Murcia 2022: Day 4

Totana to Aguilas

Nick’s repair to his pannier rack was both inspired and indestructible. Two whopping bolts, 287 cable ties and a good hour were committed to the cause. There would be no mechanical excuses for climb avoidance today!

The initial miles this morning were pleasant but not spectacular enough to be remembered in detail. I suspect my mind was occupied by puzzling over why I hadn’t had a broken spoke for over 24 hours. Also, the dread of the beast of a climb that lay in wait for the heat of the afternoon.

We’ve now stopped paying attention to the quoted temperatures and just accept that it’s beyond feckin hot.

Although today’s ride was kind of open ended as Nick’s wife would pick us up from wherever we managed to reach we both knew that the stripes would be ripped off our shoulders if we didn’t at least attempt the big climb.

A Goatherd doing his thing on the baking plains of Murcia province

The looming giant was preceded by the usual softening up process of dehydration and UV overdose. The perrenial numb feet, saddle soreness and general fatigue of a cycle tour we’re roundly relegated into obscurity by the overwhelming presence of the sun.

I remonstrated that I would not start the climb without replenishment of my water supply. At the foot of the climb my excuse was cruelly snatched away as we found a shop.

It was locked but the owner appeared from somewhere and let us in. We bought as much water as we could carry and tried to buy a baguette for lunch. Bread? Yes, Ham, no – it’s not good? Cheese? Yes. Tomato? No. Salad? No.

So, there we sat, on a bench under the shade of a tree overlooking a kiddies playground trying to digest a dry cheese baguette. We’d have been arrested were it not for the fact that no Spanish kids are stupid enough to play out in the heat of the afternoon!

We girded our loins for the climb but then, faithfully following Mr Garmin’s guidance we headed off in completely the wrong direction.

My £5 compass once again proved to be of more worth than my £300 GPS and had us doing a U turn. We headed up an unlikely looking lane and stopped to ask a local the way. Now I love Spain and the Spanish but if I’ve learned anything from many visits it’s that 95% of Spanish people give directions that range from nebulous to surreal.

We ignored the lads advice and just as we forged ahead with our dubious choice of route Nick spotted another gentleman further up the lane who seemed to be beckoning us towards him.

He appeared to be a North African, probably Morrocan so we speculated that if he had found his way from one continent to another he might just have more idea than the typical native.

He pointed in the direction we were heading and gestured to us to follow him in his car.  Now I had been incapable of keeping up with Nick all week let alone an internal combustion engine! Nick however likes a challenge and almost died trying to keep up with our Moorish friend. When I eventually caught up with Nick our navigator had fled saying that he didn’t have time to wait for us (me). We think he was on his way to work but he did tell us to continue climbing then turn left at a T junction.

We had both done this climb once before on a tour but with a less brutal start and in a time when I weighed a sack of potatoes less than I do now and had hobbies which involved exercise rather than eating and drinking.

I slogged away at this initial part of the climb resting and drinking frequently but had to dismount and push my bike up one evil little ramp. For me to choose walking over cycling is almost unheard of in the last 12 years but I had no other choice.

The climb is around 1000ft, I think Nick reached the top before I had clipped in to my peddles at the bottom.

It’s difficult to assess how much of the torment was caused by the heat, my aversion to training, my advancing years or my ever increasing cuddlyness but the overall effect made it a real trial.

Despite having loaded up with water my supply was dwindling by the time I was reaching the top of the climb. I tried to ration what was left, never wanting to drink my last reserves. I had already  blistered the roof of my mouth this week from the intense dry heat and sometimes my mouth is so dry that I can’t swallow. Running out of water here can quickly turn messy.

Nick had waited at the summit and reversed the climb for a couple of hundred metres to join me for my final struggle to the top where he gave me a swig of his plentiful supply of water.

Looking west from the top of the climb

The clearly signed ‘Dangerous descent’ was taken at a steady pace, no last hurdle dramas were needed!

We hit the coast line at Cabo Cope and pressed on through Calabardina to find an excellent new cycle track all the way to Aguilas and our rendezvous with Nick’s wife and our transport back to base.

Another Spanish tour completed. Only 4 days this time and nothing like the huge climbing days we’ve done in the past. Nevertheless this tour was as tough as any and valuable lessons were learnt.

The main lesson was not to tour in southern Spain in full summer temperatures although we were caught out this time by the unseasonably hot conditions.  I must have known already but certainly now, I  fully understand that what was challenging but enjoyable when you are fit is not quite so enjoyable when you are not!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My journey home involved another early flight so a final nights accommodation was booked close to Alicante airport.

