Have you ever seen that film called Wild Hogs?  You know, the one that stars Tim Allen, John Travolta, Martin Lawrence and William H. Macy and is all about how four good looking middle-aged friends who decide to rev up and hit the road for a freewheeling motorcycle trip across the US on their Harley’s, getting into all sorts of trouble on along the way?  Well, this story has nothing in common with that at all, except it is about a motorcycle trek, and it involves Harley’s.  After that there is no similarity.  For a start, in this story there are three of us and not four, we ride across Spain and not the US, and for goodness sake, look at the state of us!  Hardly film star material is it? (I'm the one on the right, by the way.)

I like to do a trip abroad on the bike and usually ride with a couple of mates, and we have a good system worked out. We do a European trip and will often cover around 2,000 miles over a 10-day period. This year, we had a newcomer to our trio, a guy called Alec Grinyer, as Bob Jackson, our previous riding buddy, and who quite frankly is no prettier, had moved to America. Alec fitted in like a piece in a jigsaw, and is from now on a regular riding buddy with Keith and me. I ride a Harley Davidson 2001 Heritage Softail Classic, whereas Keith and Alec both ride Road King Classics. All these bikes have a 1450cc engine and 5 speed gearbox, and usually get a comfortable cruising distance of about 160-miles on a tank of petrol.

The purpose of the trip was to attend the Harley 2007 Euro Rally, this year being held at Fuengirola, Spain, and which is the annual pilgrimmage made by many of those who ride and who are fanatical about Harley Davidson motorcycles on this side of the pond. This was the 16th edition of the event, and as we three are all Harley nuts, Fuengirola was to be our destination.

I had made our bookings for the ferry through Motorsport Travel, and got a blinding deal for the bikes, and an outside cabin (that's one with a sea view, not a bed on the deck). I also booked a hotel in Fuengirola, with the help of my wife, Sue, who was going to fly down and join me for the rally.

We started out from North London on the Sunday, riding down to Plymouth to the ferry port, and made it dry and in plenty of time for the arranged 4pm departure. As usual it took ages to get on, tied down and into the cabins; then there was the queue for a dinner booking. I recommend the restaurant with Brittany Ferries, as the food is great, and it is good value. After a couple of drinks and a night’s kip we had arrived in sunny Santander. Again, it takes ages to get off the boat, but as we had landed much earlier than expected, so we had more riding time. There we were in brilliant sunshine when I received a text from Ian, another mate, in which said he and his band of riders had gone through France in 9-hours of heavy rain!  The weather seemed alright from where we were.

When it comes to memorable journeys I have to say that you have just got to ride or drive from Santander to Burgos on the N623 at least once in your life. I had done it before and I was just as excited to be riding this road again, as it is fantastic. First you go out into the countryside, and then into the hills, rising to around 3,300ft before going over the top. You could be forgiven for thinking you had been transported to Switzerland, because as you ride you are passing Swiss chalet style houses.  However, when you get over the top the view opens out, and after you circle a huge lake, you descend into a massive canyon on the other side as the road takes you through a series of hairpin bends. It is truly amazing as you take in the fabulous scenery all around you, complete with eagles soaring circling overhead. The colours of the mountain rock face in the sunshine are brilliant, and you can see caves cut into them along the route.

From Burgos we rode to Valladolid, and had a pleasant evening in the town, and from Valladolid we took a ride through Salamanca, Carceres and Merida to Seville. This is a long haul, but takes in the Sierra de Gredas Mountains and lakes, as well as some of the wide-open plains before bringing you down through the Sierra de Aracena into Seville. What a great city Seville is. Alec fixed us up with a nice little hotel in the older part of town, complete with parking facilities, and we spent the evening seeing the sights and trying out the good local food. I loved this place, so much so I got up early to take some photos and watch it come alive as the people began to go about their daily business. I intend to go back for a long weekend to see some more of the city and its many attractions, and I hope that will be soon.

We struck out in the morning for the south coast with Alec leading us on a route he had picked out. This is when you realise how big and varied Spain is. We rode alongside fields of sunflowers, all facing the sun, and among rolling hills dotted with cork trees as we entered a National Park area. Again, these were some phenomenal roads (N381), and after riding up into the mountains again, and across to Ronda, we stopped for a break overlooking the gorge separating us from the town. Moving on, we descended to the coast along the fast swooping N376, which was heavily populated by trucks, and I found it very challenging to keep up and pass them before reaching the bends, as the Heritage machine only has brakes made of cheese, as compared to the Road Kings the others were riding.

Once on the coast road we quickened up the pace along the AP7. This is a busy fast road that runs all along the coast and it wasn’t long before we found ourselves in Fuengirola and booking in at the hotel. With a bit of help from the girls on reception we swapped some rooms to get comfy. This is a neat trick, and if ever you are attending a large rally, or other big function like this, make sure you arrive at the hotel a day before most other people get there, as you can then sort out any problems that can’t otherwise be rectified once the place is full.

