A Tale of Triumph, Trials, and Triumph Again
Day 1: Embarking on a Dream The cold February air bit at my skin as I swung my leg over the bike, my KTM 1190 Adventure R, affectionately named Robin. My breath was visible in the frosty dawn. The mercury read -15°C, a biting send-off from the UK. My journey to the Hispania Rally—a dream long in the making—had begun. It wasn’t just about the race; it was about the road, the unexpected, and the stories waiting to unfold. With my gear packed tight and my spirits high, I set off toward Swindon. It took Robin and me eight hours through snow and a blizzard in the night to reach a friend’s warm home—a sanctuary before the long road ahead.
Day 2: Trials and Triumphs Morning greeted me with an unwelcome surprise—my bike’s battery, brand-new yet lifeless. Frustration mixed with resolve as I replaced it, only to be thwarted again by a flat front tire. A quick repair got me back on the road, but fate seemed intent on testing my patience. The tire failed again. Each setback whispered a challenge: How badly do you want this?
Determined, I delayed my ferry, opting to solve the tire issue for good. A local garage became my haven, where mechanics, amid their trove of motorcycles, discovered the culprit: a damaged rim. With a trusty inner tube in place, the bike was ready, and so was I. However, the storm’s fury had redirected my ferry from Portsmouth to Saint-Malo, adding another twist to my adventure.
Day 4: Into Spain’s Embrace Spain welcomed Robin and me with snow-capped mountains and sunlit roads. Each mile felt like a reward, the landscape unfolding like a painting. With only a day to reach Granada, we embarked on a grueling 13-hour, 1,000-mile journey. Getting lost in Mérida during rush hour added to the chaos, but the allure of Spain’s warmth and beauty kept me pushing forward.
Night found me battling rain and fatigue. A kind stranger at a gas station offered me coffee and conversation, lifting my spirits. That final push saw us arriving in Guadix at 3 a.m., where a unique cave Airbnb carved into the hills awaited. I shared the space with two other women racers, their stories adding a sense of camaraderie to my solitary journey. Adventure had taken many forms that day, but all roads led to this moment of rest.
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Hispania Rally: Racing the Desert
The Hispania Rally, a 1,000-mile test of grit across Spain’s unforgiving desert, pushed me to my limits. On my KTM 1190 Adventure R, nicknamed Robin, I raced solo in the Malle Moto class—no team, no support, just me and my bike, every repair and decision in my hands.
The southern Spanish landscape was both stunning and harsh. From vast, dry deserts to rocky mountain paths, the terrain tested my endurance at every turn. The heat was intense, and dust hung in the air as the rugged beauty of the land stretched for miles. Passing near Granada, I reflected on its ancient past—once a Roman settlement, later a key Muslim stronghold, and now a city blending rich cultures, with the Alhambra standing as a symbol of its complex history.
The region's resilient people have long thrived amidst these challenging landscapes, pushing forward through both beauty and struggle. It was the perfect backdrop for an unforgettable race.
Stage 1’s olive tree-lined trails offered breathtaking vistas, but my progress halted when the clutch slave failed. Repairs cost precious time but reaffirmed my resolve. I had to get a lift back to the bivouac with Robin to prepare for the next day. Up late working on the bike, I was determined to keep us in the race.
Day 2 brought triumph as I finished the stage with the cheers of a crowd waiting for Robin and me. Despite the competitive nature of the rally, the bivouac felt like a family of like-minded, crazy people. At the camp, egos faded, replaced by mutual respect and camaraderie.
Day 3 brought tragedy—a fellow rider’s fatal accident silenced the bivouac, a sobering reminder of the sport’s stakes. The day was channeled into mourning, a heavy cloud hanging over everyone. I took the time to explore local spots, including the awe-inspiring Mirador del Fin del Mundo ("End of the World"), a place of utter stillness overlooking snow-capped mountains. This moment of reflection was the break I needed before diving back into the challenges ahead.
Day 4’s deep sands tested my endurance, each fall a lesson in persistence. A fellow rider and I swapped bikes briefly to tackle a relentless river of deep sand. This cooperation reminded me of the unspoken bonds forged in such adversity.
