Holidays
2000
Where
Oh Where?
Click on the picture thumbnails to view the full size versions.
We had visited the Polish treffen
for three years in succession so it was time for a change.
After studying the treffen calendar and talking it over with friends the
decision was made. The French and Spanish
treffens would be the beneficiaries of our presence in the year 2000.
Our friends Barbara and Philip were hoping to visit the same treffens and
the plan was to meet up with them there.
On all our previous trips we had
travelled (from Ireland) through Wales/England to Europe. Weighing the options
we decided to travel the direct route, from Rosslare to France, having first
being assured (when I booked the tickets) that the bike would be tied down
correctly. The journey to Rosslare was
uneventful (despite the Sunday drivers) and we arrived with plenty of time to
spare. As is the usual custom we were
called up to the front of the queue where we joined 3 other bikes already
waiting. Five more bikes joined us and
then the first 3 bikes were called on board. It
could only be a matter of minuets before our turn came.
Alas not so, it was another ½ an hour before we boarded, after all other
vehicles, only to be told we had to tie the bike to the side of the ship.
After we found some rope Kevin started tying the bike while I went on a
hunt for some ‘chocks’. The deck hands didn’t want to know and told us we would
have to leave the car deck as the ship was about to sail. It wasn’t until we refused to leave that they pointed out
where we might find some ‘chocks’. Finally
we had the bike tied down to our satisfaction and we set off to find our cabin.
The map printed on our ticket pocket was a great help when it came to
navigating the labyrinth of corridors and we were soon ensconced in our cabin.
Throughout the journey there was
frequent announcements apologizing for the rough crossing as passengers bumped
into each other while trying to walk around the ship.
Time to eat, and we virtually had the self-service restaurant to
ourselves.While we tried to eat the overcooked, cold and inedible food our view
through the large windows at the back of the ship changed constantly with green-grey
sea replacing the blue-grey sky as the ship rolled and pitched.
Monday morning saw us in a warm and sunny Cherbourg. We enjoyed the few hours spent travelling the country roads to Granville, where we planned to spend the next couple of days camping at Chateau Lez Eaux. Set in the grounds of the Chateau with bar, restaurant, heated pools etc the site proved the ideal spot from which to explore. Before we could explore we had to endure… 18 hours of persistant rain. One thing we learned while we waited for the rain to stop was how well the example (we have all read about) of how to pick up a fallen 1500 works. The bike parked with its side-stand resting on a metal plate sunk slowly into the soft ground as we watched, by the time we reached it the bike was resting on its engine bars. Kevin, using the recommended method, had the bike up before I fully realized what was happening. When the rain finally stopped we got out and visited Bayeux (very busy), Mount St. Michel (breathtaking) and the D Day beaches (big guns and the remains of mulberry harbours). The Normandy American cemetery with its endless rows of headstones overlooked the sea. Huge maps engraved in stone and embellished with coloured enamels traced the course of the landings and military operations in Western Europe between 6th June 1944 and the 8th May 1945. On our wanderings we came across, among others, a Belgian Gold Winger travelling with his daughter who has never been to a treffen and believed all Irish roads were so bad as to be unrideable; a Honda with a Wexford registration we came across turned out to belong to an American who had bought the bike in Ireland at the start of what he hoped would be a 2-year odyssey through Europe.
The early bird
doesn’t always catch the worm.
On Thursday we headed for the French treffen held this year at Souppes-sur-Loing near Fontainebleau. It was the start of a bank holiday weekend and while the traffic was light we came across quite a few ‘boy racers’ out for a blast. The local cops were out in force with speed checks set up in many of the small towns we travelled through. While the speed checks were plentiful petrol stations were scarce and the ones we came across were mostly closed for the holiday. When we finally stopped for petrol over 23 litres of the stuff went into the tank.
Arrived early at the French treffen. It was shear pandemonium outside the treffen inscription. There were so many (local) people thronging the street it was very difficult making our way through the crowd to park. We phoned Barbara and Philip and told them we had arrived on site and would hold a tent space for them. We camped in an overflow field and Philip and Barbara arrived within the hour. When Kevin went up to inscription to meet them, who should arrive in behind them but Brian and Steve so our one tent space expanded to accommodate 3 tents. The Dutch Wingers whose front garden and parking space we encroached upon were very understanding. We explored the area and found a lovely campsite next door which was overflow campsite no. 3 we ‘lucked out’ by arriving too early it seems. We saved ourselves a 10 minute walk after discovering a short cut via the railway line to the main treffen site, where, along with the marquee there were trade stalls, various food stalls and different drinking arrears. There wasn’t much of an atmosphere so after we eat some good pizza we headed down town and found a nice local bar with very familiar Gold Wingers already ensconced. A lovely night was had by all.
Do your own thing.