My final nights meal and one of my favourites in Spain, Chuletas de Cordero – tasty lamb chops

This is typical of the type of 2 star Hostal accommodation we use on tour

This room actually had air-con and a sea view! Yes the sea is really there in the centre of the photo.

What was hoped to be a stress free early start didn’t quite go to plan!

A 4:15 alarm call led to a pitch black drive through an unfamiliar town looking for the petrol station I couldn’t find the previous evening. I found it but then which side was the filler cap on?

A lucky guess had me smiling but only until I realised I wasn’t sure what fuel the car takes?

The info on the filler cap made no sense to me. Did the girl say Sin Plomo (unleaded) when I picked the car up? Maybe but I’m not sure. I dig out the paperwork and scan it but can’t make out the fuel type. In desperation I take the documents to the cashier, he can’t see anything. ‘What is on the filler cap’ he says? Back to the car, back to the cashier – E5/E10/PB I say with my no doubt poor pronunciation of Spanish letters.

Ah, Sin Plomo he said. Did he know or was he just fed up of me pestering?

With some uncertainty and crossed fingers I filled up with Sin Plomo. Time will tell!

Now to find the drop-off location for the car which was different to the collection point because of the early hour, an inconvenience I was charged an extra 40 euros for.

In the darkness I got myself into the wrong lane and almost ended up in the barrier controlled airport parking. An unpopular manoeuvre got me out of it but into what seemed to be a taxi only drop off area.

Cursing my choices of Alicante and an early flight I did a further lap of the airport perimeter and this time found the correct lane.

It was a big relief to ditch the car. I thought it prudent not to mention the fuel, I had a flight to catch.

Just the joy of a Ryanair flight back to Liverpool now. Life keeps getting better.

If/when I next return to Spain to cycle tour I need to be either fitter of less ambitious. I suspect I know which it will be!

Adiós for now 🇪🇦

Murcia 2022: Day 3

Bullas to Totana

After a poor night’s sleep due to sunburn and assorted noises from the street the day started with a complex route through town on what seemed to be market day.Our destination was the bike shop to replace my broken spoke and to purchase more for the next inevitable breakage. Fantastic service for the fix including a full wheel balance and 3 extra spoke for 12 euros.

Our route out of town proved too much for Mr Garmin and we had to retrace our steps before finding the excellent traffic free way heading east towards Mula..

The Via Verde (green way) Noroeste led us, with a little off piste bushwhacking to towards El Niño and on to Mula and Pliego. At some point on today’s ride Nick discovered that his pannier rack had cracked badly in several places.

An improvised repair with cable ties proved to be only a short term solution.

Pliego

Seeking shade on the long pull out of Pliego

The biggest climb of the day was to be the 5.5 mile slog from Gebas up past El Berro to a highpoint up in the Sierra de Espuna mountains. I had considered bypassing this and meeting up with Nick further south, a plan almost guaranteed to end badly.

Foolishly I decided to do the climb, with dwindling water supplies and at the hottest part of the day I reluctantly decided after half a mile that this was a climb too far for me. Nick too, being worried about his rapidly disintegrating pannier rack decided that maybe the climb was for another day.

We found a bar within a mile to replenish our fluids but they were too busy with a function to supply us with any lunch.

Due to the heat we ate very little during the rides, I just had a bag of some salty corn stuff to try to replenish the lost salts. It was tooth breaking and almost indigestible without copious amounts of water.

The water in my drinking bottles was generally about the temperature of a warm bath, not at all refreshing but literally life saving.

By late afternoon we approached the outskirts of Totana. Nick had already tried to effect a repair to his pannier rack using sticks but he now resorted to rummaging in every roadside bin to acquire suitable materials for a more lasting repair.

On the edge of town we had to bypass the only hotel I was aware of because Nick wanted to find a Ferriterea (Ironmongers) to buy some bolts. A long hot ride into town brought us to a shop but we had a 45 minute wait before reopening time at 5pm. A 2nd and bigger shop was needed to finally supply the necessary hardware for a repair. The locals said there were no hotels in town so it was a further few miles in the searing heat to reach some accommodation for the night.

A couple of cold ones and the tastiest Albondigas (meatballs) tapa brought us back to some semblance of normality.

No respite from the sun is forecast for tomorrow and with the biggest climb of the tour in the heat of the afternoon the final day had an element of uncertainty!

