So we're writing for the first time in three days; back to the diaries, back in the tent and back on the road. We woke up in Desvres to find that overnight it had bucketed down, overpowering our makeshift porch and pouring over our (now properly tested) waterproof panniers. We treated ourselves to some porridge, pumped up the bikes' tyres, and grimaced as we pulled on our soaked-through helmets.

The bikes packed up, we pointed ourselves towards the dirt track and our route south. Easier said than done, since the night's rain had turned it into a muddy gorge. I gunned the bike and, with a lot of kicking out and praying, managed to slip and slide my way across onto dry ground. Maria is a good deal shorter than me though, and doesn't have the advantage of being able to wrestle the bike around, so when she hit the deep mud she went down. Between us we pushed her bike upright and, with me holding her up by the panniers and her gunning the throttle and covering me in mud, we managed to lead the bike kicking and screaming on to dry ground.

The rest of the route was a breeze. I'd had a day's worth of practice in navigating with the compass and printed maps so we were motoring along nicely, and even hit a really cool spot called L'isle Adam - the road ran through a golf course, then a little village and beside a huge stone wall holding back terraced fields, before a wrought iron gate spit us back out into civilization. Good stuff.


Once we hit the outskirts of Paris it was a different story. The maps weren't quite enough to tell us where we were, and my newly acquired navigational skills were limited to open roads and sleepy villages so we were soon lost. I was fairly sure we were in a north-Parisian industrial estate, but figured I'd pull over and check the online map on my phone - something I don't do often, since it puts a big grin on the face of O2's CEO. As we were checking out the map and planning our next attack on the crazy Parisian streets, a young guy, helmetless and wearing just a t-shirt and shorts screamed past us on the back wheel of a scrambler. We'd seen him occasionally as we tried to find our way - circling the blocks and popping wheelies. A few minutes passed before an ambulance sauntered past, following him at a distance and waiting for him to crash and give them something to do.

Having consulted the map I had a rough idea of where we were - if not where we were going, and we ambled off again. Once we hit the peripherique (the Parisian equivalent of the London Orbital, but less logical and more life threatening), we threw ourselves into a 6 lane roundabout with no road markings (and seemingly populated by suicidal van drivers) and emerged 2 or 3 revolutions later, eyes closed and screaming, but more or less in the right direction. From here we ended up passing the Parc de la Villette - something I had seen often in books and pictures over the course of my architectural career, but had not realised was so close to the centre of Paris. I almost killed myself a few times, having far more interest in Tschumi's park than in the traffic I was weaving around. Luckily I realised that I had missed our turn, so I got to head past it again in the opposite direction and risk my life a few more times. Having somehow found my way back on to the right road I started looking out for the street that my friend Elena lived on. Of course I had completely forgotten what it was called, but I at least remembered that it was something obvious. Rue Paris? Rue France? After about half an hour of riding down the main street at 20mph, squinting at each road sign and pissing off every motorist in Paris, I spotted Rue des Pyrenees, and figured that must be it. I did at least remember the house number and, wouldn't you know it, there was a half empty bike bay right outside the doors to a beautiful art deco entrance with Elena's number on it.


We climbed off the bikes, I lit up a smoke and texted Elena - in the very likely event that we were in completely the wrong area I didn't want to go banging on some poor french woman's door - and sat back exhausted. Within minutes Elena was at her window waving, and then was downstairs hugging us (and I'm sure trying to close off her nasal passages). We got everything unpacked and carried up the two flights of ornamental stairs to the flat, and were welcomed with our first cold in days.


After Elena and Michalis had shown us around - which can be done standing still, since it's a central Parisian flat, so at 50sq.m it's positively lavish - we scrubbed the dirt off ourselves and settled in to a few more s, an amazing baked fish courtesy of Michalis, and a catch up. Elena is Greek, with an upper-middle class English education, a bottomless pit of knowledge about art and literature on the tip of her tongue and a unique view of the world that makes her a great host. We carried on late into the night, working our way through the wine, weed, raki, cigars and mastika, until the miles caught up with us and we started slumping in our seats. Eventually we passed out on the sofa bed and slept well into the next day.

