One year on (keep the wheels turning).
FEBRUARY 9, 2024
Today will see the end of my first year on the road, one year of not sleeping in bricks and mortar. One year of just me and Gloria, my truck. One year of waking up in different places, with different views and different people around me. Different sights, sounds and smells.
The year has seen me travel to Morocco and visit a continent I had never been to.
This is being written at the end of the first year and just a complete flow of thoughts as they come to mind, no structure and a work in progress until I decide to tidy it up. Thanks for reading and apologies for the scatter gun writing. It is a journey through my physical and mental world.
This anniversary is a time to reflect and to look forward. Answer the question of why I started and look at the prospect of where I am going, and why.
The original plan, if there ever was a plan, was to give up rented space and live cheaply for three months while I served out a clause in my contract that prohibited me from working with a competitor. One of the may unfair things my previous employers was able to inflict upon me. Serving out this clause and attempting to right the wrong done by my previous employer took a toll on my health and I finally fixed a leaving date and my first objective. A ciclocross race in Alcobendas, Madrid, Spain.
Giving up the rental wasn't the easiest of tasks either as the letting agent decided they weren't the letting agent after all and the landlord turned out to be one of those greedy landlords that we hear so much about. Why does so much of UK life have to be about shafting everyone for a few quid?
First objective in the bag, no job, no house and the wheels taking their first turns on this new adventure. Destination Dover.
I'll be honest as it wasn't the best of starts, first overnight spot as selected on Park4night looked a bit iffy and by the time I arrived at the second, they had just closed the kitchen, denying me the opportunity of eating something more substantial than a chorizo sandwich. Ferry booked for the morning and off we go.
Luck got better in the morning as I was told I could board the earlier ferry and therefore start heading through France that much earlier. I wanted to get through France and into Spain as soon as possible. The weather was pretty rubbish too, so another motivation. France is excellent for travellers as there are Aires located across the country where, for free or a small charge, you can stay the night with the possibility of recharging fresh water supplies, or dumping black water.
Google maps set and a meandering, toll free, drive was on the cards.
I hate Google maps.
Google maps would be one of my mental challenges on the way. Did I tell you I have been diagnosed with depression and anxiety?
Driving on the right is a joy and feels perfectly natural, even in a RHD vehicle.
Gloria
I should probably introduce you to Gloria, as pictured above. Gloria is a 2005 Nissan Terrano2 2.7tdi in stock form except for a snorkel (of dubious functionality) and a 2" torsion bar lift with heavy duty spring in the rear. Otherwise as stock as she came out of the factory. At this stage it wasn't Gloria. I've never been one for naming things, except with expletives when they don't do their job.
The interior has been self converted and contains a full length fixed bed, a toilet, a heater, hot water, a shower, a fridge and a kitchen, solar panels on the roof for extented off grid living (when the sun shines) and a luxurious roof top tent. A self contained tiny living unit. The kernel for tiny living came during the covid lockdown when I saw how much space in the house I actually used, the bed, the toilet, the shower, one seat on the sofa, standing space in front of the cooker, etc. The rest was wasted. I spent nights visualising and thinking what sleeping inside the vehicle would feel like, or how confining the roof top tent would really be. Indoor space inside the vehicle is about 5m2, roof top tent an additional 3 and a bit m2 and under the awning a further 5m2. This is designed for outdoor living.
How did I feel about leaving the UK behind me?
Happy.
The moment I boarded the ferry I felt that none of the people that I saw had heard of my previous company, the problems that filled so much of my life, were, in reality, quite insignificant. This is a strange concept, I loved working and providing (ventilation) solutions safe with anonymity that users would never know who I am and equally happy that this corporate anonymity provides a solution to the insignificance of my problems caused by the employer.
I have never felt happy in the UK, my happiest period was being in Spain, although not without its own problems.
The weather wasn't kind in France and I pushed to get to Spain. The advantage of disabling the toll box on Google maps is that you get to se some spectacular countryside. The downside is that no one knows how accurate the directions are, how accurate the timings are or, indeed, whether it changes the route while you're driving. Some driving days just went on for ever.
