A short tour in Almeria province - Day 2 of 3

A short easy day!

Apart from the look of outrage on the face of the barmaid when I asked for my ratatouille type tapa to be heated up a little more, it was a pleasant evening and as usual, considering the number of cerveza/tapa combinations consumed, very reasonably priced. The hostal was £22.50 a night for a room with air-con and included a substantial breakfast buffet.

I partook of the buffet breakfast with gusto, carbo-loading completed, I consulted my road map page and spurning the main road, headed south-east towards the hills. There was a village on the map called Turrillas which looked ideal for the intended short and easy day.

I could see a small hamlet high on the hillside ahead and hoped with every fibre of my body that it wasn't Turrillas. It wasn't, Turrillas was much higher! 

                                                          Part of the climb to Turrillas:

The final approach to the village was tackled with burning thighs and rasping lungs, a fierce warm wind was throwing me off balance until I entered the deserted narrow streets and popped out into the small plaza where surprisingly there was a single market stall selling clothing. More with expected disappointment than hope I continued my fruitless search for boxer shorts sufficiently voluminous for my ample derriere. I travelled to Spain with very little clothing and despite extending my wardrobe at various local markets since have not had much success procuring underwear which doesn't have a tourniquet effect on my neither regions.

With sadness, I left the stall. I topped up my bottles at the fuente and took refuge in the village bar where there were 2 card schools in progress on the terrace outside. If my Spanish was better I'd have asked the fat bloke at the first table where he gets his boxers?

I downed an ice cold coke and poured the remaining ice into my water bottle. I consulted the map as it seemed a shame to drop back down to the hostal directly having expended so much toil to get there. I could head east on a moutain road to a place called Lucainena de las Torres, I'd visited this village once before by car so I scoured the map for other options.

                                   A Mirador (view point) in the village of Turrillas:

To the southwest there was a Radar station on top of a mountain called Colativi. I didn't intend to go all the way in the heat of the afternoon but I thought it would be an interesting ascent and I could turn around at any point.

                                              Heading to the top of the Alhamilla range:

                            
                               Looking south from the watershed, the Mediteranian in the distance:

                                         Getting there, but not as close as it looks!

It was good to sit on the summit of Colativi. It's been a long time since I sat on top of a mountain and although I'd cycled up rather than walked or climbed, it felt like a proper mountain. It had a trig point on top, it had far reaching views and it was blowing a gale. At 1387m, a bit higher than Ben Nevis, I suppose it is a proper mountain.

                                                                        The summit:

                                                                            The view:

The outward route took 2 hours and 45 minutes, the same journey in reverse, 40 minutes including a 5 minute break to cool down my sizzling wheels.

It was an exhilarating descent, I'm beginning to enjoy descending albeit at a modest speed. I've stopped feeling inferior about not going fast downhill and am now a little more relaxed and in control although always there is the knowledge that a small mistake can hurt.

Back at the hostal, again a couple of beers and a short siesta took preference over the piscina.

Tomorrow I would head back to La Alfoquia. I could take the main road east to Sorbas and then head over the lower hills to Lubrin, that would be the sensible option...............

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 

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!