Murcia 2022: Day 2

Puerto Lumbreras to Bullas:

Phew, what a scorcher! 🌞😎

I was so knackered after yesterday’s ride that I didn’t check my bike over at the end of the day. Of course a pre-breakfast inspection revealed my usual nemesis when touring in Spain, a broken spoke. Obviously on the more messy back wheel but fortunately on the non-drive side which means the special tools ‘which I don’t have’ were not needed.

We’re it not for banging my head twice on the concrete stairwell under which my bike was stored and the determined resistance of the last few  of the milimetres of the spoke to slot into place I may have completed the job without becoming an expletive laden, sweat drenched mess.

Things went from shit to shitter as I managed to delete my meticulously planned route from my Garmin GPS.

This necessitated my first attempt to navigate using a mobile phone mounted on the handlebars. This, to be fair worked quite well and with the ridiculously unlikely chance of rain seemed to be a good solution.

Yesterday’s ‘just’ sub 30 deg temperatures would now seem temperate by today’s standards.

33 degs was forecast and I’m sure the reality exceeded that. The day proved to be another where I would push my boundaries in terms of mileage and climbing but with the added value of dehydration, mild sunstroke and a constant eye wash comprising of stinging sweat and suncream.

Today’s rolling hill country backed by impressive forrested mountains

I took just one photo on today’s tide preferring to concentrate on maintaining some degree of normality in my breathing pattern and taking every opportunity to explore any nook or cranny of shade.

To nobodies surprise una radio roto (a broken spoke) was discovered mid afternoon. I had one remaining spare so we decided the that a trip to the LBS (local bike shop) was in order for the following morning.

My night’s sleep was delayed by several hours due to the unhealthy glow of someone who has spent too many hours being frazzled by the unremitting Spanish sun. Sadly the forecast for the following day was 36 degrees.

Roll on day 3!

Murcia 2022: Day 1

La Alforquia to Puerto Lumbreras:It’s been a while!My last cycle tour was in 2018. Since then, age, weight gain and most of all a notable lack of mileage have conspired to turn cycling into what feels like a hobby of towing a fridge freezer around on a trailer without wheels.A desperate last ditch attempt to get some miles/climbing done may well not be enough to allow me a short tour in southern Spain?If there’s an area in Spain where a flat tour can be planned, I have yet to discover it. It certainly isn’t possible in Andalusia.My brother Nick is joining me and will again no doubt enjoy thrashing me on every hill we encounter. Long gone are the days when I waited for Nick at the top of the hills.With availability issues we hatched a cunning plan which entails me cycling day 1 on my owns and Nick getting a lift to the start of day 2.I planned a modest day by Spanish standards for the first day but even that happened to be more miles and more climbing than I’ve done in the last couple of years. Temperatures pushing 30 degs would ensure a challenging enough day.Although it’s becoming quite difficult to plan new routes in this area I managed to contrive a 4 day tour which would be 90% new ground for me.A late start ensured a roasting under the unseasonably hot Spanish sun for the entire ride.Not wanting to become even more heartless than I already am I took the right turn for Pulpi which means octopus in Spanish (more later).As happens in Spain, the back road I was on came unexpectedly to an end so an off road stint through the orange groves was needed but a short push up a gravelly ramp brought me back to the road just short of Pulpi.The small town of Octopus will be remembered mainly for me being comprehensively ignored for 10 minutes by 2 barmaids before being presented with a ridiculously over priced tapa and cold drink.The numerous climbs were hard work but bearable until after the small town of Almendricos where the long drag got the better of me.My lack of fitness was exposed and I laboured up the slog struggling to keep my breathing under control. Twice I had to stop and cower in the scant shade of a roadside bush. Copious amount of water and rest were needed to eventually allow me to crest the rise and enjoy the sweeping descent in to Puerto Lumbreras.My hostal for the night was bar less so a quick change of footwear to soothe my baking feet was swiftly followed by a short hop to the nearest hostelry.The best part of any cycling day in SpainMy hostal for the night was the usual ‘cheapest place in town’ but at least breakfast is included. I could barely sleep due to the excited anticipation of the following mornings offerings!Having visited the town of Pulpi I couldn’t resist the octopus and pig’s trotter croquettes for dinner, very nice too.And my now traditional Spanish nightcap.

A Short trip to the Med

With just 2 days remaining of this unseasonally cool trip to southern Spain there’s just enough time to squeeze in a quick overnighter to the coast.

I’ve had 3 days since the 5 day Murcia tour ended, it was 5 days of more strenuous exercise than a body as old as mine should have to contend with.

The first post tour Day was definitely a rest day or more accurately, a comatose day. The second was a short but far from flat ‘Sausage Butty run’ ride which served well as an effective lactic buster and the 3rd day, another rest.