Day 5 was harrowing. Only miles from the start, my bike slipped off its center stand, sending both Robin and me tumbling down a hill. I lay in the desert, pain radiating through my back, alone. Everyone had already passed me. After pushing the SOS button and waiting an hour without aid, I decided I wouldn’t give up. In pain, I got Robin upright and rode two stages. Crossing the finish line bruised but victorious, I was greeted with a medal despite not finishing in time. The camaraderie, challenges, and personal growth made every moment worthwhile.
A Journey Beyond Racinga. in 2020 in march this the coivd out brake reache eroupe all red alert in place all over eroupe a time i was 1.800 miles from home. becouse of the the orginal plan for exploreing t.e.t in spain and head to hellas in grace. I give my self a week get home. to porvent me getting stuck in eroupe. i rode mostly toll roads on the way back to france.
Day 1: Mission - Not Get Stuck in Europe
March 6th, 2020
Distance: 173 miles
After backing Robin up and getting ready for the next leg of the adventure, I set off toward Murcia, 173 miles away. The journey was smooth, and my only goal upon arrival was to find a hotel and enjoy a long-awaited bath after the race.
The hotel I booked was nestled in the heart of the city, right in the charming old town. Since parking wasn't available nearby, I dropped off everything I needed for the night and settled in before taking Robin to his own accommodation for the evening.
With that done, I ventured out to explore the city and search for food. As luck would have it, my arrival in Murcia coincided with the Villanueva Parade, a local religious procession marking the start of Lent. The parade, steeped in centuries-old tradition, involves carrying a representation of Jesus through the streets, symbolizing his journey and sacrifice. It was an unexpected yet fascinating cultural experience.
Murcia itself is a city with a rich history dating back to its founding in 825 AD during the Islamic rule of Al-Andalus. Over the centuries, it has been shaped by various civilizations, from the Moors who introduced advanced irrigation systems, to the later Christian rulers who infused the city with Baroque architecture. The city's old town is a vibrant reminder of this layered history, with landmarks like the stunning Murcia Cathedral and narrow cobblestone streets that seem to tell their own stories.
After capturing some photos and enjoying the lively atmosphere of the parade, I found a spot for dinner. Satiated and a little weary, I made my way back to the hotel. There, I drew a hot bath—a small luxury after a long day—and sank into relaxation, knowing the next leg of the journey awaited me in the morning.
Day 2: Benidorm, Baby!
March 7th, 2020
Distance: 134 miles
Ride Time: 3 hours
The night before, as I mapped out my route to Valencia, I realized I’d be passing through Benidorm, a city famous for its seaside charm and reputation as a favorite getaway for Brits. Known for its towering skyline and golden beaches, Benidorm was a natural stop for me to stretch my legs—and maybe find some fish and chips.
Benidorm has an intriguing history. Before it became the high-rise holiday hub we know today, it was a small fishing village for centuries, with its first recorded mention dating back to 1325. It remained relatively modest until the 1950s when its visionary mayor, Pedro Zaragoza, spearheaded its transformation into a tourist destination. He even introduced the first General Plan of Urban Development, which allowed the city to grow vertically—hence its iconic skyscrapers. Despite its modernity, remnants of its fishing village past remain in the old town, with narrow streets and quaint corners preserving its humble beginnings.
As I rode into Benidorm, it lived up to its reputation as a little slice of Britain abroad. The pubs, shops, and chatter made me feel like I’d crossed into a sunny UK neighborhood. After searching for a good spot to eat, I found the Bulldog Pub tucked away from the sea. It was the perfect place for my long-awaited fish and chips.
While I ate, the people at the next table struck up a conversation. They told me about their holiday and asked about my adventure. Seeing a bike with a bright yellow UK plate seemed to amuse everyone passing by, and I got a few surprised looks.
Benidorm might have a reputation for catering to those who stick to their comfort zones, but I can confidently say it’s a lovely place to unwind and bask in the sun—something we definitely don’t get much of in the UK. After exploring a bit, I got back on the toll road toward Valencia, my next destination.
Valencia is a city steeped in history, tracing its origins back to 138 BC when it was founded as a Roman colony. Over the centuries, it evolved into a melting pot of cultures, from Roman to Visigothic to Moorish. The Moors, who ruled the city for over 500 years, brought advanced irrigation systems and agricultural innovations, some of which are still in use today. After the Christian Reconquest in 1238, Valencia flourished as a major Mediterranean trade hub, with landmarks like the Silk Exchange (La Lonja de la Seda) and the Gothic Serranos Towers showcasing its medieval glory.
