Day 2 - Thunderstorms, Rioja and Mick Gets Lost
Monday 31st August 2015
We arrive in Santander at 11:45. It is a lovely approach into the harbour. The town tumbles down the hills that surround the inlet. No sign of my bank though.
We spec out a good spot and get the tents up. Only just in time as the clouds roll in and heavy rain arrives. But the campsite restaurant and bar is dry and welcoming. There seems to be just one set evening meal so that's what we order: a serious salad followed by calamari and chips, a bottle of wine or a bottle of water, all for €10. That'll do it.
As
we tuck in the thunder starts. It gets closer and louder until there is
the loudest clap and the biggest flash I have ever seen. Must have been
right on top of us. All the power goes out in an instant.
But we have our head torches so we nonchalently resume our meal. Takes more than imminent death to phase us rufty-tufty bikers. The wine is a very good Temperanillo, would cost a tenner on its own in the UK. Replete and happy we wobble off to bed.
We arrive in Santander at 11:45. It is a lovely approach into the harbour. The town tumbles down the hills that surround the inlet. No sign of my bank though.
The
channel into the harbour runs past sandbanks to the east. They seem far
too close for a boat this big. The town climbs up the hillsides to the
west.
There are around a hundred bikes queuing to disembark so it takes a while. We are at the back of the lowest deck so almost last to get off. Eventually our turn comes and we head off up onto the wharf. Passport check are perfunctory and we set off on the Spanish adventure.
It should have been easy to get out of the town and onto the coast road leading west towards the Picos National Park. But a combination of traffic lights and my inattention means that within five minutes I have lost Mick.
Because I took a wrong lane up to a roundabout I am not sure if he is ahead of me or behind.
Assuming he stayed in the correct lane I hustle out onto the A8 motorway and set off fast to catch him up. Alas it turns out that Mick is behind me somewhere. His older Tomtom maps route him a different way and so we are separated within 5 minutes of the start.
The next few hours will seem hilarious when we think back on it but at the time with text messages not getting through and the satnav induced confusion it doesn't seem so funny.
We finally establish contact and agree to meet in the centre of a small coastal town called Llanes. I arrive and hole up in a friendly bar. Mick finds the centre of town an hour later, but unfortunately he is in the wrong town. Oh how we laughed!
Finally reunited we decide enough is enough and ride to the nearest campsite and set up the tents.
The campsite is on the cliffs between two sandy coves. It is a bit like the north Cornish coast, rocky and wild. This coast does not appear very touristic. Llanes is a working town, no glitz or glitter, no postcards or silly hats. There are a number of campervans and tents on site but nobody looks like they are on holiday.
 |
| Sailing into Santander |
 |
| Santander harbour |
There are around a hundred bikes queuing to disembark so it takes a while. We are at the back of the lowest deck so almost last to get off. Eventually our turn comes and we head off up onto the wharf. Passport check are perfunctory and we set off on the Spanish adventure.
It should have been easy to get out of the town and onto the coast road leading west towards the Picos National Park. But a combination of traffic lights and my inattention means that within five minutes I have lost Mick.
Because I took a wrong lane up to a roundabout I am not sure if he is ahead of me or behind.
 |
| Bikers queueing to disembark |
Assuming he stayed in the correct lane I hustle out onto the A8 motorway and set off fast to catch him up. Alas it turns out that Mick is behind me somewhere. His older Tomtom maps route him a different way and so we are separated within 5 minutes of the start.
The next few hours will seem hilarious when we think back on it but at the time with text messages not getting through and the satnav induced confusion it doesn't seem so funny.
We finally establish contact and agree to meet in the centre of a small coastal town called Llanes. I arrive and hole up in a friendly bar. Mick finds the centre of town an hour later, but unfortunately he is in the wrong town. Oh how we laughed!
Finally reunited we decide enough is enough and ride to the nearest campsite and set up the tents.
 |
| The view from the camping ground |
The campsite is on the cliffs between two sandy coves. It is a bit like the north Cornish coast, rocky and wild. This coast does not appear very touristic. Llanes is a working town, no glitz or glitter, no postcards or silly hats. There are a number of campervans and tents on site but nobody looks like they are on holiday.
 |
| Tents up just before the rain starts |
We spec out a good spot and get the tents up. Only just in time as the clouds roll in and heavy rain arrives. But the campsite restaurant and bar is dry and welcoming. There seems to be just one set evening meal so that's what we order: a serious salad followed by calamari and chips, a bottle of wine or a bottle of water, all for €10. That'll do it.
 |
| A serious salad |
 |
| Followed by calamari and chips |
But we have our head torches so we nonchalently resume our meal. Takes more than imminent death to phase us rufty-tufty bikers. The wine is a very good Temperanillo, would cost a tenner on its own in the UK. Replete and happy we wobble off to bed.
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