‘Let’s ride to the villa in June’ said Trotter ‘The weather will be scorching at that time of year’. But as we were putting on our waterproofs 5 miles from home you could see the doubt on all of our faces.

Being the naïve trusting type I hadn’t bothered to pack any waterproofs but luckily Boss Hog, being the overcautious type had packed two sets, these over garments quickly became a regular attachment until halfway down Spain.

Adequately dressed to play guess the weather, we continued on the first leg of the journey to Portsmouth to catch the overnight ferry to ‘St Malo’. It was a steady enjoyable ride through the varying climate to ‘Pompey’ where, after being cleared through customs we joined the queue for the ferry.

After a short period we were duly loaded onto our sea going transport, where after an even shorter period we had discarded our luggage in our cabins and had commandeered a table in the bar. While enjoying a ‘few’ pints of Murphy’s copycat Guinness our thoughts naturally (for us) turned to food.

Seeing a queue form for the onboard restaurant, we as true Brits joined it, and on reaching the front requested a table for six. After being well fed and wined, it was back to the bar for a nightcap of ‘copycat Guinness’ before venturing back to our cabins and the awaiting ‘bunk’ beds.

Morning dawned as we looked at the French coastline, and realised the previous days weather was looking at the French coastline as well, (I don’t remember seeing it queue up for the ferry, but it was definitely there).

So we decided that if we disembarked first we would not need the waterproofs. This idea worked at first, but the weather soon caught us up. So it was wet gear on, wet gear off, wet gear on, etc, in fact they were on and off more times than ‘Trotters’ phone reception all the way to Montlucon.

We checked into the ‘IBIS’ hotel on the side of the river and assembled in the bar to plan food. ‘Snoutnav’, having been to Montlucon before, led us up to the ‘Old Town’ were we found a great pizza restaurant. Unfortunately as we came to leave the rain found us.

Trotter, Moonpig and Miss Piggy rang a cab for the long trip back (about half a mile), while the rest of us did a very good Gene Kelly impression, hurrying back to the hotel, in what could only be described as a monsoon.

Late evening ‘Trotter’ had added to our Twitter site that although the weather had turned sour the bikes were running sweet, this meant that after we had loaded up the following morning Snoutnav, Boss Hog & myself were pushing trotter’s’ Purple Ronnie’ up the road due to a flat battery. Once it started we were off again chasing the sun.  

As the day progressed we found ourselves riding in ever improving weather, unfortunately due to a ‘Snoutnav’ malfunction we were 100miles in the wrong direction, so after ‘Rebooting’ him it was a quick U-turn at a pay station and a return to the rain.

Despite the miserable weather we had a long but pleasant ride through some spectacular countryside and an unforgettable ‘sky ride’ over the MILLAU BRIDGE (as featured on Top Gear) until we reached our second stop ‘Beziers’, where the task of finding somewhere to stay proved a little more arduous than the previous night.

Our first choice of hotel was full, or so they said when they saw a group of soggy bikers, so it was a trip across town to locate the well hidden ‘IBIS’. The hotel finally located and checked in, we made straight to the bar to discus eating options.

It was unanimously decided to travel 20yards to the hotel restaurant and after being well fed and watered it was off to bed, making sure first that ‘Trotter’ did not mention anything on twitter that would tempt fate as to the starting or not of the bikes in the morning.

As we left Beziers and also the last bit of France, the weather promised a better ride through Spain. Not that Moonpig and Miss Piggy cared about climate conditions, as our next planned stop was the seaside resort town of ‘PENISCOLA’. What they expected to find there I don’t know, but I have never seen someone get so excited about a place with ‘Cola’ in its name.

Credit where credit is due it was a spectacular end to what had become a very enjoyable days ride, apart from a minor fuse/wiring problem on ‘Boss Hogs’ hog, that had us parked at a roadside service station for about two hours. The weather and Spanish scenery had become more in line with summer than the mist covered French château’s.

  Peniscola itself was a typical friendly Spanish beach resort and the hotel we found was on the front with all our rooms overlooking the beach and sea. We were allowed to park the bikes on the pavement outside the hotel, and the covered pavement café/bar belonging to the hotel became our resting place all night with beer and paella in abundance, and people watching aplenty (Young sexy Policewomen in uniform in ‘Boss Hogs’ case).

The morning breakfast was by far the best ‘continental’ one we had so far helped ourselves too, and with more than a hint of sun showing in the sky we loaded up and headed for Granada, our last stop before the villa.

Although, as with each day so far, the ride was very pleasant and carefree, the weather did not hold up to our early morning expectations, It was a vast improvement on the previous three days with no real need for waterproofs, but equally no real need for sunglasses other than as wind and insect protection. However temperatures were soon to rise (amongst the male boars) when we realised how many young scantily clad females called Granada home.

