monday 5.27
Shivering and damp I picked up my bags and creaked south.
Finally, a friendly, but chilled, wind. I felt like I was floating down hill. About 10 pm I entered Chantonnay. This
was to be my first hair prickly experience. What an eerie place. Nobody I crossed was
friendly. I got nothing but strange stares except for this all too friendly
person in a bistro. From his probing questions and pushy behavior, I soon
became intensely aware that he was full of bad intentions - most likely a
robbery about to happen. I hopped on my bike and vanished into a distant part
of town and made myself into a shadow of the night. Luckily, no incident occurred
and the next morning I departed without a second thought.
Tuesday 5.28
By 7:00 I'm on the road again and against all bodily hurts
made it to Saint-Genis-de-Saintonge. What a journey. Between Saintes and Sugères
only the sun guided me through endless fields and rolling hills.
At one point I stopped at a crossroad and scanned east, west, north, and south. Just endless rolling fields in all directions. It was so serene. I just soaked it in. Once again, in the absence of any signage, I let the sun be my guide and headed south.
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| Nice and flat here |
 |
| The beast |
At one point I stopped at a crossroad and scanned east, west, north, and south. Just endless rolling fields in all directions. It was so serene. I just soaked it in. Once again, in the absence of any signage, I let the sun be my guide and headed south.
Wednesday 5.29
Today it's a short ride to Bordeaux. I plan to stop by a wine dégustation station to find out what the buzz is all about.
Just cycling through the pain: knees, legs, butt and back. Up, down and around. Now sunburn. Once in Bordeaux finding a youth hostel was not hard. It was a typical social place. A Dutch man explained me his pilgrimage from the Netherlands to Spain on foot where he would continue along the famous “Camino de Santiago”. Seven weeks of walking so far. I'd take a bike any day; but I guess that's not the point.
Among so many wonderful and interesting people, the hostel keeper turned out to be very unfriendly. I had forgotten my towel upstairs on my departure and the hall was locked. I asked the keeper to let me in but he indignantly replied that it was locked! Clearly it was physically impossible for him to reach into his pocket for the key. Maybe it was just due to years of dealing with irresponsibles.
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| Bordeaux country |
Just cycling through the pain: knees, legs, butt and back. Up, down and around. Now sunburn. Once in Bordeaux finding a youth hostel was not hard. It was a typical social place. A Dutch man explained me his pilgrimage from the Netherlands to Spain on foot where he would continue along the famous “Camino de Santiago”. Seven weeks of walking so far. I'd take a bike any day; but I guess that's not the point.
Among so many wonderful and interesting people, the hostel keeper turned out to be very unfriendly. I had forgotten my towel upstairs on my departure and the hall was locked. I asked the keeper to let me in but he indignantly replied that it was locked! Clearly it was physically impossible for him to reach into his pocket for the key. Maybe it was just due to years of dealing with irresponsibles.
This is the day to fulfill my promise of the communication to
my parents. I went to the post office and filled in a telegram. It was cheaper
than a phone call but still cut into my per diem.
Thursday 5.30
The best intentions of tasting wine were for naught. South of
Bordeaux the countryside flipped from vineyards to woods. It was a welcome
change of scenery after a week of nothing but grassy, rolling hills. This was
along the coast but you wouldn't know it by the high pines enclosing the road.
After a few hours, I ran into another cyclist who was en route to see his girlfriend in Pau. He had been cycling through France and loves to "make bicycle" every year. We laughed a lot and felt like old friends. We discussed the challenges of wind, mountains, traffic, and getting into and out of big cities. We swam at Mimizan Plage and setup "camping" on the beach in the open air.
After a few hours, I ran into another cyclist who was en route to see his girlfriend in Pau. He had been cycling through France and loves to "make bicycle" every year. We laughed a lot and felt like old friends. We discussed the challenges of wind, mountains, traffic, and getting into and out of big cities. We swam at Mimizan Plage and setup "camping" on the beach in the open air.
Friday 5.31
After coffee and a croissant at a local bakery, my recent acquaintance and I set off. He continued to
Pau and I to the border town of Biarritz. So exciting. Spain is so close! It
was a cruise until Léon. That's when the huge pines with huge pine cones gave
way to the foothills of the southwest Pyrenees. Beautiful landscape was replaced
by congestion and the ugliest of buildings. My Shangri-la was shattered for the
moment. Never mind. I had a job to do and was determined to reach the border by
nightfall. Finally, after miles and miles I reached the border. I stopped for
one last snack and then...
Spain!
Spain!
After six years of high school Spanish I was eager to unleash
my linguistic chops. It turned out that the little French I knew interfered
tremendously that first day. It didn't help that the Basque region had their
own language.
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| Northern Coast |
I head to the closest albergue in Fuenterrabía. Pinched nerves in my hand and ass are hindering progress. Everyone was so nice and welcoming but they all stared as if I was from outer space.
Up one last hill to the hostel perched high up above the
sea. Green everywhere and bamboo, chameleons, snakes, baby goats, and lots of
German shepherds and Dobermans. It turns out that the youth hostel is more than
just that - it seems to double up as home for
pensioners and boarding school for kids. Time to crash.