Arriving in Valencia in the off-season, I quickly realized many places were closed, making it difficult to find a hotel. I had already planned to camp, but the campsite turned out to be far from ideal.
As I went to pay for my spot, disaster struck. I’d parked the bike on a hill, and the side stand gave way. Down it went, right in front of an apartment block. I could hear the laughter of onlookers echoing from the balconies as I sheepishly picked the bike up.
The campsite itself wasn’t much better. My assigned pitch was on concrete, so I had to get creative with setting up my tent. Using an old tire from the race to prop up the porch and tying another corner to a tree, I managed to get everything upright.
That night was one to remember—not for comfort, but for the experience. Sleeping on concrete was far from ideal, but at least the weather stayed calm. No rain, no wind—just a quiet night under the stars. The next morning, I packed up eagerly, ready for the next leg of the journey
Day 3: The Orange
March 8th, 2020
Distance: 217 miles
Ride Time: 3 hours 30 minutes
Packed up and ready for the day, I prepared for a big stretch of riding to Barcelona—217 miles ahead. Back on the toll roads once more, Robin and I made good progress. After about 190 miles, I reached a new toll road about 40 miles outside Barcelona. That’s when disaster struck.
As I rode over some speed bumps near the toll entrance, I suddenly felt something was off. I turned back to see my pannier lying in the middle of the road. Panic set in as I quickly parked Robin, hoping no one would hit it. Watching for a clear moment, I ran to retrieve it and hurriedly got it back on the bike. Once through the toll, I stopped at the next service station to fix it properly.
By then, I was only about 30 miles from Barcelona. While working on the pannier, I decided to check if the hotel I’d booked had parking available. Sitting under a tree on the edge of the service station for some shade, a man pulled up in a van and got out.
It’s orange season this time of year, and he offered me one. I thanked him and accepted. But as soon as I took the orange, he asked me to get into his van, saying it was cooler than sitting under the tree. That’s when my traveler instincts kicked in—every alarm bell in my head was going off. Something about the situation didn’t feel right. Without hesitation, I jumped back on Robin, leaving in a hurry.
In my rush, I completely forgot to check the pannier’s straps. Sure enough, as I sped down the toll road, it fell off again. I parked on the opposite side, ran across the lanes to grab it, and checked for damage. It wasn’t good. A car or truck must have hit it because there was now a big dent in the middle, and the lid was crushed flat—a complete pancake. That lid wasn’t coming back to life.
I used some straps to secure what I could and had to throw away a lot of my clothes to lighten the load. Fortunately, it was only clothes in the pannier. The orange, however, stayed with me—an unintentional souvenir of the ordeal.
Not long after, the police arrived, responding to a report thinking i broke down.. They were surprisingly understanding when I explained the situation and asked me to head to the next service station to check everything and avoid further incidents. Once there, they made sure both the bike and I were okay before letting me continue.
Finally, I reached Barcelona. Riding into the bustling city was surreal, with people walking and biking everywhere. It felt like Robin and I stood out in a big way. The mix of looks we got—curiosity, surprise, and amusement—was something I won’t forget.
At the hotel, the staff kindly offered to store my damaged pannier in their staff room to save me from lugging it up to my room. I was staying for two nights, which gave me plenty of time to explore this incredible city. Despite the setbacks, the day ended with a sense of accomplishment and excitement for what lay ahead.
Day 4: Barcelona
March 9th, 2020
Distance: 0 miles on the bike
Walking: 10 miles
I woke up ready for a big day of exploring Barcelona. After a quick breakfast, I headed to the Sagrada Família, just a short walk from my hotel. I hadn’t realized until then that, because of COVID restrictions at the time, travel was limited, and there were barely any tourists in the city. Perfect! I managed to get into the Sagrada Família in just 20 minutes.
The Sagrada Família is one of the most iconic landmarks in the world and a true marvel of architectural genius. Designed by the Catalan architect Antoni Gaudí, construction of the basilica began in 1882, and it’s still a work in progress more than 140 years later. Gaudí devoted the last 15 years of his life almost exclusively to this project. The design blends Gothic and Art Nouveau styles, with intricate façades and towering spires that reflect deep religious symbolism. Inside, the building is breathtaking—filled with vibrant colors from the stained-glass windows and organic shapes inspired by nature. Gaudí envisioned it as a "bible in stone," with every element telling a story. The central nave, supported by tree-like columns, creates a serene, otherworldly atmosphere.
