Vigo - Day 3

644 Kilometers - 400 Miles

Well, how many ways can a trip go south and remain a great trip?  Answer: a bunch.

Hotel in Santlanda was interesting.  When I pulled in yesterday afternoon there was no one there.  I asked for a room and was surprised when the lady quote me thirty (30) Euros.  I immediately concluded, Dorothy, you're not in France anymore.  This was later confirmed when, after yet another of those great road showers I went down to the bar and paid 3.60€ for two San Miguel beers.  Now, San Miguel isn't the top of the line, but you don't have to pour it back in the horse...and for 1.80€ each?  In France it would cost you 3.5€ minimum per, unless it were an outdoor restaurant in Paris; then it would be 9€.  Now, I'm not complaining...Paris is damn near worth it...but 1.80€ per beer?  A guy could get in trouble here.
 
I made an interesting observation here.  Admittedly my sample size is short, but my first observation of folks in Spain is they aren't French.  The French are generally a reserved people.  They tend to talk quietly, and, except for the occasional puffing of the cheeks and blowing a gust of air from their mouth as if to say, "so what," they tend to be on the...how would one say it?..."contained side."  Not so the Spanish.  These folks are boisterous and loud.  The hotel operators had a two year old little girl who was both very cute and very loud.  She ran around the place like a banshee, watched lovingly by mother, but allowed to "rule the roost."  At first I was a little put out about it, but little girls can get away with anything with me.  All of them remind me of my daughter when she was young and that's one of my favorite memories in this life.

My observation was not based solely on the little girl.  By 9:00 pm there were a bunch of Spaniards in the place and they were all having a good time.  I was especially interested in this one guy.  I don't know what he was selling...I think it was himself...but, boy, if I've ever seen a snake-oil salesman it was this guy.  He was glad-handing and patting all on the back like a politician running for office.  I got the distinct impression he was "buying" business, if you know what I mean.  Not that it doesn't happen everywhere.  It's just this guy with his wavy salt-and-pepper hair, perfectly trimmed, struck me as the last person in the world from whom I'd buy anything.  But, I'm constantly surprised.  Besides, he may have been the nicest guy on the planet.  I was just stereo-typing.

Arose, packed up Betsy and was on the road by 8:15am...in the rain again.  Yep, another cold and rainy morning. I was prepared so it wasn't as bad as yesterday with the foggy glasses.  Rode in it for most of the morning, at times fairly heavy, but mostly that penetrating drizzle that soaks you to the bone.  I was well insulated and stayed dry, except for the hands, they got a little cold in my new $100 gloves.  Not bad, but a little.  I was so layered up that when I stopped later in the day I almost wet myself trying to get through the layers.

Beautiful countryside.  The greens here are a vibrant and beautiful as anywhere I've ever been.

You won't see these next two pictures anywhere else.  I took them off the side of the road at some road construction.  I parked Betsy near the side of the hill then walked across both lanes of traffic to get to these shots. 

When cars came from either direction I was in trouble.  A couple of times I had to run back across the road because they were too near.  But I got them and this is a glorious little valley.

About noon the rain ceased except for the occasional drizzle now and again.  It turned into a very pretty ride.

For some reason, I have a very hard time making time on the roads here.  Even when they're good.  It took me two hours to go from Oviedo to Rañon, a distance of about 88 kilometers (53 miles).  The reason is it was those great mountain "twisties" going right and left like a metronome, much of it in third and fourth gear.  Reminded me very much of some of the rides in the inter-moutain west with my buddy Bobby J.  Boy, do I wish he were here for this ride.  But, even when it's what we'd call interstate, and the roads are pretty darn good, I still don't seem to make time.  Don't know why though.

This is what you call switch-backs.  You can see the little piece of road I'm on at the bottom.  That little flat area up to the left is the road I just came down.

And here's the "tunnel" I'm heading into.  This is riding at its best and prettiest.


A little further down the road I found this great little restaurant with a very friendly owner who fell in love with Betsy. 

A cup of coffee, a jambon et fromage sandwich and it's down the road again.



This is looking out the back of the restaurant.  That's a road up there folks.  Let me tell you.  They must have some of the best highway construction engineers in the world working here.  Every where you look there's a viaduct up 300 meters in the air, or a tunnel cutting through a mountain for a kilometer or more.

Impressive stuff.

I made a lot of miles today for one very simple reason:  I'm stupid.  Yep...that's about the only thing I can come up to explain the situation.  As you know, my GPS has gone south with my opinion of Garmin under its arm.  This means finding hotels is difficult...especially when they don't jump out at you like they do in the U.S.  My plan today was to ride toward Santiago De Compostela.  I'd thought I'd end up staying somewhere around Vilaba or Lugo.  But, I've always sort of had a rule.  As long as I wasn't tired, and was feeling good, I'd make time.  This has worked very well for me in the past, it makes up for the times when weather, or getting tired early pulls you off the road.  So, the bottom line is I passed right on by both Vilaba and Lugo, and started in toward Santiago De Compostela.  This wouldn't be so bad, except for the rude awakening I had in Melide.

Melide is a neat little town.  As I was pulling through there were a bunch of bikers there.  Then there were the roads full of pilgrims walking their way toward Santiago De Compostela.  If I weren't brain-dead I'd have figured out what all those pilgrimages meant.  But I didn't lock onto it until I stopped at the only building I recognized as a hotel in Melide and asked for a room.  The lady, after asking if I had a reservation, apologized (in words I didn't understand) and said she had no vacancies.  Then, the coll-ege-grad-u-ate woke up.  We were off Thursday and Friday.  Why? Because it's one of the holiest periods in Christendom .  Sunday is the Holy Day of Ascension.  So, what do you think all the pilgrims were doing?  Yep, they were timing their walks to be in Santiago De Compostello on this holiest of holy weekends.  Then I noticed all the tour buses.  You can't throw a rock without hitting a tour bus...and they are full of pilgrims...each with a room reservation.  You got it!  My keep-riding-til-you're-tired had pulled me into a trap of my own making.  There wasn't going to be a room to rent anywhere near this area this weekend.

I had really wanted to spend some time here seeing this very special church...but, as any good accountant understands, sunk cost is sunk cost.  The problem is what to do now.  I reasoned I could turn north and visit A Conruña, then come back through in the morning and, at least, get some decent pictures.  But then I figured: four-day weekend; the religious like beach towns as much as I.  So I figured a bunch of folks would opt for staying up north for the weekend and driving down to Santiago De Compostela for the religious celebrations.  So...what to do?  Go south young man.  Go south and be quick about it.

So that's what I did.  I ran south past Pontevedra, figuring that at only 30 miles away it was booked also.  So I ran on into Viga.  I then start driving up and down streets looking for something that looks like a hotel.  I had no luck at all.  Finally, I see this restaurant/catering/pension building and say, "what the hell, it's worth a chance."  So I pull in and get a room at this little place.  No wireless, of course, but who cares?  It has a bed.  Well, a bed of sorts.  It was so soft I just knew I was going to have trouble with it...and I was right.  But I eventually got to sleep and had another great day on the road.

The view from my little "pension" room.

Wonder how easy it would have been to find a decent hotel if my GPS had been working?
Note to Garmin: Hold your breath until I buy my next product from you.