Hebrides Tour - Day 2

Come back Andalusia,  all is forgiven:

Unfortunately half of yesterday's blog went AWOL but it's not worth repeating so I'll start on Day 2.  Last night's accommodation at a former Fisherman's Mission was basic but adequate other than the unwelcome combination of ill fitting curtains and a very close by Belesha Beacon.  I'd  planned to get  the 09:30 ferry to Skye but following the previous evening's cancellation and the forecast gales, the advice  was to take the 07:40 ferry as that had more chance of sailing. 
The crossing was indeed lumpy but only 40 minutes so not 'quite ' long enough to induce any unpleasantness. 

The views from the ferry back to Knoydart and south to the small Isles including the unmistakeable profile of An Sgurr on the island of Egg.

On arrival at Ardvasar on Skye the sun was shining but in the direction I was heading, it didn't look so promising.

The wind was as forecast increasing in strength, mostly it was a welcome  tail wind but occasionally it was an entertaining cross wind.  Approaching Broadford it started to reach that intensity that threatens to blow you into the overtaking traffic.  I stopped in Broadford for some respite and a comforting bacon butty.
The weather by now was how I remember it on Skye, gloomy.  Only I do gloomy better than the Isle of Skye!

I knew there was a steady climb out of Broadford and I suspected the wind would be problematic.  What I didn't  expect was hail, driving rain and a wind that at one point brought me to a grinding halt on a flat section of road.  On the descent towards Slighacan the stinging hail had me squinting with one eye to see the road ahead.
I took refuge in a bus shelter at Slighacan and pondered on the merits of cycle touring in Scotland.

A minor improvement tempted me to move on, only around 8 miles remaining and indeed the rain did abate if not the wind.

I got to the hostel, the Old Inn bunkhouse at 2pm, much earlier than planned due to taking the early morning ferry. The hostel wasn't available until 5pm so I had 3 hours to kill. Now the pub would be the logical choice but fearing being blottoed by the time the hostel opened I choose to ride on along the shore of Loch Harpole to Portnalong.

I took the steep climb up behind the hallowed ground of the Taskisker distillery and continued on into a worsening gale. Just short of Portnalong further progress became almost impossible and again I had to take refuge in a bus shelter.

This is a video of my bus shelter No 2 experience, if I get get blogger to upload it?

The bunkhouse at Carbost is in a great location, scenic yes but also right next to The Old Inn, a favourite hostelry of old.  The haggis, neeps and tatties wrapped in filo pastry with an Isle  of Skye whisky and cream  sauce went down very well particularly as is was washed down by a couple of pints of Red Cuillin.

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 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 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...............

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!

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.