The Last Post

Destination reached, now about getting home?

I left the hostal in Garrucha feeling a bit strange, excited about reaching journeys end and seeing my family but somehow sad the adventure was coming to an end.  It's been the best part of five weeks since I disembarked from the ferry in Santander.  I have no idea how many miles I've done and dread to think of the number of feet of ascent but that's not important.

The journey was what it was all about and I've enjoyed it immensely.

There were some hard days, some trying times for a fat bloke in his fifties.  If I'd really understood how hilly the route would be I may have chosen a different one but I'm glad I didn't.

The final day typified the rest of the trip, some navigational issues with poor sign posting, a long stretch in the afternoon sun and a challenging climb within an hour of the end, I'd have been disappointed if the day had been too easy.

I'm now being spoilt rotten by my wonderful family and fattened up to my original proportions which I'm sure will happen quickly enough.  I've yet to figure out how and when I'll be heading home.  I could fly, get a bus or train to Rosas near Barcelona and pick-up the 'Bike Express' bus to the UK or maybe I could ride home - no, that's a ridiculous idea!

I did think about trying to summarise my thoughts on the trip, I thought about talking of:-

The warm sun, cooling sea breeze and laid back locals on my arrival in Santander,

The choppy waters of crossing of the bay on a small boat, 'The Tank' precariously tied to the deck,

The first day of cycling, Somo to Laredo and the freedom of the road,

The second day of cycling, 35 degrees, dubious signage and hills too numerous to remember,

Bilbao, the glittering Guggenheim surpassing expectations,

The journey inland, the start of the adventure, up, up and up on to the central plateau,

The friendly offer to take my warm clothes home,

The change in the weather the following day,

Wind and rain at 5000 feet, chilled to the bone and shaken,

The descent in to the warmth,

The old men, benches, Fuentes, lunches and nesting clucking Storks of the Plaza Mayors of Old Castilla,

The tortuous days in the central mountains, the dry mouth and dripping head on the long hot afternoons,

The desperate drinking at village fountains, the ritual drenching of the screaming toes of the right foot,

The exhilaration of the descents, feathering brakes until the realisation that the bend was coming too soon,

The glorious deserted roads high up in the forested mountains,

How could I forget the glorious views from hostal bedrooms!

The promises of swimming pools, the attitudes of receptionists,

The Dark Secret of Santa Euphemia?

Into the Alpujarras, home again, familiar faces,

The Ants, the flies and the sodding Mozzies,

The quiet roads, courteous drivers and the joy of not ending a cycling day thinking 'I survived'

The exciting beginning, the middle when the end seemed so far away and the end I didn't want to face,

I thought about writing of these things but instead I came across a piece of prose from classical Spanish

literature which I think conveys my thoughts on this intriguing country and the nuances of it's culture more eruditely than I ever could:-

Oh, this year I`m off to sunny Spain, eviva Espana,
I`m taking the Costa Brava plane, eviva Espana.
If you`d like to chat a matador, in some cool cabana,
and meet senoritas by the score, Espana por favor. 

Thanks to those who've read and enjoyed the blog.

This is the final post, 'probably'?

Hasta Luego,  Mark