Saturday 6.1
What a stellar view of the sea from room #43. A perfect
bluebird day. Breakfast in the cafeteria was a welcome treat and well within budget at 125 pesetas ($0.70).
Half way through breakfast, the entire middle school of kids attacked, firing
questions a million miles a minute. ¿Como se llama usted? ¿De donde está?
After breakfast I decided to head into town. I was determined to send off some letters in progress. One country to write the contents, another to write the destination address, and another to buy stamps. Who knows how many more to send? I didn't even get to cross the front patio before being attacked again. These kids were so excited and invited me to accompany them on a walk over the hills to the Santuario de Guadalupe. As a new celebrity I couldn't refuse their exuberance. A million more questions about America. ¿Conoce Ronald Reagan? ¿Ha estado en un sumergible?
After breakfast I decided to head into town. I was determined to send off some letters in progress. One country to write the contents, another to write the destination address, and another to buy stamps. Who knows how many more to send? I didn't even get to cross the front patio before being attacked again. These kids were so excited and invited me to accompany them on a walk over the hills to the Santuario de Guadalupe. As a new celebrity I couldn't refuse their exuberance. A million more questions about America. ¿Conoce Ronald Reagan? ¿Ha estado en un sumergible?
After a joyful yet exhausting morning I resumed my original
plan and headed over to the town by the sea. I was on a mission to send those
letters and treat myself to the famous Paella. Wow, I wasn't disappointed -
yellow rice, shrimp, chicken, and mussels.
Sunday 6.2
Off to Durango. Along the coast progress was slow by mile
count due to the mountains. The rocky shoreline hugs the sea.
Since most people preferred “La Costa del Sol” on the Mediterranean, this coast was not overdeveloped. Just stunning. By 6:30 pm I arrived in Durango and contemplate the next move. A bunch of girls giggling endlessly at me. I gathered my language courage, rolled over, and smiled. Questions followed by more giggling. ¿Hay un lugar para comer aquí? I ask. They didn't even hesitate and drag me over to a local place. La dueña was so nice, which was consistent with my experience universally in Spain so far.
After a sturdy bocadillo and a glass of house wine, I said my goodbyes and headed toward the final mountain pass of the Pyrenees. As promised by the locals, 5 km uphill delivered. I did get some cheers; even when there were moments of walking. I can't imagine what the Alps would be like.
Finally reaching the pass, I noticed some bad weather rolling in and I decided to stay at the nearest hotel. At 900 pesetas ($5) it’s a large portion of the daily budget but definitely worth it since seconds later the deluge of rain, thunder and lightning struck. Most days I actually preferred to sleep outside, especially since the nights were getting warmer as I progressed south and into the summer. But not today. Tonight I would enjoy a bit of warmth and comfort. Being young and carefree is a wonderful thing.
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| Just another stunning Vista |
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| San Sebastián, I believe |
Since most people preferred “La Costa del Sol” on the Mediterranean, this coast was not overdeveloped. Just stunning. By 6:30 pm I arrived in Durango and contemplate the next move. A bunch of girls giggling endlessly at me. I gathered my language courage, rolled over, and smiled. Questions followed by more giggling. ¿Hay un lugar para comer aquí? I ask. They didn't even hesitate and drag me over to a local place. La dueña was so nice, which was consistent with my experience universally in Spain so far.
After a sturdy bocadillo and a glass of house wine, I said my goodbyes and headed toward the final mountain pass of the Pyrenees. As promised by the locals, 5 km uphill delivered. I did get some cheers; even when there were moments of walking. I can't imagine what the Alps would be like.
 |
| Last gasp of the Pyrenees |
 |
| Possibly the place I stayed in |
Finally reaching the pass, I noticed some bad weather rolling in and I decided to stay at the nearest hotel. At 900 pesetas ($5) it’s a large portion of the daily budget but definitely worth it since seconds later the deluge of rain, thunder and lightning struck. Most days I actually preferred to sleep outside, especially since the nights were getting warmer as I progressed south and into the summer. But not today. Tonight I would enjoy a bit of warmth and comfort. Being young and carefree is a wonderful thing.
Monday 6.3
Down the mountain to Burgos.
The first couple of kilometers were spectacular but then quaint old towns were replaced by modern smog and cities. I should have taken a different route, in hind sight. Vitoria-Gasteiz was a disaster for cycling. I actually got blown off the road by the passing wind of a massive truck at one point. Endless misery finally ended.
Once in Burgos I chatted with a local who recommended "Angelita's" as the cheapest hotel. It had classic old furniture and offered a clean shower. Life was good. I had my can of sardines to feast on. Did I feel lonely or homesick after quite a crappy ride? No. This evening I was alone but not lonely. Just happy to have the open road ahead full of potential. I was basking in the full sunshine of freedom to go anywhere and do anything - within budget, of course. Not knowing where, how, or whether the next meal or bed would materialize required attention to signals in order to survive and thrive. Pretty much guarantees an interesting time.
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| The roofs are different in Spain |
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| A village on the way |
The first couple of kilometers were spectacular but then quaint old towns were replaced by modern smog and cities. I should have taken a different route, in hind sight. Vitoria-Gasteiz was a disaster for cycling. I actually got blown off the road by the passing wind of a massive truck at one point. Endless misery finally ended.
