6th July: The end of the Road

Having reach Europa Point you may of expected us to: relax, have a lie in, go to the beach... however...

...

The two intrepid travellers, not content to accept this as the end of the road, set off once more before daybreak. This time, their target was the little-known (and perhaps non-existent) coast road to Tarifa, the southern-most town in mainland Spain (however only about two miles further south than Europa Point)...

First, though, they had to make it through the Campo de Gibraltar, one of the biggest petrol refining centres in Spain. Madness! Having struggled for hours to find the way, and with their legs only taking them in circles around the vast industrial estates, the weary travellers asked directions countless times. Each time, the Spaniards directed them to the terrifying motorway, clogged with ferocious motors. These spaniards time and time again tried to tempt the travellers onto the apparent hard shoulder, but the travellers were not to be tempted, and with all the determination they had left they continued to find their own way (basically the extremely long way around). Having made it to Algeciras, they arrived at the confluence of all the roads into the metropolis...

...having escaped almost certain doom in this craziness, they found themselves at last on the road round the coast: the map promised this to be a beautifully scenic car-free route to Tarifa. The adventurers boldy zoomed along the road, hope rising in their chests, as they rode over the tops of the cliffs and Africa came into view. This hope was dashed, however, when the road came to an abrupt halt. It just stopped. No more road. Nothing. Not a sausage.

The exhausted pair let their bikes fall to the ground, and they sat at the end of the road, their collective gaze set on Africa. They knew their journey had come to an end.