The Mild Bunch - Barcelona

Well our hopes of better weather were soon dashed, as, at breakfast, on the bank of the River Lot, the rain started again in earnest; looking out at the river, ‘That’s yer Lot’ I thought to myself.

Being the Monday of the new working week, the  roads were busier than the last 2 days.

With the rain, this meant we arrived wet and cold and two hours behind schedule at Carcassonne.

A major fortress in medieval times, it fell into disrepair in later years, so much so it was struck off the list of fortified building during the Napoleonic period and was marked for demolition. Thankfully it was rebuilt, all 53 watchtowers and double defensive wall. Although more of a modern fantasy version of how a medieval castle may have looked, being rebuilt in 1853. It still retains its charm.

For lunch it can only be  cassoulet.

A rich, slow-cooked casserole originating in the south of France, containing meat (typically pork sausages, goose, duck) and white beans. 

Thought to originate from Carcassonne itself, legend tells us that at times the fortress became under siege, everything edible was put into  a large traditional cooking vessel, the cassole, from where the name derives. Being a deep, round, earthenware pot with slanting sides.

After lunch I decided that was enough and I would leave Ken to ramble around France. I blatted off down the Peage to Barcelona, and the hope of better weather.

It was here the BMW came into its own, it flew down the motorway, cruising at a smooth and steady pace. I have managed to adjust my weight on the seat to  a more evenly balanced position and am now able to get some miles under the belt; arriving in Barcelona, and the sunshine in good time.

It’s nice to lock the bike in the garage and head into town for a well deserved, refreshing local beer..

As all my clothes are soaked, a quick visit to Las Ramblas is in order to re-kit myself out in my new ‘Barcelona Chic’ image.

Last night, the rest of the Mild Bunch arrived. 666 Squadron glides into town. We have our pre-tour meal in Las Caracoles just off Las Ramblas.

The Restaurant has been there since 1837, the same family has run it for generations, set in a back street which, nowadays, is full of ne’er do wells, dodgy strip joints and other undesirables, so yes, we fit right in, and then this fantastic restaurant which is an absolute must if you are in Barcelona.

We had the best table in the house, the one where Bruce Springsteen dined last week, and Robert de Niro too. The pictures on the wall tell the story of the restaurant's ongoing history and continued popularity. From The Rolling Stones, Robert Plant, President Jimmy Carter, Charlton Heston, back to the likes of Edward G. Robinson. All sat here.

Fantastic food, the fish soup is amazing. We persuaded Jeff that the traditional Catalan way to eat the flan desert is to suck it up in one gulp, straight from the plate not using hands. For some reason he believed us and demonstrated this method by sticking his face in his desert. Devouring most of it in one mighty slurp. But needing two more attempts to polish it off.

The staff mistook me for Robert Plant and wanted a pic to join the greats on the wall. I thought it would be amusing to have my pic there, but had to confess they were mistaken.

Now I sit a Barca airport to return to the UK for this weekend's shows.

It’s been cold, wet and uncomfortable, and a petrol strike in France, a perfect biking weekend really.

Adieu for now.

Cahors

Well the rain that started yesterday, continued into the day today, so, after a frugal breakfast, off we went into the wet and the cold.

Being a Sunday, many of the sights we wished to visit En Route were closed.

And being a miz day, we cracked on towards Cahors.

After the first 90 minutes of cheerless, but thankfully, incident free riding, we found a suitable spot for our elevenses.

Earlier, as we set off, we purchased some rustic items to carry with us, some fromage chevre, 

saucisson, pain and roast poulet. We had envisioned a rather picturesque picnic spot, in a leafy glade, sun breaking through the trees somewhere. But due to the bad weather, we pulled in under the awning of a disused petrol station, on the main road.

Although grim, at least still Al Fresco, and it offered some shelter from the incessant rain.

 It was at this point I discovered, that, although my left boot had retained its ability to keep out the water, the right one had not.

I poured out a pint of water from my dripping boot, and put the drenched sock on the engine to dry and tucked into our delicious roadside snack, accompanied, not by a grumpy piano player as we were on the ferry, but the roar of the traffic.

But nonetheless,  a welcome break from the rain.

Of course no way was my sock anywhere near dry;  thankfully, I had a new pair, and to save me from a further soaking, the plastic carrier bag in which our lunch came served as a waterproof covering for my right boot.

