Santander

May 2, 2012

by bus

You can't expect too much for eighteen euros, but hot water would be nice. It's less than tepid. After a rapid shower it's coffee downstairs in the adjacent café and I have two cups, each accompanied with a chocolate Neopolitana, which is like a straight croissant. They're addictive.

The sky is blue and it looks a good day for cycling. It's just that the highway-like route east doesn't float my boat and I know it goes up and down in long, laborious waves. Would my tender right knee like that? Not much. Besides, I've already ridden some of the alternative - the equally undulating road nearer the coast - which wasn't anything to write home about.

And believing that Sod's Law would dictate something like the chain snapping, a tyre splitting or a pedal spindle breaking just as I need to catch the ferry, I pedal the kilometre back to Unquera proper to see what the public transport options are.

A young worker at the train station says it's gone noon before there's a train to Santander and that information about buses is in the café across the road - the terminal isn't finished yet and there's no sign of a timetable.

There's only 30 minutes to wait for the 10:20 bus that starts off in Potes the café owner reckons. When it arrives I recognized the driver from the journey up from Santander a few days before. He doesn't look particularly pleased to see me again as the hold has a selection of luggage stacked in it, as I thought it would, but after shifting it around my bike and panniers get squeezed in and five euros for over an hour's bus ride seems like a good deal.

Once off, my first job is to make sure there were no problems with the ferry. There isn't. 'You can board two hours before departure,' the clerk tells me.

I have about seven hours to kill, so ride to a bike shop I'd seen during my previous stay as there was a Picos de Europa cycling shirt hung in the window which might look good on my back, plus my derailleur is playing up a bit and it'd be a good idea to a have a mechanic fiddle with it. The shirt isn't for sale, sadly, but the bike shop guy adjusts the gear cable and gets the mechanism changing smoothly.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in a café in the autobus station, using the free Wi-fi to Skype Debbie, check the weather forecast in Plymouth, search for a cheap B&B and generally surf the wonderful world-wide web.

It's barely 7:30 PM, but there are a few cyclists already queuing when I cruise into the ferry terminal's wide-open embarkation area.

Felix, a soon-to-be-student, has a beat-up mountain bike that he spent 40 quid on getting ready for his maiden tour. The small rear panniers are topped by his rolled up sleeping bag and bivvy. His seat has gone, lost he said as the post's bolt came loose and fell out during his mad rush to Madrid's train station.

Phil and Roger both have new-looking Thorn bikes, the latter coupled with a BOB trailer and all three have suffered the same crap weather like me. It's nice to know you're not alone.

Today's ride: 6 km (4 miles)
Total: 2,449 km (1,521 miles)

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