At some point during our drinking session we had decided to stay an extra day in Paris and hang out with Elena while Michalis was at work. So when we did eventually get ourselves out of bed, showered and caffeinated, we headed out onto the metro and into the trendy east quarter. I like this part of Paris. There is no sign of the clichés you remember from tourist propaganda; that's all in west-central. Instead its just loads of cool cafes and bars running the length of a canal that leads you right up to Parc de la Villette. The sun was shining and we wandered slowly. Along the way we discussed Elena's PhD, her strange new obsession with balconies, and the Parisian quirks she had noticed (like their tendency to park by nudging the cars around them, rather than bothering with spacial awareness). A few stops for bubble tea, and s from an ample chested waitress (as Elena was quick to point out) and we found ourselves in Bernard Tschumi's park with a few tinnies and our cameras out, snapping away.


Hanging out with Elena was proving to be a nice relaxing break from traveling and as evening drew in and Michalis finished work, we figured we'd go out for dinner to cap it off. We parked the car in the red light district and settled in for steaks and a few bottles of Bordeaux in a little outdoor carvery-slash-tapas-bar that seemed to be populated by students and general beautiful people. Then back to the flat for another of Elena's attempts at destroying our livers. Over more s, raki, mastika and cigars, we got to discussing high brow literature, art and music, finding that we shared a love of Warren Ellis. The evening quickly degenerated though, and soon enough we were competing to play the cheesiest British Metal; Iron Maiden, Ozzy, Judas Priest and worse. Just before bed I played them a few Mr. Bungle videos, just to **** with their heads and inspire some surreal dreams. I woke up to find a few notes outlining a route out of Paris drunkenly scrawled on the back of a piece of paper, next to the words 'Rotting Christ'. (I later discovered this was the name of a goth band we had found particularly amusing the night before).

The morning started as usual with bleary eyes and coffee. Then a round of re-organising the panniers, collecting freshly washed clothes and having one last long, languorous shower. As we were lugging our stuff back down the three flights of narrow stairs and out into the street, we decided on an impromptu photo-shoot in the hallway, to make use of the swanky art deco background and get some last shots with Elena.


Apart from the aforementioned piece of paper, I had no directions, and no plan for getting out of Paris, so I figured I'd stick the compass in my tank bag, ride around the peripherique for a while (complete with mandatory screaming and wincing) and eventually head south/southwest. It was a nice enough way to travel, though it was getting us nowhere fast, since I was being a bit too careful about following the compass needle, and we often found ourselves in tiny little villages populated exclusively by speed humps and caravans. A stop at Bretigne-Sur-Orge for a coffee, pee, and glance at the map gave us time to come up with a bit of a plan. We eventually worked out a system comprising equal parts compass, road sign, and intuition to lead us relatively quickly through Orleans and Blois and in the direction of Loches along some nice 'D' roads that didn't force us to work too hard. Might not sound too exiting, but it's exactly what you need to wean you back on to the saddle, and shake off the remains of the hangover.

Around about seven in the evening, and we started keeping an eye on the roadside for inviting looking lanes. For the second time on the trip, our first investigation up a little side track led to a really promising camping spot. The trick, it seems is to spot a bit of land in the distance where farmed fields meet a grove of trees. Then you wait to find a small dirt track that leads off the main road and runs between the two. That way you can choose either to find a nice comfy spot in the corner of a field, or a good hidden piece of woodland. It gives you options is the point, and a bit of common sense will usually find you comfortably settled in for the night, and unworried about being moved on by angry locals.

In this case a bit of investigating led us to the farmed side of the road where a small hedge gave us a nice bit of cover while we laid our tent on freshly mown hay. We weren't exactly miles away from civilisation but we figured we had ridden far enough from the main road, and we weren't taking up much space, so it was as good a spot as any. After all the little dirt track didn't look like it got much use. We unloaded the bikes and pitched the tent as a hot air balloon sailed over the yellow fields, giving us a long-lasting, if slightly clichéd memory of rural France. We settled in to the dusk with a couple of bottles of wine, some pasta with sardines, and a bit of cautious optimism that wild camping may not be as difficult as we had been led to believe. . .

We had set the alarm for 7am and eventually crawled out of the tent into a cool and dewy morning, looking forward to cheesy beans on toast (supplies carried all the way from London). The camping stove all set up and ready to cook, it transpired our lighter was broken beyond repair. Despite our best intentions not to forget this time, we had of course not remembered to buy a spare in the supermarket the evening before. Oh well!

