Bad Cards - Motorcycling In the Pyrenees
June 1998
Running around with the wrong crowd / Going out on a last stand
Playing too hard and too loud / Bad cards in a bad hand
("Caught With Your Pants Down" - AC/DC)
On a hog-bristling 100 degree day en route to Pamplona, the sad spectre of mutiny reared its ugly head within the group. Mick had been riding a spankin' new 18-grand-500-on-the-clock -and-freshly-serviced Ducati 996 SPS on this trip around the Pyrenees and, let's be honest, had been a passenger since the start. Today, even on the straights he was being left behind. Obviously trailing, he had decided to floor it - wait for it - through a town, and had been stopped by the Spanish police. He was fined £120 on the spot. The police didn't even bat an eyelid.
When he finally reached the destination and spluttered out his tale of woe, the rest of us were nonplussed. Any traffic fine, as agreed beforehand, should be split. But a basic rule of European touring had been broken: Never split the pack. The foreign police, from my extensive road trip experience do not mess with a group of riders. Why therefore, the group argued, should they pick up the tab for a mistake and lousy riding?
It had been a different attitude when the nine riders (only two with standard packs - guess I picked the wrong day for a quiet ride) had met up at Portsmouth and noisily boarded the ferry to Cherbourg, France as the self named "Durty Steenkin' Gringo Bastardos". The ferry trip bonded the group which had some new faces, and concluded with a hangover at 5/10 on the Richter scale at around 6.30am when we docked.
The first day was a 400-miler where we were able to open it up all the way down the Cotenin Peninsular to Mont St Michel. The roads were well surfaced and twisty with Le Mont rising above the horizon as though it was built for a film set. The early morning meant we had the road to ourselves and we made the most of it, waking the residents of Normandy whenever possible.
After the obligatory posing shots, we headed south, toward Rennes. On the N150 to Saintes, while having a lay-by stop, an accident happened. A French driver, perplexed at the sight of 9 beautiful pieces of kinetic art, smashed into the driver in front. We of course did the normal thing and fucked off. Nearly all of these roads are fast and open with long sweeping corners. They made for good progress and the D roads were even quieter. The Hotel Premiere just outside Saintes is recommended as an overnight stop.
The following day we rode out to Cognac and followed the River Dordogne to Bergerac. The roads were inconsistent and generally poor. There were several fresh stone chipping stretches which didn't make it any easier but every car, lorry or ice cream van driver tooted us with gusto. We were officially celebs. A fast stretch got us onto the ring road around Tarbes where we found the Hotel Etap, complete with electronic security gates. Bike security in Europe is another big issue; my Fireblade had been stolen from an apparently safe hotel car park two years before. This year, the group had packed 40 locks just to make sure they could sleep easy.
Taking the D935 to Bagneres de Bigorre, we headed for the hills of Spain. Passing cyclists struggling up the narrow pass to Col d'Aspin, I was glad that I had 128bhp under me. We hit the summit at 1500 metres and parked up for the inevitable photo shoot. There were mountain horses roaming free who pushed us around a bit in their search for food. I had to give them more than a few 10,000 rev blasts from the Johnson end can to back them off. One even shat on Matt's bike, which a few of us thought was quite appropriate.
The road down to Arreau looks something else from the top of the 'Col' but suffers from a bad surface and is a little narrow. Then you climb back up a stonking road to the Tunnel de Bielsa on the border. The manic race through the 3km tunnel was utter madness, with Karl and Mark wheelying like deranged fools. The sound was deafening. Brilliant sunshine and spectacular scenery greeted us at the other end. Welcome to Spain.
We shadowed the turquoise River Cinca on the 138 to Barbastro and arrived mid-afternoon in scorching heat. Our chosen hotel was about 300 years old and a living antique. The rooms were all clean and cool with baths and showers. They had even cleared out the garage for our bikes. In one of the local bars, we met the hotel odd job man who was a real character. With his lazy southern American drawl, Butch claimed to be a retired Texan oil baron and added " I've got 400 acres in Brazil which pays me $40,000 dollars a year. I jist do some sculpting in my workshop and travel the world". The lads had him for a paedophile and weren't holding back that fact. " I ain't no queer, no matter what ya think" he drawled. " I do a bottle of Cognac a day and also some good smoke". Dinner usually starts around 10pm and the bars and clubs stay open all night. One great friendly party town!
