Closing in on the Med

 From the Alpujarras to the Cabo de Gata peninsula east of Almeria:

The eastern Alpujarras turned out to be more picturesque than I remembered, and more hilly!  The long descent from Laroles was inevitably followed by a big climb.  I skirted around the northern flanks of the Sierra de Gador on my way to a pleasant stop-over at the spa town of Alhama de Almeria.

                                      
                                        The camp site at Laroles, if only all sites were this quiet!

                                                                 And the pool was open!

Looking back to Laroles, great descent to start the day.

The ubiquitous roadside Oleander bushes.

Last of the snows on the eastern Sierra Nevada above the Puerta de la Ragua road pass.

More climbing!

I somehow felt I should turn right here but it was straight on!

2 photos of the Sierra de Gador, northwest of Almeria.

The journey from my overnight stay in Alhama involved circumnavigating Almeria, a big city I didn't intend cycling through.  It proved very straightforward sticking to very minor roads to the north and east.  I was soon past the airport and heading to my favourite Spanish coastline, the Natural park of Cabo de Gata.

The caution of an ageing cyclist

Nice and steady does it!

I'll start this post by apologising if I'm beginning to repeat myself.  I think of stuff to write on the long hours on the bike then can't remember if I've written it already or just thought it.  I'm certainly not going to read all the blog to find out.  I now feel justified in repeating myself.

My rest day at the Laroles camp site was much needed, although in theory I should be fitter and stronger after a month of daily cycling I just seem to be tired.  Full of vim and vigour (well a bit anyway) in the mornings but ready for a siesta by early afternoon.  

When I holiday in a hot climate it seems a natural pattern to grab an hours kip in the heat of the afternoon but that's not an option for me, I think it would do me good.

I left Laroles and unusually didn't have to pedal for the first 15 minutes or so, a wonderful flowing descent but requiring total concentration.  Some of the descents on this trip have been amazing, long and fast.  Not that I can descend on a bike, survival is much too important to me and an oncoming car on a blind bend would leave no time to correct things.  

Some of the drops are vertigo inducing, I approached one sweeping left hand bend aware of a huge void directly in front of me.  I didn't dare look, I just concentrated on my line and making the turn.  I glanced down once I'd straightened out and shuddered at thought of not making the turn.

Many of the exposed sections of mountain roads are protected by the concrete blocks, fine for cars but for a wobbling cyclists the gaps are easily big enough to guarantee an unhappy ending!

Also on the fast descents the Arm co is at just the right height to catapult a rider over the top, hence my over heating brakes.  On some of the long descents I've had to stop several times to allow the front rim to cool down despite trying to share the braking with the back.  It's an opportunity to admire the scenary.

Below are a few pictures of my journey through the eastern Alpujarras, some of you may recognise the name of Yegen, the place where Chris Stewart of Driving over Lemons/Parrot in a Pepper Tree fame is based.

Looking south to the Sierra la Contraviesa, the Mediteranian is just over the hills.

The 3000m ridge line of the western Sierra Nevada in the distance.

 The typical Spanish burial method.

Taking a rest on a big climb too late in the day!

East through the Alpujarras

I enjoyed my rest day in Bubion, high in the Alpujarras but it wasn't enough.  There's no reason I couldn't have stayed another day, I should have. 

It's always good to be in the Alpujarras but it was with a sense of melancholy that I, stick in hand went for a stroll around Bubion for old times sake.  There are great walks all around, deep into the Poqueira valley below or on the steep hill-sides above.  Walks to other villages and walks to the high mountains, I could fill a whole month with walks I've already done in this area and there are more to be discovered but probably not by me.

Inside the Hostal:  Laz Terrazes du Alpujarra, a home from home.  You can see the typical local roofing method of Chestnut beams overlaid with large flat stones and then Loma (loose clay/shale).  They used to leak a lot and the Loma would get washed away in the storms but nowadays they incorporate a waterproof membrane.

Still, I'm grateful that the bike has allowed me to be here once again and when I can no longer ride I'm sure I'll drive here to sit and look.  I was slow to get started on my departure day from Bubion, always reluctant to leave but also still tired.  I seem to sleep until 9am some mornings, it may make more sense to be up early and to finish riding by early afternoon but either finding a hostal or hanging around camp sites in the heat of the afternoon is not appealing so I generally start around 10:30 and ride until I find somewhere, usually around 4 or 5pm.

2 views from the terrace at the hostal, in the top photo you can see the approach road winding up the hillside.

I didn't get away until 11:30am.  There were a few possible camp sites for tonight, the first, a relatively short hop was in Trevelez, allegedly the highest village in Spain, possibly one of several?

A first 'very' distant glimpse of Trevelez (centre of shot) - my journey east through the Alpujarras has to cross the deeply incised valley of the Rio Trevelez, this involves something like a 20km diversion to the north and back south again.  At the northern tip of the road is Trevelez, another wonderful launch pad for numerous walks including the ascent of Mulhacen, at 3474m, mainland Spain's highest peak.

