Day 8 - Wettio and the legendary Lentil Soup of destiny.

So we set off under spitting rain, Glenn managed to leave his plastic box and bungee'd all his crap to his bike.
Spanish Gary will have that strapped to his quad by now (Spanish Gary being the campsite version of Glen's Mate, Gary who hacked around on a quad tending to....stuff, and I suspect, servicing the local lonely senoritas.
I got told off by Morticia Addams for trying to put 3 full bin bags into a tiny litter bin and got promptly marched to the bin dropping off area and ranted at in Spanish.
(Glenn at this exact time of writing looks like he is giving head to his airbed and it has a tiny little cock)

Headed out to Huelva and it wasn't too bad, but on the plain, came the rain as they say. And did it ever rain.
Moderate but persistent then straight on to lashing down then onto absobloodylutely lashing down and pouring into every bit of dry clothing I wore. I had one of those flimsy 3 quid cagoules over the top of my leather bike jacket, neither of which have a reputation for being able to withstand more than 20 seconds of rain.
Glenn would be better off in his 'proper, modern' bike jacket I was thinking. Damn, why didn't I splash out a little before we went?

Turns out Glenn was screaming his head off in his lid as he was saturated to the core and not a happy chappy.
Everything was soaked, boots, pants, everything.
We stopped at Huelva and walked aimlessly round the city. We were soaked, freezing had nowhere to stay and it was getting towards closing time.
It was at this point that Glenn noticed me uncontrollably shivering with water dribbling out of all my clothing onto the Tourist information office nice and shiny polished floor and said "we need to get you somewhere and dried out".
Bloody hell, whats this? he has a caring side?

So got back onto the bikes, pretty desperate by now, touching on 4 or 5pm and headed out to Ayerbe where we were assured there was a campsite.
Ayerbe's little secret was that it was in the mountains. Actually it is not a secret, it's blatantly obvious if you have a map, two eyes and have heard of the Pyrenees.
Clearly we had drunk enough over the last few days to render most things useless, so Ayerbe it was.

So arriving on the edge of oblivion (imagine if you will, resting across the backs of 2 chairs supported only by your forehead and your knees, with water straight from the fridge poured on you for 6 hours. This is riding a supermoto in the mountains, in the rain.
Ive been in cheerier spirits.
There were plenty of spaces in the campsite, most of them waterlogged and only skinny olive trees to pin up to. We opted for battening down to the floor for maximum protection from the elements and huddled into our respective shelters and spare dry clothes and sleeping bags.

It was still light and I tucked into the pork scratchings I had left from Barbara the kiosk seller on the beach and the remnants of the bottle of Jameson's I was carrying around in my Sigg bottle which had now taken on the taste of unleaded from previous uses of said bottle.
Not even I will drink petrol flavoured whisky, so on the grass it went.
Glenn's out like a light again and I sit under my tarp in the worsening weather, rain then hail, then rain again and mucho snoring and general sounds of a hog being cheese wired.
When he woke up, he was pretty much on the brink, unbeknown to me, he thought he could dry out his bike jacket by putting it over him before he slept. Big mistake and I was suddenly concerned about his state, he normally shrugs shit like this off, but he wouldn't even move.
Breaking into my 'if I have to cook something with this, then we are in deep shit' pack, I cracked out some lentils, onion and a couple of stock cubes.
20 minutes after that, the big fella was back to life.
So there we had a crap nights sleep, more hail, more rain and got up in the morning. It was bloody freezing.
Glenn ventured down to the toilets and put his gloves or his socks, I can't quite remember, into the microwave to dry them out (hope for everyone elses sake he didn't put his skidders in there)
We met an English bloke who got there in a Mondeo that looked ready for scrapping, but we were still jealous, at least he had somewhere dryish to sleep.

Set off under light rain with everything still soaking, jacket, socks, as we wanted to preserve any dry clothes for sleeping only.

Onwards to another lovely day.