Bilbao to St. Malo 2023

  I could have lit the stove this morning for my brew but the combination of a cold morning, a ridiculous dew and splendid facilities for brews at the reception centre made the decision an easy one. Before crawling out of my tent, I attempted a video of myself in bed in the tent. I envisaged myself cutting the figure of an intrepid explorer surviving against all odds in some frozen wasteland with just a tube of toothpaste to eat etc. As it was, the video was just me mumbling about the fact that I was in bed in the tent – obvious to the most casual of observers. I grabbed my cup, a tea bag and some milk and went over to the room at the reception area. There were settees, a kitchen complete with kettle, toaster and cups and so on and it was warm and dry. There was one other person in the room when I walked in. She was probably in her 40s and she was attending to het blisters. After several minutes of silence, I asked her if she was attending to her blisters. It seemed like a safe e...

  It wasn't supposed to rain. But at around 6am, as I lay in my tent, I heard the unmistakable pitter patter on the tent. If I'd been about to get in the car and drive off, I would have enjoyed the experience but the snug and cosy feeling which that sound can illicit was tempered by the knowledge that fairly soon i would have to pack up in it. I tried working out how to roll up mats and stuff sleeping bags into their impossibly small bags within the confines of a one-man tent. (I use the word man loosely) By the time I did get up the rain had stopped but the tent was soaking. I unpegged it and gave it an impressive sounding shake. Admittedly the other occupants of the site had yet to emerge but they had been quite evident through the evening and one man (sorry to assume it was a man) snored from before 10:30 until about 7:30 without omitting a single snored inhalation as far as I was aware. I imagined it would be more or less down to Penrith for breakfast. When will I learn ...

When I woke up, I was ready to go. I plan these trips quite meticulously. Absolutely everything is on a list. If everything is ticked off then I haven't forgotten anything. Barnard Castle is an hour and a half's car journey up the road. I spent most of the journey listening to radio 4. How often it is that you arrive somewhere and realise that the plight of those stranded abroad by airport staffing issues doesn't fascinate you enough to warrant 50 minutes of invasion to your headspace but only too late do you realise as you switch the engine off at the end of the journey. Still, it kept me from tiresome thoughts concerning why I was actually doing this.  It's the same every time. I want to go and i don't want to go. I want the adventure of surviving with all that i need balanced on two wheels but i don't want to be on my own. It always takes me about 24 hours to get into it. It then gets easier to the point where i wonder if it might get too easy. Eat, move, sle...