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the queue.
Off the ferry, the forecast proved true: it was bloody windy. We climbed out of Bilbao on a series of winding roads with almost no traffic, but the wind … bloody hell it was strong. At the top of the first hill the coastline opened up spectacularly. Through the zoom lens of my‘ proper’ camera, I could see a huge rock arch jutting out of the coast— wild, rugged and beautiful.
A little further on, we stopped for coffee, tea and my first proper Spanish tortilla in years, complete with cebolla. Nom nom. With full bellies we pushed on, stopping again for fuel at a roadside service station where the locals were gathered around the bar having an afternoon natter.
The riding was stunning all day, though the gusty wind took some of the shine off it. Even after just 150 kilometres, the mix of slow zones, endless switchbacks and scenery stops meant we rolled up to our accommodation around 3pm.
Rural Aterbe was a tiny place in the quiet village of Leintz Gatzaga. A lovely woman greeted us— no English— so she was thrilled when I pulled out my half-baked Spanish. Speaking even a bit of the language makes travelling off the tourist trail so much easier. After showing us
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