Art of Travel: Paris to Madrid

Day Three

I had originally intended to reach Bayonne and investigate the short strech of French coast below it until the end of the month, but the weather was lousy so I didn’t bother and headed east following the Pyrenees. Once I hit Bayonne the usual problem of the ambiguous road signs arose again. So, while consulting the map and compass, and with the bike stationary I took the opportunity to raise the pressure in the rear tyre since it was carrying the bulk of the load. I must have over done it though because once back in the saddle reaching the outskirts of Bayonne the rear inner tube blew. Since I had no choice but to take the wheel off and remove the tyre and inner tube to mend it I used the opportunity to sort out the spokes and in so doing made a discovery which made things a bit easier, namely that they can be tightened while the wheel is in one piece and attached to the frame. By now I wanted to get out of Bayonne as quickly as possible.

The first thing that struck me upon reaching the open road the far side of Bayonne was (surprise, surprise) the magnificentce of the mountain range stretching away in front of me as far as I could see (which would have been more extensive had the weather permitted). The striking change in landscape felt like an invigorating breathe of fresh air, farmed private land growing grain and grazing sheep and cattle over gently undulating hills cut through by winding roads. However, the gentle nature of the hills soon fell by the wayside as I began to encounter the anticipated sight of snaking roads negotiating the steep incline of the Pyrenean foothills.

Worryingly, the few campsites encountered on route were closed. I suppose the end of May is not exactly peak season, and it wouldn’t be financially viable for the more isolated sites to open so early. The town I had intended to camp in that evening, Hasparren, has, according to the Rough Guide, two campsites open this early in the season. I spent two hours negotiating steep climbs up side roads to find the first one closed and that the second had closed years previously. So I kept on going until it got so dark that it became dangerous, even with lights on the bike. Coming down hills I could have easily hit a pothole and gone arse over tit before having a chance to spot it first.

All the nearby fields were in view of the farm buildings, and I didn’t think the local farmer would have been enthralled to find me camped on his/her land the following morning. I noticed that the grass between the roadside and the hedge grew about 30” or so in height an land roughly five feet in width on common land. So I put a couple more layers of clothes on, my waterproof top and bottom and wool hat (I knew it would be prudent to pack it) and lay down to sleep in the grass just out of sight of passing cars. Of course I only managed about an hour and a half sleep before the shivering woke me up. I listened to music on the two compilation tapes I had put together for the trip, however the shivering didn’t abate. Fortunately the rain held off.

In the present circumstances the logical thing to do to restore body heat would be to become active. The slight hitch in that plan was that when getting the walkman out of the smaller pannier bag I must have dislodged one of “s” hooks used to fix the pannier bags to the pannier rack and lost it in the grass. Without it I couldn’t go anywhere since the bag couldn’t be attached to the rack. There was nothing for it but to wait until it was light and hope that I could find it. Turning over to try to fall asleep on my side something sharp stabbed me in the leg, lo and behold the missing hook was missing no more.

 

 

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