Took our time packing up, hoping that the rising sun would dry the millions of tiny droplets of water from the inside of our tent before packing it up. A farmer on a small tractor waved and smiled as he drove past. The a woman with two dogs and another little jiff-jaff turned up. The latter jiff-jaffed his hello and then refused to follow the lady home. We had to walk him back to her. Then I had an idea: "Avez vous d'une feu?" I yelled after her, as she was almost out of earshot. No, "Desolé!", of course not! She didn't much look like a smoker; or maybe my French isn't very French.

The farmer on the little tractor came back the other direction and waved again. Whoever said the French don't like people wildcamping and chase you away...?!? Just as we were almost loaded up and ready to go, a guy in a white van stopped n came over to say Hi. He spoke very few words of English, but with our few words of French and all of our hands and some weird "vroom vroom" noises we established that he used to ride a bike, a Harley in fact. He loved our little camping spot and wished us a great journey

After a quick stop at Lidl for water and some lighters, we got some miles under our belt. The air was still relatively cool, especially in the morning, but the sun was out I was getting more and more comfortable cornering with the heavy panniers but the relatively straight french roads took it easy on me, giving me time to get used to the heavy bike. The indicators had almost completely stopped working though and I'd have to have a look at that soon. Something to do with the switch, as neither indicator nor the little green indicator light on the instrument panel worked.

Stopped in a lay-by and got the stove out to finally cook our cheesy beans on toast Yum! And some coffee of course. Loving the idea of just setting up a little kitchen wherever we fancy!


The wheat and barley fields had given way to pretty seas of yellow sunflowers! And closer to Bordeaux vineyards started popping up. Wine makers had 2m tall wine bottle statues by their gates advertising their direct-from-the-vineyard sales.


In the afternoon it got really hot in the bike leathers! One of the many blinking green Pharmacie lights declared it to be 41°C! Hm..... not sure that's quite true, but definitely hot enough for some ice cream. Sat in an Intermarché car park and munched almost the whole pot of chocolate & caramel ice cream (can't store it on the bike after all )

We made one last push, jumping on the "A"-roads (motorways) to get past Bordeaux. Eventually got off at junction 24 to find a camping spot, as it was already quarter past seven and the sun was going to set soon. But we ended up in a horribly industrial feeling pine plantation area with lots of Private! - No Entry! signs. That's no good!

So off we went, completely exhausted, desperate to find a camping spot, considering almost anything. And so we ended up riding into a super bumpy little field opposite a Bistro, in full view of a growing crowd of menacingly staring customers. When it became apparent that they weren't going to turn their backs and let us camp un-watched and in peace, we had to wrestle our bikes back over the bumps and back onto the road. Bummer! Going to chalk that one up to a bit more off-roading practice then and carry on...

Eventually turned off the road down a little track into a light, easy-going looking pine forest (none of that almost surgical-precision type plantation we had earlier). The ground was almost pure white sand like on a beach and we found a little spot under a little oak tree. Just beyond that the path had been blocked with a little heap of stones, so the owner's obviously didn't want any visitors. But we were well hidden from the road and it was perfectly peaceful Except for the MILLIONS of mosquitos! Aaaarrrrggghhhhh! Deet!!!! We got absolutely munched that evening, even with several layers of anti-mozzie spray!


Had some yummie smoked mackerel and lambs lettuce salad for dinner with cheese, olives and wine for seconds! Yum, yum, yum!!!


Then grabbed some more wine and decided to explore further down the path into the forest. It got real dark in one place where we crossed a tiny river - really beautiful and eerie. Then out into a clearing where there was a fence that looked like it shouldn't be crossed: some sort of military installation (that you can't see on the map of course).

So we turned back and I spent ages trying to take a good picture of the huge yellow moon rising behind the trees. Then we ran from the mozzies and hid in the tent, finishing the wine and writing the diaries by torch light.

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Feeling pretty good, having showered and bought some razors for a shave tomorrow. Not feeling so good about having to pay the princely sum of €9 for a microwaved frozen pizza. We're in a campsite. Having decided that we wouldn't find a spot to free camp anywhere near the city (or the coast, where we wanted to go for a swim and a scrub), and feeling exhausted by yesterday's excursions we decided to bite the bullet and pay to camp.

