Lone Rider

Leaving the ferry was quite uneventful. Headed out on the local roads to get used to the steering wheel being on the opposite side.

The mountain roads towards the picos are tiny, twisty roads, smoother than a teflon coated smooth thing. Better suited to cyclists, or motorcyclists who can actually ride properly. Besides being held up by a herd of cows all was great. Joining the N-621 the dynamic changed.

Much faster twisty roads, again as smooth as a well oiled buttock in most places. Getting held up by cars would typically frustrate, however, just slowing up and looking up and around and it is truly breathtaking. A road running between the most beautiful tightly packed mountains. Making the Cheddar gorge look like a baby bel.

Riding through Potes I thought I have to take a closer look. Found the hotel in Lon, which in itself is in a stunning location, and headed back to Potes for food.

Potes …

Very few English. Also, little comprehension of vegetarianism. Mushroom salad and chips and I was sorted.

Back to the hotel where unlike the UK you don’t pay hotel prices. 2 euros for a special edition Estrella. Unfortunately no one speaks a word of English. Quite a bonus. My ignorance and reliance on others to speak English is something I should feel guilty about. Thank God for Google translate.

Watching the owners and family sat around a table drinking bottled water just chatting is a lovely sight. Kids running around and left to play at full volume. Not one ‘sush’ (I assume sush is universal) from the grown ups. The TV is on but no-one is paying attention. If it’s on for my sake, then it’s wasted. I am people watching.

Bizarrely two men and two women enter the bar. I assume married couples; mid 50s to mid 60s. The men order a bottle of wine to share between the two of them. The women, drinkless for 20 minutes. It is bizarre to observe.

Anyhow, 6 euro later and it’s time to retire. Beunos noches. Adiós