The ijit – standing on a rock at the north-west tip of Spain in the mid-nineties – looking for America – it’s out there somewhere —
Cape Finisterre – the very words take me back to my childhood when one of the most precious things in our house was the radio. With no daily newspapers available out in the countryside – or affordable for that matter – the old radio was what kept us in touch with the outside world. My three brothers and I would sit – none daring to make a sound as the News was read out in the sternest King’s English followed by the Weather Forecast – followed by the Shipping Forecast — Cape Finisterre – Biscay and so on – up to Faroes and round to North Sea – German Bite and Dogger – long before that last word was connected with a particular fetish involving sexual intercourse.
I had no idea or little interest in where Cape Finisterre was and if anything – had assumed it was out there in the stormy Atlantic sumwhere. I imagine that on a wild day it might as well be but – for the day of my visit in late summer ’95 it had put on it’s best face —
On my way there – on one of the first of the new BMW 1100GS machines – I was to put in 42000 miles on that bike in the two years I ran her. Much vilified by the sports bike orientated motorcycling press and their followers at large – she was a fantastic bike for her time and has since evolved into being the top selling bike in Europe in her GS1250 incarnation —
But what do I know about bikes?
I should stick to boats —
and carnivals —
But Portugal beckons —