Spain #15

Posted May 3

The campsite is simple, but that is always at a Camping Municipal. There are 3 playgrounds left in a corner, so I’ll keep them company.

After my story I quickly dive into my bed, the Dutch neighbors 20 meters away have clearly no need for a chat, or they are naturally short of course. Who will say it ….

Wake up the next morning, half past 8 … leave for my actions. Am I finally going to be able to sleep at the end of my vacation? It will be good. Anyway, score tape today and look up that tower. So the familiar ritual takes place again. Bag, suitcases, tent, the whole deviled mikmak goes back on and on the bike. Leaving is sin after all. I make a moment free for some nice unsuccessful selfies and find it nice. Crossing the camp, standing on the pedals and at the bend a little gas to continue the bend in a drifting way. “Whoeiiiiiii …… .Paris, I’m coming”, I call hard in my helmet. I feel like it again, the mood is good and the sun is shining.

With some pinched bottoms I drive to Paris on the National route. 53 km, and then I have to go to Gommes at the door says my navigation. Who has done a crash course in French, he speaks the street names in liquid French. Nice, but I can not count in French. At 10 it stops in any case, and with 20 beer I come to 15 … at least, that’s what I find at such a moment. Anyway, the small villages follow each other and the small villages quickly become the suburbs of Paris. The crowds are increasing, my ETA I quickly see. Half 11 will be 11 hours and later. No need, still vacation, right? I am surprised about the traffic, about the cars and especially the scooters and motorbikes. They rage through traffic and mirrors are more measuring instruments than mirrors. If it fits, then it fits and preferably with full throttle. I realize that Paris does not cease to exist in 2 hours, that they are waiting for me, and therefore calming …. The crowds increase even more and when I finally arrive at Gommes, I am glad that I am still alive. But it is 12 o’clock in the meantime … ..I ask myself spontaneously where my death wish suddenly comes from. Which goes crazy for his fun in Paris, and then all the way to the roundabout at the Arc de Triomphe on a motorcycle? …. What a real thing. Excusez moi for my language, but it is not much different. Anyway, I am there …. “Pneu pour le moto, monsieur … problem”, says the best man. Only ehmmmm at 4 o’clock. Shit, wait or continue searching? His price is ok, I can put my suitcases and other stuff with him in the business and I can pretty easily ride Paris with the bike during the next few hours. I trowel another cup of coffee and I go on my way. The tower has been found in such a way that they have made it so high. Next to me at the traffic light is a new BMW GS with Nintendo screen. “It is brand new”, I mumble into myself and when I look further I see that the driver is a female version. She laughs, nods and we pull up together when it’s green. Woe, she gives a dot of gas and is gone. Nice sound, I can not deny that with those new blocks. 2 traffic lights further we are next to each other, she smiles again. I wink …… Nice game, what will she think? She goes straight when I go left and want to ask her in marriage. Too bad, next time better.

The Eiffel Tower, I finally get there. My last goal this trip. The tower is allowed on the photo with my motorcycle. How nice for that tower. Probably much nicer than the thousands of tourists who come every day. I drive further and have lunch. Ehmmmm, continue driving in this witches’ cauldron? No do not bother. I drive back to Gommes and put my motorcycle at the door. Across the road there is a park with benches, I take one in and take my head in the sun and lie on my coat. Waiting for hours will be fine. The park is popular with mothers with children. In any case, I will not fall asleep here. Quarter for 4, I walk back to the store and he asks for my key. It is a small man, but clearly handy with maneuvering. Big Red is on the buck and soon he has new rubber. This time Metzeler Tourance Next. I will find out how they steer and drive, that is always a world of difference with every type of tire. The joke costs me € 330, – Well, it can be better but also worse … I know. Expensive hobby, motorcycling. During the tire change I had already searched for a hotel, according to the planning, 1.5 hours drive. But first out of town again. Again those drama-guests around me who want to go past, under, above and between me. What will I be glad about later on the National route, I think. But we are not there yet. After an hour of sending, I suddenly hear a scraping sound, as if my centerstand bounces on the street. Stop on the emergency lane and watch ……. It is my skitplate, the protective plate that hangs under my block. The rubbers are torn at the front so he bites down on the street. Badger and so I kick the other rubbers loose. They are therefore also in need of replacement, I think so. Plate under the strap and through. Eventually over 2.5 hours on the road when I enter the very nice industrial area where my hotel is. “Hmmmm, it’s such a motel, such a place where fugitives stand behind the curtains and see if the cops are coming,” I think. I think I already see Thelma and Louise on the gallery …There is a room available, there are no house rules and at 8 o’clock I can have breakfast for a whopping 5 bucks…

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