Once in Burgos I chatted with a local who recommended "Angelita's" as the cheapest hotel. It had classic old furniture and offered a clean shower. Life was good. I had my can of sardines to feast on. Did I feel lonely or homesick after quite a crappy ride? No. This evening I was alone but not lonely. Just happy to have the open road ahead full of potential. I was basking in the full sunshine of freedom to go anywhere and do anything - within budget, of course. Not knowing where, how, or whether the next meal or bed would materialize required attention to signals in order to survive and thrive. Pretty much guarantees an interesting time.
I spend the rest of the evening in deep contemplation.
Tuesday 6.4
More soul sapping, boring, crappy roads filled with trucks
and dust. I need to have connection with people and I knew I wouldn't get it
until I got off this road. Definitely regretting this route at this point. Contrary to best practices of staying alive, I resorted to listening to music and news on my tiny Aiwa FM radio.
The struggle paid off. I finally arrived at the next highlight destination: the ancient city of Valladolid. I wasn't disappointed. As I made my way toward the center, high rise apartments gave way to old, narrow streets and stone cathedrals.
The struggle paid off. I finally arrived at the next highlight destination: the ancient city of Valladolid. I wasn't disappointed. As I made my way toward the center, high rise apartments gave way to old, narrow streets and stone cathedrals.
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| Apartments enclosing the old city of Valladolid |
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| Or is this Valladolid? |
There's just one problem. I don't have any pesetas and the
banks are closed, so there’s no hope of cashing any traveler checks. I hope to
get a room on credit or something. At some point I must have looked very lost
because a student asked if I was looking for the university. I said yes. Why not? The university square was
bustling so there were plenty of people to ask about cheap accommodations.
One bubbly student, “Rosa”, said her grandma rented rooms.
Amazingly, she loaned me 600 pesetas (a little over $3) and immediately
followed with: "The money - it's yours, no?" I interpreted that it
would be a permanent loan.
Rosa gave me a royal tour - Christopher Columbus' house and
cathedrals, just marvelous. Then to a local bar for San Miguel beer and another
for bocadillo. I dissolved myself in her speech. Dreamy. Comprehension stepped
up another notch. Definitely a fun student town.
Wednesday 6.5
Once again, it's time to head out. This morning is the first
time that I could have used a helmet. As I was cruising on the river road surrounding the old city I see something fly up from the other side and hear a bang
high in the sky. Another celebration? There is always some festivity around here, it seems. Then smack and crack on my head. This rather large bottle rocket
just bounced off my head. Ouch, that stung. I have to commend someone for great
aim - regardless of intention.
It wasn't until noon that I realized that I had accidentally
taken this huge old iron room key with me. Oops. Luckily, I knew enough information to make sure the key got back to it's owner.
These roads are beautiful and I am very thankful. Red
flowers are everywhere. I'm excited that it’s only 50 km from Segovia, which is
another must see scenic town before Madrid. In the far distance, I can make out
the mountains that impose themselves in front of me. A few sprinkles of damp here and there. Overall, the last two weeks have been fantastic weather. But then came the wind,
once again. Second gear downhill again, ugh. As fortune would have it, I drafted
behind a local cyclist for a few kilometers and then behind a farm tractor for a few
more. Man, I was so tempted to hold on but I didn't - that would have blemished the self-powered
claim so far.
19 km before Segovia I was all out of steam so bocadillo time it was. Back on the bike, I started looking for a free place to stay for the night. Ah, some new construction, perfect. So, I locked my bike and walked back to town for some local interactions before calling it a night.
19 km before Segovia I was all out of steam so bocadillo time it was. Back on the bike, I started looking for a free place to stay for the night. Ah, some new construction, perfect. So, I locked my bike and walked back to town for some local interactions before calling it a night.
Thursday 6.6
Once again a cold morning. I left by 7 am and
lazily made my way up and down rolling grass hills towards the misty mountains.
No wind, yay. One more hill and ... "preciosa" - La cuidad de Segovia!
It's only 8 am and the town still has that morning calm in the air. Entering
the town center I am dwarfed by this double decker arched Roman aqueduct that spans from the hillside to the town. It is still original with large blocks of granite bound together without any mortar. That’s incredibly impressive.
I see this old lady who eagerly advertises her table cloth
as "hecho a mano". It was a light lace, which wouldn't be too
burdensome to carry and would make a nice gift for my mom, I thought. And at $7
it wouldn't break the bank. So I pulled the trigger and made the purchase. A
while later I read in a travel guide to be wary of old ladies selling fake
table clothes. No matter. It's a fine table cloth that surfaces for special
occasions till today.
It was time to call my uncle in Holland to check if I got
the summer internship I had applied for. This is when I found that my hands
couldn't hold coins. They kept on slipping out of my fingers and rolled under the door and out of
the telephone booth. Not exactly convenient. Please deposit another additional bag of coins, the
operator said. This is when I understood the benefit of cycling gloves to
protect the nerves in the palm. Regardless, I was able to stuff enough coinage
into the phone slot to connect the call and hooray! I got the job.
