All at Sea....

Saturday, halfway across the Bay of Biscay….(well, that's when this was written. Those of you who followed our journey last year will remember the trouble we had keeping up with events. This is being sent from a bar in a campsite near Placensia in Spain on Sunday night.)...and "G'day" to our new readers in Oz!

So far, so nothing much to report, Cap’n. The expedition departed Moray Base at 7 on Thursday morning in a cold, damp clag which persisted until we crossed the mountains about 3 hours south. 

After that it was a beautiful day with an easy drive to our overnight stop near Warrington and our first foray into the world of Airbnb. Steve and Ian made us very welcome and it was a pity that the 10-hour drive had left us too knackered to socialise – we were both asleep in front of the TV by 9pm.

The remaining few hours to Portsmouth and the ferry reintroduced us to “proper” traffic again. We know we’re spoilt in that respect up in the Northeast of Nowhere. Although the number of cars has increased everywhere over the years, we still have relatively clear roads and we forget how unpleasant it can be negotiating a fair approximation of a dodgem ride when on the highway. We hit the first major holdup 15 minutes into the journey as we attempted to get back onto the M6 motorway. The Traffic Info on the radio eventually revealed that the road had been closed by a couple of horses running loose along it. Given that this would have initiated a full-on Imminent Disaster response from every blue light in the Midlands, we weren’t surprised to see solid lines of stationary traffic in all directions. A quick scan of the map (old-fashioned, see) revealed that the only viable diversion required that we join one of these lines anyway, so we decided to stick with Plan A. As it turned out, the southbound line crawled along for a mile or so then, as if by magic, began to accelerate. The two police cars – blue strobe lights blazing  - on the hard shoulder seemed to be the only reason for the slow traffic which was now up to full speed within three hundred metres. If the coppers sitting on the fence having a jokey natter had turned their lights off, perhaps things would’ve improved more quickly….? Presumably their colleagues on the northbound carriageway were doing something similar, but perhaps with brighter lights, as the queue over there went on for another 5 miles. Oh, the joy of motoring.

We arrived at Portsmouth about on schedule, had a quick recce to make sure we had the right place to check in, then went looking for a fuel pump. I guess we now do what everyone with a satnav does, and just asked the computer. Well, for the second time in 24 hours the precise directions to a petrol station took us nowhere even remotely resembling a purveyor of motoring spirit and, once again, we just used a bit of common sense. Despite Mr Garmin insisting that petrol stations can be found in residential streets of terraced houses it’s not in our experience so we reverted to basics and just found a main route and followed it. An Esso station soon appeared, unannounced by the satnav. A great toy, but with limitations. If the human navigator (HN) is having a bad day, this is generally obvious before any reliance is placed on the advice forthcoming, and an appropriate bias placed on it. Maybe the menu of annoying comments issuing from the Guidance Computer should include “I’m more stupid than usual today so be prepared for me to direct you off a cliff”. This works well for HN. I think that’s enough of that for now. Dodgy ground.

In the line at Portsmouth. Why is it that everyone keeps their engine.... gasp...cough...retch...

running?

So, here we are then, all at sea and forecast to arrive in Spain by 1700. The water’s fairly calm and the crossing of this notorious stretch of the Atlantic is, so far at least, a non-event. We’ve had a chat with a rep from one of the overland trekking companies who’s tipped us off about a campsite near Santander that would be convenient for tonight, but a quick internet search on the ship’s not-so-quick wi-fi indicates that it doesn’t open for another 2 days, so we might be disappointed there. The back-up plan is the site we’ve used before at Burgos. 

We reverted to the back-up plan. The site recommended doesn't open for another 2 days. This required a 3 hour drive in driving rain and deepening darkness into ever-higher terrain. Add to that the lack of "cats eyes" and a Brit White Van Man who preferred to keep us in front of him rather than overtake and stop blinding me with his lights, and the whole business got bloody annoying. Eventually I slowed down enough to force him to pass me and he was followed by a convoy of artics that I hadn't realised were there. No doubt my slow progress has soured Anglo-Spanish relations again, but as far as I'm concerned the loss of the Armada was their fault, anyway.

And now, it's Sunday. 20th. It's been p*ssing with rain since we landed, everything is damp except our spirits and we are halfway through Spain. Personally, I am also halfway through a bottle of Merlot, but that's not unexpected after a hard day steering. We're drying towels over the still-warm engine, plotting tomorrow's leg and considering the merits of a cafe's burger n'chips vs beef bourginon from Daphne's kitchen. By the time we're done with the rest of the bottle, I guess the decision will make itself. Slobs, aren't we?