I may not be looking my most hip and trendy of the chic biker image, but  at least I was dry for the rest of the day.

We stopped briefly at Oradour Sur Glane.

In 1944 the soldiers came, they put the women and children into the church, from where they could hear their men being shot, then they died too. 642 men, women and children.

Their village destroyed.

Oradour Sur Glade was never rebuilt

After a coffee, and time for reflection, headed directly to Cahors.

Our hotel is on the banks of the river Lot overlooking the old town, and fortified Valentre Bridge.

Cahors is on a bend on the river and on a peninsula, a very important town back in the day, and was an area that saw a lot of action in the 100 Years War.

Cahors was attacked by Sir John Chandos, one of the commanders who led British troops in the Battle of Crécy, where The Black Prince, commanding the army, was only 16. Years later, he drew the battle plan that led to the English victory at the Battle of Poitiers in 1356 .

As a reward for services, Chandos was appointed lieutenant of France, vice-chamberlain of England, one of the founders of The Order of the Garter and constable of Aquitaine and seneschal of Poitou .

Upon his death, he was mourned by the English and French alike.

We arrived in Cahors cold, wet and running late, so no time to walk around the town looking for a local bistro. After a long soak to bring the blood back to warmth in a tiny bath, we ate at the hotel restaurant.

Cahors is a wine region and famous for its deep reds, predominantly  Malbec. Of which we enjoyed a couple of bottles with our evening meal, then wearily off to bed, in the hope of better weather tomorrow.

La Rochelle

Friday afternoon and we are finally ready to set off on our bike trip to France, ending at Barcelona, well, ending for me that is; others join the gang in Barcelona, but I can only do the first part of the trip, and Matthew the second, hence, I take his BMW GS 1200 to Barca, and he rides it back.

Well that was the idea. It almost came unstuck at 4am that morning and Matthew was knocking on my door,.

The BMW had been stolen off my driveway, under my nose, as I slept!

The neck of some people. Thankfully tho’ it has a tracker, and the police took us to its location and only 90 minutes after it had been stolen, it was back in my possession.

However, in the morning, I did fit some extra locks to protect my Triumph Thunderbird from suffering the same fate.

So to Portsmouth, and to France then, where never arrived more happier men.

We are on the overnight ferry; myself and fellow traveller Ken are sharing a cabin, please note, any maritime jokes about Roger the cabin boy will be deleted!

So after a rather marvellous evening meal aboard, we shared a nightcap in the cocktail bar, where the rather miserable pianist played.

Probably bitter as after years of classical training, he ends up playing old easy-listening classics to oiks like us.

Interesting, as last night, we did one of our new acoustic shows at the famous Troubadour in Earls Court, famous as in Bob Dylan Played there, as did Hendrix.

It is in fact the very venue in which Zeppelin had their after show parties after the Earls Court shows, exactly 46 years ago to the day.

Not only was the show sold out, but also the most presales the venue had ever had.

The manager there was a bit dubious at first, and wanted the full show, but the acoustic show is proving a huge success. We are all really enjoying it too.

We arrive at St Malo at 8m only to hear that France is in the midst of a full blown fuel strike. Oh the joy.

But doesn’t end up much of a problem, there are always those that take the opportunity to capitalise on things like this, just means longer queues and more waiting, but fuel is aplenty.

My first time riding this particular bike, and, whilst impressed with its gadgetry, and all the settings for different road surfaces, weather conditions, advanced luggage system you would think they could design a more comfortable seat.

I have to stop every hour to relieve my numb nether regions, as the Romans called it, Sorus Arsus Maximus.

And we have only just begun!

So, back to today and La Rochelle, a lovely old port, known for a medieval sea battle, in which firearms were used for the first time, through the Napoleonic, and up to WWII, where the Germans had a submarine base.

But tonight, we are more interested in the Moules Marinaire, and a bottle of Sancerre.
At the appropriately named Les Enfants du Rock.

We sit at the waterfront, under the shadow of the imposing medieval fortress, built to protect the port. Taking in the ambience.

And then the rain came.

So of course, we adjourn to the nearest bar for a bottle of their finest Bordeaux. As we watch people struggle through the wind and the rain.

A fantastic setting for a photo opportunity, and we tested our photographic skills and the people we observed, not a bad effort.

And so to bed.