My uncle asked where in France I was. He was a little surprised that I was in Spain, and only one mountain pass from Madrid. That's when I found out that my telegram to my parents had not arrived. Doh!
My uncle asked where in France I was. He was a little surprised that I was in Spain, and only one mountain pass from Madrid. That's when I found out that my telegram to my parents had not arrived. Doh!
After poking around the town a while, I decided to press on -
the mountains were calling. Unfortunately, my under-nutrient intake was
catching up to me and I was not up for the challenge. I stopped at a real
restaurant to power up. Cow tongue. Not something I usually go for but it was
cheap and full of energy. After that I was racing and finally made it to base of
the mountains. And then the rain started. I noticed a housing construction project and, once
again, made “camp”. In other words, hid my bike out of view. I was always very sensitive to leave a camping site as clean and intact as I found it.
Before dark I headed into town to fraternize with the locals. These were good, honest, hard-working folks with heavily callused hands and a variety of thick accents that posed numerous challenges for my low dimensional language skills. They taught me this game being played all throughout Spain... but I have no recollection anymore of any details.
Before dark I headed into town to fraternize with the locals. These were good, honest, hard-working folks with heavily callused hands and a variety of thick accents that posed numerous challenges for my low dimensional language skills. They taught me this game being played all throughout Spain... but I have no recollection anymore of any details.
This was going to be a cold night. No blanket. The ground was
cold and hard. But I was free, truly free.
Friday 6.8
At 6 am I'm frozen and must move. I load up the panniers, hop
on the bike and head into the magical forest at the foot of the mountain. A nun
I had met earlier described it as "preciosa" and I was not disappointed.
High trees surrounded the country road on both sides. As I started to climb
there were patches of lovely green grass and bubbling brooks among the dense forest.
Have you ever had the feeling that you were being watched? I look up the embankment in the trees to the right and see these huge eyes staring blankly at me about 20 feet away. Holy crap, eyes with horns. This was a massive black bull just eyeing me go by. I'm glad that my panniers were orange instead of red or it could have been an ugly scene, I'm sure. Then, there's an impasse. The largest bull I've ever seen is standing squarely in the middle of the road in front of me. It had the high ground so I had no chance. Since I was young and stupid I decided to proceed and then... nothing happened. Relief. Poor thing. It was actually a little freaked out by me and shuffled to the side. I wondered whether it was destined for a bull fight some day.
 |
| Pine Forests Between Segovia and Madrid |
Have you ever had the feeling that you were being watched? I look up the embankment in the trees to the right and see these huge eyes staring blankly at me about 20 feet away. Holy crap, eyes with horns. This was a massive black bull just eyeing me go by. I'm glad that my panniers were orange instead of red or it could have been an ugly scene, I'm sure. Then, there's an impasse. The largest bull I've ever seen is standing squarely in the middle of the road in front of me. It had the high ground so I had no chance. Since I was young and stupid I decided to proceed and then... nothing happened. Relief. Poor thing. It was actually a little freaked out by me and shuffled to the side. I wondered whether it was destined for a bull fight some day.
First gear, pushing and pulling the pedals. The cages
holding in my sneakers creak with the effort. And then walk. Walk, ride, walk. Interval training,
I guess. From 1200 meters to 1860 meters over 6 or 10 km. Pure
grind and grit.
By 10 am I am standing at the Puerto de Navacerrada pass with snow fields in view on the left and the long valley toward Madrid to the south ahead. Accomplishment! For some crazy reason here is the only place I have a picture of myself that I asked a tourist to take. Still debating whether to post it.
Only two more mountain ranges till my final destination.
By 10 am I am standing at the Puerto de Navacerrada pass with snow fields in view on the left and the long valley toward Madrid to the south ahead. Accomplishment! For some crazy reason here is the only place I have a picture of myself that I asked a tourist to take. Still debating whether to post it.
Only two more mountain ranges till my final destination.
This is the second time I should have had a helmet. I cringe
to think about this but I actually passed trucks on the way down. No brakes the
whole time. I must have been going fast. I think it was another 60-70 km to
Madrid and I made it there by 1:30 pm. What a stupid, crazy thrill.
Once in the greater Madrid area, I wandered around endlessly to find ingress
and to find the address of the one contact I had. Found and lost -- he had
moved out 8 years earlier. Not to be denied I managed to extract his new
address and rolled on. This new place was a lavish house with a garage with rug
floor and bull fighting murals covering everywhere. Alas, the caretaker
explained that the owner was away... and, no, it was not acceptable for me to
sleep in the garage.
Plan B was the youth hostel. I was asleep by 8 pm.
Saturday 6.8
Youth hostels are very social places. I meet two American
engineering students, Suzie and Eileen. We have our 50 peseta ($0.28) breakfast
and we decide to join forces and sight-see together. It was entertaining to
hear them trying to communicate with los Madrileños. That's when I realized
that I was actually doing pretty well language and culture-wise. I felt like I
was re-entering the main stream - like emerging from the wilderness and discovering people had forgotten all about me. I call it decompression.