Last night's spot looked fairly idyllic and made for some great pictures, but the place was overrun with ****ing mosquitoes so in the morning we packed up sharpish and left, due south, with a few dozen love bites to remind us of the downside of sleeping in nice cozy forests. We'd overindulged slightly with the wine to try to discourage the mozzies by raising our blood-alcohol level, so my route for the day was fairly drunkenly plotted and illegibly scrawled on a piece of paper. Despite that we managed to make it through Bayonne, Biarritz, St-Jean-de-Luz and across the border without incident.


The only change at the border was the speed limit, and a slight degree of irrationality by the Spanish drivers. Eventually we made it in to Donostia; a typically touristy, coastal affair, and one that we had no idea how to navigate. So parking the bikes up in a little bay on a side street we set off on foot to have a look around town, get our bearings, and maybe have a cheeky if the opportunity arose. The city has a few nice draws; not least the long main strip that runs through the town allowing you to sit and people watch over a . There's also some decent sculpture by Eduardo Chillida that they are very proud of, and a congress centre by Moneo that at least acts as a landmark when you forget where you parked your bike. We were way too tired for any of that though, so we headed straight for the tourism office, which was much bigger and busier than you'd expect and we had to take a number ticket and wait to speak to someone.

An hour or so later and furnished with a map of nearby campsites and a fresh pack of cigarettes we sat down at a cafe to check our options. It was pretty clear that there was only one campsite anywhere near us, so we jumped back on the bikes and started winding our way up the hills that enclosed the city. Since the map showed the campsite as being just on the edge of town we thought about walking back in for dinner, but as we steadily climbed further and further up the mountain, with no sign of life, that idea began to dwindle.


Eventually we found it. Remote and Elevated. It wasn't as expensive as I'd worried it would be though and we justified parting with our €20 odd for the sake of shower facilities and wi-fi.

After a quick wander on foot (and slurping from a bottle of wine) to check out a few restaurants we had passed on the drive up, and finding them all closed, we had a pizza and a few s in the local canteen. After a game of Spite & Malice and another we settled in to the tent, making use of the free wi-fi to let everyone know we were still alive.

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Left the campsite and headed back down the mountain into San Sebastian with a plan to find the coastal road to Bilbao. It should only be a short ride away, leaving us lots of time to explore the city, which we love so much. (We had been there in July 2010 for the Bilbao BBK Festival. That year it had an exceptional Rock line-up with the likes of Pearl Jam, Skunk Anansie, Rammstein, Bullet For My Valentine, Coheed and Cambria, Gogol Bordello, Faith No More...

But of course we got lost pretty much straight away and found ourselves on a really steep, single lane mountain road consisting solely of hairpin bends. AWESOME!!! It was the most difficult riding I had done so far; absolutely exhilarating, adrenalin pumping, first gear most of the time. Add to that the stunning misty seaside scenery at the bottom of the mountain.... I almost fell off the bike trying to catch a glimpse through the trees. If that is what gettin lost is like, I hope we get lost loads

We finally reach a bigger road and start heading right in the direction. Suddenly things start looking familiar.... Yup, its the campsite again! Oh well, off we go again. No regrets though! The scenery remains amazing as the road keeps winding along the seaside mountain. I had sworn to myself to never let a photo opportunity go by again. But I was so busy having a good time and learning to heave the loaded bike around the bends, we were almost back down the mountain before it occurred to me, that I didn't have a single photo.... oh well, sorry guys, you're just gonna have to take my word for it.

We kept following the winding coastal road - not a straight in sight! Every time there was a sign for a direct route to Bilbao, we ignored it and headed further along the coast.


Eventually we were exhausted and our un-trained shoulders started hurting, so we stopped in a little town for a coffee. Then on we went, only to start running out of petrol, with no petrol station in sight. Hadn't seen one all day on those little roads. Emergency meeting in a carpark: plan hatched to find a bigger road at the first chance. We top the next hill and there is a petrol station all by itself in the middle of nowhere. Phew!

Tonight we wanted to stay in an actual camp site, so we could leave the bikes safely, while exploring Bilbao late into the night. The nearest campsite is in Sopelana. But we really wanted to be within walking distance of the city. So we rode into town anyways. A visit to the tourist information centre by the Guggenheim confirmed that there was no campsite closer by. And all the hostels were fully booked because the Aste Nagusia Festival was on. Good timing! But it meant we had to go back to the Sopelana campsite.

