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Spanish Tour - May 2002 Northern Spain is mainly mountainous - across the whole
breadth of the country is a band of high ground that is never less than rugged,
and often quite wild. We were headed for the mountains of Picos de Europa
which, although reaching just 2,600 metres, look Alpine in scale. First though,
we had to get a bike for Steve W. Peter Simmonds
October 2002
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We decided to split into two groups, one making for Haro (wine capital of
the Rioja region; we got our priorities straight) by bus - the other to the
local bike shop in Bilbao. Leaving the Basque capital by bus was definitely
the right thing to do. The roads leading from the city are highly dangerous.
Bilbao is set in a bowl created by the surrounding mountains and getting to
the high country with as little risk as possible was a must.
Hiring a bike to replace the one lost by the airline was easy once we found
an English speaking Shimano salesperson. Steve was kitted out and the second
group caught the bus to Santo Domingo before cycling to Burgos where we all
planned to meet up (thanks to mobile phones, brilliant on cycle tours).
Burgos offers the best city sightseeing in the North. The cathedral is fantastic.
Burgos sits astride the Camino (Pilgrim's Way) which runs from Biarritz to
Santiago. The city was briefly the capital of the kingdom of Castile and reckons
to be El Cid's birthplace.
The following day we cycled a long way to Cervera de Pisuerga. We were lucky
with the weather which remained cloudy enough to keep the worst of the heat
away, but the group was glad to arrive in the small town set in the south-eastern
foothills of the Picos.
The ascent of mountain pass and the sweeping descent into Potes was the highlight
of the tour. It was a tough climb but the viewpoint at the top was staggeringly
beautiful (see photos). After a photo call, a chat with some Welsh tourists
and lunch we saw a young cow herder riding his horse bareback. It is held
that I infuriated the guy by taking a photo which veered his herd away from
their intended destination, but if that was so it didn't stop his female companion
from taking a picture of our group in that graceful panorama.
The descent was the longest any of us had been in a saddle
without pedalling. At least 30 minutes was occupied sweeping down the mountain
road into the resort of Potes. Readers of this piece are urged to visit this
place - we all enjoyed its atmosphere for the planned rest day. The cable
car up to Fuente De is a must. It was here, too, that we had a taste of quad
biking off-road over the rugged mountain tracks. Throughout this day, and
the following day's cycle down to the coast, we saw dramatic ravines, gorges
and passes.
From Los Picos de Europa we descended to the coast at Comillas. This turned
out to be a sporting interlude, the tone being set by the oldish patron of
our hostel. He spoke no English but wanted to converse. His chatter consisted
of British sports heros. "Henry Cooper", he grinned, making his
hand into a fist. Later, when we managed to explain that we came from Leicester
his face, heavy with the concentration of trying to understand these crazy
cyclists, suddenly cleared. "Gordon Banks!", he cried. He then disappeared
into his room and emerged with immense pride clutching one of those tiny yellow post-its on which he had written
the names of the entire 1966 World Cup England football team.
The sporting theme continued in the bar that evening when we were caught up
in a promotion cliff-hanger. Racing Santander, the local team, would gain
a Premiership place if they could only beat Atletico Bilbao. They did - but
not without a build up of tension around us which dissipated into celebrations
of noisy joy at the final whistle.
Following a stay for two nights in Santander the return to Bilbao was arranged
by a narrow gauge train known as the "Feve". This is easily the
best route back - taking about three hours, compared with the bus's one.
Quick word about the food. Paella with saffron rice is available of course
but the best local foods are the tapas with cheese, vegetables, cooked meats
and seafood. Chorizos, a spicy red sausage and tortilla espanol were favourites
with our group. Being close to La Rioja, of course, meant that we were able
to get on first name terms with this wonderful wine (plus excellent local
brandy, somehow it seems hard to remember the name of our favourite...) Spain
does not cater well for vegetarians. Steve W and Dan began to flag after five
or six days. A visit to an Italian restaurant was needed to restore their
tissues.
We all returned in one piece - able to fight another day. Where shall we go
next? Watch this space.
The six Musketeers were: Andy, Dan (mechanical wizard extraordinaire, we really
couldn't have managed without him), Pete, Philip (organiser, leader and general
Mother Hen), Steve S and Steve W (who was the one who suffered the lost bike).