Sunday 6.9
Wash day. Hand washing clothes and drying in the sun. Then
my thoughts turn, once again, to food. I can't bear another bread and water
meal so I search for paella and... score! Yellow rice with soft shell crab,
clams, and chicken. Now that's what I call a great lunch. No bocadillo with chorizo
today.
Time to think about rolling again. The pure tourist
experience is fun for a while but starting to wear thin. It's kind
of like going to a fancy mall and having a good time but then feeling
a certain stuffiness. Time to move on.
Monday 6.10
After some final errands I pack the panniers and head out of Madrid towards Toledo. After 2 1/2 hours of trying to find the adventure appropriate road, I finally find the path less travelled.
By early evening I'm in Toledo and roaming the streets. I say hello to an American tourist and next thing I know she's buying me a drink. Tasty nutrients and calories. She has a friend and they are keenly amused by my stories. Toledo is just another amazingly enchanting place - marvelous!
By early evening I'm in Toledo and roaming the streets. I say hello to an American tourist and next thing I know she's buying me a drink. Tasty nutrients and calories. She has a friend and they are keenly amused by my stories. Toledo is just another amazingly enchanting place - marvelous!
I press on. In “where-am-I?” Sonseca I ask this man for
water. He converses and I pass some words back. He appreciates adventure and
shakes my hand with an earnest gaze and wishes me good fortune. What an honest
experience with honest people.
As I ride I feel strong but it's that time again to find a crash site. So far 13 nights on a proper bed and 8 nights not. Now that the nights are getting warmer I'll be able to conserve cash and sleep outside and even the score. Tonight, for some crazy reason, my bed is what appears like an old, abandoned cow watering bin. Seems clean enough and even cozy. No bull. Strange comfort in the night.
As I ride I feel strong but it's that time again to find a crash site. So far 13 nights on a proper bed and 8 nights not. Now that the nights are getting warmer I'll be able to conserve cash and sleep outside and even the score. Tonight, for some crazy reason, my bed is what appears like an old, abandoned cow watering bin. Seems clean enough and even cozy. No bull. Strange comfort in the night.
Tuesday 6.11
I awoke from a more or less comfortable sleep in the tin bin - insulated
slightly inside my cloth cover, jacket and tarp. This day would be a long haul on the most
isolated country roads so far. Hot, dry, sweat, and tears. At some point in the middle
of the day I stopped for a break. I hadn't seen a single soul for hours and
looking north and south all I see is potholes. As far as the eye can see in
both directions. Bumpity, bump, bump. I start to wonder if my bike will survive this one. I
don’t know why I wasn’t freaking out at that point. I don't remember worrying
too much about anything.
By evening, I still hadn't seen a single house or person all day. Legs spasmic
- painful to stand or sit. I tried sleeping under a bridge but late at night a four wheel drive vehicle nearly runs me over. I roll to an abandoned dirt road off to the side.
Wednesday 6.12
According to my trusty Timex watch, at 6 in the morning a 4x4 vehicle nearly runs me
over - once again. I wonder if it's the same crew. Legs absolutely burnt out. I
alternate walking and riding. The road is barely traversable. Now I understand
why people advised me to go around this mountain range.
Finally, the first town in a day and a half, Fuencaliente,
appears below.
I emerge from the desert with water deep in my mind. I imagine the image of my parched lips and dust encrusted face. I feel like a lone cowboy strolling into a frontier town. Old ladies all dressed in black robes scurry around with wild stares at me. I find water.
I emerge from the desert with water deep in my mind. I imagine the image of my parched lips and dust encrusted face. I feel like a lone cowboy strolling into a frontier town. Old ladies all dressed in black robes scurry around with wild stares at me. I find water.
This mountain town is simply stunning and preserved away
from the prying eyes of tourists. Dry, parched hills up, down, and around
everywhere. Cacti, big green lizards, and dead snakes were the dominant life
that I noticed. Pressing on through Cardina to Montoro, which is an even more
stunning white walled mountain town with a dryish river curling around the
base. I have passed from Castile-la Mancha to
At the bottom of another mountain I stop and talk to a man a
little older than myself walking along the road. This potentially-to-be-famous traveling
poet was very enthusiastic. He was seeking inspiration in the hills of Andalucía.
Here is one of the poems he wrote in my journal:
"Nací muerto",
vivo sin mi...
"por ser tu exemplo."
Fernando B. P. M
(attribution unclear)
Self-proclaimed poet and philosopher, he started to explain
how he recites poetry in the town squares and can earn 1500 pesetas (about $8)
a day. That seemed like a lot of money to me. He and I were both thirsty
so we climbed the road to the plaza mayor in town and got some lemonade. He
obviously wasn't fazed by the heat of the sun because he just kept talking
philosophy and stuff. He claimed not to drink, smoke, or litter. A man of
principle it appeared.
Fernando had an old world war one era backpack, long black pants, long sleeve shirt, and most notably super shiny black boots. He explained the importance of shiny boots; you can have the most tattered clothes but the boots had to be buff and polished. I didn't really get it. My sneakers wouldn't stand up to a good buffing, I'm sure.