That was almost fully booked too, but because we had bikes (not cars) that could squeeze in with the tent, we got a spot We were exhausted! Nothing that a couple of s from the campsite bar couldn't fix! Put up the tent and quickly did some very overdue laundry.


Then off into town. There is a direct train from Sopelana into Bilbao and because of the festival, it was going to run pretty much all night... Perfect


We had seen a couple of stages and bars along the river in Bilbao, but nothing too spectacular looking, so we didn't have too much faith in the festival. So the plan was to find a little restaurant for dinner and then to bumble about, exploring the city. Got off the train and started heading towards the Guggenheim, bottle of wine in hand.


Walked past an open door where people were sat on benches and cushions watching a big screen. I thought it was a movie but Aidan said they were skyping someone.... cool!

Then walked past a side street where people were spilling out of bars and restaurants into the street. There were lights and flags above their heads across the street.


So we went to investigate and found ourselves in the middle of the festival. The crowds spread all over the quarter and down to the river. EVERYONE was out! Grannys, children, punks, hapless tourists and everyone in between. Young people were having tapas, old men watched a football game, children were holding their grand parents' hands, weaving through the crowd. The atmosphere was one of fun and mischievous revelry


We stopped at a restaurant with a bunch of sixty-something guys singing football hymns. Sounds awful, right? But no hooligans in sight and so it was really happy and amusing.... and they served rabbit! I'm sold


Bumbeled around some more and bought some s in a sweet shop.
Suddenly a big bang.... or two.... or three... and the sky was ablaze with fireworks! I'm not normally a big fan, but these were beautiful!


Heard some rock music playing and turned around. We found ourselves in a more alternative quarter and stood right outside a Metal Bar. Sweet! In we go All smoky and black, with a motorbike amongst the spirit bottles behind the bar. My kind of place! The small place was filled with twenty something metal heads and a few rock chicks. One girl looked distinctively out of place with a where-the-hell-did-you-take-me-on-our-first-date expression on her face. The guys behind the bar had long black hair and one of them was picking rock and metal tunes on his laptop.


We grabbed a and started dancing (well, I did, Aidan doesn't dance unless unconsciously drunk). Got the music guy to play Engel by Rammstein and sang along at the top of my voice. Don't worry, no-one could hear me over the loudspeakers! Then the guy behind the bar started pouring vodka from the bottle down people's throats so I went and got my share A good night! Eventually the money ran out so we stumbled back to the train.

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Woke up with a hangover from hell, which we tried to cure with the last of our rations: Cheesy beans on dry spanish bread. Then packed up in a disoriented hurry and managed to check out just in time at 12 o'clock. Headed off south-west and got lost in Bilbao's industrial Estate. Managed to escape down a tiny road that wound its way up the mountain. Stopped half way up with an amazing view of the city and brewed another coffee. Txt my dad so he knows we're still alive. He wrote back he was busy making coffee too! ... great minds...

Riding on, we came across a bunch of ponies grazing on a roundabout, near a pretty spot. No Idea what it was, only that it had a car park so you could stop and stare.


The road continued climbing until we reached the plateau at the top of the world! - Felt like it anyways From then on the landscape was golden: just-harvested corn fields, yellow sunflowers and orange soil. The peaks of the hills were peppered with windmills. The hangover was slowly wearing off and I started playing around with taking photos whilst riding.... Throttle mate on, keeping the throttle open. Then open the tank bag, fetch the camera, turn it on.... oops I'm slowing down..... camara into left hand, throttle back open..... camera into right hand (I am right handed), focus... and click! All the while trying to keep an eye on the road. Its almost empty, but thats not gonna stop me from landing in the ditch! And then reverse the order... adjust throttle... and put the camera away safely all before a car comes zooming around the next difficult bend straight towards me.


Eventually we outrun the last of the clouds. Swapped them for blue skies and lots of wind and descended down the other side of the mountain. The landscape was all farmed fields now. The wheat and barley had just been taken in, but the fields had not yet been ploughed and so remained a golden colour. There were very few trees and the land was pretty flat, which became a problem when we started looking for a spot to pitch the tent for the night.


