The Sausage butty run

An early start this morning wasn't early enough to succesfully fit Nick's newly arrived pannier rack to his bike so the day before the tour commences we still have untried hardware.

Today was the Sunday edition of the thrice weekly ex pat ride from the Zurgena and Arboleas areas to the small town of Cantoria further up the Almanzora valley.

Although only a 20 mile return trip by the shortest route it was a good and final opportunity to trial our newly repaired and serviced bikes.

The trial soon proved necessary as my brakes were rubbing and my gears seemed to have been upgraded to automatic as highlighted by frequent unrequested gear changes. A few minor tweeks seemed to rectify these issues.

Nick however would have gladly exchanged his mechanical shortcomings with mine as his gears proved to have the functionality of a bag of shite!

Several stops later and after much theorising as to the cause of the problem, our arrival at the usual hostelry in Cantoria was somewhat delayed.  We thought the most likely issue was the indexing of the rear derailleur, a theory agreed by John, the local velo guru at the bar in Cantoria.

The noisy banter of the ex pat peloton at the bar was interrupted only for the important business of the day, the ordering of cafe con leches all round and of course the local Andalusian delicacy of bocadillo salchichas (sausage butties).

Nick's gears seemed better on the way back to Zurgena but with the benefit of hindsight (we are now on day 2 of the tour) our confidence in Nick's mechanics were misplaced.

Tomorrow is day 1 of the Sierra tour and this evenings weather is a little ominous although the forecast seems good.

                                             Just after an evening thunder storm:

Final preparations

On the Last Minute!

Almost ready for our little adventure now. My brother Nick has been helpfully sorting out my bike with some much needed TLC, I'd sent parts over from Ireland and Germany and after some frantic tracking and a few phone calls my bike now has a host of new parts fitted and after a detailed checkover I've declared it fit for purpose and ready for the Sierra tour.

Were it not for the fact that Nick hasn't yet received the pannier rack he ordered from China a month ago we would be good to go. Oh, and the fact that his bike is broken!

Assuming we get Nick sorted out we'll set off on the 1st leg on Monday 27th.  

Today we visited the local market in Zurgena, a colourful but uninspiring cocktail of fruit and veg, cheap sunglasses and cheap clothes although I didn't find a replacement for my airport trampled shirt.

The local Goatherd doing his early evening rounds outside my brothers place.

A picture from Aguillas, the whole staircase was an intricate tiling mosaic.

A short tour in Almeria province - Day 1 of 3

Rain wear not required!

Since reaching my destination 2 months ago I've been exploring the local area on short day rides, short mainly due to the heat.  This week I decided to venture a little further afield with a 3 day outing around the area  to the north of the Cabo de Gata coastline, east of the provincial capital Almeria.

I am based temporarily (thanks to the kindness of my sister and brother-in-law) in the village of La Alfoquia which is between the towns of Albox and Huercal Overa.   My brother, who also lives locally was to join me on the first leg of my journey. 

After refitting the indispensable mirror to my bike following yet another repair we were ready for the off.  

A quick stop at the Todo (everything) shop in the village en route to stock up on phone credit 'just in case' and were soon enjoying the level first mile as we know it won't last!

The climb starts on the approach to Zurgena and continues unabated for around 40 minutes.  I'm supposed to be in touring mode but my brother only knows one pace - 'flat out'.  Carying gear for a three day trip I struggle to hang on to his wheel.

The sight of the typical Spanish hill village of Lubrin is a welcome one, the journey is less than 2 hours but not easily gained,  A short steep descent brings us to a favourite local bar on the edge of town where we both order a much needed cold drink and a tostada with tomato.  The humble tostada is something of a ritual in Spain, the local crusty 'Barra' (a big baguette) is halved and spread with grated tomato.  The toasted bread is then vigorously stabbed with a fork so that lashings of olive oil can be poured on and soaked up.  A little salt and pepper completes what is a delicious breakfast.  The local olive oil by the way is said to be the best in the world, of course it's the people of Lubrin who say that! 

I bid farewell to my brother who returns, largely downhill to Zurgena.  My onward journey involves another stiff pull up to El Pilar and then on to Uleila del Campo.  I'm skirting the eastern end of the Sierra de los Filabres mountain range but fortunately crossing the range at a fairly low altitude.  It's hot work but as I'm hosteling and not carrying camping gear, the bike isn't too heavy.

                        The scorched hills between Lubrin and El Pilar following bush fires,

                                     fortunately the road was an effective fire-break.

The small town of Uleila del Campo on the southeastern flanks of the Sierra de los Filabres range

Beyond Uleila del Campo the going is easy down to the main N340 road which leads on to Tabernas which is well known as the main town of the Tabernas dessert, famous as the place where many of the spaghetti westerns along with other films have been shot.

The hostel I'm heading for was described as being 'in' Los Yesos which is marked on my map but turned out to be nothing more than a couple of derelict buildings and a factory at a road junction.

My hostal was a further mile or so along the main road, more of a roadside Motel really but with cold beer, good tapas and staff that were 'largely' friendly!  I had intended to use the pool at the hostal but with an air-conditioned bar and air-conditioned room the outside world had little attraction.  

The past week has been wickedly hot and so 4 hours on the bike is enough sun for 1 day.

I'm at the hostal for 2 nights so I have a day to explore tomorrow.  I came from the north, to the east and west is the main N340 road but to the south, there are hills!  ??

Back to 'Civilisation'

People, cars and Irish Bars:

I left the camp site at Las Negras soon forgetting my sleepless night and the dozen or so Mozzie bites.

I knew the first few kilometres was uphill as I'd descended the same road the day before.  The hills are not big on the Cabo de Gata peninsula but from sea level, it was enough to work up a good sweat.