Objective One achieved, I arrived in Madrid late in the evening and set up camp not too far from a village that I used to live in ready to head to Alcobendas. It was my first true wild camp too. Nervously I woke up, packed up and headed to the other side of the mountain to have breakfast overlooking Madrid on a crisp and sunny morning.
I have spent many years in Madrid and the Sierra Norte de Madrid, I feel at home here. The cycling is excellent, both mountain and road. The people are welcoming and the views are spectacular. Back to the objective, ciclocross and emotional reunions. I had hinted that I might attend the Copa de España ciclocross event in Alcobendas on Facebook as I needed to be assured that there would be overnight parking. There would be, so all good. The reaction I had from so many people at the event was overwhelming, bumping into folks, getting hugs, chatting for hours with folks I didn't know that well and salutations from riders as they went past. I had waited too long to return.
Campeonato de Madrid MTB was soon after and I decided to hang around for that. It was so good catching up.
Time to move south and look at getting the ferry across to Morocco, which was the main objective. Christmas in Morocco.
How was I getting on living in such a small space?
Well, it was interesting. The weather in France was terrible and as I'd find out, equally bad in the south of Spain. Making sure that I was dry wasn't a problem. Warm? not a problem. Able to eat well? Slightly more complicated and too many crisps were eaten. The biggest enemy when living in such a small space is rain and water in general. Not being able to get outside to cook was a bit of a problem and this led to an early depart to Morocco, a week early.
The ferry trip was dry, but the rain poured in the days prior to leaving and the subsequent days too. But I had decided to get to Morocco and drive until the rain stopped.
Arrival in Morocco was an unkown for me. I had read that you were supposed to find a bloke in a shed at the end of a row of buildings to sort out insurance. No information on the temporary import licence. I was mentally prepared to be turned around and sent back to Spain on the next ferry. This wan't necessary as the temporary import licence is supplied by customs on entry and the insurance bloke is sat in a little office ready to give you the necessary documentation. He'll even come and help you if you screw up the ATM machine.
That was it, I was now in Morocco.
Feet firmly in Morocco.
No plans, no objective. Where was I going next? The honest answer is that I didn't know.
The only real objective was to spend time outside UK, get some warmth and sunshine over winter and try to sort myself out after the trauma of my previous employment. When you are attacked by your bosses, scars are left. I love sales work, I love the challenge of knowing my product, my competitors' products, the rules of the game, the industry, improving the world (this is a major driver for working in ventilation) and I was good at it. Things I don't like about the work micro management, weak bosses and control freaks, we're never going to be a good fit so might I suggest you don't lie to me at interview time.
This is a 3 month mind cleansing trip, preparation to get back into the cut and thrust of sales.
Or not.
There was a part of me that knew I'd never be back in sales, my confidence had been broken by my bosses, their (demonstrable) lies put me in a position that I can never return to. Money is not so important that you have to shit on people to get it. I have also had enough of working my guts out to make other people wealthy. A five figure salary for bringing in seven figure deals hardly seems fair to me.
That was it, I was broken and needed a new direction. Three months to find a new income.
While living in a 4x4 truck.
And travelling across continents.
Where am I going?
Camera in hand, I started recording the trip, again, no objective, just photograph the places I visited. I decided not to photograph the people.
Morocco would offer so much to photograph and so many other sensations that the camera can not record, the smells, the sounds. And with careful framing, the rubbish!
Life choices, I'm not very good working for idiots, but I am very easy to manage. Be a leader and don't tell me that you're my boss. I need to find employment where I write the rules.
This will prove to be more difficult than first thought. I have never worked harder than when I'm working for myself, taking pictures that have given hundreds, if not thousands, of people pleasure is one of the greates highs in my live. Particularly when no one knew my face.
When I lived in Spain, I spent a couple of years photographing cycle races and managed to do it without being recognised, something that wouldn't last for ever, but that recognition has given me friendships that will last for life.
