Day 14: Bilbao

Yesterday we were on a coach from Gijón to Bilbao, from where Nigel flew home this morning, and I'll fly home on Wednesday.

The look and feel of the Basque Country capital is rather different to that of a Spanish town, and it's exciting to see all the signs (such as this cycle counter) in both Castilian and Basque, the mystery language isolate that evidently predates Indo-European.

Txirrindulariak means 'cyclists'. You'll gather Basque is not straightforward.

Indeed, it has no subject-verb-object, but is ergative-absolutive instead! It has a word erdera meaning 'any language except Basque'! They count in twenties, so that '52' is '40 and 12'! People have tried to link it to Georgian or Ligurian or Dogon, but it seems to have come from nowhere! And if you try to speak it in any of the pleasant lively bars in Bilbao's Old Town (Kaixo! Bi garagardo, mesedez! Komuna, non dago? Eskerrik asko!), they'll just look blank and reply in Spanish...



Anyway, this gloriously sunny morning I cycled a few kilometres up the Nervion – Bilbao's river, not an antidepressant – to see one of the world's few working Transporter Bridges at Portugalete (pic).



They're a strange mixture, half bridge, half ferry, half flying tennis court: a suspended platform (pic) that shuttles across on cables between the riverbanks. Invented around the end of the 19th century, they were ideal solutions for taking pedestrians, horses and bicycles across flat estuary mouths.

Unfortunately they were rubbish for cars, only able to take a handful at a time, and the boom in motor vehicles made them obsolete.

A dozen or two were completed, a few of which remain in use. Britain's two are at Newport and Middlesbrough, which I visited for my Yorkshire Ridings blog in 2012.

But this one is clearly popular with cyclists (pic) – indeed, I was accompanied by many dozens, perhaps hundreds of road cyclists on my there-and-back trip to ride the bridge today.

Well, OK, overtaken by.



The Vizcaya Bridge works all day, every day, and a trip across costs just 75 euro cents for a bike plus rider, which explains why all the cyclists looked so happy as they wheeled their way off (pic).



So, having crossed, I returned to Bilbao via quiet roads, and the riverside cycleway packed with joggers, walkers and cyclists (pic). The Basques seem quite an outdoor bunch.



Back in the centre I enjoyed plenty of riverside vistas (pic)...



...and relaxed in the sun by the Guggenheim Museum, Frank Gehry's billowing metal monstr... er, masterpiece. This is my favourite view of it. Behind my back.



Nah, only joking. It's all magnificent stuff, but you know what it looks like. So instead, here's a closer-up picture of one of the large-scale sculptures outside the museum: Tall Tree and the Eye (2009) by Anish Kapoor, who's famous for the Arcelor Mittal Orbit from the 2012 Olympics. It's a load of balls. The Guggenheim one, I mean, obvs.

The only disappointing thing about today was the substandard cycle parking (pic), apparently the work of a highways engineer called Louise Bourgeois (pic).

Hard to lock up to, and only offering space for eight bikes. A standard Sheffield rack would have been much more effective here.

Anyway, so I'm now checked into my hostel, and can research more of Bilbao's lively bar and restaurant culture, perhaps at the cheapo Spanish sandwich and beer chain 100 Montaditos. In Basque that's presumably Five twenties Montaditos.

Miles today: 14

Day 12: Oviedo to Gijón

The final day of the trip was a short, sunny, easy hop up to Gijón. Just as well we had all day to do it: just north of Oviedo our intended back-roads route was closed (pic). It was a rally – not one by Extinction Rebellion, but a car and motorcycle one. Somehow the spectators didn't look like climate change protesters.

So, we had to backtrack, sidetrack, and generally farmtrack our way around to regain our route (pic).

Nigel's Garmin came up with the suggestions, which was fortunate, as our requests for directions from the spectators might have been drowned out by the roaring and whining of engines.

And of me.



Delays notwithstanding, we got to Gijón shortly after noon, finding our way up a headland to the lighthouse (pic) that we'd earmarked as the ceremonial end of the trip. There were some spectacular views of the definitive features of the landscape around the city, familiar to geologists: oil depots, mining works and chemical factories.



Anyway, here we are, the trip finished, and a beer and picnic lunch in prospect, so we're entitled to look happy (pic).



We rolled downhill into the city centre and then cruised along its now-familiar Spanish-style segregated cycleways to the seafront by the Old Town (pic). We've checked into the hotel. What to do now, with the trip finished and only restaurants, bars and two beaches at our disposal...?