With our inscriptions we were given some maps for self-guided tours of the area. Over the next few days we explored the area with Barbara and Philip, visiting the Chateau de St-Fargeau. It was very hot so we took the opportunity to get in out of the heat and toured the Chateau, which has only been partly restored. Another day while Barbara and Philip cooled off in the swimming pool we headed for Fontainebleau to glimpse a world of shear elegance and wealth so different from the campsite and us. The most enjoyable part of Fontainebleau for us had to be the two-tier carousel in the town. The carousel was 100 years old. It was beautiful, every time it went around we saw some other detail and we sat for ages enjoying the scene. Having walked back to the bike we were talking to an Irish tour guide when we heard someone say hello, it was Brendan (the navigator) and Deirdre (of the sorrows). These Dubs (whose names we changed to protect their identities) are now members of the Irish club have a habit of turning up in the strangest of far-flung places, we have yet to meet them in Dublin. There were free aperitifs at the prize giving so don’t ask me where Ireland came in the placing all I know is that Philip’s name was pulled out of the hat to collect the award.
Sunday, it was time to move on and the weather which had been so kind to us all weekend broke…. but just a little bit so we had a light drizzle on the first part of our journey. Barbara and Philip were heading for the coast to travel its length before crossing the Pyrenees into Spain. Our plan was to travel down through central France and on to the Mediterranean to add another sea to our list. Sunday night we found ourselves in a lovely campsite by the side of the river in Millau. The campsite was very quiet with lots of shade-giving trees and its own family of ducks, which came out of the river at mealtimes and made their way slowly around the site. We stayed for two nights and while Kevin wasn’t feeling too good we still got out and toured the area. This area is famous for its canyons, caves and gorges and it lived up to its reputation. We enjoyed riding along the ribbon like roads overhung with high limestone cliffs as they followed the course of the river. Went hairpinning up to Montpellier le Vieux with its unique landscape where erosion has sculpted the rocks into fascinating shapes. We could have spent the day walking the various signposted paths. As neither of us was 100% fit on the day we decided to take ‘Le Petit Train’ around the park, which took us to all the most stunning sights. We shared the train with a coach load of French pensioners on a day out and had a great time. The route back down was gentler and we had time to enjoy the beautiful vegetation. There seemed to be different varieties of wild flowers around every bend.
Happy Birthday!
By now I had lost track of time and Kevin was (thank God) 100% fit again and it was time to move on. Montmelo (Spain) was to be our next destination, which I thought, would take us two days to reach but the day started with good biking weather (yet again) and beautiful roads so we ended up in Montello a day early. Once we crossed into Spain the weather changed and we had to contend with very strong winds. The bike stayed rock steady but Kevin and I both took a severe battering. Montello’s only claim to fame seems to be its Grand prix racetrack. The only campsite we found was on a piece of waste ground which by mutual agreement we declared a ‘no go’ area. We found a lovely hotel down in the town and while it did have air-conditioning (good news) it only had one room left and that only for one night (bad news). We took it anyway. It was only when we handed in Kevin’s passport to register and the receptionist wished him a happy birthday that either of us realised that it was the 6th of June. We went out for a nice meal to celebrate. With all the rooms in town booked-up because of the Cataluna Grand Prix we had no choice but to move on. Over a leisurely breakfast we looked at our maps. Where to go? We would head towards Madrid, skirting Barcelona. On our way out of Montmelo we stopped by the GP site. Sorry to say there wasn’t very much to been seen. They were only setting up and the guard on the gate was the ‘jobs worth’ type and would not let us in. After spending some time watching the Grand Prix world pass us by as they sailed through the gate and out of sight we headed towards Madrid.
The wind in Spain
blows mainly on the plain.
The first part of the journey was on motorways (tolled) but once we got past Barcelona we got back onto the highways and national roads. The wind came back and stayed, it made for unpleasant riding. The countryside we travelled through was red, dusty, barren, and empty, with only the occasional tree, farm or village. Throughout this part of the journey we kept spotting huge black bulls, it’s ok, although there were 3 or 4 storey’s high they were only old advertising hoardings. Once past Zaragoza it got greener, busier and windier. Saw lots of motorcycle policemen (travelling in pairs) all very busy pulling in cars and trucks. At a service area we were trying to decide where to stop for the night, when Barbara and Philip sent us a text message on the mobile saying that they were on the treffen site and it was lovely. O.K. we too would head for the treffen site. The last part of our journey from Guadalajara to El Escerial was the most enjoyable. We were travelling on minor roads not shown on our map so when we came to a small village we decided to stop and check our directions. As luck would have it we met the local policeman who told me in so many words my map was ‘crap’. “Follow me”, he said and off we went down through the village. He greeted the locals as we walked stopping to exchange a few words with two old ladies enjoying the evening sun and to admire a baby fast asleep in it’s pram. At length we arrived at our intended destination, the police station, a large and impressive building. Unlocking the doors he ushered me through into his office where he proceeded to open a safe. The map he extracted was very detailed. Pointing out our route to us he gave us the map and wished us a happy time in Spain. In return we gave him a little memento of Ireland, waved goodbye to the locals and headed off into the sunset.
