quite intense and you have to keep a string of directions in your head because the only places you can safely stop and look at a map are at the toll tunnels , if you are at the wrong one then it ’ s too late already . I was going east and south and at every toll stop I would either pass the Triumph or he would pass me – and we would ignore each other .
I kept seeing that bike in my rear view mirror and then it would roar past me whenever I stopped to check the map . Then half an hour later I would catch up some how and he ’ d still be on my road !
Finally , about sixty miles in , I thought we ’ d taken different routes , but then I heard the big Triumph and he pulled up alongside me at a traffic light saying ‘ Where are you going .’ I think the bloke was as suspicious as I was .
It was late in the afternoon and had started to rain a little , it would have been odd not to share a bit of road knowledge as we were clearly set on the same route ; he was going to meet the coast at Valencia and so was I . I said I would maybe drop off at a stop I knew outside Soria , as I didn ’ t want to miss the experience by riding through all that great countryside in the dark .
We both needed petrol so happened across each other again at the first station we then came to . He was okay , despite the red and white colours he was wearing , I knew what he was , but he knew nothing about me as we rode on together .
A turn off from the N111 lead us into the small municipality called Garray , where I knew there were some places to stay . We drew a blank at all but one hotel and the thing was there was only one room available . I wouldn ’ t normally want to share a hotel room with a complete stranger from a psychopathic biker gang – but there we were … And he had this huge holdall bag strapped to the back of his bike that he was very protective over ; whatever it contained was valuable I knew , it weighed a ton and it wasn ’ t camping gear .
In the real Spain , outside the British tourist resorts ( which is most of the country ), you can ’ t get to order dinner before 9pm . There was nothing for it but to head for the hotel bar . After about half an hour I thought ‘ Fuck it ’ and volunteered that I ’ d been a copper . I didn ’ t tell him I ’ d known friends in the Outlaws MC as well though – the two clubs being bitter enemies and sworn to kill one another when required .
We ’ d ridden together and were now drinking together in a foreign land , just two English bikers , nothing more . I didn ’ t ask John what was in that bag , not that I wasn ’ t curious though and I still am .
I will say that for a veteran 1 % er , my new comrade obviously had a cosy side to him , despite the threatening image . John checked in with his Ol ’ lady back in Manchester , morning noon and night . I never phoned home once the whole trip away . I don ’ t know what that says about either of us but that ’ s just me .
The ride south the next day was great fun ; passing through some real cowboy country with scrubby hills , cactuses and plenty of vultures . John knew the route and we kept off the big roads , passing by dusty places like Calatayud , Daroca and Calamocha . Somewhere along that route I saw the vultures circling low and dropping to a patch of scrub by the side of the road ahead . John was riding ahead of me and one of those things ( it was the size of a turkey ) came up , off from its meal and flew straight into the path of the Triumph . John swerved and ducked , I ’ d thought it was going to take him out but he made it through okay .
At Teruel we stopped for some lunch at a roadside place , where a bottle of rioja came as part of the meal , despite the countries strict drink-driving laws . It ’ s a great
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