I'm a little sad to be finishing this trip, because it's been (almost) pure joy from start to finish: fine cycling on largely smooth, quiet, fast roads with courteous drivers; beautiful historic squares for lunch and dinner; coffee and pastry stops; tapas; lively and friendly bars; inexpensive and tasty menús del día...

A memorable, thoroughly successful trip, and I'll be back cycling in Spain soon. Possibly on a less laden bike.

Miles today: 30
Miles since Cádiz: 646
No of days riding: 10
No of rest days: 3
No of punctures: 3 (of which two from same thorn)
No of wasp stings: 0.5 (half-thwarted by T-shirt)
No of flea bites: 1 (bar in Cáceres)
No of beers: 32
No of coffees: 28
Best views: El Cordal, Pola de Lena
Best beer: Four Lions APA, León
Best meal: Seafood soup/ Pork shoulder/ Strawberries and cream, Asturias–León border
Best experience: Cider Alley, Oviedo
Value of trip: Priceless

Day 11: León to Oviedo

A tough day in prospect today, with plenty of climbing, and rain forecast. But, to compensate, we had the most spectacular scenery of the trip, and a unique Asturian experience at the end. And perhaps most importantly, a fine breakfast where we discovered yet again the delights of León's custom of free tapas – in this case, cream cakes with our coffee. Anyway, the first few miles of side roads out of León made me feel right at home: damp grey views of steelworks and power stations (pic), reminiscent of my recent trips along Yorkshire's River Don.



Back on the N630, we had a long steady climb amid the busiest traffic of the trip – making us feel at home again – into the mountains, with some delightful detours along the winding old main road (pic) that are now bypassed by tunnels.



Lunch was at the top of the pass between León and Asturias provinces: 1387m, the highest point of the trip (pic). I had excellent seafood soup, beautifully tasty and tender pork shoulder and chips, and exquisite strawberries and cream.

I don't often turn down free wine, but we opted for mineral water rather than the local red from the set menu, mindful of the fact that we now had 1000m of descent over 15km, 1 in 6 much of the way, with fast traffic, in the rain...



Of course we got down safely, with astounding views all the way (pic), the mountains and hills looking dramatic despite the mist in the air, and the wisps of smoke coming from our brakes.



There was an alpine feel to much of the scenery (pic), except without the pelotons of road cyclists annoying the drivers impatient to overtake. Fortunately we were able to do that just by ourselves.

After a quick restorative coffee in Pola de Lena, in a bar full of families partying their way into the Easter holidays, we had a very tough climb: 5km of 1 in 6, into heavy rain. This was El Cordal, a well-known ascent next door to the even more fearsome Angliru.

Weighed down by luggage, wet through and making much slower progress than Nigel's less laden bike, I may have suggested a few unkind things to the hills, perhaps involving some asterisks, but fortunately they were too polite to reply.



But at the top – well, quite a bit down from the top, when we had dropped back underneath the torrential rainclouds – the awesome views made it all worthwhile (pic).

The descent was delightful for the sort of person who likes to get under the surface of things, things like roads, and bodged repairs involving piles of gravel, and puddles.



We didn't have to pedal for about 8km, when we got to the bottom of a breathtaking gorge (pic). Actually, having to pedal came as quite a relief. It was cold and rainy, and we needed to warm up.

However, once in characterful, splendid Oviedo, we could do that nicely in our hotel room, and festoon it with damp clothes.

Now, Asturias isn't quite like your image of picture-postcard Spain. It's green, rainy, they drink cider and play bagpipes, and happily spend their time in traditional pursuits, like spray-painting road signs over with the Asturian language version of the text.

And in the evening we gleefully enjoyed its quintessential experience: the lively cider bars in Calle Gascona, el bulevar de la sidra, 'cider alley'.

We enjoyed rich tasty fabada (bean soup) and swigged the superb natural cider poured in the traditional way (pic).

This is apparently to oxidise it, which gives the fullest taste. And they don't spill a drop. They spill bucketloads, hence the floors are (a) tiled and (b) covered with sawdust to soak it all up.

Miles today: 78
Miles since Cádiz: 616

Day 10: Benavente to León

A fairly low-key day today, all on minor roads, almost all flat, through quiet villages. A notable feature of many of them was these hillside entrances that suggested a house in the cliffs, complete with chimneys on the bank top (pic). They're bodegas: cavelike chambers used for smoking meat and making wine and, increasingly nowadays, for consuming same. Some of the chambers are big enough for dozens of people to party. Sadly, we had to keep pedalling...