First impressions of Fuengirola are that it is a tacky place full of English pubs, bars and cafes along the sea front, but when you get behind all that Blackpool type stuff, it is actually quite varied. There were a few bikers riding around the town already, but there was hardly anything that sign posted the rally. We had asked at the hotel if there was a good local restaurant we could use and were given directions.  Once we found the place we ate there every night, as the food was good and well priced, and the service excellent. It was full of locals and filled up quickly, which is always a good sign that you are on to something worthwhile.

On Thursday we went to the rally site, and upon arrival, there was much bunting and security.  We got ourselves and our bikes tagged and then rode into the secure parking area. At first I was bemused, but then impressed, as the scene was sort of a main street lined with lights and flags, and with bars and food stalls everywhere you looked.

Bikes were encouraged to park on the side like at Sturgis, which was okay whilst not many people were about, but this would become a problem later and when it got busy. Some of these motorcycles were more than a form fo transport, they were an artform. We met a Dutch couple and admired their bespoke Harley's (pictured above). The detail on them was incredible.

Each part of the street had a themed food stall/bar and a Spanish dealer shop, and at the end of main street there was the night club where an expensive function was going to happen. We looked for other traders, but found they were outside the site, so after some Paraguayan BBQ ribs, and being entertained by dancers in native costume, we reckoned we’d seen everything there was to see on-site, and so left to visit the independents beyond.

After enjoying some sun and some food, the boys came with me to the airport to pick up Sue. Boy, am I glad they came, as the motorway was manic and I knew Sue would be nervous on the trip back. The other two guys gave us good protective cover as we rode back over the mountains to the hotel, after which we all went out for a few drinks.

On Friday we managed to explore a bit more of Fuengirola on foot, and went to the Castle to see the ride in bike show. In the evening, after dinner, we walked to the main stage area to see the bands and to have a few drinks. FABBA were good, and then the all-girl band, called Never the Bride, came on. Rather confusingly, only the lead singer and keyboard player were girls, but it is best not to think about it too much sometimes.  We walked back to a bar near the hotel and finished the night off there.

On Saturday we rode to Puerto Banus and had a pleasant lunch on the harbour side. We didn’t do the big Rally rideout this time, as we’ve done that before, but instead chilled out by the pool for a while, making sure we had a table early at Fuengirola's favourite dinner spot that evening.  Later, we all rode to the rally site to see the bands playing and to watch the Craig Jones Stunt show.  We actually got a ringside view, with Craig doing his thing in the dark, this being outside the rally site and next to the public.  He is incredible and his assistant very brave, or is it stupid?

We got back to a position at the front of the stage for the Roy Wood performance. He didn’t disappoint us, and we hugely enjoyed the set.  He had a great band with him and the experience took us back to our school days listening to all the old hits he sang. The Jones Gang, led by Kenney Jones, who played drums for The Who, Faces and Small Faces, followed them, and he was assisted by players from Bad Company and Foreigner. I had to say they were brilliant, and if they are ever on near you, do go and see them. The front man, Rob Hart, who sang for Bad Company and has written many songs over the years, was amazing. He was totally wired and got the audience going with a combination of most of the hits he had been involved with. A fantastic firework display started about half way into their performance and I later found out this was put on for a religious festival, but it must have cost a fortune. Still, the band was not to be outdone by the fireworks, and like real pro’s they carried on throughout.

When they finished we decided to go back to the hotel, as by now it was about 1.30am.  We made it back to the bike and then had to ride through the audience to get out.  This is not easy with riders of different calibres around, especially the noisy ones trying to do wheelspins and backfires right next to people. People can just go daft at these things and it is a wonder that more are not hurt. When we went up to our suite, and looked out over the seafront, there were more people on the beach than during the day! This is the one day a year that anyone can lawfully have a bonfire on the beach and they seem to make the most of it.

Apparently they have to jump over the bonfire before running backwards into the sea, this supposedly being part of the religious festival and the fireworks, but it just seemed to us like a great excuse for a party really.

Sunday was a day of R & R after our late night at the showground, not to mention the beach party frolics. Sue and I went for a stroll along the seafront and around the harbour, before returning for a spot of lunch. We then packed her bag and made a return trip to the airport, again assisted by Alec and Keith.

After making sure that she was all set on the plane for her flight back home, Keith, Alec and I headed off towards Malaga for a ride along the coast road to Nerja. We used the motorway to get around Malaga, which is a very built up place, and then came off to fill up with fuel and to try and pick up the coast road. There wasn't much of a coast road to follow, and we seemed to turn back to the autoroute time and time again, so we cut our losses and stopped for an ice cream, after which we returned to Fungorilla along the motorway. This is an extremely fast road with lots of traffic, and we passed a couple of accidents on the opposite carriageway.