Fernando had an old world war one era backpack, long black pants, long sleeve shirt, and most notably super shiny black boots. He explained the importance of shiny boots; you can have the most tattered clothes but the boots had to be buff and polished. I didn't really get it. My sneakers wouldn't stand up to a good buffing, I'm sure.
He explained that he was in search of a famed "crystal clear" stream of mystical purity. We strolled out of the town and
after many questions and many dubious gazes from the locals, we found it, presumably. A little worse for wear, alas. Now it was a rather muddy river. This was not
exactly what was advertised but clean enough for getting the sweat off.
After bathing we walked to the center of town again. By this time the sun had lowered and backed off its intensity and people were starting to gather. Fernando collected a bunch of kids and random townfolk and we all gathered around while he ramped up his poetry machine. All the crowd just had blank stares. I didn't understand anything either. I started laughing and pretty soon everyone was in hysterics. I realized that I hadn't laughed in several weeks. Definitely need to do something about that.
After bathing we walked to the center of town again. By this time the sun had lowered and backed off its intensity and people were starting to gather. Fernando collected a bunch of kids and random townfolk and we all gathered around while he ramped up his poetry machine. All the crowd just had blank stares. I didn't understand anything either. I started laughing and pretty soon everyone was in hysterics. I realized that I hadn't laughed in several weeks. Definitely need to do something about that.
When darkness arrived we decided to keep company. He had a
tent and I could sense that the situation was safe. Was I just lucky or good at
reading people? Maybe when your life depends on the answer you can look deeply
within a person and make the right call. Dumb luck, maybe. Things
were fine and we slept through the night and I appreciated the warmth of the
tent.
Thursday 6.13
I woke up relatively late because of the warmth of the cocoon. Next time, I'm definitely going to make a tent a top consideration. Fernando was planning to
continue walking and poeticizing through Andalucía throughout the summer. After a sincere goodbye, I was
off to Castro del Rio. Then the mountains loomed above.
This is where I discovered the title of this writing.
Once again, it was me and my baggage against the mountain. I needed help. I stopped by this cafe and bought a double espresso - the espresso at the bottom of the mountain.
That is the first espresso that I remember in my life. I flew up the mountains. Once again I was rewarded with a rush downhill to a beautiful town - this one was Cabra. Pressing on until darkness I finally collapse before a very old bridge and spend the night.
Once again, it was me and my baggage against the mountain. I needed help. I stopped by this cafe and bought a double espresso - the espresso at the bottom of the mountain.
That is the first espresso that I remember in my life. I flew up the mountains. Once again I was rewarded with a rush downhill to a beautiful town - this one was Cabra. Pressing on until darkness I finally collapse before a very old bridge and spend the night.
 |
| One of the old bridges |
Friday 6.14
Woke up early on the hard gravel. I'm feeling older than my
age but I'm determined to reach the coast near Malaga today. Pressing on, I finally see it:
"la Costa del Sol". I must admit it was a bit anti-climactic. High
rises all around. It was not the Spain I had grown to love. But the turquoise blue of the Mediterranean Sea soon cast its spell on me and I was taken.
Rolling along the Mediterranean Sea was like being with the
best companion ever. Stunningly beautiful and comfortable. This is exactly where I wanted to be. By 2:30 pm I couldn't resist any more
and rode into the sand of the beach and ran and jumped into the Mediterranean. Perfect coolness. For hours I lay on
the beach getting way too much sun.
Gibraltar was only a day away. I spoke to a shop owner about my journey. I mentioned that I started in London and he said hmm. Then I said that I'm going to Gibraltar and his eyes grew wide – “So far!” he said. I guess the London bit got lost in translation.
Gibraltar was only a day away. I spoke to a shop owner about my journey. I mentioned that I started in London and he said hmm. Then I said that I'm going to Gibraltar and his eyes grew wide – “So far!” he said. I guess the London bit got lost in translation.
As I moved along the coast it was clear that I was no longer
in Spain. Brits everywhere. Even shop keepers were speaking English. Time to
shift gears and start being a - somewhat reluctant and decidedly poor - tourist. I'm running low on
funds and need to keep a careful tab on expenditures.
Just before Marbella there is a beach filled with tents pitched by Spanish tourists, visiting for the weekend, I find out. The only issue I experienced was the ant invasion of my sleeping quarters during the night. I moved a little and continued sleeping again; this time ant free. Paradise lost and found.
Just before Marbella there is a beach filled with tents pitched by Spanish tourists, visiting for the weekend, I find out. The only issue I experienced was the ant invasion of my sleeping quarters during the night. I moved a little and continued sleeping again; this time ant free. Paradise lost and found.
Gibraltar
Saturday 6.15
In spite of the ant eater experience, I slept well and long.
The ride to Gibraltar was leisurely. I stopped to treat myself to a bottle of
Yoplait "para beber" - a reasonable breakfast, don't you think? More
road winding along the coast. Then it hit me. The view opened and there it was
- the Rock. White limestone cliffs in full glory. A most beautiful
site. Stunning.
Finally, the Rock is within spitting distance. I've made it.
A blessed trip. The first experience of total independence. What was I thinking, exactly? I never doubted making it but why did I think it was possible? I guess
I didn't really think enough about it to have any doubts.