This castle caught my eye (pic), but today was mostly about getting to León against a bit of a headwind through unmemorable landscapes that put me in mind of East Yorkshire's flatlands.



But our reward on arrival in León was a lively city of tapas bars, pleasant pedestrian lanes, and characterful historic squares (pic). Actually, that last sounds like a description of us.

Miles today: 60
Miles since Cádiz: 538

Day 9: Salamanca to Benavente

Yesterday, Day 8, was a rest day exploring Salamanca. We resumed cycling today, and we're well into the groove now – Groove Armada, in the case of Nigel's hub-dynamo-powered, bluetooth-speaker onboard sound system – and today was a full day of very enjoyable cycling on, yes, the almost untrafficked N630 on a warm sunny day across the easy Castilian plains (pic).

North of Salamanca, the austere colours of Extremadura give way to the more varied palette of Castile and Leon: rust-reds, verdant greens, luminescent yellows.

The landscape, I mean, not my face, my bike frame, and Nigel's cycling top respectively, though they apply too.



After 40 miles of blissful fast quiet smooth biking, we had a picnic lunch in the centre of Zamora, approached by another Roman bridge (pic). The Spanish are friendly. A little too friendly here, as I was buttonholed by an over-touchy-feely local drunk who blathered on about how much he hated the French and loved the English, or possibly vice versa. We made our excuses and left. Fast.

Then it was another 40 miles of quite delightful cycling, punctuated by a coffee or two at a village bar, which brought a smile to both of our faces (pic).

During the day, we encountered more sheep on the road than we did cars. Though the sheep came all at once, in a flock of a hundred or so, in Cuba del Vino. That's a place, not a wine box.

We're now in Benavente and our wonderful parador for the night, giving us a touch of the luxurious high life.

Things like large rooms in this converted old castle, a fine historic bar in the old tower, two sinks to wash out your cycling gear in, and a balcony to hang it out to dry.

Miles today: 82
Miles since Cádiz: 478

Day 7: Plasencia to Salamanca

The longest, and best, day of the tour so far. It was Palm Sunday, start of Semana Santa, and the faithful were walking through Plasencia's main square with fronds (pic). Our search for meaning in life was a little different at this point, but it was successful: we did indeed find a cafe open serving excellent coffee and churros.



After a misty start, the sun burnt off the haze and we had a hot, sunny morning of zooming along the N630. We hairpinned up the alps-like mountainside thermal spa resort of Baños de Montemayor (pic), complete with residents wandering around in bath robes. Compared to where I live in York, where residents wander round Sainsbury in their pyjamas.

We didn't, of course, come to this 'Baños' twenty years ago on our World Bath Tour. (Or any other, such as the one in Ecuador I visited in 2014). On that grand tour we restricted ourselves to places specifically called 'Bath', or twinned with the Somerset spring town. Or which we fancied cycling to.



Lunch was in the central square and the shade at Béhar (pic), a ridgetop town with locals ambling around still holding palm fronds and olive-tree branches. We ambled around holding ice creams.



After Béhar we left the N630 to go on fifty miles of parallel back roads up to Salamanca. It was a splendid change of pace – literally, for the first few miles of climb – through sleepy villages with zero traffic: we had the lanes to ourselves (pic).



In the village of Los Santos we passed this poor imitation of Stonehenge (pic). Nothing like the original: no gift shops selling twenty quid tea towels, no restaurant with four-quid coffees, no sniffy information staff telling you to not to park your bike there.

Presumably the back road route we cycled was a Roman Road (pic), to judge by its no-nonsense straightness, by the aggers often visible on either side, and by the fact that it's called 'the Roman Road'.

With an excellent surface of fresh tarmac – and still hardly any traffic – it made for delightful, fast cycling as we approached Salamanca.

Well, we weren't quite so fast on the climb en route up to 1100m, but we were pretty brisk down the other side.

After a welcoming few km of cycle path taking us through the modern outskirts, we crossed into the historic centre over the Roman Bridge (pic).

I was very, very happy to be back in Salamanca, perhaps my favourite place in Spain, where I did a Spanish course a few years back.

I didn't come away being able to translate Cervantes, but I got pretty good at ordering food and drink.



The usual opening to the final paragraph is 'On arrival at the Plaza Mayor we resumed our rigorous training diet with tapas and beer'. Obviously in a cultured, historic university town like Salamanca that doesn't quite apply this time. Instead, it's 'On arrival at the Plaza Mayor, probably the grandest in all of Spain, we resumed our rigorous training diet with tapas and beer'.