We decided to hop off the main road onto a really dusty farm track that went on and on and on. Eventually it led us to a grove of very young pine trees and we decided to leave the bikes and explore on foot. There was path where we could fit the tent, hidden away to one side so we returned to fetch the bikes. Just as we were going to start up the bikes, a man walking his dog turned up. We had read somewhere that wildcamping is illegal in some parts of Spain and decided to let them go on their way.

Eventually we got tired of pretending to drink water, so we decided to just assume they had gone and make a dash for it. That minute the man poked his nose around the pine trees.... he was obviously checking on us. Hm..... oh well! We decided to move on and come back if we couldn't find anything else. Started up the bikes and man and dog popped out of the trees and up the path, walking past us without greeting. We had only ridden about 300 metres when they turned back the way they had come. So they were definitely just making sure we didn't camp there!

We bounced down another dirt track to the right, past some rowdy barking dogs and hopped back onto the main road. Things were getting desperate now! It would get dark soon and we were tired. We tried another little path that led straight onto a freshly harvested field. Aidan turned onto the field and stopped at the opposite edge by some trees. I waited to see what he would do, as it was super bumpy and well difficult to ride. But he stayed there so I opened the throttle wide and hopped and bounced across the field towards him. When I got half way, he decided to head towards the other corner. So I tried to turn and got stuck in one of the rills, almost dropped the bike - but I managed to get my foot on the ground and kicked it back up. (Yay!!! First time I'd managed to do that ). Meantime Aidan headed back to the road (grrrrrr!), so I gunned it in a huge semi-circle across the rills and managed to get the bike out of the field without falling off - Phew! NOW I really was exhausted. Real good fun tho

Off-road training over we decided to ride on for half and hour and hope the landscape would change a little and there would be more hidden spots. Came across some big bushes by the side of the road with a path leading into them and found a spot where we couldn't be seen from the road or the field behind. As we put up the tent, we kept listening up, but no-one was there to tell us to move on. So we cracked open the wine and settled in.


The ground was dry and covered in parched grass, twigs and leaves so we were really worried our stove would set the place on fire. But I''m not going out with an architect for no reason! Soon the ground was soaked with water and a cooking platform constructed on top, using the pannier lids. We had another yummy fishy pasta with smoked mackrel (my hands stank of fish all night ) and of course the obligatory wine, cheese, anchovy-stuffed olives and yummie bread while we were waiting for dinner to be ready (or "dinner before dinner" as Elena described it in Paris).


We had bought the olives and cheese and wine in a tiny little corner shop in Osorna. It being Summer and Spain, it was was some festival or other, and the supermarkets were closed. But we spotted some teenagers with shopping bags full of sweets, cola and bread. So we pointed at the bags and they pointed us towards a shop (hidden behind a huge sun cover), proudly using as much of their (only partially relevant) english as they could.

The shop sold mainly sweets, but also had some essentials. A little old lady in the shop had managed to find some cheese, which I could not see anywhere in any of the fridges. So when she gestured that we should take her spot in the que and pay first, I pointed at the cheese in her shopping basket, then waved my hand towards the fridge with a puzzled look, saying something about "Queso". She waddled off and proudly retrieved another piece of cheese from next to the coke tins, perfectly hidden behind a massive sticker on the glass fridge door.

Some more finger pointing and various pronunciations of "pan" got us some bread from behind the counter and we finally had everything we needed. A Calculator told us the price to pay and we laboriously counted out the still quite unfamiliar euros. Yay for the super nice little old lady with huge amounts of patience for silly foreigners with pink hair, clad in full bike gear in the Spanish summer heat

After dinner, still undiscovered by anyone that could tell us to go elsewhere, we wrote out diaries and Aidan plotted tomorrows route in the Atlas. Of Course Aidan finished before me, as usual! The wine was finished too, so time to climb into the sleeping bags and pass out!

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Last night we were a bit jumpy at the thought of camping illegally, in a spot we weren't entirely sure was out of the way. Those fears were put to bed once we'd worked our way through a bottle of wine though, and we slept well. I woke before Maria, either because of the cold - trees keeping the morning sun off the tent - or because of the sound of gunshot in the distance. I wasn't too worried; the shots were from a hunting rifle, and I figured in rural Spain shooting random little creatures was probably a good way to pass a Sunday morning. Besides, the birds in the trees above the tent hadn't stopped chirping and I figured they'd know before me if it was time to run for it.