Despite the all-nighter, we did some riding around the area. The Castillo de Loarre stands on bare rock and has a spectacular view over Aragon. The two towers are climbed by means of loose rusty iron rungs, with health and safety right out of the window. After Sabinanigo we met some serious tarmac over the hills and the pace was quick. The road surface suffered from strange grooves in places, which was unnerving but eventually we were flat out at 150 through the valley. Imagine our surprise when we saw two Spanish Feds standing in the middle of the road. We hit the brakes and passed at the obligatory 50 kph. They must have heard us from 5 miles back.
Discretion being the better part of valour, we soon pulled up at a dam at Arguis for a swim and a lazy afternoon cooling down. Later on, the local bathers assembled to wave us off and Rich set the trend with an enormous stoppie. This was the cue for Karl to launch a wheeley but he was forced to abort or end up wiping someone out. The road back to Barbastro was scorching and I was sweating while cruising at 90 with my one-piece leathers wide open. Rich said his Blade's temp gauge was reading 103 degrees.
The plan for the next day was a balls-out blast of about 330 miles to Andorra and back but encompassing some new tarmac and definitely some of last year's highlights. We had all been concerned about Mick and the SPS. This man was allegedly an ex-250 club racer, fitness fanatic with Two Tough Guy events behind him, teetotal, with an 18 grand bike. The beast was fully run in and yet he disappeared from everyone's mirrors as quickly as Viagra in a geriatric nursing home. The evening drinking activities and continual lack of sleep had taken the edge off some of the riding, but Mick's tardiness was starting to piss us all off.
At Balaguer we hit the 1313 which takes you to La Seu d'Urgell. This is a busy but beautiful stretch of road with some serious bends carved through the mountains. On entering Andorra La Vella, the capital of Andorra, there is a decent bike accessory shop selling gloves and boots at half the UK price. We headed towards Pas de la Casa on an extreme road which was straight up with two lanes and acute hairpins. At the top we looked down on the clouds in the valley. The border was packed with shoppers and day trippers and there were cops directing traffic everywhere. Once back in France however, it was a superb ride on the N20. Forking right towards Pulcerda and Bourg-Madame, we re-crossed the Spanish Border again, taking the N260 back toward La Seu. This was a brilliant fast sweeping section which follows the River Segre.
From La Seu d'Urgell we headed for Sort on the N260 - the ultimate biking road. 50k of bends of all types, a road surface better than the track, scenery to match and mainly traffic-free. As soon as you join it, you're into serious cornering on an uphill climb. Everyone was well up for it and the high rollers (Rich, Alan, Mark and Karl) roared off as the leading posse. I clung on to Alan who was at the rear of this group. He was so far over on a left-hander that I thought he was going to get his elbow down. I was in total awe; this was going to end in tears and we'd probably find them in pieces off the side of the cliff.
The second section was mainly downhill with longer and faster straights with cornering on corkscrew-type loops. The front group totally eroded their sliders and were all testosteroned adrenaline-crazed maniacs when we caught them at Sort. I thought I was going to be sick. But not as sick as Mick, who was left behind and copped the aforementioned speeding ticket on his SPS - now nicknamed the Sad Piece o' Shit.
After that riding experience, it was time to ease up, so the next morning we headed for the Ordesa National Park, and specifically Monte Perdido in the Valle de Pineta right on the border. As we rode through the valley we saw the snow-capped peaks and waterfalls below. Impressive. Some of us headed up onto the glacier and did a little climbing. The flies were ferocious - I didn't remember Stallone having this problem in 'Cliffhanger'. Heading for the Coll de Foradada, we found ourselves back on the N260 (yesterday's ballbuster). It was still a super twisty road, encouraging the group into some more knee-down action. As we hit the N123 toward Barbastro and the last part of the previous day's ride, the bikes were fully nailed all the way home. Lee took Alan's VTR this time and treated it with utter disrespect. He really does need to get off that TDM.