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Hotel reservations caused a slight problem in the fact that we could not find rooms for us all in the hotel, So Trotter, Moonpig, Miss Piggy and myself had to ’suffer’ the comfort of four star accommodation, while Snoutnav and Boss Hog had the pleasure of the ‘Bates Motel’ hostel on the opposite side of the road.

  We did allow them to join us in our bar for pre-dinner drinks before adventuring out for food, beer and sightseeing (and there were some ‘lovely’ sights).

This diversion was worth every mile, even the ones were we had the pleasure of a couple of Police outriders.

Ronda is in fact built on two hills with a spectacular bridge spanning the gorge that runs through the middle, and a panoramic vista like nothing I have seen before off the edge of the sheer cliff edge that the town was clinging onto. Just like Boss Hog, who as well as clinging on had his eyes firmly shut for some of the view, while the rest of us were trying to comfort him by ‘bouncing’ up and down on the viewing parapet.

The last section of the ride, Seville to Monte Francisco turned out to be quite sunny so we relished the chance to ride into Portugal the way we had hoped to spend most of the trip, with leathers and waterproofs packed away and T-shirts and club vests on proud display.

Late on in the afternoon, after arriving and settling into the villa, our thoughts unusually turned to food, usually our first thought would be beer but we were already well accustomed to the well stocked beer fridge. With the evening’s entertainment already planned, USA v some overpaid waste of spaces, in the world cup, takeaway chicken and pizza seemed the obvious choice. So Trotter and I went off on ‘Purple Ronnie’ to take the required items away.

  After the ‘overpaid waste of spaces’ had shattered everyone’s plan of a euphoric beer frenzy, we decided to have a quite intellectual beer frenzy and one by one we headed off to land of sweet (no doubt perverted in some cases) dreams.

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Waking up the next morning to the familiar sounds of next doors ‘gay’ cockerel (you have to hear it to know, and we WILL strangle it one day) a strange round ball of hot stuff was spotted in the sky, on checking the reference books we learnt that this strange phenomenon was called the sun, and that it was expected to stay with us for our duration in villa land.

So attired in summer riding gear, i.e. normal riding gear minus sleeves, Miss Piggy and myself headed to Faro to escort and direct our two visiting Hogs, ‘Wobble Warthog’ and ‘Throbbo Truffle Pig’ back to their awaiting sty in the communal surroundings of Villa Andorihna.

  Apart from a few of the Boars exercising themselves with the occasional game of ‘Swish F**k’ the time at the villa was spent, eating and drinking and making the oversized pool look very crowded.

Apart from the occasional trip to the Harley shop in Faro and the local supermarkets the riding was kept to a minimum, due mostly to the well stocked beer fridge rapidly becoming less stocked.

This relaxed, almost comatose routine unfortunately passed a lot quicker than it should have, and it was all too soon time to plan our return trip. After the ‘Flying’ contingent had returned to rendezvous with their big bird, the rest of us packed and mentally prepared ourselves to finish off as much of the alcoholic supplies as we could.

Our first stop on the return trip involved a ride up the Portuguese/Spanish border, to the medieval walled town of CIUDAD RODRIGO.

After a few beers we headed back to our hotel to sample the restaurant menu and more importantly the wine list, both of which produced a highly satisfied reaction from us all.

  I believe that during the night there was a rowdy crowd passing the hotel after partying a bit too much, but due to the highly satisfying wine list and the beer aperitifs neither Miss Piggy nor I heard anything so we both woke up the following morning fresh and ready for the ride to Pamplona.

The ride to Pamplona took us past the occasional olive field followed by the occasional olive field with the occasional olive field thrown in for a change.

  However, after riding around Pamplona for what seemed like an eternity looking for the converted old nunnery, that hopefully was going to be our resting place for the night, the visions of olive fields had long disappeared. When we were finally checked in and sitting in a drinking area (the bar itself was too small for any communal sitting) we started to realise what a strange place Pamplona is.  This was confirmed by the lack of restaurants in the town and by the fact that in most of the bars, if more than one person was getting served at the bar there would be no room left for anyone else inside.

  Considering it was a wet and miserable evening this meant there was a lot of seriously overcrowded buildings, so it was back to the ‘nunnery’ for food. On asking for a table reservation for six we were informed that there was ‘no room at the inn’.

The hotel receptionist (the only friendly face in town) rang a number of possible eateries on our behalf only to told ‘NO!’ Eventually she persuaded the restaurant staff to fit us in, so we thankfully and meekly followed our guide into a starkly white and pristine ‘totally empty’ restaurant.

  This surreal eating experience continued until just before we finished desserts, when half of the restaurant was filled by a crowd of women ,a large percentage of whom were wearing ‘comfortable shoes’.

  The whole Pamplona experience led me to believe that the annual Bull Run consists of a load of bulls and a lot of people desperately trying to run OUT and AWAY from the city

The following day, the next leg of our trip found us heading back into France and through the spectacular Dordogne towards the equally spectacular BERGERAC.