As I walked through the basilica, I was awestruck by the vibrant colors and sharp angles of the cut stone. The combination of light and shadow inside was like nothing I’d ever seen. I spent some time walking through the surrounding park, taking photos of this incredible structure, before heading back to the hotel.
Once back, I geared up to explore more of Barcelona by bike. I rode along the coastline, marveling at the stunning yet eerily quiet buildings—reminders of how much the city had been impacted by the pandemic. My next stop was Plaça de Catalunya, Barcelona’s central square, which is often called the heart of the city.
Barcelona itself is a city with a rich and fascinating history. It was originally founded by the Romans as a colony called Barcino in the 1st century BC. Over the centuries, it became a key medieval trade hub and played a pivotal role in the Crown of Aragon's maritime empire. During the 19th century, Barcelona underwent significant industrialization and experienced a cultural renaissance that helped establish Catalonia's distinct identity. Modernist architecture, championed by Gaudí and others, transformed the city into the vibrant, artistic hub it is today.
While exploring, I stumbled upon something unexpected—a museum dedicated entirely to sex. Yes, you read that right. The museum was both hilarious and fascinating, filled with quirky exhibits that were sure to make anyone laugh. Definitely a recommendation for anyone looking for something out of the ordinary!
After wandering through the streets, taking more photos, and grabbing something to eat, I returned to the hotel to finish washing and drying my clothes. Tomorrow, I’d be heading into France, and I wanted to be ready for the next leg of the adventure.
Day 4: Barcelona to Toulouse, France
March 10th, 2020
Distance: 250 miles
Ride Time: 4 hours 26 minutes
The day began with packing up Robin for the next leg of the journey. As I struggled to secure my damaged pannier, the handyman from the hotel came out from his storage room, tools in hand. Speaking in Spanish, he offered to help fix it. We tried everything we could think of, including using a car jack to widen the pannier back into shape. While it wasn’t exactly a box anymore, it was functional enough to hold my gear. I secured everything in place with a cargo net I had with me, and we called it good enough for the road.
Leaving Barcelona, I headed north toward the Spanish border, crossing into France. The ride took me through some of the most breathtaking mountains I’ve ever seen, with snow-capped peaks glistening in the crisp air. It was like a fresh breath of freedom riding through such natural beauty. As I continued north, the temperature started to drop, so I layered up to keep warm.
Arriving in Toulouse, I parked Robin and got him ready for the night before heading into town to find some food. Wandering through the streets, I came across a small, locally owned pizza shop run by a Frenchman with a passion for motorcycles. As I ordered, we struck up a conversation, and he excitedly showed me his yellow Ducati Monster parked nearby.
While he prepared my pizza, he noticed the rally number on the front of my bike. Curious, he looked up my entry details on the Hispania Rally website and found my name and placement. He was over the moon, telling me he used to work for the police before leaving to pursue his dream of running a pizza place. It was a fantastic and unexpected connection—a reminder of how shared passions can create memorable moments during an adventure.
The pizza, by the way, was one of the best I’ve ever had.
Day 5: To Bordeaux, France
March 11th, 2020
Distance: 150 miles
I woke up to the sound of the TV blaring updates about COVID-19. The situation was escalating fast. Spain had announced it was closing its borders, not allowing anyone in or out. Panic began to set in—what if I got stuck in France? Worse, what if I caught this terrible virus, got sick, and couldn’t ride home?
The uncertainty weighed on me. Throughout the trip, I’d been in touch with the couple I stayed with during my first visit to France, as well as my family. They had been helping me keep track of the situation. By this point, France had begun shutting down hotels, restaurants, and campsites. My options were limited: Should I wild camp and make my way back to my dad’s? Should I go straight home? Or should I stay put, fly back, and leave Robin behind?
I knew I wasn’t the only traveler affected by the chaos, but I felt lucky compared to some. After talking it over with the couple, I decided to head to Bordeaux, where I could stay with them and figure out my next move.
Once everything was packed, Robin and I set off for a 4-hour ride. Most of the journey was spent on toll roads, passing the miles steadily. I made sure to fill up and take breaks, but halfway there, I decided to leave the toll roads. My back was starting to ache, and I craved a route with some nice corners. I found just the road, winding through scenic landscapes that brought a sense of freedom and relief—a brief escape from the stress of the day.