I do enjoy seeing other people's happiness and if it is from something I've produced, all the better. I'm not anti-social, I just as happy in my own company. I was brought up in a loveless family.
Giving up bricks and mortar is both liberating and challenging, it breaks away from the norm and this country isn't ready for people who break away from the norm. We are taught to follow a particular path and if we want something different, there must be something wrong with us. As with work, I have always struggled with following that path. I have given up jobs on a whim, I have never worshipped money and always approach discussions with a unique point of view.
First taste of Morocco
It wasn't until I got close to Sidi Ifni that the weather started to improve and I had reached another objective, decent weather. The views, the smells and the sounds started to impact upon me. This is a beautiful country, but the levels of rubbish left everywhere is heartbreaking, especially the plastics. Sidi R'bat was a coastal village on a road to nowhere, except Sidi R'bat. Once a fishing village but now more dedicated to surfers and tourism. Sleeping on the beach was tempting, but I was still finding my feet in regards to wild camping and given that my level of Arabic is non-existent and my French not much better, I decided I didn't want conflicts with the local constabulary. I still had much to learn. The other side to the coin was that camp sites cost anything between 50 and 120 MAD (£4-£10) per night for stress free accommodation with fresh water supply and showers.
It was at this point that Google maps took me across country and gave me my first taste of sand driving in the desert, there is a road, but it is not asphalt. I had to put my faith in Google knowing its stuff, a relationship that at times would become challenging. Drving through villages and I also had my first contact with locals, women carrying goods home waving and the soon to be learnt "ça va ?". Camp was found outside an Auberge with views to impress.
Atlantic sunset
The views from this auberge were stunning an I stayed a couple of days, I required contact with UK and was slowly discovering the limitations of Moroccan SIM cards and the frustrations of having to change SIM cards at every border. I had already been fleeced in France by a shop that couldn't activate the card and left me using UK data instead of much cheaper local data. That was sorted in Spain.
It was at this auberge that I met a German couple who kept talking about Sidi Ifni, so much so that I decided that Sidi Ifni was the place that I wanted to go next.
I got chatting to another German chap, who had one of those big 9 ton 4x4 trucks. Sometimes I am envious of the living space that these offer, then remember the places that Gloria can get to that these guys can't. Gloria wins every time.
I am starting to enjoy meeting and talking to people that I meet on the road, something to be said for english being an international language.
I spent quite a bit of time in and around Sidi Ifni and had heard that not too far away was a Plage Blanche which apparently was driveable at low tide. An opportunity not to be missed.
Plage Blanche sunset
The sunset at Plage Blanche was spectacular, the beach driving less so as it is now prohibited. How can I be disappointed at something I didn't know existed a couple of days before?
Time to leave the coast and start heading towards the desert and the dunes. I was getting information and places to visit given to me on a daily basis. Erg Chigaga had now become an objective over Erg Chebbi. Erg Chebbi is a tourist hotspot and not my cup of tea. But before we get to the desert, we have to visit Guelmim.
Possibly my favourite town of the trip, big enough to be bustling and chaotic, no so big as to be daunting and depressing. I'm not a particular fan of visiting cities with Gloria, much better to find a city centre hotel and spend a few days based right in the hub. But Guelmim was just about the right size and a cross road with the road south heading towards Western Sahara, a place I will visit in the future.
Guelmim was my first experience of a sandstorm, I watched it cross the horizon and could see the road was heading straight towards it. Quite the thing of beauty, but I would later discover the luxury of the protection offered by Gloria.
One night was wild camped on Plage Blanche, the following few weeks were to be spent outside Guelmim near a hot spring in the desert.