What? Why do these guards want to see my passport? I'm not going to Morocco. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. Gibraltar is a British territory, which has has been a sore point with the Spanish since the 1700s.
Anyway, I'm in without delay and then I stand in awe of the huge cliffs
towering above. Skirting the west side is a cute town that is distinctly
British.
It wasn't really intentional to cycle from Britain to Britain. Why Gibraltar? It seemed to be the farthest
place I could ride in a couple of weeks without falling into the sea. Sure, Casablanca would have
been really cool, but that would have been far too adventurous; as well as beyond the budget of time, money, and luck.
I met up with 4 funny German guys who also had been cycling
all over. They bought me nutrients at a local cafe and I was grateful,
especially after seeing the prices (in Gibraltar Pounds). Clearly, I couldn't
stay. After doing a short self-guided tour around town I found a parking garage
with an old Spaniard as attendant. He explained some of the history and his
situation. He lived in La Línea, the town just across the border, and he walked through customs every day. He talked about finding old cannonballs in the
ground surrounding the cliffs. He said that he would watch over my bike for the
night. I trusted him. He was as genuine as the ground we stood on. Solid.
Right then and there I hatched a plan to sleep on the rock itself. So, I took a few things and headed up the winding road. Up and up. It was dusk and the sunlight was fading fast. Not a soul around that I can remember. Approaching the crest of the rock I can barely see anything in the no-light. I notice a shed on the side of the road and park myself to the leeward side. Since every evening south of Madrid was very pleasant it didn't occur to me that this would be different. And silly me I hadn't taken my jacket. I did have my one remaining long pants, short sleeve shirt and a map. The map was worn but provided some protection until my old friend 6 am shook me up.
I had to jump up and down and run around to warm up. Heading to the ridge above I detour here and there and finally make it to the top. Behold: The Sun cresting the surface of the ocean in bright pinks and reds! I really wished I had someone to share that experience with. Stunning. I wandered around from peak to peak and stumbled upon what looked like an old bunker. I explored and there was a tunnel straight through. This opened to a windless, sun drenched scene - a crazy vertical cliff of pure white, chalky limestone. Total silence only broken by the laughing gulls in the sky. I was in some sort of channel with vertigo walls on both sides. Then I notice some steps disappearing below. Wow! Beautiful flowers and dry, yet green, shrubbery clinging to the cliffs and the deep blue Mediterranean beckoned from far, far below. Simply marvelous. Half way down I run into another morning appreciator coming up with a huge grin and hearty good day.
Right then and there I hatched a plan to sleep on the rock itself. So, I took a few things and headed up the winding road. Up and up. It was dusk and the sunlight was fading fast. Not a soul around that I can remember. Approaching the crest of the rock I can barely see anything in the no-light. I notice a shed on the side of the road and park myself to the leeward side. Since every evening south of Madrid was very pleasant it didn't occur to me that this would be different. And silly me I hadn't taken my jacket. I did have my one remaining long pants, short sleeve shirt and a map. The map was worn but provided some protection until my old friend 6 am shook me up.
I had to jump up and down and run around to warm up. Heading to the ridge above I detour here and there and finally make it to the top. Behold: The Sun cresting the surface of the ocean in bright pinks and reds! I really wished I had someone to share that experience with. Stunning. I wandered around from peak to peak and stumbled upon what looked like an old bunker. I explored and there was a tunnel straight through. This opened to a windless, sun drenched scene - a crazy vertical cliff of pure white, chalky limestone. Total silence only broken by the laughing gulls in the sky. I was in some sort of channel with vertigo walls on both sides. Then I notice some steps disappearing below. Wow! Beautiful flowers and dry, yet green, shrubbery clinging to the cliffs and the deep blue Mediterranean beckoned from far, far below. Simply marvelous. Half way down I run into another morning appreciator coming up with a huge grin and hearty good day.
 |
| Attribution: https://pixabay.com/en/gibraltar-mountain-landscape-scenic-105751/ |
 |
| Attribution: https://pixabay.com/en/gibraltar-spain-mediterranean-rock-724345/ |
At the bottom I make my way to a local beach for some
swimming and snorkeling. I've carried that snorkeling mask for over 2000 kilometers (more
or less 1300 miles) and finally get to use it. I see sea urchins and spiny fish
and underwater caves. So cool.
I went to Spain for food and returned to Britain to sleep. The rocks by the
beach were perfect for a while until a rogue wave came by and drenched me in the middle of
the night. It wasn't totally unpleasant since the temperature at sea level
wasn't too bad.
Sunday 6.16
With four more days left, I decided to unwind
with some serious R & R. Beach, swim, eat (in Spain). Rinse and repeat. After a few days my
passport resembled a supermarket coupon book. The parking
attendant in Gibraltar was so nice. After the first night he said in English:
"For you, no pay." He spent most of his time shining this beautiful
old car next to the booth. His pride and joy, he told me. He seemed to be a
relic from the past, which was oddly comforting for me. I too, was a little off
balance in this place, in spite of my daily enjoyments.
