A lazy day on the coast

Chilling in Calabardina and Aguillas:

5 days until the tour starts so taking it easy.  We're enjoying a 2 night stay at the peaceful Hotel Mayari in Calabardina. We are the only guests and we were treated to a personal tour of the hotel's very own museum of north African antiquities.

Our day started with a light breakfast of muesli, yogurt, banana, strawberries, orange juice, toast, rye bread, croissants, jam, tomatoes, cucumber, salami, ham, cheese washed down with 2 cups of excellent cafe con leche, no lunch required!

We took a stroll/spin along the deserted promenade in Calabardina.

I left Claire to rest on the promenade for half an hour whilst I joined in with the beach aerobics 'Little Britain' style! 😄

We drove to the area's main resort, Aguillas.  

  
                                                       Aguillas port:

This is the chairman of the local BOSG (Body Odour Support Group) enjoying a day on the beach at Aguillas

Hornillo Pier

The old pier which is a remnant of the railway built by British engineers in the late 19th century to load the locally mined iron ore on to ships.

Tomorrow we head to Zurgena where I will be reunited with my trusty steed so that I can check her servicability for the upcoming tour. Roll on Monday.

A short tour in Almeria province - Day 3 of 3

Up and over:

I decided to leave the sensible option for another day, Sorbas would have to wait. I girded my loins for a more direct crossing of the Sierra de los Filabres mountain range. I retraced the route from day 1 as far as Uleila del Campo and resisted the temptation to take the outward route in full and head towards Lubrin.

I could see the onward route to Albanchez high on the mountain ahead. It was sufficiently daunting for me to stop and dismount the bike, check my tyres, brakes, water bottle levels and my sanity.

               The onward route can be seen top centre rising across the hillside from left to right:

I passed a sign which said 'Cantoria 38km' – not a great distance in cycling terms but with 40deg C and a mountain range to cross it prompted a moment of concern.

The climb started on the road which skirts the village to the west and continued relentlessly.

I soon abandoned any thought of completing the climb without stopping, the hot still air seemed to provide no fuel for faltering legs. I tried to stop where there was a hint of dappled shade from roadside trees but there was little. What breeze there was would be strongest on the bridges where re-entrants in the mountainside funnelled the air a little so that's where I stopped, baking in the afternoon sun to try to cool down!

                     Brown signs with the word 'Sierra' generally warn of a hard day at the office!

The high point of the pass had been in view for some time, or so I thought. Of course around each bend there was further ascent. I came across the first good patch of shade and stopped to rest for a few minutes. The only food I had was the sticky remains of a bunch of grapes I'd plucked from my sisters terrace the night before departure but they were much needed. At least I had water, warm water!

Everything comes to he who sweats and eventually I reached the Puerto de la Virgen, the Pass of the Virgin.

                                                 My hard earned rendezvous with the Virgin!

I hoped that the ascent had all but ended for the day and after a photo stop on the pass I enjoyed the reward of another flowing descent.

I took a small detour into the village of Albanchez looking for a cold drink and food. As is generally the case it was deserted. I was half way through the village when I heard voices,

I followed them and came into the plaza to find a small stall setup serving drinks and food. The locals stared inquisitively as always as the dripping cyclist slurped his first cold drink.

The food being served was paella and I had a small plateful with a chunk of bread for 1 euro, delicious.

The roller coaster ride continued down the the road between Cantoria and Almanzora which I was familiar with from my local excursions. From there a mixture of Rambla (dry riverbed) and road took me back to Alforquia and a couple of cold bottles before tea.

The trip has opened my mind to further possibilities, it is an option to ride in extreme heat and it's certainly preferable to riding in the wind and rain.

Short days, lots of water and a tolerance of incredulous looks from the locals are the secrets.

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!  ??

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 

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!