The clock showed that I'd slept in longer than planned though, so I figured I'd get up and make coffee. Over breakfast, we started to exchange glances as the gunshots became gradually louder, and when we heard voices around the corner we decided it was time to pack up pronto and be on our way lest we be confronted with angry and well armed Spanish farmers. The washing up and packing up done in a record one hour forty, we jumped on the bikes, steered out of the clearing, and gunned it towards the main road - past a group of confused looking Spaniards in full camo gear! Back up to cruising speed and with the sun on our backs, we notched that one up as a success and looked ahead.


Since we'd spent a large part of the previous day wandering around, consulting the map, and doubling back on ourselves, I'd decided to spend some time last night making sure I knew the route and jotting down some fairly detailed notes. Armed with these we were soon in Leon and looking to stop for supplies. Leon is a fairly substantial city and nice looking, judging from a first ride down the main street (though I have to say that I knew nothing about it, other than the fact that Antoni Gaudi had stuck a building somewhere around the outskirts).

The only problem: it was Sunday. In Spain everything shuts down on Sunday. Even in a big city like Leon. Even the hypermarket that we rode around for 10 minutes. After a few trips round the centre, all to no avail, we stopped at some traffic lights to assess. Maria was suggesting we try to follow signs to a McDonalds on the outskirts of town just to avoid starving, though I thought mugging an old lady who was feeding stale bread to the ducks might be a more palatable option. A thunderous roar drowned out our discussion, and signaled the arrival of a Harley - a laid back looking guy sporting a sleeveless leather vest and a custom painted Hawaiian sunset on his tank. I had seen him earlier on in town and given him the nod, unable to hold back a bemused smirk at the sight of the huge fire extinguisher he had seen fit to attach to his front fork. Well, you know; Harleys.....

He pulled up next to us in the middle of some crazy traffic at on a junction, asked us in Spanish what we were looking for (I assume). And when Maria launched into a mime of stuffing food into her helmet whilst shouting "Supermercado" above the noise, he tore off through the streets, with us in hot pursuit.


The guy must have known the town well, because the little corner shop he led us to was hidden, to the extent that I can't imagine many locals even know about it. He stopped the bike in the middle of the crossroads (I followed suit), jumped off his bike to introduce himself as Carlos, exchange greetings, ask about our route, and confirm our suspicions that yes, everything would be closed on any given Sunday (all without any common language).

Then, his good deed done for the day, he jumped back on his bike and roared off into the traffic, leaving two very grateful bikers behind. The shop was small and seemed to be of an organic persuasion so, for a slightly extortionate fee we got some amazing chorizo, enormous peppers, wine, peaches, chocolate and water. Then back on the bikes and on towards Astorga (another town with a Gaudi building that I didn't get to see).

The road south to Astorga (the N120) was fairly uneventful, until it led us on to the N-536. What a great road. Sweeping through the mountains, skirting beside rivers, lakes and forests, and superseded by a new section of N120 that took most of the traffic away. Unfortunately, I couldn't spend nearly enough time throwing the bike around hairpins and being generally stupid before we had to jump back on to the N120.

On the plus side, this allowed us to eat up a lot of miles and we were passing Ourense before 6pm. From there we were on the OU-540 which will eventually take us across the border into Portugal, and we started looking for camp. A few excursions on the bikes, and sometimes on foot, and we eventually found a really promising, if slightly mystical looking single track path that plunged into a dark forest. Our first few steps in were fairly tentative, since we had to fight through a black cloud of mozzies, but just as we were thinking about giving up and turning back the path opened out into a freshly mown field, with a nice big chestnut tree in the corner and a decent view of the local village. Yes, the field was on a 30° slope, and the conkers on the tree looked like they'd been designed by H.R. Geiger (not that they were phallic, just evil and spiky) but by now this was old hat, and we had the tent set up with a couple of hours of daylight left. That finally gave us some time to do a bit of bike maintenance and rearrange the panniers. So with the sun going down on our last night in Spain (for now), we ate our amazing-but-extortionate chorizo and I played around with my camera while Maria got busy writing postcards.

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A couple of ladies stood outside the post office door looking like they were waiting for it to open up. They congratulated me on my pink hair - "Naturale!" - we all laughed. They only spoke spanish to us and one remembered some school english. It was Monday, but as it turned out that day was another Fiesta, so the post office wouldn't open. (What were they queuing up outside the door for then?!?) The nearest postie was 12km back the way we came. I had seen it as we rode past, and it had looked distinctly closed. Oh well, off to Portugal then!