I’m now keen or at least capable of one more modest trip before I return to the purgatory of winter cycling in the UK.

My route from Zurgena will be the familiar and significantly lumpy road to the striking hillside village of Lubrin. From there into uncharted territory for me, the no doubt undulating way to Bedar, Los Gallardos and on to my watering hole for the night, the coastal town of Garrucha.

The forecast is for less intemperate weather than last week so I hope my weather whippings won’t be repeated.

My brother Nick unfortunately can’t join me on this one as he needs to work and save up for the e-bike he plans to buy me for Christmas.

The view from base on a bright but cold and blowy start.

My legs felt good on the immediate climb towards Lubrin but with no one’s wheel to try to cling on to I was in no mood for pushing the pace.

The only way is up

Lubrin: Elevation 1670ft

El Marchal

The climb from El Marchal to Bedar

Generally in Spain, to see the onward route it’s not so much a case of looking forwards, more a case of looking up.

The road can be seen traversing right to left just below the skyline in the photo above.

Looking back at El Marchal from near the top of the climb

Looking south to the Med from above Bedar

In the village of Bedar

A memorial in Bedar to the Miners of the area: Iron ore I think

The old village of Mojacar – ‘Mojacar Pueblo’ high above the popular resort of Mojacar

Garrucha: Golden sands, palm trees and a rusty old tanker

I arrived at the hostal or rather the bar opposite in good time after a relatively short ride, around 38 miles today with 3000ft of climbing.

The bar is an old favourite. The stout ginger haired custodian was as welcoming as ever although he would look more at home in a Scottish drinking den than a tapas bar in Andalucia.

What’s not to like. Estrella on draft, tasty tapas and Fiesta Radio playing. This radio station brings back fond memories of my long spring stay in Las Alpujarras in 2009 whilst reccying walks and writing content for my Sierratrekking website. Days of making dreams real before fate intervened.

Whilst away on tour last week I’d failed to register the 1st anniversary of my back surgery. The 4th of November 2017 was meant to be a turning point, it certainly was. I was much worse for 6/8 months. I suppose that’s to be expected but it was a time of difficulty and doubt, a time when I thought I’d done the wrong thing.

Of course, I did the right thing, I took the chance. It could have fixed my walking, it still may but it hasn’t so far. I still hope for the day when I can cycle tour without a walking stick. But if I could I’d probably be walking in Las Alpujarras and just using my bike to go shopping?

My digs in Garrucha is an old haunt, I must have stayed here half a dozen times. The cheapest place in town but always comfortable and welcoming making it worth returning to.

The two places to eat in the evening within my walking remit are a Chinese and an Argentinean Steak House. I’ve eaten at the latter once and I’m still convinced that my arthritic jaw started there. Chinese again tonight then.

I’m now in a bar across the road from my hostel, not the tasty tapas bar, that’s closed in the evening. A new bar, to me. I’m sat at the bar facing a sign which states “Prohibido Fumar”. The only other customer is smoking, the barmaid is smoking and there is no extraction. It’s not pleasant but there’s a great classic rock CD playing and the beer tastes good so I’m torn as to whether to stay for another?

I stayed, for another two.

I was the only customer in the Chinese restaurant, the extended family who run the place disguised their delight in seeing me well.

I was met and escorted to a table by a stern gentleman who likely won the lottery very recently but lost the ticket.

He tried to escape but I managed to detain him to ask for the WiFi password for my blog duties.

I was rather proud to enter the correct password at only the second attempt:

The music in the restaurant was in contrast to the rock fest of the bar I’d just left. I was welcomed by the strains of a French composers opera played on Spanish guitar – Bizet’s Carmen, odd for a Chinese restaurant? This was followed by Rodrigo’s guitar concerto, both pieces of music I like but I think AC/DC had the edge.

The pretty young waitress who took my order had the demeanour of a Red Army P.T. instructor. She probably weighed as much as my left leg but I wouldn’t fancy my chances in a street fight. Needless to say, I didn’t hesitate with my menu choices.

The food was good and cheap. I got the bill and it showed just 1 beer, I’d had 2. Sensing a cunning trap I brought this to the attention of the stern gentleman thereby avoiding a death blow to the throat on my exit.

As it happens, 1 beer was included in the menu price so the bill was correct. The stern gentleman’s inscrutabilty didn’t allow any sign of acknowledgement of my honesty.