On our last night Butch, the "oil tycoon", took us on a tour of the bars, while trying to prove that he could drink endless beers and tequila chasers with the boys and still outdo us by smoking joints at the same time. " I broke both ma ligs in 'Nam, goin' down in a Huey. I don't believe in doctars, just let 'em heal by themselves" he boasted. Butch's legs were going in opposite directions as we followed him around the town. Lets just say that he misread the English appetite for alcohol. Nevertheless, he was washed, groomed and waiting the following morning before anyone else - like the veteran he undoubtedly was.
The late-night hangovers caused a delay. We were headed for Bilbao and we were late. The strategy was single-minded. Nail-it. Someone suggested we keep a 100 mph average with no mercy, but it was pretty obvious that Mick wasn't going to stay with that pace. I wasn't in the mood for this sort of madness anyway and after a few miles I kept him company as the others disappeared over the horizon. Soon after, I discovered how slowly Mick actually rode on a bumpy surface - he was passed by a Ford Fiesta Popular Plus who couldn't believe his luck. A new low.
We got to the boat in good time and teamed up with a posse from Huddersfield who were all still up for it. Some of them were being driven by their burds which stole our thunder, even if we did have the virginal SPS. The Pride of Bilbao was familiar to most of us but the first-timers were impressed. It was a great way to end a road-trip to Spain.
Alcoholic haze. Christ, no sleep. The candle hadn't just been burnt at both ends; it had been decimated with a flame thrower and system failure was not far off. We had covered 2000 miles in seven days of riding and partied every night. The 18-mile tailback on the M25 was a rude jolt back to reality. We had seen so little traffic during the trip and now this. Yep, everyone was for turning right around and heading back to Spain.
Key Facts:
The players for the 98 Euro-Bash were:
Jacko - Big Kahuna Tour Organiser 97 Parallel Fireblade (Dynojetted and Johnson Race Can) Rich P - Fastest Blackman in da West 98 Fireblade (Dynojetted and Harris Oval Race Can) Matt W- New Tattoo, New Attitude 97 ZX-7 (Full Scorpion Race System) Alan L - Loud as Hell 98 VTR (Two Brothers Carbon Race Cans) Lee E - Permanent Neck Strain 96 TDM ( Standard) Mick K - New Boy 98 996 SPS (Race Chipped and Termignonis) Piley - New Boy with guts 96 Blade (Dynojetted and Arrow Full System) Karl P - Balls out racer, no contest 97 Fireblade (Tootally a Stocker) Lefty W - ex Gulf War Veteran 93 Blade (Repsolled, Microned)
Advice: 1. Always ride as part of a group. Individual bikers usually get picked off by the police. 2. Make sure your bikes are secure at night. Take plenty of locks. 3. Carefully plan the route in advance. If you know what the roads are like, you can target the type of ride you want. Also try to anticipate the wear and tear of endless alcoholic evenings. 4. A large group will need reservations at a hotel, especially in the summer. You can also check out the security arrangements before you decide to book. 5. Try to anticipate riding standards in the group. If you can't ride for shit you gotta be able to tell a good story, sing a bad song well or at least raise a laugh. 6. When the trip has been planned, make sure everyone is debriefed so they know what is in store. That way, noone has any excuses. 7. Have a great time in Europe. Everyone respects a British biker.
Other Details: Ferries: We used P&O, asking for and getting the 'Motorcycle News' discounted fair which is applicable to any EMAP bike publications. The average fair was £140 each (in July) with the 9 member group sharing 4 berth/2 berths both ways)
Hotel Recommendations: Saintes, France: Hotel Premiere on the ring road, £17pp a night (shared double) Tarbes, France - Hotel Etap on the ring road, £17 pp a night (shared double) Barbastro, Spain - Sorry, our hotel was too good to publicise, but you will find a range of excellent choices in the 'Rough Guide to the Pyranees'.
Insurance and Recovery: European accident insurance (including recovery) should be part of any decent policy. As an example, Green Flag National Breakdown Comprehensive Plus insurance throws in free European accident cover and bike recovery.