It was at this spot that I came across the first Brits I'd seen for nearly a month. Bugger! The hot spring outside Fask is a veritable community of vanlifers, overlanders and locals. Frienships made, ships passed in the night. I am completely chilled, almost completely happy. The peace, quiet and tranquility is something to behold. There is still work to do but I kind of know what I want to do for the rest of my days. Travelling solo is not so daunting, there are plenty of people to meet and plenty of people not to meet when you want the solitude. Expensive SIM cards means that there's an enforced social media break and it's time to focus on the here and now. Heading in to Christmas and I was looking forward to spending a couple more nights at Plage Blanche, but was denied access by the army as they suspected a rave was going to take place. Remember that this is a Muslim country. Christmas was spent at Legzira and New Year back at the hot spring.
Apart from the Christmas decorations on sale at Carrefour, Agadir, it was complete escapism from the commercial nightmare of a UK Christmas. Slade will have to do without me for another year.
From Guelmim to Tafraoute, I had been told of a spectacle in the mountains that was a must see. It was added to the plans.
I went to sleep mortified by the light pollution from Tafroute and took an instant dislike, but woke up to the most beautiful sunrise and watched the shadows moving and the rocks changing colour as I downed my coffee. This was the most spectacular wild camp I have ever been to.
First problem of the trip and Gloria refused to start. A quick catch up on a Whatsapp group and it was decided that fuel was the most likely culprit.
I had made a conscious decision not to carry spares as I felt I could trust local garages to fix stuff and find parts to suit.
I did, however, have an in-line filter which could replace the cartridge and off we went.
Decision made to find a compound in or around Tafroute where I could properly look at Gloria and find the problem knowing that we were safe.
A note about safe: There were a few guys wandering around the camp at the hot spring in the middle of the night, other than that, Morocco is not dangerous and perfectly safe to wild camp if you choose your spot well.
It was that the potential of a non-starting vehicle meant that I'd rather spend £5.00 per night knowing that we weren't going to be told to move on by anyone. The following morning Gloria started and I decided to stay a couple of days. Then Gloria didn't start.
Not dodgy filters or fuel then!
The Whatsapp group was starting to get on my nerves, I appreciated the help but when that help dries up and becomes some sort of competition to prove who is right, it becomes less productive.
I had gone through a full diagnostics of cracking injectors to ensure fuel was getting to the chambers, I knew the plugs were good as they had been changed 15,000 miles previously. Nothing obvious was causing the problem and I was happy that I hadn't dropped the fuel tank as Whatsapp was demanding, along with photos and a full write up!
A mechanic was called and new glow plugs were ordered, the old (new) ones were toast. All good now and a couple more days of rest and exploration before moving on.
Nothing. Still broken down.
Mechanic returned and it was decided to fire up Gloria with the help of hairspary and drive to the workshop and stay there until fixed.
After a week, 10 days Gloria was fixed. A dodgy relay was cooking the glowplugs and a bypass was installed.
Off we went into the Anti Atlas.
What an absolutely stunning road, around every corner my jaw dropped lower and lower. The rock formations were just exceptional and photos can't do them justice.
Google maps had this as a 45min journey and I defy anyone with half an eye to do it in less than an hour and a half.
Still moving forwards and still no plan. I'm heading to Erg Chigaga becuase someone had told me that it was nicer than Erg Chebbi. I had not one care in the world, no reponsibility, no lying bosses. Life was good, but I was struggling to find a way of prolonging this trip. Making money would rear its ugly head at some point.
Driving through the desert and recognising that the fossils in the rocks signify that this area was once submerged is quite incredible and quite poignant during these times of global warming.
The planet isn't at risk, mankind is.
Possibly one of my favourite images from the whole year. Sand and sky, nothing else. The sand provides so much movement and so much colour.
So simple and so powerful.
I spent a week in Foum Zquid and Mhamid learning about the pricing strategies of the guides that take you across lake iriki and through the dunes.
Time to head north and think about crossing back to Europe. Chefchaoen sounds nice and someone had a nice picture of Dades Gorges, Ouzazarte has a nice ring to it and is the Hollywood of Morocco.
Surely this is all doable.
Waking up to snow covered High Atlas in a cold Ait Benhaddau. Ouzazarte was disappointing on many levels but I did find The Cave in Carrefour and treated myself to my first beer in two months. I can wait another month at those prices too!