Miles today: 84
Miles since Cádiz: 396

Day 6: Cáceres to Plasencia

Another fabulous day of road cycling: sunny, virtually no wind, roads almost empty apart from other cyclists (pic), and even some scenery to look at en route. I think he said something like, ¿Tienes también el fregadero en esas alforjas? ('Have you got the kitchen sink in those panniers as well?')



We were now firmly in Extremadura. In contrast to the rather static landscapes of Andalusia, we now had a mix of high meadows (along with alpine-like cow bells), moorish grassland (not 'Moorish', obvs), rocky hills, and some heroic motorway bridges by expansive reservoirs (pic). I'm rather a fan of civil engineering, and it's so much more agreeable than uncivil engineering. The type behind British cycle facilities, in other words.

Anyway, we stopped halfway for lunch in the 17th-century square (pic) of the village of Cañaveral (nothing to do with Cape Canaveral, evidently), watching the storks go out hunting for frogs and mice.

Which would have tasted no worse, and certainly less artificial, than our luncheon meat.

A feature of Spanish villages – at least, on pilgrim routes such as this Vía de la Plata – is that there's always a drinking water fountain (pic).

There are also always plenty of litter bins, very handy if you have unused luncheon meat.



The cycling today was sheer delight, and thanks to a tailwind for the last portion of the N630, we arrived in Plasencia by half past two, admiring scenery such as this (pic) en route.

On arrival at the Plaza Mayor we resumed our rigorous training diet with tapas and beer. Which is the same opening to the final paragraph as yesterday's blog, but it's not a cut-and-paste mistake. It's just cycle touring in Spain.

Miles today: 55
Miles since Cádiz: 312

Day 5: Mérida to Cáceres

A glorious day of warm sunshine, quiet roads, little wind, and only one puncture, so we'll take that. En route out of Mérida we looped past the ruins of the Roman aqueduct (pic). It dates from 1900 years ago, only slightly older than my back tyre, which is probably why I keep getting punctures.



Now the aqueduct's pillars are home to lots of storks (pic). Obviously we don't see too many in England away from margarine tubs, but there are plenty of them round this part of Spain, clacking away and building massive nests.



The water for that aqueduct originally came from 5km away, from what is now a reservoir (pic). Here, as for much of the day, we were shadowing the Vía de la Plata route taken by pilgrims walking from Seville to Santiago de Compostela.

The pilgrims' walking route varies, sometimes a dull track alongside the A66 motorway, sometimes a dull track alongside the N630 main road.

We exchanged a cheery ¡Buen camino! with them but most simply grimaced from their blisters. I'm pleased to be cycling the Vía de la Plata, put it that way.

Anyway, we purred along the smooth roads – lovely road cycling – with the occasional thing to look at (pic) like a castle...



...or slightly eerie abandoned petrol stations (pic), of which there were a lot, killed off by the A66, victims of being bypassed by the younger, faster, noisier, higher-maintenance alternatives. A feeling I know well from my London job redundancies.



We scooted happily into Cáceres around three, immediately waylaid by a park fiesta presumably gearing up for Semana Santa (Holy Week) next week: a time of pious and deeply religious devotion, marked by, er, stalls selling beer and cake and sandwiches and people generally partying. Well, we had to investigate. I love Spain.



On arrival at the Plaza Mayor we resumed our rigorous training diet with tapas and beer (pic). Fortunately the hotel was just around the corner.

Miles today: 47
Miles since Cádiz: 257

Day 4: Monesterio to Mérida

A longish day of N630 spadework in sun and headwind, with punctures featuring prominently. I got up early to fix yesterday's flat before we left our hotel, but obviously didn't do much of a job: an hour later , it was hissing like an audience of geese at a pantomime villain boiling kettles. Still, I had a decent view (pic) while I mended it.

Shortly after our lunch stop in Zafra, Nigel got his second puncture of the trip, and we had to stop again for more roadside mechanics (pic). Not quite such an atmospheric view.

His on-bike sound system vibrated to the sound of Massive Attack, possibly to drown out the sound of me singing Matt Monro songs.



Eventually, thanks to some determined pedalling, we defied the headwind to reach the Roman town of Mérida by sixish, entering grandly by the ancient bridge (pic). Impressive urban bike provision, these Romans made.

Miles today: 72
Miles since Cádiz: 210