When we go bikepacking, people often express fears about the places to which we go. Generally, that’s because they aren’t familiar with the places and the unknown is often scary for human beings. Sometimes, it’s because they have heard about the places in the media and the media, unless it’s advertising tourism, tends to focus on the negative. I’ve already mentioned the only place I have been attacked in all my travels was London, and I was never given any stern warnings about avoiding London.

However, what I’m writing about today, is unreasonable fear or…I’m going to downplay this…unreasonable dislike…which, in my case, is of slugs. I'll call it dislike because I don't run away screaming when I see a lot of slugs. I just don't like them at all.

We often cycle through places where there are a lot more slugs, or a lot bigger slugs, than New Zealand. Slovenia had plenty of slugs. It also had newts, but I don’t have a problem with newts. Newts are cute. Georgia had plenty of slugs which leapt out of the vegetation when it rained. Maybe not leapt. Maybe crawled. They appeared quickly and quietly.

In New Zealand, our slugs stay small. They hide in my vegetable garden, gnawing holes in the leaves, but rarely making themselves visible. That’s sensible of the slugs – if you are invisible you are a lot harder to catch and kill. I see slugs when I’m cleaning off lettuce leaves or broccoli but, at that point, they are usually washing down the sink drain so are no threat to me. Yes, I know slugs are never any threat to me.

That’s the ridiculous thing. I’m happy to trot off into the relative unknown – countries, mountains. I have no problems with mice. Spiders are all fine. Tarantulas are lovely and furry to hold. Snails – not a problem. But slugs are yuck. I specifically don’t like touching slugs because…there is no because I know of! I have never liked touching slugs and I still don’t. I have tried touching slugs in way you dissipate an allergy by exposing yourself to small doses of the material to which you are allergic. Small touches of slugs have had no effect. I still don’t like slugs and I still DON’T want to touch them.

Chris & Jane in northern Spain avoiding slugs

1. Mountains of the Arralar National Park

2. Lekeitio Beach

3. Chris choosing pintxos (bar snacks) in San Sebastian

4. Chris cycling under a bridge on the Plazeolar (railway route)

5. Bikes waiting in Andoin while we have a coffee

6. Basque traditional dancers in Lekeitio

We are bikepacking a figure eight in northern Spain, south of Bilbao and there are plenty of slugs. Just yesterday, we camped in a grassy patch within the forest in which there were a myriad slugs. It wasn’t even raining and they were crawling everywhere – over the leaves, over the trees, over our bicycles. These were slugs with confidence, from pencil circumference to the size of a small sausage. They were shiny black. Their front ends have parallel grooves, their rear ends have more irregular striations and a little mottled white triangular patch. These slugs have four antennae at the front – two long ones and two short ones. When they are uncertain, they pull their antennae in.

I looked at curled up slugs and tried to annul my dislike by thinking of curled-up kittens. Small black kittens curled up. Small black slugs curled up. I told Chris about my imaginings and he laughed a lot. “Kittens that size wouldn’t be cute, they’d be foetuses.”

“I didn’t mean foetal kittens. I meant miniature black kittens,” I said.

Then Chris went to look at my bike computer and yelled, “Ugghhhh.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I just squashed a slug on your handlebars,” Chris said. "It's all over my hand."

“Rather you than me!”

For more pictures of Spain other than slugs, have a look here.