Upon leaving the bike shop, Glenn did a great job of getting us onto the highway without too much trouble. The first thing I noticed about Spanish roads that I hadn’t considered before is that they love their roundabouts. That worried me. I hate roundabouts. I will deliberately reroute myself when driving in DC to avoid roundabouts. But DC has roundabouts with crosswalks and traffic lights, which completely minimizes the point of the roundabout in the first place. Spanish roundabouts are the ‘right’ kind. Cars and trucks, no crosswalks or pedestrians, no traffic lights or signs. Just a roundabout, the way they’re meant to be. That makes them much easier to navigate.
After about 45 minutes on the highway, we made a quick stop to stretch our legs and make sure we were all OK. We had decided prior to setting off that, if any of us needed to pull over for any reason, we’d honk and flash our headlights so Glenn could see it and he’d find a spot to pull over. Fortunately, that wasn’t much of an issue, since the one time on day 4 that I needed to pull over, he could neither see my light nor hear my frantic honking. Next time I’ll remember to rent a bike with an air horn. After a 10 minute break, we were back on the bikes, riding the coast with the Mediterranean on our left and the Spanish mountains in the distance to our right. As we continued on, the road pulled away from the coast and a strip of small mountains appeared on our left obscuring our view. But the roads were good and the weather was nice, so it wasn’t too bad. Half an hour later, as we rounded a corner, the mountains on our left suddenly stopped, and in the distance we could see the Rock of Gibraltar. It was a beautiful sight, and for a moment I forgot that I was trying to stay balanced on two wheels. I focused on my riding, stealing frequent glances towards the rock in the distance that was our destination.
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Our bikes with the Rock of Gibraltar in the background. |
Part of the UK, Gibraltar is the only British territory on mainland Europe. There’s a small passport checkpoint between the Spanish side and the UK side. There’s also a traffic light that you don’t want to run, since that road intersects with an active airport runway. Running that light means you could get t-boned by a 747. That would look great on a tombstone, but it’s not a good way to spend your holiday.
Upon entering Gibraltar (fortunately they drive on the right side of the road, not the left like the British), we spent the next hour trying to ride to the top of the rock. We proceeded to get lost on all kinds of small streets, took two separate one way roads the wrong way (thanks, Glenn), and managed not to get ourselves killed. We eventually gave up on the idea of riding to the top and left the rock and headed to the hotel, about 10 minutes away. When we got checked in, got on the wifi, and did some reading, we learned that you can’t take private vehicles up to the top of the rock. Oops. It was fun trying, regardless.
But our first day of riding was behind us with no significant problems, and we checked into the hotel, ready for showers and a good meal. Tomorrow would be more of the same, and we were looking forward to it.
