Monthly Archives: October 2012

Bleary eyed and thick headed we emerged from our tents to a fast-moving cloudy sky and a strong wind whipping up the dusty ground of the campsite. The night before had, as usual, been a bigger night in the bar than we’d anticipated and it took us all a little while and more than a little coffee to get going. The previous evenings campsite Tapas had been fantastic, although the one particular dish described by the waiter in heavy Spanglish along with the help of a little mime as being “intestino” may have been a step too far for me! The TV in the bar was showing a bullfight and it seemed to go on forever – not my cup of tea at all but, if nothing else, the Matador was an extremely amusing caricature of himself. Tall, pencil thin, leathery sun-darkened skin, a slick of jet black dyed hair not entirely hiding his advancing years and topped off with an eye patch no doubt earned in some prior “fight to the death” with another doomed Toro, he cut quite the cartoon-like dash in the arena. We all however had lost interest and turned away long before the final death blow was dealt. Filing out of the campsite, 4 of us now, line astern we rode to the next village and fuelled up for the day ahead. It felt good to have the group back together – we’d been like the A-Team without Face for a week! Following that theme to its natural conclusion, I’d have to bag Hannibal for myself as I really do love it when a plan comes together – especially one involving a complex map. Steve would be a good fit for B.A. I reckon, which only leaves us with Howling Mad Murdoch and Simon which, if you’ll forgive me, is simply a match made in heaven and too good to ignore! Dave had picked up a tourist map which showed roughly where we could enter the Bárdenas Reales National Park – there were specific routes marked on it as being suitable for motorcycles and 4×4’s. I think in previous years you had been able to venture pretty much wherever you wanted but due to the fragility of the environment and increasing numbers of visitors you now had to stick to marked routes. The TomTom took us to near where the turn into the Park appeared to be on the paper map but, as we’d found the previous day, the road number on the map, the road number on the TomTom and the actual road number on the road signs were all different. Confusing! However, sure that we were actually in the vicinity of the right place and on the right road we carried on and, a few hundred metres up the road, the turning appeared and the trail stretched out before us. The surface was rocky, dusty and, most noticeably of all for the three of us who’d spent the last week in the high Pyrenees, it was flat! The trails were good and wide and the visibility was such that we were encouraged to test the bikes throttles a little…if you know what I’m saying! It would only be several hours later (and several hours of living out our Dakar dreams) that it would come to our attention that there was in fact a 40km per hour speed limit… whoops! The scenery was strange and fantastic. Aeons of wind and water erosion had carved out some impressive formations from the arid soil, leaving a scene more reminiscent of Arizona than Aragon. As with much of our trip, it seemed that within half an hour of a busy town you really could be properly in what at least felt and looked like the middle of nowhere. Even stopping for lots and lots of pictures, we quickly covered the 20 or 30 miles making up two out of the three 4×4 loops that we were following. It was a fun ride but, I think after the stunning high mountain trails we’d spent the last week riding, it didn’t quite measure up and certainly there was nothing that presented a challenge. A quick stop at the visitor centre pointed us in the direction of what is probably the most famous landmark in the Bárdenas, Castil de Tierra, and a chance to get close up to some of the local wildlife. In the centre of the park is a huge NATO bombing range, all fenced off and out of bounds of course, but the satellite view shows what looks to be the fuselages of bombed out aircraft evidently used for target practice! > At one point, Dave and I were stopped by the side of the trail taking some pictures when a small dust-devil or whirlwind blew up. It was only a tiny one, but even so it rocked us and the bikes with real force so you could imagine the immense power of the big ones! We pulled out of the park and back into the small town of Carcastillo in search of food and fuel. The former we found, in the shape of huge Boccadillo’s of Chorizo Fritata at the Nuevo Siglo Cerveceria Internacional (or New Century Pub) – the fuel however proved more elusive. There was a fuel station in town but it was all closed up, leaving the “automatic pumps” our only option. Awkward at the best of times for motorcycles (as you have to choose and pay at the pump with a credit card for a preset amount in litres before the pump will…well…pump!) these particular ones proved impossible as they wouldn’t accept a selection of various credit cards we offered up. En-route to where the TomTom told me there was another fuel station we entered a small town, hit some roadworks with a diversion in place and became immediately lost in the grid-like maze of deserted back streets. Separated and reunited several times we eventually found ourselves outside a small house with what seemed to be the majority of the family spilling out into the street. Dave made contact with the natives and, after a few abortive attempts to follow the instructions we were being given, one of the women jumped in her car and gave the international sign for “follow me”! We blazed through the town and a few minutes later turned into the forecourt of yet another deserted garage. Our guide turned and, with a wave, sped off in a cloud of dust leaving us faced with another bank of Automatic Pumps. These however were more accommodating to our curious foreign bank cards and we all managed to top up the tanks. We decided then we’d have a go at finding the waterfalls Dave had been told of and which were marked on our maps and so headed off on what turned out to be something of a wild goose chase. Well, actually it was more of a wild Stork chase. As we rode up the network of dirt trails which criss-crossed acres upon acres of paddy fields we disturbed dozens of Storks that I guess would’ve been feeding on a smorgasbord of various frogs, bugs, worms and other assorted beasties which make the watery fields their home. As we passed the huge birds took flight and it was quite an impressive thing to behold. However, no amount of pounding up and down the trails led us to the fabled falls. The closest we came was following what looked like a painted over road sign, up a turning off the main trail which eventually led us to a dusty, circuitous route around what turned out to be a small lagoon. It had evidently been something of a tourist hotspot in a previous life, however now the toilet block and what I guess would’ve been a shop or something were in total disrepair and the whole area was deserted except for a picniccing elderly couple who looked genuinely confused and miffed that we’d found their secret lakeside hideaway. Deciding further investigation was a bit pointless, we were soon on our way back to camp for an early bath and a bit of bike-prep, luggage organisation and pre-packing ahead of what promised to be a long final run back to the coast and the Bilbao ferry in the morning. Well, after more beer and Tapas in the bar of course!

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