This drive turned out to be epic as I was heading to Dades Gorges and had no idea what to expect. The climb up was spectacular and I met a young lad with his pet camel at the top. Cold and hungry, I gave him what food I could and continued.
The road climbed, and climbed, and climbed, and climbed. The only solace was that I could see a panel van ahead of me and if they could, I could.
It also got colder and colder and darker and darker.
Places to stop were few and far between, I was losing light but having crossed the highest road (I believe) in Morocco, I was now losing altitude and on good asphalt. The asphalt ran out again and I was passing through villages where kids were getting closer and closer to a moving vehicle to try and stop us to beg for food, clothes, money, anything.
Some find this charming, I found it disturbing.
Stopping close to these villages was a no go, not because of security, but because of hassle.
I checked park4night and found a compound to head for. Google maps gave me a time of arrival which looked OK and off we went.
I'd love to know which rally driver did the Google maps timings in Morocco, but they are way off. The first compound was closed but I could see lights further down the hill and headed there. It was pitch black, around freezing and getting quite late.
Worth everything when you wake up here.
The High Atlas was absolutely stunning and there's so much I've missed here, but it was bloody freezing and I wanted to warm up as soon as possible. Gloria does have a diesel heater and I was warm enough inside even with an estimated night time low of -5ºC and a wind chill taking it down to around -15ºC, made even more welcoming as the owner's wife comes around with freshly baked bread and hot tea in the morning.
There was a miscalculation and I ended up much further north than I wanted much earlier than I wanted, the price you pay for having no plans or researching the High Atlas. A couple of days were spent in and around Moulay Idriss Zerhoun and further driving took me around the outskirts of Fez until I arrived at the peaceful wildcamp below. Again meeting people along the way.
A lot of time was spent moving along the Mediterranean coast with a mix of wildcamping and paid compounds as I slowly headed back towards the ferry.
I accidentally found the shortest international land border in the world which can now go in the bag having also crossed the longest international land border in the world when I was younger.
Plage de Bades
A couple of weeks were spent wild camping along the coast until I got closer to Tangier and decided that it was time to have a quick look around the old city.
I loved it, the noise, the hustle and bustle but it was nice to get back to home whenever I felt the need and the park up at the bottom of the Medina was the perfect spot.
Ferry time and back to Spain.
Three months in Morocco left me with things that needed attention when I got back to Europe. Number one was ordering a new screen for the laptop which got damaged in week one of Morocco. The decision was made to stay in Tarifa in the camp behind Lidl.
It was nice being able to have a conversation.
Tarifa also gave me the opportunity to do a bit of what I love and that's sport's photography. I know that I could have done this in Morocco, but the weather was not on my side and by the time dry weather was found, the windsurfing spots had been passed.
This is what I'm comfortable doing and this is where I'd like to move closer towards doing as an income generator. Just for photographic background and style, I shoot fully manual and use single shot and am not keen on filters or photoshop, although I am not averse to using either. There are questions of how to break in to the commercialisation of sport photography. I'm starting at the bottom again. But I am in greater control of my content and what I publish.
Pico Veleta
For someone who had lived in Spain for over ten years I am guilty of doing very little travelling there. I think that I was so taken with the beauty and access to great cycling that I felt no need to explore further.
This was an opportunity to right that wrong. Time in Andalucia forced me to stop at some of the major tourist locations. I didn't Like Granada, but did enjoy the proximity to Pico Veleta and rode up, as far as my lungs would allow me (2,500m). I loved Sevilla, as touristic as Granada but with more local activity, that is the bars appeared to be filled with tourists and locals whereas Granada had the feel of just being full of tourists. Jerez de la Frontera was small and friendly.
The journey would take me inland and I would get to see some real gems in the form of Grazalema, Olvera and Iznajar (another random recommendation).
