2CanRide: Part 43 - Situation: Stuck in Spain, Dilemma: Deadline in Dublin

Situation: Stuck in Spain, Dilemma: Deadline in Dublin

All sailings for the week to Ireland, where I planned to store my motorcycle, were cancelled. An additional week of storms with gale force winds were predicted in the Celtic Sea. My sailing to Ireland lay in between those two weeks. I waited and worried in Santander, Spain checking the internet hourly in the days leading up to my ship’s scheduled departure. The thirty hour journey would pass through the often tempestuous Bay of Biscay before entering the Celtic Sea on its way to Cork.

Simple ways of life I left behind in Morocco's rural highlands

Almost two weeks before, I had begun riding north, up the Iberian Peninsula from Gibraltar. I ran headfirst into that first week of storms while travelling through Portugal. The Atlantic coast was lashed with cold winds and water. I took refuge for two days in Porto, then again for three days in Santiago De Compostela, visiting both beautiful cities on foot, in the pouring rain. Photos were impossible.

Waking up one morning to a break in the weather I jumped on my bike and hit the fast toll roads. I rode east along Spain’s famously wet north coast toward the port city of Santander. It was a full day’s ride; fortunately, it rained only during the last two hours. The stunning Picos De Europa mountain range lay on my right for the final hour. Its gigantic peaks were covered with pure white snow. A route north from Gibraltar, through the interior plains of Spain would have been statistically much drier than the Iberian west coast but I knew that route would have brought me over some high mountain passes. I appreciated my route choice while watching news reports in my hotel room that first evening in Santander. The Hotel Santa Maria was warm and dry. I had given up on camping days earlier. The TV screen was filled with images of crashes, complaints of not enough snowploughs and highway closures in nearby mountains. I would never have made it through the mountains in mid-November on a motorcycle.

My dilemma was how to cross more than a thousand kilometers of angry ocean in time to meet my flight home from Dublin. I had purposely booked a sailing that was early enough to allow a run up through France, England and Wales if the weather forced marine cancellations. That crazy ride along France’s west coast would be dangerous; taking me through the same storms. It would require costly but convenient hotels, toll roads and fuel. There were also the matters of crossing the English Channel and the Irish Sea to overcome. It would be rushed, expensive and dangerous. I preferred the warm bed in a private cabin option I had already paid for!

The sea looked perilous

I waited nervously in my pleasant little room for four days. Thunder crashed, wind howled and the deluge continued. Bored, on the second day I took advantage of a break in the weather. I walked a few kilometers to the coast. The sea looked perilous. I emotionally needed to scout the ferry terminal; a habit Isabelle and I share so I suited up on the third day and set out for an 8 kilometer walk to the docks downtown. I was drenched through my boots and rain-suit within the first hour. Later and satisfied I understood the port layout and ferry procedures, I hunted down lunch. I spread it out over three different tapas bars, enjoying fabulous delicacies from the nearby sea. Spain’s north coast had terrible weather but terrific food.

My return route from Santander brought me along a small road across open fields near the Santa Maria. The fields were largely flooded. Wind gusts lifted standing water, spraying it against the road embankment at the edge of the field across from the hotel parking area. The road acted like a dyke, protecting houses on the hotel side from flood waters.

Blarney Castle

Sightseeing in Ireland

My ship did sail, I did get to sleep in a warm bed. The sky calmed itself more and more. The lurching, diving and rolling of the first five hours lulled me to sleep. No marine crossing would ever feel rough after the night, two years earlier, Isa and I spent aboard the Stahlratte crossing the Caribbean Sea. The flight home from Dublin was without event – just the way I like it. Isabelle put our dog in the car and drove to Montreal. They both picked me up at Trudeau Airport. It was a warm and gentle welcome I won’t forget. It felt great to be home again, sharing the holidays with family and friends.