On Monday we loaded up, and with bills settled, we headed back on to the motorway to Malaga and took the road up to Granada. This is a fast sweeping bendy type of road, constantly climbing and after an hour or two, we stopped for a coffee and petrol. There were plenty of Harley’s headed in the same direction and the noise was fantastic. At Granada we took the main road towards Madrid and continued through a few more mountain passes, these eventually turning into the high plains where the sun gets very intense. We kept moving at a decent pace and pushed on until about 1.30pm; a time that I decided we needed to stop for fuel and food. I'd seen a couple of places when I had been here before and during the trips I did with Land Rover. Anyway, we stopped at one of them, a service station with a nice looking hotel/cafe attached. Also, I could see another group of Harley's parked up, so I decided it must be okay.

Big mistake, me trying to use a card to pay for fuel, as most places aren't online like at home. 10-minutes later and the payment had been processed, and we rode over to the cafe bar and get some food. Unfortunately I have a particularly fragile bridge, this being of the dental kind as opposed to one the billy goats gruff might have used to cross the stream, and usually, and at the most inopportune moment, it will break. Bearing this in mind, if you will, I ordered a jamon and queiso boccadillo, which is a ham and cheese roll, and as they served us British bread, so named locally as it is tough and dry, and what they give only to the Brits, because it is a common misconception in other parts of the world that we will eat anything we’re given. I took the opportunity to bash the roll within an inch of it's life and then thought it prudent to pull it apart so as to eat it by taking one small piece at a time, not forgetting to carefully chew the Iberico ham. Even after taking all these necessary precautions I couldn't believe it when I bit into a piece of cheese and felt the unmistakeable dink as the bridge failed. It was then only a second or two before my best Mexican drug dealer smile came into existence, as I became Jamon Iberico, an infamous villain who was wanted in 4 Spanish provinces and with a price on his head.

Keith and Alec just cracked up and I seriously thought each would be carried out of there on a stretcher. Actually, I did see the funny side of it after a minute or two, and made the best of it for the following 2 weeks until I got things fixed. I wasn’t allowed to smile again for the rest of the trip though.

We hit Madrid just before rush hour and made our way into the centre, where after asking directions, we ended up riding the wrong way along a one-way street. Still, we got to our hotel, but that’s where the police officer had sent us. Perhaps this is something they do in this part of Spain? We checked in, and then checked out the Plaza Mayor, had a scoot about whilst taking in the sights and polished off a few Belgian beers. For the following evening we booked ourselves into the longest running restaurant in the world, as in Botins, for the traditional suckling pig dinner.

On Tuesday we did the sight seeing thing on a tour bus. This is actually to be recommended as good value, as it is a cheap way to get about the city. We also spent several hours at the Prado Gallery and museum. Well worth the time and effort. Dinner was interesting, if only to watch the table of Russians next to us running up a huge bill. The cold soup and suckling pig were to my taste, but not for Alec. Not his thing, it seems.

Wednesday, and after a breakfast of chocolate and churros, which are like a long thin doughnut you dip in the thickest hot chocolate I’ve ever tried, and with much personal excitement and expectation we headed for my favourite road again, albeit from the opposite direction to that on the way down – obviously! We got out onto the ring road around Madrid and then took the only toll road of the entire trip to get us North and onto the road to Burgos. We all had jackets on, but as we rode along it got colder and colder, so when we stopped for petrol I put on my heavy jacket as I was freezing. We stopped for lunch in Burgos, but couldn’t get near the amazing Cathedral, and so settled for tapas in one of the squares. We parked up the bikes and many people came over to have a look and take photos. Leaving there we began the ride on the best bit, and it was just as stunning as when going the other way.  This time we were riding up through the canyon and up the hairpins to the lake before running through the mountain valleys - just brilliant!

On arrival back at Santander we had to find somewhere to stay, as this was the only place we hadn’t booked somewhere in advance. I remembered where I stayed last time and managed to get us in, and with parking facilities for the bikes; all at a reasonable price. I was really knackered after the day’s ride, and after a stroll along the seafront, which is very nice, and dinner, I then hit the sack.

Getting ready for the ferry on Thursday morning was frustrating, as even queuing up early we were kept waiting for hours. It does take time, but the more bikes there are, the longer they take.  Once all tied down it was a meal in the restaurant, and then an early night.  Next morning it was an early breakfast and in plenty of time before we docked. There was the usual rigmarole in getting off, but we made quick time back towards Exeter, passing everything in our path. We guessed we were going to get wet, but how wet we didn’t realise. As we came up the A303 we saw the rain coming in the form of one massive and angry looking cloud as it crossed the plain in front of us. By this time we didn’t care, as we just wanted to get home, so put our heads down and rode through it. By the time we got to the M3 the rain had stopped and we started to dry out.

Back home in time for tea, and into the bosom of the family, I reflected upon the events of the past 12-days, and I was now sure that it is not the rally that makes this an event, it is the journey there and back. However, without the rally to go to, there would be no purpose in doing the trip, so one has to have the other. Spain is a fantastic place to visit, and a most varied country to ride through, but you have to get away from all that tacky tourist holiday nonsense. You have to see the real Spain, and when you do, I would recommend it to anyone. We will be riding to the 17th Euro Rally at Lake Garda in September this year, and if anyone would like further details concerning roads, places and hotels, I will be most happy to answer your questions. Just go to the Click to Comment button at the bottom of the page.