Ferry arrived at 12 UK time, 1pm in Spain. Very organised queuing system for returning to vehicles. They should adopt that after COVID! It’s warm outside but the ferry hold was cool enough for me to pass the temperature check and get on the bike. Rode out into a large passport queue.. in the sun.. no shade.. Engine on for no more than five mins and the fans are whirring away to keep the motor cool, but they do nothing for me and I’m starting to regret the Black leather.
The port exit was weird. Mile after mile of new cars parked up. The car factories are clearly running still. But where the hell is the exit? Ah, behind a shed and up a gravel strewn road straight on a dual carriageway.
Fuelled up at Carrefour, SatNav programmed and off I go. Melting.. Melting.. Melting. There is no shade on the motorway. There is no wind behind the screen. All in all not fun. So I stop to refuel my fluids and a few minutes later a large group of bikers comes in, feeling the same way I bet. They’re from Liverpool and booked the ferry back in October so given it only started two weeks ago they’ve been lucky.
Turns out they are a lovely bunch of prison officers with some fantastic bikes. R1000S, something Suzuki explorer like and not a fairing in sight. They’ll be cooler than me but need neck muscles on the motorway. They needed a break from work. Can’t imagine how tough it must have been enforcing lockdown in a place that’s already pretty much locked down. Prisoners on remand with dates pushed back months probably don’t make the easiest people to keep in line. Respect due to these chaps whose efforts don’t get the Thursday seal claps but probably do more to keep us safe than most others.
No SatNav either. They follow Ian who’s a tall chap dressed in bright green on a tall bike. Bet he can be seen a long way off! They kindly offer for me to tag along on their trip but fearing their machinery and nerves will be no match for my skills I regretfully decline but get some route tips. Best keep in my limits so I head off onto the motorway.
Tired of melting I get off the A1 and head off onto the NA120 which turns out to be a glorious ride. Empty. Nice surface. Nice bends. And some spectacular views of the plains and escarpments in this region. It was 34C in the shade when I took this picture so I decided to press on and keep the air cooling going.
NA7330, NA700… past the Salinas de Oro, which was a weird sight in the hills. I thought salt was crystallised near the sea but hey… whatever works… Past Ibero. Wonder if that’s got something to do with the ham? Saw some signs but it was all Spanish to me..
Eventually rode into Pamplona at about 5.30pm feeling tired and wondering where the hell next. Decision made. Hotel time.
Booked the Hotel Avenida which was just round the corner from where I parked and a short walk into town. Literally just round the corner. I walked in five minutes after booking and just as their system updated with my booking.
A shower and a quick rest and I wander into town to see the sights, get a drink and something to eat. Very strange to see the world walking around with masks on but it’s not compulsory in bars and restaurants so social life goes on pretty much as normal as far as I saw.
Aperol is out of stock in the placed I stopped at so I ‘make do’ with Campari and a fantastic meal. “Soy Cealiaco” is now in my essential Spanish phrase list, which puts my Spanish on a par with my father’s.
And so to bed….
The final photo of the day. A visit to Pamplona wouldn’t be complete without a shot of the entrance to the Plaza de Toros. The entrance for the bulls that is. Those wooden posts slot into the holes which are covered by grills. I suppose they have a complete run of posts when the famous festival is on. It appears they do kill the bulls who’ve just been running around the town doing their best to kill some future spectators. The odds don’t appear even to me but I understand the spectacle, the culture and the history.
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