  When we arrived at a tree lined square just outside the town centre we were gifted with a choice of four hotels all with walking distance from were we had parked.

  We opted for the one that we felt most suited our needs, parked the bikes up in the rear car park, and after settling into our rooms rendezvoused downstairs in the bar, just in time to witness the arrival of a ‘Shearing’s’ coach load of Brit OAPs about to check into a hotel that suited their needs, surely a bizarre coincidence.

Once again we found the hotel restaurant closed to us, this time because it was full of OAPs, but since SNOUTNAV had discovered through the wonders of modern technology, (i.e. fancy phones), a highly recommended local eatery, we were happy to leave our fellow countrymen to, no doubt, discuss over the table about when they were last in France or last visited the doctors etc.etc.

  We easily found the restaurant after a slight diversion to an outside bar in an idyllic ‘allo allo’ picture setting, only to find that all the high recommendations did not do the friendly and exquisite establishment justice. To say that it was one of the best restaurants that I have ever visited would be more exact, and I would recommend it to everyone who is visiting the area (name and address at the end of these ramblings).

  After being wined, dined and made to feel very welcome by the owners, we returned to our home for the evening to partake in a few ‘nightcaps’ and to try and make a very enjoyable evening last as long as possible, before we had to follow the example of the ‘coach people’ and stagger of to bed.

With a reluctance to leave BERGERAC behind I joined the rest of the Boars in loading the bike for the penultimate time.

Today’s ride would take us to FOUGERES, since the early malfunction SNOUTNAV had worked perfectly so we confidently set off, .and true to his talent led us to the required destination. However locating the hotel was not as simple.

We had arrived in FOUGERES during their annual music festival, which made navigating though back streets and diversions difficult to say the least. We knew where the hotel should be, but we kept going round in circles trying to find it.

Eventually we discovered the rear entrance and made our way to reception. It was a biker friendly and clean hotel, but it was also the smallest bedroom we’d had to squeeze into so far, or maybe since we were coming to the end of fifteen days of excessive wining and dining, the room just seemed small.

Out on the streets there were bands everywhere playing all types of music. So in true biker style we located a table outside one of the bars in the nearest square, and spent most of the evening listening to a brass band play ABBA songs (it was a very good brass band and they had nice yellow jackets on).

  After the bar owner had finished showing us all his ‘Harley Davidson’ clothing we decided we had heard enough ABBA, and so we wandered off to the main square, where they were playing ‘noisy young persons ‘music but more importantly where all the burger and crepes stalls were.

  Deciding I liked the snug room fit I indulged in a giant bratwurst and fries, then leaving TROTTER and MOONPIG to wander back the rest of us settled down in an ABBA free bar and listened to the ‘noisy young people’ have a good time.

  By the time we all wandered back to the hotel most of the street entertainment had finished, so we were able to head off to bed for our last nights sleep on foreign soil.

  Leaving the hotel the following morning was almost as hard as finding it the previous day, due to the fact that some ‘self pleasuring’ French person had parked right across the gateway that we now had to try and get the bikes through.

  Once we had managed to maneuver past the offending four wheeled shed, it was a steady dash up to CHERBOURG to catch our allotted ferry, passing on our way out of FOUGERES last night’s bar owner who was busy polishing his ‘Harley’, don’t these people ever sleep.

On reaching CHERBOURG we had a short wait before boarding the ferry. Once we had been directed on, we headed for our allotted seats which coincidentally happened to be right by the cafeteria. So fully stocked up with a full English breakfast and lashings of coffee we all settled down to pass away the hours until we reached Blighty.

  All, that is, except BOSS HOG, who on visiting the upper deck for some fresh air, managed to find himself a drunken Aussie to listen to for most of the trip.

  After a very smooth crossing we arrived back on home soil, and some of the best riding weather we had seen all holiday, typical! So with leathers firmly packed away we were finally able to ride in blistering heat from POOLE to HOME.

  So the trip ends, and what a trip it was. 3700miles of easy riding (despite the weather). The bike had only done 1000 miles from new before we left; it’s now well and truly run in.

  We saw some spectacular sights, and did some amazing things.

  Crossing the MILLAU BRIDGE would normally be an event but we crossed it in a wind so strong that even trying to walk up to the viewing platform was difficult.

  The view of the cliff edge at RONDA was awesome.

  Some of the roadside cafes were an adventure, the food a bit ‘different’ but I wouldn’t have missed any of it.

Even PAMPLONA, at least now I can say I’ve been there done that.

  Congratulations to SNOUTNAV, only one malfunction, now that’s impressive.

  And finally, until next time.....

The restaurant in BERGERAC if you ever get the opportunity go (the town is well worth a visit as well)

  Restaurant Le Saint Jacques

30 Rue Saint James

24100 Bergerac

France

  Cheers

OLD SPOT (Les, Evicted MCC)