The comfort levels of being in Spain were demonstrated after my phone was stolen on afternoon. A friend noted that it must make a difference being able to deal with the local constabulary in Spanish for what is quite a traumatic experience. I hadn't thought about it, but yes, it must be. I just see it as being quite normal.
A bit about my perspective, this trip is not extaordinary, living in a truck is not strange, speaking a second language is not exceptional. These are my normals and I'm a little surprised every time people tell me that I'm doing something special. I developed a strategy as a salesman where I wouldn't get excited at landing the big sale in the same way that I wouldn't beat myself up at missing out on that great opportunity. As I travel around, I find it takes something really special to impress me. I don't know if that's down to spending a large chunk of my life in a Roman city with world famous architecture, visiting and spending a lot of time in Eryri. These things are part of my normal.
Maybe I'm missing something.
Waking up to local fishermen in Iznajar, having a chat and exchanging beers (later in the day).
The recurring question is that of what I am now. Am I an adventurer? Am I someone who has a normal working life, different in that they live on the road? Am I running away? Towards? Am I a (struggling) photographer?
What I do know is that I love living out of Gloria. The beauty of going to bed and waking up in the most incredible places. Gloria, being 4x4, getting me to the more remote places.
But someone has to pay for this luxury, life on the road is cheap, but still has a cost.
What I do know is that the cloud of depression is lifting, that I feel more content, but I do want to be a contributor. I want to be doing something productive and beneficial for others. I am clear on what I don't want to do. Time in saleswork for others has ended, I am tired of working for liars and cheats. I have had many great years working under fantastic bosses (and would do anything for them), this has been offset by the liars, the selfish and the cheats. So, NO MORE!
Back to the physical journey.
Semana Santa in Iznajar
Moving inland and moving northwards, the objective is to pass through Madrid again.
The Badlands of Gorafe Desert
Another unplanned stop after seeing some Instagram posts of the area and the desire to go and have a look. The drive up took me past some water starved reservoirs and a clear demonstration of the drought that Spain is suffering. Andalucia is dry and brittle, but the whole are felt like perfect kindling ready to go off at the slightest provocation. Truly depressing.
The Gorafe Deserts was an unexpected jewel and a quick bike ride was able to get me close to the action.
Further up the road I passed throught Ballesteros de Clatrava, a small, sleepy village outside Ciudad Real and home to Madrid South Airport. This was a place that I worked in many years ago and have fond memories of, particularly cycling around the roads and fields that are now the airport. A stop in Ciudad Real and then onwards to Madrid for a date.
Campeonato de Madrid MTB Colmenar Viejo
And that date was with a couple of hundred cyclists and included catching up with old friends.
Home at last.
Many of the places I aimed for were either known (especially around Madrid), suggestions (either direct or overheard) or simply names I'd heard during my time in Spain. Catalayud was the latter, I had no idea what to expect and was overwhelmed by the beauty of the old time (remember, it takes a lot to impress me), it is stunning and in desperate need of saving. The buildings are a hodge podge of materials put together and quirky is not doing enough work as an adjective here.
Very little tourism, a lot of beauty, wild camping 2 minutes out of town. This is my paradise.
From Catalayud it was a shortish trip up towards Huesca and a wild camp was found overlooking a small village but with the shade of an oak tree and spectacular views. It was here I watched Wrecsam secure promotion.
A quick check on Google maps showed that the track contiunued on the the next destination, a mere 46 mins by asphalt roads. Some 6 hours and several heart stopping moments, I arrived in Arguis. Landslides, blocked off tracks by cord or dumped soil, riverbed driving and loss of GPS didn't deter this driver. Risks calculated, then ignored. This was the sort of terrain that earned Gloria her name. What an incredible vehicle.
"road" to Arguis just before the first barricade.
And then we were in France.
The joy of not having plans in that one seldom gets to be disappointed and more often than not pleasantly surprised. A camp was picked from Park4night and I woke up at the summit of Col D'Azet, smack bang in the middle of iconic tour de France col territory, the weather was terrible and after almost a year of not riding, I didn't take the bike out for a spin. The weather was grim too. A quick Google and other cols were found and a trip to Col D'Aspin onwards to Col du Tourmalet was planned. Col du Tourmalet was closed at Mongie.
