No room at the Inn

The Dark secret of Santa Eufemia:

Some days are harder than others, yesterday was more of a war of attrition than a days cycling.

After 5 hours riding I was spent, I was probably spent after 2 hours but did 5 anyway. It was hot, it's hot every day now but yesterday was humid, the breeze was hot and I couldn't get into a breathing pattern on the hills. It was a struggle all day but today was much better.

Probably as hot as yesterday but the breeze was fresh, it wasn't as desperately hilly and I felt better able to cope with the climbs anyway.  I made good progress and had covered over 90km, at around 4:30 I rolled into Santa Eufemia and thought I'd done enough for the day. It looked like a welcoming village and indeed had a big sign on entry reading 'Bienvenido'.

I saw one Hostal on the main road into town but thought I'd ride around to see if there was more choice. There was none, as usual the place was deserted. I returned to the first Hostal, parked the Tank and went inside. It seemed very dark, maybe because I'd come in from the bright sunlight outside but maybe because I sensed some terrible truth about the place.

The owner/barman looked a stern sort of chap, miserable and clearly with something to hide. He was playing with the till and didn't bother to come over to me. Two wild eyed locals deep in conversation at the bar suddenly stopped and looked at me, their faces showing none of the usual conviviality of locals in Spanish bars, clearly they were party to the dark secret.

I shouted over to the barman to ask if they had a room for the night although I'd kind of gone off the idea by now. 'No' he said with no further explanation. 'Are you full?' I asked. He came over to me and with a menacing glare said 'For you there is no room here' I asked if there were other Hostals in the village, he clarified what I think was his original point, 'There is no room for you in the village, you must go, either up to Almaden or down to the next village, El Viso'

'I'm cycling' I said, El Viso is a long way, is there camping in the village?' I said this knowing full well that there was no way I was spending a night under canvas within stalking distance of this lunatic and his Lieutenants.

'No camping, no room, you go now'. I felt like I'd arrived in a storm at The Slaughtered Lamb, high on the Yorkshire moors on a full moon. I pushed my luck by asking him to fill my water bottles which he did, glad that I'd finally got the message. I emerged into the sunshine, mounted the Tank and peddled as fast as my legs would take me. I whizzed past the sign saying Santa Eufemia and struck through with a red line, thankful that I'd escaped with my jugular intact!

El Viso, an easy enough 15km further south was in contrast, delightful. When I eventually found the only Hostal in town it was very welcoming with pleasant staff and friendly locals. I suspect they know nothing of the dark secret of Santa Eufemia.