I had my usual accompaniment of flies along the way.  I can usually out run them on the level and on the fast descents they are no trouble but on the slow climbs, when I'm mouth agape, gasping in as much air as possible they are a real blight.  I've swallowed several over the past few weeks.  Passing through Trevelez a few days ago I almost choked on one, I had to stop and for 4 or 5 seconds I coughed, spluttered and heaved until finally the fly was expelled and flew away, it was like a scene from 'The Green Mile'.

The big climb was followed by an exhilarating descent to a much flatter section.  The quiet road between Fernan Perez and Agua Amarga was a delight, flat and straight giving an opportunity to soak up the remote desert scenery.  A short section of relatively busy 'N' road led into Carboneras.  I stocked up on lunch and headed eastwards remembering a dramatic road climb ahead from previous trips (in the car!).

I stopped for lunch on my very own deserted beach.

After my customary lunch of ham, cheese, tomato and fresh crusty bread which after a month I still haven't tired of, I decided to take a swim.  I took off my cycling shoes and socks and immediately had to put the shoes back on, the sand was too hot to walk on.  I got to the waters edge and saw that just 3 metres out the beach shelved steeply into inky depths.  I didn't like the thought of the undertow and of drifting slowly out into the Med watching my faithful companion 'The Tank' get smaller and smaller.  I wimped out and went for a paddle up to my knees which I enjoyed anyway.

The 2 photos below were taken from the same spot, my preferred option - the beach down to the right and the actual onward route, the road above to the left!

And there's more!

Looking back at some of the climb, it really wasn't too bad, a fairly forgiving gradient.

I dropped down into the resort of Mojacar, the culture shock was immense, lots of people, cars, buildings.  It was like getting back to Manchester after a week in the highlands, a little overwhelming.  I eventually found the camp site in town and was registering when I asked about the bar, shop, restaurant etc 'all closed' - they don't bother to tell you this unless you ask.  I employed my UK booking Agent (Claire) to have a look on the Internet for a Hostal.  she quickly found one, didn't book it but gave me the address and said the place was fairly central.  It was on the Avenida Mediteraneo which is around 7 miles long and when I eventually gave up searching and stopped to ask I was told it was a further 3km to the east.

                                                         Proper big building, cars and all that!!

                                                                 And real people, dozens of em?

Probably unnoticed by many of Mojacar's visitors, the resort is overlooked by an impressive mountain range, the Sierra de Cabrera.

I'd planned to spend 2 nights in Mojacar and therefore have a rest day but the hostal was full for the following night so I moved just a few mile up the coast to Garrucha for the next night.  That left me with just 20 odd miles to head inland to my brothers and sisters places the following day. 

One last day of riding and my emotions were all over the place!

The winged tormentors of Andalusia

Pests, with wings and in cars:

Having skirted Almeria I headed towards the Cabo de Gata peninsula. I've walked this coast line over 3 days and it really is an unexpected treat, as far from the idea of typical Spanish Costas as you can get. It's an area of impressive craggy hills which plunge steeply in to the sea and secluded coves, many only accessible on foot.

The roads are few and have to run inland due to the terrain so I knew that a bike wasn't the best option to explore this area. Nevertheless it's a beautiful and quiet area with little traffic. It's not a hospitable place, this is the hottest part of Spain and along with the area around Tabernas inland it is said to be the only area of true desert in Europe.

                                                       

    In to the 'Badlands' of Almeria

There are few villages, none of the welcoming Plaza Mayor's of central Spain with their refreshing Fuentes and convenient benches. For the first time on the trip I had lunch by the roadside. I'd been riding for 4 or 5 hours, it was hot and I was 'done-in' – I just pulled in and sat under the shade of a tree, my bike discarded at the side of the road.

I'd pressed on further than intended, I was a little early to stop at the camp sites at Cabo de Gata and San Jose so I rode on to the site at Los Escullos. The site looked ok, the pitches were stoney as usual but the pool was open. Unfortunately the bar, shop and restaurant were closed all day for an annual government inspection. I pressed on to the next option another few miles down the road at Las Negras.

I've stayed in Las Negras before, it's a picture box seaside village, not the real Spain for me, too many posh Villas and modern Apartments. I followed signs for the camp site on the edge of the village.

The site was allegedly 200 metres from this point? It didn't look too promising.

 

But there it was, set just above an idyllic cove and also with a pool.

I'd planned to spend 2 nights here so I was well pleased with the prospect of a rest day in what looked like a great little site.

I left the following morning, sleep deprived and complaining to the receptionist.

I did get to swim in the Med which was wonderful, it seemed like only 5 minutes since I was on the Atlantic coast!!!

I cooked at the tent which was fine until I realised that I was being bitten by Mozzies, by the time I could clear everything away and take refuge in my tent it was too late. I had dozens of bytes and had to lie in a very hot tent itching all over. The worst were on the soles of my feet and the backs of my hands, it was purgatory.

I spent a good 15 minutes zapping all the mozzies I could in the tent. I need my head torch and glasses of course to splat the things, when I'm happy that I've got them all I turn off my torch and lie back. A few minutes later the dreaded high pitched buzz whizzes past my ear and the killing campaign has to continue.

Things had cooled a little by around 10pm and I was desperate to sleep. Little did I know that this was Spain's noisiest camp site. The noise, including general partying and annoyingly cars moving around the site went on until was after midnight. A campervan arrived at 11:45 and parked 'on' my pitch!

I left in the morning and informed the lady on reception that the site was terrible and that I would never return, I don't think she was overly concerned!

The tiny fishing hamlet of Isleta del Moro, I once spent a cold and lonely night in the hostal here in December, definately the only tourist in the village.

The Cabo de Gata coastline.

Las Negras:

 

The road towards Agua Amarga was deserted and bizarrely for Spain, FLAT!

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!