The Spanish treffen was held on part of a very large commercial campsite. We paid for two nights camping to take us up to the start of the treffen, which did not start until Friday. Later we discovered we all had been charged the higher caravan rate for camping these extra nights. There were quite a number of Gold Wingers already in situ by the time we arrived. Barbara and Philip had returned the earlier favour and kept a space for us beside them. The pitches were good and shade was provided by netting stretched between poles the length of each pitch. The toilet, laundry and washrooms were excellent. While, among other amenities, it boasted of 3 swimming pools, shops, restaurants and bars we found only one pool open. The shop was so badly stocked that it was not worth the walk over to it. While the restaurant and bar were open there were no extra staff on duty and the pack of cards we carried helped pass the time as we waited for over an hour to pay our bill after a meal one night.
On Friday we took a run out to where
past Kings of Spain and their families are buried.
While we were inside looking around the heavens opened.
We were in tee shirts and shorts and were marooned for two hours until
the rain stopped. Friday night’s run
was cancelled due to rain. Left to our own devices we discovered the camp disco populated by
young Spanish teenagers. They didn’t
seem to mind their disco being invaded by middle-aged bikers with (in my case)
no sense of rhythm. Good music, the odd
drink, good company and a good sense of humour saved the night.
Saturday’s run took us into Madrid. We
only had one ‘hairy’ moment when an ‘idiot’ driving a flash car tried to
join the motorway. He was so busy talking
on his mobile phone that he failed to see the police car blocking his exit until
the last second. Screeching, smoking
tyres brought his car to a halt. His
mobile phone flew out of his hand hit the windscreen bounced back and hit him in
the head. We had a few hours in Madrid to
wander around, see the sights and have a meal (I tasted my first paella).
The Prize giving was held in a lovely airy building filled with plants.
The Spanish club gave out lots and lots of awards to themselves before
getting around to the International awards, which were little silver statutes of
a bear leaning against a tree, which we were told, represented the greening of
Madrid. After the prize giving there were
lots of non-alcoholic drinks and sandwiches. While
we ate we were regaled by the tales of those who got lost on the short journey
to the prize giving. Some got held up and
then lost behind bikes who had stopped at red lights, others had ended up in the
pedestrainized square where we had our lunch, and another group got so lost that
they resorted to phoning the police for help. The
journey back to the treffen site was (as they say) quite exciting.
On Sunday morning we had a short organized run to the civil war memorial where we were left to wander around on our own. The site was very big and the views from it most impressive, it left me however with very mixed feelings. One by one people drifted back to the treffen site where there were farewell drinks and food given out by members of the Spanish club. This was one of the few occasions when we met members of the club, they were noticeable absent from the campsite. We were staying on site until Monday. All too soon it was that time again. Time to say ‘slan’ as all around us people were packing up and heading off. Some going home, others touring, while others headed down to Oropesa Del Mar, the site of next year’s Spanish treffen.
Slan Abhaile.
Monday morning and it was time to take
our leave of Barbara and Philip. They
were staying on for a day or two before heading for Bilbao and their ferry.
We had the best part of a week to go before we were due in Roscoff and
our ferry. Heading for the Pyrenees we
encountered those winds again. Once we
reached the foothills the wind stopped and we had a glorious time travelling
through the mountains. The roads were
exhilarating. Hairpins followed
hairpins, which brought us to great viewpoints.
We stopped to watch the birds of prey enjoying the updrafts.
Followed the sound of ‘cowbells’ only to discover the sound came from
a heard of horses. We reached the snow
line and stopped to take pictures of the bike with snow on it and to make
snowballs (and I didn't start the fight). The
roads at this height were in very bad condition with large cracks, craters and
in one place a large section of road gone in a landslide.
We found a lovely hotel high in the mountains and while they were more
used to skiers they treated us very well. They
had no English, we of course had no Spanish but they looked after us and after a
lovely meal we spent the evening with the locals in the adjoining bar watching
the Portuguese v English match. After a
beautiful breakfast next morning we were on our way again still not believing
how little our nights stay had cost. Loyal
to the last we got the last fill of Repsol petrol and headed into France.
Travelling so close to Lourdes we just
had to stop and visit. The roads through
the town were narrow, winding and thronged with people.
Nuns along with able-bodied and invalided pilgrims wondered in and out
though the souvenir shops which all seemed to stock the same range of tacky
plastic religious icons and empty plastic bottles.
Kevin kept his head and wove his way down to the shrine where we parked,
squeezing the bike into the smallest gap between cars.