I stopped at the camp site just before Trevelez, it was only 2:30 but it advertised a swimming pool and I was tempted.  With the benefit of hindsight I asked about the pool before I registered, it was closed - to be opened next weekend.  I checked my map and reckoned Laroles, the next place with a camp site was around 2 hours away, no problem.  The day character building, similar to those in the central mountains of Spain.  The final long climb to Laroles was a struggle, it was hot.  I arrived at the camp site at 7:00pm, too knackered to use the pool which was open.  I declared the following day a rest day, even though I'd only ridden 1 day since my last.  Despite re hydrating and eating plenty the night was plagued by severe leg cramps.  If only I had a massage every evening like the Pro's on the race circuit.  if only I had the youth, the talent and the fitness!  I did swim the next day.

Las Apujarras

Coming home:

I didn't know the rest of Spain too well but I know Las Alpujarras.  Having seen quite a bit of Spain the area of hills and valley on the south side of the giant Sierra Nevada range is still a favourite. I'm not sure what it it about this area? To me, it's just special. It has that 'Sense of Place' - I feel at home here, the only other place for me that feels so right is the highlands of Scotland. I love the Lakes, Wales, the Yorkshire dales and many foreign parts but these 2 areas are different, somewhere I could spend out my days.

From the fly mecca of the Suspiro del Moro camp site I headed south through Padul and was comforted by the clear route directions in the town of Durcal:-

I passed through the spa town of Lanjaron, western gateway to the Alpujarras and skirted the bohemian town of Orgiva to start the big pull up to the high white villages, the 'Pueblos Blancos'.

The onward road can be seen half way up the hill, and again at the top.

Looking down from part way up the climb.

I'd been apprehensive about the climb from Orgiva, it was long but the gradient was never too steep so it went easier than expected.

A 'Roadie' enjoying the descent:

                           Crossing one of the many deep valleys descending from the high mountains:

I'm always excited by the first glimpse of the high villages of the Poqueira valley,  my destination was Bubion, the bigger village in the centre.  Pampaneira can be seen below and just a trace of the highest of the 3 villages, Capileira, on the left.

Top right is the church in the village of Bubion, the final pull from Pampaneira was demanding enough but I was sustained by the thought of a cold beer at my favourite watering hole in Bubion, the Teide bar.

After a couple of carbohydrate replacement drinks I checked into my usual hostal, Laz Terrazes du Alpujarra, a warm welcome as always from Francisco and Maria-Angeles and the new family member since my last visit, a very vocal African Grey Parrott. It speaks French as well as Spanish, it say Voulez vous!

A rest day awaits tomorrow, shame it's only one.

South of Granada

Getting closer:

I spent the night at truckers type hostal near the motorway about 20 miles west of Granada.  The room was fairly abysmal but after a day when I'd had to travel further than intended to find a room it was welcoming enough with friendly staff and generously sized tapas so no need to buy dinner as usual.

The view of course was beyond reproach!

I tried the next day to follow the 'Canal de Cacin' which is an irrigation system rather than a navigable canal.  It ran west to east, parallel to and a mile or south of the motorway so would suit my purposes for getting 15 miles or so closer to Granada before heading south.

I'd reluctantly decided not to visit Granada on this trip.  I'd spent time there a few years ago with Claire and have seen the main attractions including the incomparable Alhambra.  I didn't think I'd make the best of it on my bike so I skirted Granada to the west to head towards my beloved Las Alpujarrras.

I had thought of crossing the main Sierra Nevada range on my bike but my legs and lungs thought better of it.  I was also concerned about the breaking spoke situation, I'd had a third in recent days.  It was always a long shot anyway as there is normally too much snow on the route in early June, I was informed that this probably is the case now.

The canal wasn't easy to get started on, I'd been told the accompanying route was a good road although it was shown as a Camino on my road map.  I started on a road but it soon turned off in the wrong direction. 

I found myself on rough, shaley tracks which climbed and descended steeply as the canal went through a series of tunnels and over aqueducts.  The 15 miles would take all day at this rate.  At every property I passed I was welcomed by barking dogs, this gets fairly tiresome after a while.

I stopped at one house where 4 dogs were complaining about my arrival.  I asked a chap in the garden for directions.  He came out and pointed my in the right direction, I had to descend most of the height I'd gained.  He didn't seem to think there was on onward route by the canal so he directed me to the motorway where there is a camino running along side.  This is what they do in Spain when roads get upgraded to motorways, there is usually, but not always  a camino alongside for use by cyclists and local farm traffic.

It was very rough in places, my 'bits' did not approve of the route and it was very time consuming.  The camino came to a sudden end where I had to cross the motorway and continue on roads on the other side.

I crossed the motorway a 2nd time at a junction where I wanted to head south, a few miles west of Granada airport.  Again the roads didn't quite fit in with my map, I was going in the right general direction though and in fact ended up on the canal camino again for a good few miles.

As I got further east, towards Granada I caught my first glimpses of the distant Sierra Nevada range, still with snow on the tops, they were barely visible in the afternoon haze but I could see enough to reminisce about my days on these big mountains and I wondered if I'd get to explore them again.

I headed south with views of the Cumbres Verdes, the limestone foothills of the Sierra Nevada and saw the familiar profile of the impressive hill Trevenque, more memories of days in the hills.

I knew it was just one more night before I'd enter Las Alpujarras, my adopted second home and in particular the high village of Bubion.  I was like a kid on Christmas Eve!