Day 22

Maloo has a problem. It’s the spot where her header pipe meets her exhaust manifold. It’s loose, and the result is handy at junctions but embarrassing in town. Currently, she’s a pig-farting, back-firing, son-of-a-gun firecracker and very noisy. We need to give her some time and find a temporary fix.

Today, we travelled towards the famous Picos de Europa mountain range and Google Maps went rogue. Down dead-end tracks and over unpaved “roads”, we go. And when we eventually arrive at our intended single track, the heavens open. Within minutes the torrential rain has soaked through my Goretex trousers, base layers, and pants, then into my socks and gloves. The gift of a cold camel and hands like prunes.

Sheets of rain dance at erratic angles, the wind blows ferociously, and my front wheel wobbles. Horrid but fantastic. And finally, comes the valley. Lush green walls with waterfalls shrouded by fog, the road cutting into the mountain and hairpins impossible to read at any speed. I flow down the valley, letting Maloo gurgle, burp, and backfire freely. Why do dangerous accomplishments feel so much more rewarding? 

We make camp and decide that two nights are required instead of one. I lay on top of Wiggy and the rhythm of our lungs, hearts and bodies are unified. Our limbs find kinks to mesh into and our new form finds a comfortable resting position. Outside, grumbling aerial acoustics announce the next storm coming. The rain fingers feel our tent, hundreds at a time, they drum and tap and create a beautiful racket, while dazzling white flashes erase all shade and colour.

Minutes pass and the gaps between lightning and thunder increase, then the rainfall dwindles and the storm moves on. 

The next morning, we dismantle Maloo’s exhaust system and apply manifold heat paste to her compromised joint. The results are promising; power delivery, responsiveness and din-levels are improved. The roads are quiet and the views magnificent too. The mountains extend into the cloud line, the roads are boarded by pale grey rocks streaked with sandstone, while pines, grasses, and mosses soak into the foothills. Around one hairpin, we unexpectedly come across the Picos Deer of Mirador del Corzo. Her bronze back absorbs the afternoon sun and her flanks stand staunch against her mountainous backdrop. 

A few miles down the road, we travel up a tight camber and over a rough single track to meet the Picos Bear. Vehicles are restricted here, so we continue on foot. We pass senoras wrapped up in shawls, who loudly chat over the jingle of cow bells. And then a group of merry senors, dressed in linen shirts and loose jackets, they smile and proudly carry a garner of saucer-sized wild mushrooms. The great stone bear sits on his haunches and stares out at the blue mountain peaks. His coat is freckled with yellow moss spots, and on the slabs under his big paws are engravings from lovers and adventurers of days gone by. 

Before leaving camp, we speak to our neighbours, Jackie and Vincent. Vincent has had type 1 diabetes for 55 years. He now uses a FreeStyle Libre patch and insulin pens like I do. He was diagnosed at 13 years old and used to use glass syringes and only 1 injection a day. 

When he was 25, he was diagnosed with diabetic retinopathy, a very similar age to my diagnosis. But back then the treatment lasers were primitive and lacked precision. After a few rounds of treatment, a doctor explained that without treatment, after 10 years the condition normally self-resolves and new capillaries stop growing. But this can be risky, as new capillaries growing can cause blindness. Yet now, Vincent has limited peripheral vision and I have a blind spot in the centre of my right eye that resulted from my laser treatments. In fact, I only started to get vision-obstructing retinopathy tears after my first laser treatment. Hindsight is a marvellous thing. 

I also spoke with Jackie, a kind lady, who said that if I write, I can call myself a writer. She encouraged me to keep on writing throughout our travels. At home, Jackie and Vincent have a precious book that they look at from time to time, it contains Jackie’s writing and Vincent’s art; memories from their time travelling together.