Two Wheels, One View: A Pillion’s Ride to Portugal (Part 6)
Day 20: Preparing for Home
Today was all about packing for our return trip. On the way out here, we travelled with another couple in their car, which meant we didn’t have to strip all the panniers off the bike. They kindly carried our backpack with a change of clothes, toiletries, and shoes.
But travelling home alone meant we needed those items with us for our two overnight stops on the way to the ferry in Santander, plus the overnight on the ferry itself. So the backpack that had held our “ferry essentials” now had to carry the clothes we wouldn’t need for the next three months—shorts, t‑shirts, summer dressing gown, sandals, and so on.
And of course, we had to make room for the tourist tat, presents for the grandchildren, and a couple of large tins of tuna you can’t get in the UK (not that I’ve ever found, anyway!).
Day 21: Ride to Tordesillas
We left Argés under sunny skies, but without our travel companions of the last two and a half weeks. They were heading further south in search of more sunshine, while we turned north towards Santander and Saturday’s ferry. Our overnight stop was the Parador in Tordesillas.
The ride began smoothly. Our SatNav routed us to the left of Madrid—our plan was to avoid the stretch of the M50 we’d taken previously, and also dodge the toll road by skirting the other side of the city. All was fine until we approached a junction. I said, “I think it’s this one,” hubby said, “No, straight on,” and then we realised—too late—that the SatNav had frozen. We’d missed it.
The SatNav claimed it was rerouting, but after two more missed junctions we pulled off to regroup. My phone had no signal, so we re‑entered the destination and set off again. We must have drifted further off course than we thought, because the new route took us straight onto the M50—the very road we’d tried to avoid. At that point we just wanted to get back on track, so toll road it was.
Thankfully, we hadn’t lost much time. I started recognising buildings and garages we’d passed in torrential rain a week earlier. It was hard to trust the SatNav after its little meltdown, but we didn’t have many options. I finally relaxed when the landscape became unfamiliar again and the screen showed A6 – Tordesillas.
Despite the sunshine, the wind made it chilly. We stopped at a petrol station for coffee and to put on our waterproofs for extra warmth. After fuelling up, we rode the final hour, getting colder by the minute, and were very relieved when the hotel came into view.
We checked in, washed, changed, grabbed some hot food and drink in the bar, then showered and relaxed in the room.
Day 22: Ride to Santander
We left Tordesillas around 11am under beautiful sunshine, though it was still chilly. The Santander forecast showed rain, so we put on our wet‑weather gear—not just for the rain, but after yesterday, definitely for the wind chill.
About 45 minutes in, the sky began to change. The fluffy white clouds gave way to darker ones, and soon the blue sky was almost gone. We had a brief shower about 140km from Santander, then it stopped. As we climbed into the hills and mountains, the temperature dropped and the rain returned—this time mixed with sleet. The fields around us were turning white.
It eased off again, but ahead we could see the mountains thick with cloud. A snowplough joined the carriageway, spreading grit, and moments later we rode straight into proper snow. We had to overtake the plough because the spray from its gritter made visibility even worse. The snow kept falling, and judging by the fields, it had been snowing for quite some time.
We still had over an hour to go and both needed a toilet break. We pulled off at the next services, which were awkwardly positioned over the motorway and around two roundabouts. The snow here was deep and slushy, and the bike was losing traction, so I got off and walked. My feet sank into about six inches of melting snow—thank goodness for boot protectors.
Inside, four snowploughs were refuelling, one clearing the entrance road. Hubby had parked on the thinnest patch of snow and waited for me so he could nip to the toilet too. Once sorted, we set off again.
The snowfall intensified. Unlike rain, snow sticks to your visor, so we were constantly wiping it off, and the inside was freezing up too. Visibility dropped, speed dropped, but we kept going. Eventually the road began to descend, the snow eased, and the fields showed less white. Higher peaks still had snow, but the lower ground was clearing.
The closer we got to Santander, the better it became. After a couple of tunnels, the snow vanished completely and the sun even made an appearance. If we hadn’t ridden through it ourselves, we wouldn’t have believed the contrast—those 30km were like chalk and cheese.