Monday 6.17 - Wednesday 6.19
I'm completely broke. No money for another roll of film. No
photos of Gibraltar. No selfies. Just memories and my journal. I decided it would be a waste to use my emergency Eurail pass as a one-way trip.
After investigating the train fare, I realized that I could get to Madrid if I
squeezed every peseta to the limit. There was no money to go further. It's a
long cycle from there to Holland and worse, there's no time. And then there's
the calorie requirement. Not gonna happen. So I decide to swallow my pride and
call my parents.
I insert some random coins and rotate the phone dial -
endlessly waiting for each spin. An operator asks me to deposit
more coinage and says I have 5 minutes to talk. It's the middle of the night (sorry) in the eastern U.S. and my brother, Pieter, answers. Where are you? What? Gibraltar? Cool. Being
tight on coinage I quickly ask Pieter to have mom and dad kindly wire some
money to Banco Central in Madrid. If that fails, then wire to the American
Express office. He assured me that he would make it happen. The operator
interrupts and kindly asks if I'm done. No, I'd like to talk some more... and
she politely says ok and lets us talk for another 10 minutes before
interrupting again in the nicest way imaginable.
I got accustomed to sitting in the square in La Línea munching
on a trusty bocadillo. After a few sittings and watching people coming and
going, a spirited young girl and boy stop by to ask me where I'm from. The girl’s
parents stop by and they invite me for tea. Sure, why not?
The dad and I hit it off together. He was a "fitter" for the ships that get repairs while in port. I’ve always been fascinated by ships and such. He was currently annoyed with the American Navy, who left with his tools in the middle of the night. I'm sure it was super important and things would work out. They had another son, Andrew, and a baby daughter, Michele, who was just learning to talk and move. "Break dance, Michelle! Break dance!" And she would wiggle and move her pudgy arms in the most endearing and stylish fashion. To add to the awesomeness, they invited me to stay for three nights. Now I could augment my routine - eat, customs, beach, swim, customs, eat, and bed. Three days of perfection.
The dad and I hit it off together. He was a "fitter" for the ships that get repairs while in port. I’ve always been fascinated by ships and such. He was currently annoyed with the American Navy, who left with his tools in the middle of the night. I'm sure it was super important and things would work out. They had another son, Andrew, and a baby daughter, Michele, who was just learning to talk and move. "Break dance, Michelle! Break dance!" And she would wiggle and move her pudgy arms in the most endearing and stylish fashion. To add to the awesomeness, they invited me to stay for three nights. Now I could augment my routine - eat, customs, beach, swim, customs, eat, and bed. Three days of perfection.
Decompression
Thursday 6.20
Thursday 6.20
Last day at large. I wait as
long as is responsible before departing - absorbing as much sun and relaxation as possible. At 6:30 pm, I bicycled to Algeciras
to catch the train to Madrid. There was a slight problem. I could get on the
train but my bike could not board the train due to a handler strike. This was the only train for
the day and I was out of time. Somehow, the bike got on and we were off. Many
hours now to chill.
Friday 6.21
Arriving to Madrid, I grab my bike from the freight car
handler and head over to Banco Central. No money there. I head to the AmEx
office. No money there. The AmEx staff were generous enough to let me call home and yes,
they had sent the money. So, more digging and then... oh can you look under
"D", and bingo! There it was. The double vowel just cannot exist in Spain. Have
cash, will travel!
Bike and me back on train. Then I was rewarded with the company of a very nice girl to talk to for 16 hours. I could get used this. Back to English.
Bike and me back on train. Then I was rewarded with the company of a very nice girl to talk to for 16 hours. I could get used this. Back to English.
Saturday 6.22 - Monday 6.24
Having not slept a wink, I arrived in Paris dead tired. Grabbed
a pain longue and sat in a lovely park for a while. I ended up wandering around
Paris for a few days, looking up some friends and acquaintances and being a very content tourist.
Tuesday 6.25
It turns out that the Paris south station is miles
away from the north station and I find out that my bike is somewhat trashed. Somewhere between Madrid
and Paris the front fork got mangled. Someone must have really launched that
thing into a wall or something because I couldn't mangle it in over a 1000
miles of riding. So I wobble and scrape my way to the north station and barely
make the train. It didn’t help that I couldn’t get proper directions when I kept
shouting “Où est la guerre nord?” (where is the north war?) instead of “Où est
la gare nord?”.
Arriving in Den Haag, Holland I wobble the bike to my
grandfather's house and ring the doorbell. Finally, home sweet home. A warm
welcome. I put my bike inside and lean it against the wall with panniers still
attached. I go to give and receive hugs and moments later we hear a crash. The bike had fallen
over and was oozing the sweet, sticky anise liquor that I had bought in Spain
as a present. Doh. The first crash in a month. That's what happens when you
lower your guard, I guess.
So, in the end, I made it in time for the Oort family reunion with hours to spare.
It was an incredibly gratifying trip. One big factor
was the people I met and also the people I didn’t meet. Amazingly, by some grace and
luck, I didn’t have any major problems. All that was required was some
perseverance and decent state of mind and physique. Although, I wouldn't recommend this exact style of trip in this era, I'd recommend making a healthy solo trip, even if for just a few days. It will alter your perspective, I’m sure.