Stopped by the side of the road to make some fresh coffee. (Well, Aidan brewed the coffee while I was watching ants carry huge pieces of debris across the road. One ant carried a seed three times its size and kept veering off to the right until he got lost. Then some others started following him and also got lost! - Fascinating stuff! )


The road was sweeping in relaxed bends along the mountain side and across rivers. This time we actually realised when we reached the border (we had totally missed the one between France & Spain). But our glorious look-where-we-are!-stand-under-the-road-sign picture was somewhat ruined by the graffiti someone had sprayed on the sign. The roads across the border immediately got much harder to ride, with tighter bends and everyone doing about twice the speed limit!


Stopped at a water fountain to replenish supplies. In this heat we were drinking several litres a day and then we needed a little bit for cooking and washing in the evenings too. So this time I filled up the second foldable water bag we had, and strapped it to the top of my pannier. Aidan had been carrying one most days already. I don't know how he hadn't complained about it yet - they are HORRIBLE!!! To ride with that is. The water sloshes around, tearing the soft bag this way and that. In turn this moves the whole bike and makes it really hard to handle, especially when you are swinging from tight bend to tight bend. Lesson learned! We are taking a hard water container on the big trip!

The roads carried on winding in tight bends along the mountain side and I was really struggling with the sloshing water bag. But hey, it was sunny, hot and beautiful riding through village after village so I just decided to make the best of it. My visor was slightly open to let the cool air in (but not open enough for all the bugs and mozzies to smash on my glasses) and I was busy trying to keep up with Aidan, who seemed unphased by his sloshy water bag.

BANG!! A bee flew into my visor and is now sitting all bedazzled on the chin guard of the helmet. And then it crawls into my helmet and starts flying around 1cm from my eyes!!! BEEEEEE! I mean BEND!!! Almost missed the bend in the road heading straight for someone's front gate. BRAKE! .... lean! LEAN some more! Phew..... pull over.... where is the bee? Its fallen down into my slightly open Jacket straight into my cleavage. Dirty bastard! Get OUT! I've finally come to a stop by the side of the road and the bee drunkenly crawls out of my jacket and flies off. That was lucky! Time to catch up with Aidan who's waiting round the next corner wondering what's taking me so long. (If this sounds familiar to you, yes, Lois Pryce also had a bee-moment too.)

In Braga we parked up the bikes outside a house where the residents had said it was ok to park. Being used to parking only in parking spaces, we had found some, but you had to pay and the free motorcycle ones had been taken up..... The walk into town revealed that most bikes are simply parked on the pavement. As long as its not ridiculously in the way, no-one seems to mind. So from then on we did the same

Braga is beautiful! Lots of old buildings, covered entirely with 70's wallpaper style patterned tiles, in various states of repair.

We headed for the somewhat touristy central square and splashed out on a huge and meal sitting outside at a restaurant. Aidan had portuguese style thinly battered cod with fried potato and I had yummy purple squid with potato and spinach. Feast! Not to forget the huge ice creams that followed of course We were sat next to a fountain and every time the wind blew our way, we had a light shower in the water mist. Real nice on such a hot day, except it diluted the ice cream!


Afterwards we decided to explore the town on foot to try and find a post office once again. Of course we misunderstood the spanish directions from the post card vendor's daughter and her mum's fingers pointing in all sorts of directions. Even the little drawing from another woman didn't help. We had left the helmets and the leather jackets on the bikes, but the bike boots and jeans had us getting hot and bothered. We soon got really irritated trying to find the damn post office and our exploration just wasn't much fun anymore. So we just gave up and headed back to the bikes.

We really wanted to just sit in the cool shade of a parasol and drink ice-cold . But we had to find a place to sleep, so we left town in search for a camping spot. Whoever had told Aidan that Portugal is sparsely populated, was seriously mistaken! Well, in this area anyways. Village after village popped up along the road, often merging into each other, making for miles and miles of roadside settlement with no lonely spots to pitch a tent in sight! Eventually Aidan spotted a small path next to someone's house, leading into a tiny square of forest. It split in two and the right hand one led to the perfect little camping spot under the trees.

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