I will be back.
France is always a dash, be it lack of language or lack of familiarity, but I'm not a huge fan of France, so it's always a bit of a race up to the ferry.
I did, however, decide to take a trip to Dune de Pilat, a schoolboy memory having seen pictures in my youth. I wasn't necessarily prepared for what was seen.
A wild fire ripped through the whole area in 2022 destroying everything in its path. The weather on the day didn't improve the sombre mood. The dune itself, of what could be seen, was getting back to normal, or what I considered might be normal. Hopefully I will get back under better conditions.
Further north and another random stop over which happened to be not too far from the Etaples cemetery which happens to be the largest CWGC cemetery in France with over 11,500 graves. I have no direct familial links to the wars, Taid worked in the production of aircraft and my paternal grandfather was a farmer who's only input was with the Home Guard. There is a strange feeling which I can't really describe of gratitude for people so young giving up their lives for the freedoms that we currently enjoy and hatred for the power brokers who start wars and then expect the youth to sacrifice themselves.
Etaples.
Llyn Efyrnwy
Hiraeth.
I was there in 1997 and I was there for the celebrations in 2023, the game was watched close to Anies in the Spanish Pyrenees. Rule number one when photographing in manual, always check your settings. I didn't and I missed some truly iconic photos. But I was there.
The march, in Abertawe, for Welsh independence is aclose to my heart. I have never felt British, I can recall being stared down by a gent at the British Grand Prix at Silverstone in 1977 or 1978 for not standing up for the British national anthem. Sorry fella, but we've got our own. I could play internationally for either england or Wales and I'd choose Wales every time. Without hesitation. The political and moral arguments can be found elsewhere. #annibyniaeth
As someone who has occupied every seat in an eight, rowing is a sport that lives within me and I was lucky enough to camp up next to Swansea Uni Boat Club and have their permission to take some photos.
Sunset at Bannau Brycheiniog, a place that angers a certain type of person, for this reason alone I love it and spent a really peaceful few nights here.
I went east and across country for a couple of reasons, get a new cover for the RTT, see a mate and have a look at the beach huts at Sutton on Sea. Why Sutton on Sea? I had read and article and thought it would be a good idea. The knock on effect was realisation that many people in this part of england rally have no relationship with Cymru, that independence would neither affect nor matter to the residents here. They are closer to The Netherlands than they are to Cymru.
More two wheeled sport. there's something special about trying to capture that moment in sport. Trying to get the essence. I love it and I love trying a new discipline to test my abilities. You can't get as close to these guys as you can in a cycle race, but it is no less exciting for this.
The base is Chester and I spent time here catching up with friends, travelling around a bit and generally counting down the Schengen days. The River Dee is a river that many an early morning was spent pounding up and down in an eight.
Unable to spend too much time in UK, I'm already plotting my escape and having missed the opportunity of Col du Tourmalet in the summer for Le Tour, I discovered that La Vuelta was using Tourmalet for a stage. A target and plan was formed and Col du Tourmalet was the destination.
Col du Tormalet was a superb experience, watching the set up of the race organisers, TV crews and spectators. The day of the race and I had a large group around Gloria of international cycling fans. As they passed, I gave Geraint a shout of encouragement, he gave the thumbs up. The proximity of our heroes and the interaction between fan and professional is unparalled, I had a chat with Geraint as we rode up Pico Veleta earlier in the year, I consider us firm friends now.
As the race finished and the day was winding down, beers in hand, I was called over by one of the team cars. My status with the group elevated and I had a quick chat with an old friend.
After Col du Tourmalet the decision was made to follow La Vuelta for a couple more stages and I stopped by Puerto de Lizarraga and then headed off to the mythical L'Angliru. I also wanted to catch up with an old mate while in the area and had a couple of lovely days visiting and exploring Gijón
