Squadron Leader Charlie 'Chocs Away' Russell made an inspired choice as we were firing up the machines this morning. 'Don't like the look of that cloud over Frenchieland,' opined Chocs. 'Let's head south. It worked before when we were in Austria and, by heavens, it might just work again.'
By heavens, he was right. We followed our leader through a damn fine Spanish tunnel and emerged, blinking, into sunshine. And there before us was a bally dam, just ripe for the old bouncing thingy. What japes!
With the black clouds consigned to our rear view mirrors, we headed west-south-west on the N260 without serious incident until we came to an out of the way place called Campo. Now these Spanish flies had been buzzing busily all along their riverbeds, making and mending from what was obviously some serious recent inundation to judge from the amount of debris along said river banks. But the river in Campo was in a league and a setting all of its own and instantly earned first place in our 'finest gorge of the trip' list (Ginger having made a bit of a bosh with the coordinates of the Canyon du Verdon): vertiginously narrow, bally tall and winding enough to satisfy even the bravest young pilots in our midst.
Shortly thereafter we found ourselves bearing down rapidly on Jaca (that's J as in 'hacking cough') where Chocs instinctively led us to a tourist info spot and immediately cracked their secret wifi code - the man's a genius! This enabled us to identify our billet for the night, in a jolly nice place called Canfranc, though your's truly had a minor role to play, spotting the casa rurale in which we're bedded down for the night. Chocs away what!
Why did the squirrel cross the road? Dunno but we saw one of these blighters too, but a bit darker than this one. In fact he was just about black!
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