When I finally arrived at their house, they welcomed me with open arms. It was comforting to have a home-cooked meal, relax, and catch up on the latest updates on TV. We discussed the situation over dinner and phoned my family. After weighing my options, I made the decision to go home.
I booked a ferry and an Airbnb for the next leg of the trip, both of which were still operating at that point. Later, I headed to the caravan they had set up for me, trying to get some rest for what I knew would be a long and challenging day ahead.
Day 6: Heading to the Ferry
March 12th, 2020
Distance: 330 miles
Ride Time: 6 hours
The day began with packing my bags and saying goodbye to my hosts in Bordeaux. It was raining as I set off, but honestly, I didn’t mind—it was a refreshing change. Robin and I hunkered down for the long ride, clocking the miles steadily.
After hours on the road, I finally arrived at my Airbnb, looking forward to a hot meal, a shower, and a good night’s sleep. But when I walked in, I was met with a disaster. The place was a mess—it looked like a zoo animal had been let loose! With COVID-19 constantly on my mind, I was immediately worried about cleanliness.
I contacted the Airbnb host, who came over as soon as he could. It turned out the previous guest had canceled, gotten their money back, and still used the access code to stay for free. The host hadn’t realized the cleaners hadn’t been sent, thinking the place would be empty.
Together, we cleaned up the mess—I even pitched in since I had access to the cleaning supplies. After everything was sorted, I finally had a proper meal, a long-needed shower, and some much-needed rest. With six hours on the ferry ahead of me the next day, I needed every bit of energy I could muster.
Day 7: Ferry Crossing to Plymouth
March 13th, 2020
Distance: 100 miles
I woke up at 2 AM to catch my 3 AM ferry—needless to say, I’m not a morning person! Dragging myself out of bed, I packed up, grabbed everything, and headed down the road to the ferry terminal. Once I arrived, I waited to board, and it was the first time I was required to wear a mask. They handed one to us before we boarded, but I just used my neck tube to keep things simple.
Once on board, I booked my own room to get some sleep and had a chance to eat before the long journey. The ferry ride was pretty uneventful, but it felt good to take a moment and relax.
When we finally arrived in Plymouth, I was excited to reconnect with a friend I had met at the WRWR (Women's Rally) final in London back in February before I left for Spain. Her name is Gulafhan Tariq, and she’s an incredible woman who crossed Pakistan on her bicycle and motorcycle. She had been visiting the UK when the lockdown hit and found herself stuck with nowhere to go. When she found out I was returning early, I offered her a place to stay. I made room in the back for her , and my mum, who I was staying with, offered to drive halfway to pick her up.
My mum also booked a hotel for us for tomorrow, which was a relief. After all that was settled, I made my way to Oxford. I arrived late and it was dark, but I managed to find a BnB and settle in for the night.To reconnect a firend and meet my family tomorrow. 
Day 8: Oxford to Chester
March 14th, 2020
Distance: 153 miles
After getting packed and ready, I had breakfast in the BnB. I had an intriguing conversation with the university lecturer who was also staying there. He told me he worked in the area during the week, and it was cheaper for him to stay in the BnB than rent a place. Our discussion turned to politics, and I was in my element—I’m a bit of a nerd when it comes to these topics! It was a rare opportunity to pick the brain of someone so knowledgeable, especially over breakfast.
I arrived at my hotel in Chester by mid-afternoon. As I walked down the hallway in my Sidi Crossfire boots, the sound of them squeaking echoed throughout the fancy hotel. Passing the bar, I noticed everyone stopped talking and stared at me, like something straight out of a Western movie when the cowboy walks into the saloon. It was a moment I’ll never forget.
The next day, we were planning to pick up Gul in Manchester, which was only an hour away. From there, we would have a five-hour ride home.
Looking Ahead: A Vision of Change This journey was more than a race; it was a call to action. Rally racing’s spirit thrives in diversity, proving that the sport welcomes all who dare to chase its challenges. I dream of building a team of women riders to tackle future rallies. Together, we can rewrite the narrative, showing that perseverance and passion transcend boundaries.
For now, I savor the memories, each mile a testament to endurance and the road’s endless allure. With Robin by my side, the horizon beckons, promising new adventures and untold stories. The Hispania Rally was only the beginning. The journey continues.
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