We found the hotel easily (a small miracle), checked in, parked the bike in the underground garage, warmed up, changed, and headed out for food. After rejecting one place, we found a lovely Italian—warm, inviting, and serving one of the best meals of the whole trip. Homemade lasagne for me, mushroom risotto for hubby, and drinks to thaw us out.
Day 23: Waiting for the Ferry
A lovely easy morning: a cuppa in our room, then down to breakfast around 8.30am. Afterwards we headed back to change into our bike gear—no wet‑weather kit today, as all we needed to do was get fuel and board the ferry.
We reached the port around 11am and were in our cabin within the hour. From there we watched the rest of the boarding process, and at 1pm the ferry finally eased away from the mooring. As it turned towards the open sea, we had a stunning view: snow‑capped mountains on one side, and on the other, the port and city of Santander glowing in the chilly sunshine.
The crossing was rough until we cleared the Bay of Biscay. The ferry rocked constantly until the early hours, even setting off car alarms we could hear from our cabin.
Day 24: Approaching Portsmouth and the Ride Home to Nottingham
Today felt endless as we waited to dock and begin the final leg home. We had breakfast, read for a while, relaxed in the cabin, wandered to the bar, joined the onboard quiz (no, we didn’t win), and grabbed some food to keep us going.
I finished my book, played every game on both my phone and hubby’s, and still we had two hours left before docking. I was bored stiff.
Before arriving in Portsmouth, we returned to the cabin to change clothes and finish packing so we’d be ready to head straight to the bike once the car deck opened. As we approached the English Channel, more ships appeared, and soon the distant lights of Southampton and Portsmouth came into view. We turned off the cabin lights and watched the harbour activity through the window while the ferry manoeuvred into position.
Once docking was complete, we waited to be called down to the car deck. It took another 30 minutes before we could disembark—mobile homes had to be moved to clear a path for the bikes, which are squeezed into narrow spaces between stairwells. We chatted with a few other bikers who’d been to the MotoGP while we waited.
Eventually we rolled off the ferry, through passport control and customs, and out into the cold night. The sky was clear with only a few clouds. We’d already decided not to stay overnight in Portsmouth this time; the roadworks on the M27 had been a nightmare on a previous trip, and we didn’t fancy filtering through all that again.
We kept our wet‑weather gear on for warmth—and thank goodness we did. The later it got, the colder it became. The sky cleared completely, the stars were beautiful, and we both found ourselves tensing up from the cold. All we wanted was to get home, so we skipped the planned stop and pushed on.
About 15 miles from home the fuel warning light came on. Hubby suggested stopping, but I reminded him we’d managed about 40 miles on the light on the way out. We could definitely make the last 15 and refuel tomorrow. So we carried on.
By the time we reached the house, we were struggling to move. I had to get off the bike, fetch the car keys, move the car so the bike could go on the drive—but I was frozen solid. My feet felt like ice cubes, and I had to take my time getting off so I didn’t fall (again). And of course, after a three‑hour ride, I suddenly had to go to the loo before anything else. Jacket off, helmet off, dash inside—absolute bliss.
Then back to the plan: car moved, bike on the drive, car back on the drive, kettle on, electric blanket on.
We peeled off our layers, made a cuppa, and waited for the bed to warm up. Our feet were still freezing, so out came the furry socks. Once the bed was warm, I switched the blanket off and we settled down, hoping for a good night’s sleep. But as the bed cooled, so did I—it felt like the cold in my feet was creeping up my legs. I felt like an icicle. So the electric blanket went back on, and we finally drifted off.
Final Thoughts
This is my first—and probably last—blog. I’ve never read any others, so I wasn’t sure what to include, but I hope you enjoyed sharing the journey.
Overall, I really did enjoy our road trip. We saw so many new places—cities, towns, architecture—met new people, tried new food, and witnessed some incredible sights. But the weather was often too extreme to be fully enjoyable, especially on travel days, which were stressful for the rider. From my seat on the back, I mostly just got wet while admiring the scenery.
If we ever do a trip like this again, it definitely won’t be in November. The weather is simply too unpredictable… although it certainly made the adventure memorable.