The bike was loaded with all our gear and the cars we had parked between
hadn’t much room to manoeuvre should their drivers return and try to move
them. We knew we would have to hurry.
So with empty bottle in hand we set off. Walking
through the gates we left the hassle outside and walked down towards the
basilicas passing groups of pilgrims each seeming to speak a different language. We went into the first basilica whose walls were covered with
people’s names and dates. We walked on
but encountered more and more invalids some very young, I lost my nerve and
fled. I was sure my friend would forgive
me for not brining her back any Lourdes water. Arriving
back at the bike we spent some time talking with the people who were admiring it
(all wingers know the routine how fast? how much? how far?).
It was time to move on.
We had no destination in mind so when we came to the outskirts of Bazas
where every available space was decorated with flowers we decided to stop for
the night. As with every town in France
the local campsite was well signposted. Following
the signs we ended up in a most lovely campsite, which we highly recommend.
Low level hedging some with roses growing through them surrounded each
large level pitch. The toilet/washing area looked new, it was fully wheelchair
accessible and there was a lovely baby room with full bath and shower.
An adjoining farmhouse housed the reception, small bar and café. There was also a small swimming pool and children’s playground.
Only one other visitor was in residence when we arrived.
We pitched our ‘teach beag’ and headed to town to get something to
eat. This was a revelation.
An old walled town with some of its streets only arms breath wide.
We walked through several cobbled streets of higgledy-piggledy houses
listening to the sounds of life emitting from behind closed shutters while bats
flew overhead. Found a little restaurant
where a local (football?) team took up about 2/3 of the place. After our meal we headed back to our campsite.
Two more campers had arrived but all was quite, everyone seemed to have
gone to bed. The owner’s son was
watching TV. in the bar so we joined him for a nightcap before heading to bed.
Took our time packing up next day. We would have liked to stay at this campsite for another night but it was a little too far from Roscoff for comfort. So it was onward and upward through France for us. We wanted to continue using the good country roads but this is where I made a mistake (hard to believe I know). I suggested we follow a ‘Bis’ route when we came across the signpost. While it worked well for a time the condition of the roads deteriorated until we finally gave up and followed our map. After a day when the journey took about two hours more than it should have, we stopped at Marans for the night. The municipal campsite was secluded with lots of trees and very few campers. We shared our area with a caravan. Once we had set up we headed down town. We eat pizza and enjoyed another good bottle of wine (is it possible to buy bad wine in France?) sitting by the river. It was dark by the time we reached home. Our neighbours from the caravan were still not back but our area of the campsite had some visitors. A white car with a local registration was stopped a little past our tent. When they saw us, the car turned and left the campsite. We don’t know what they were up to and it might have been quite innocent but I felt uneasy. Our neighbours arrived back and went into their caravan we also headed for bed and to be honest slept soundly.
Heaven is… Crepes
with Calvados.
It was our second last day in France.
We meandered along the coast having first ridden over a beautiful bridge
in Nantes. From a distance it looked so
high, narrow and curving I couldn’t wait to cross it.
It was very hot again and we stopped to cool down a couple of times.
About an hour or so out of Roscoff we decided to stop for the night.
The camping signs we followed brought us to a small campsite owned by an
English couple. While the site left a lot
to be desired, very bumpy ground, wash hand basins on an outside wall with no
hot water and lots of spiders in the toilets. The
couple themselves were nice and friendly and pointed us in the direction for the
local town with recommendations for places to eat.
The restaurant they recommended was so good we returned next day for some
crepes with calvados and apples. Our last
meal in France was a meal to remember.
We arrived in Roscoff with a couple of hours to spare. A visit to a wine wholesaler saw us empty a pannier to accommodate nine bottles of wine and a five-litre container plus two more bottles in the rack bag (socks make good shock absorbers for bottles). Well, Honda do specify the pannier size in litres. We spent the rest of the day by the harbour watching the world go by. When we finally went down to the ship there were two 'blackbirds' with Cork registrations already there. Kevin talked to the lads about the blackbirds and their trip to Milan while we waited to be called on board. When we boarded, the ship was very full with very little room for the bikes. The sea was much calmer on this trip and after our disastrous meal on the first leg of our journey we decided to treat ourselves and eat in the main restaurant. We had a lovely meal with more wine. The waitress took pity on Kevin when he couldn't decide between two deserts and brought him both. We both sleep well and woke to the sounds of R.T.E. radio news with the usual reports of traffic jams on the Swords road. Down to the bike where we met up with the Cork guys again. All too soon we were back on Irish roads in the drizzle heading for home.
Some things I
learned on this trip.
(1) Kevin has developed a kamikaze wish to learn just how far the bike can travel before it runs out of petrol.
(2) God must guide the hand, the mind and the heart of the road designers of Europe.
(3) One of the best things about travelling is the people you meet who turn into friends.