Knackered! It's almost 11pm, and I'm in a bunk at the youth hostel. I've done over 1000km today, almost completely on motorways at 110km/h. The bike is recovering outside, and may never be the same again! I bet it never expected this, it probably thought it's spend it's life commuting into the city centre, doing the odd green lane at the weekend, but not trans-European blasts. I've filled up four times today, got lost in Madrid, been waved at by friendly Spanish motorcycle cops, saw my first "dust devil", and walked into a ladies toilet.
Droning along on the bike you get a lot of time to think. I spend a lot of this time thinking about what might go wrong with the bike. I know that I ran the engine in well when the bike was new. I know that I get a professional to service it at half the recommended intervals. I know that I'm not really thrashing the engine (110km/h is 4'500rpm in top gear, of a maximum 7'500rpm). But all the time I'm listening carefully to the bike, glancing at the oil temperature gauge about five times a minute, it's so stupid. After leaving Burgos I noticed that the oil temperature had risen 5 degrees celcius, and started to panic. Then I went through all the logic to prove to myself that it didn't matter: a) it was later in the day, so it was generally warmer, b) it was further south, so it was warmer, c) the road was steadily climbing, so the engine was working a little harder, d) the GPS showed the altitude to be over 1'200m, so there was a little less cooling air than at sea level where the ferry had arrived. So after all this, a rise in the oil temperature was nothing to worry about at all.
Other things I thought about were to do with my observations of Spain. Spanish drivers are very confident, they'll scream up behind you and sit 15cm off of your number plate. If they can get past you without having to change lane, they will. Once you accept this as regular behaviour your adrenalin stops flowing, and you stop swearing at everyone that whistles past you 50km/h faster than you. Another thing I observed is that the Spanish must have cornered two of the worlds markets. In the south they grow oranges, lots of them. There was one point when the motorway rose slightly above the plain, and as far as I could see in all directions were orange trees. Amazing, and quite pretty. However they've obviously heard the saying "don't keep all your eggs in one basket" as in the north they grow tree stumps. I figure there must be a big world market for tree stumps, and the Spanish have diversified into it from oranges. Just goes to show that someone somewhere values a good tree stump.
So there I am, riding along, checking out the fields of tree stumps, and mentally sizing up all the gravelly tracks cutting through and linking up these fields. It was trail riding torture, all those perfect dry trails, and me stuck on a pair of TrailWings on the black stuff. Just you wait my knobblies, your time will come.