‘The only things that can see you are the eagles overhead’
up against car windows ogling at these modern day cowboys flying past, all kitted out for adventure. In my head we looked like proper rugged heroes. Maybe they thought we looked ridiculous, but I doubt it.
From the desert we continued our trek east, keen to make it to the mountains, following the TET’s squiggly line on our GPS to make our way through an evolving Spanish landscape. Big flowing gravel trails, tight forest tracks, sublime tarmac twisties. We brewed coffee by the trailside or stopped in small town squares for lunch and enjoyed whatever the locals were eating (not a chain restaurant in sight).
Towards the end of each day, instigated by the most tired or hungry in the group, we would pause, check Google Maps for B&Bs or campsites, cross our fingers for availability and then head to wherever the search said was closest. We experienced a variety of simple yet clean guest houses and basic campsites. The six of us were never turned away, despite our shabby dusty gear and last-minute no-booking appearances. Everyone was grateful for our Euros.
Smiles and miles
Two weeks sounds like a long time on the bike, it certainly does when negotiating how much childcare needs to be in place while you are away, but in reality a good chunk of that is taken up by getting to the ferry, being on the ferry, motorway riding to the trails and then knowing you have it all to do in reverse again. We’d come away convinced we’d be riding in snow and had packed an insane amount of cold weather gear, but in reality it had been pretty much wall-towall sunshine and high 20s. But as we entered the back half of our adventure we finally began to gain altitude as we rode into the mountains towards Andorra and the Spanish Pyrennees.
The farmland we had been riding through was now in the far distance and the dirt roads turned into switchbacks. Each of us had truly bedded into our lightweight bikes as we flicked them through gravel corners, back ends kicking out then finding traction and powering into the next bend. Sharp on the brakes, tip the front in, leg out for style and then do it all again. Sure you could do this on a big bike, these are not technical trails, but I can guarantee you it would not be as much fun. I don’t think any of us have ever smiled for as many dirty twisty mountain miles in our lives.
Lifelong memories
As we approached our last day before the inevitable ‘head for home’, Noel had picked up the scent of a route that was not on the TET, but looked to head up over a mountain range in another direction. As wild as we think riding on the TET is, in reality much of Western Europe is governed by laws about where you can and can’t
camp. Often if there’s only two of you, you can get away with a bit of wild camping, but six adventure riders and bikes tend to stand out. Unless, that is, you find a wild camp literally at the very top of a mountain where the only things that can see you are the eagles circling above your head.
It was a truly fitting way to end the adventure by finding and setting up camp in one of the most remote and beautiful locations of the whole trip. We ended the day in time to put up our tents, get a brew on and enjoy a sunset that will stay with me for a very long time. It felt wild. There was even talk of bears. Do they have bears in Spain?
Of course the trip didn’t end there, the next day we cleared camp, left no trace and started the long road ride back to the ferry and reality. And once again the 450 sucked ass, but it had been worth it.
The Trans Euro Trail isn’t just a squiggly like on a map, it’s memories. And that is the most valuable thing of all.