Despite the unwillingness to communicate one iota over and above what is required to deliver food to my table I’m sure I’ll return to the Chinese restaurant in preference to perpetual chewing of a coconut mat at a certain steak house.

‘Man down’ at the Hostal Manolo!

The following morning was bright and mild in stark contrast to the previous week. I pottered eastwards along the coast heading for Palomares to see friends Ian and Lou who have wintered there for several years now.

The outlet of a river east of Garrucha

Avoiding the main road I weaved through the posh villas of Puerto Rey and the big ‘au naturel’ urbanizations of Vera Playa. I neared the camping ground in Palomares only to bump in to Lou on the roadside taking Bracken for his morning constitutional. It was great to spend a couple of hours with old friends and tempting to consider their nomadic lifestyle?

I left Ian and Lou to their coastal idyll and headed north on my journey back. I reached Cuevas del Almanzora by a different route to the previous week but from there endured the same long drag on the busy and fast road towards Antas.

I was treated to 3 very close passes by HGV drivers including 1 overtaking a line of traffic and heading towards me at great speed. I must learn how to swear in Spanish!

At the top of the long drag I was faced with a choice of the brute of a climb from Antes to the Lubrin road on which I’d suffered on the final day of the tour last week or a much lesser climb on the camino parallel to the motorway.

Of course I chose the brute but first I dropped down to a bar in Antes to fuel the effort before tackling the 1000ft climb once again.

Whilst never easy, with fresher legs and minus the evil headwind the brute wasn’t really too bad.

The flowing descent to Zurgena was a thrill as always but the usual car transport up the track to Nick’s was absent so the final hurdle was 5kms of rough track and mostly uphill.

I’ve done this a few times, it’s always a challenge and more so with the extra burden of Panniers. One short section is very rough and steep, enough to make it a struggle to keep the front wheel on the ground. I managed to ride it all, a measure of my improved fitness in just a couple of weeks.

Back at base there was just enough time for a welcome brew and a quick shower before heading out for a final meal with my family.

I’m now on one of everybodies favourite Irish airline’s flights having been half stripped by security at Alicate airport and being gobsmacked by the price of a bottle of water and a sandwich in WH Smith’s.

The stewardess has the broadest Scouse twang I’ve heard in a long time and at a pitch that could slice Chorizo. I’m wedged against the window in a row of 3 blokes of whom I may be the lightest and after sweating for the 1st half hour of the flight, I’m now descending into hypothermia.

Oh the joys of travel.

Murcia tour 2018 – Day 5:

Calabardina to Zurgena

Our night in Calabardina was spent at yet another ‘to be avoided’ hostelry. Again, a bland box lacking any character save that of the sound effects. The paper thin walls allowed us to be serenaded to sleep by the sound of our snoring neighbours and we were awoken early by the dawn chorus of their morning ablutions.

We tactically avoided the need for a bank loan by skipping breakfast at the attached bar and instead, we shipped out and headed for a Pasteleria in town. 1 cafe con leche, 1 manchada and two double tostadas with tomatoes and cheese for 5 euros. Nick was happy.

Today’s route was basically to follow the coast for 20 miles or so before heading inland. The Garmin by now was sulking because of the verbal abuse it had received throughout the week and it’s duties were confined to telling us the time and recording our mileage.

We largely avoided the busy streets of Aguilas by sticking to the promenade where we weaved around inattentive tourists and made use of a reliable piece of technology, my bell.

A busy day in Aguilas

An excellent stretch of quiet coast road between San Juan de los Terreros and Villaricos.

We stopped for some lunch in the small marina of Villaricos, by now basked in warm sun. The contrast to the near hypothermia conditions of the first 2 days was surreal. For the 1st time on the tour I peeled off my arm warmers. The improvement in the weather also brought out the tourists and lots of middle-aged men in lycra not to mention a legion of flies, most of whom seemed partial to Magra, our choice of tapa for the day.

Eating alfresco in Spain can be a frustrating operation with one hand covering the food and the other alternating between feeding my face and swishing the flies away. Needless to say the accompanying cussing is almost but not quite on a par with that directed at the Garmin.

All bars in Spain seem to have a TV, sometimes several and all showing different programs. The usual fodder is football, trashy soaps and even trashier gameshows always presented by hombres with Hollywood smiles and assisted by Miss World contenders. There was something strangely addictive though about watching Wheel of Fortune in Spanish and this photo I took is a fitting epithet following our noisy stopover last night!

‘With my 8 hours sleep I’m happy’

From Villaricos we headed inland, a steady and easily graded climb up to Cuevas de Almanzora made more taxing by an increasing head wind.

Beyond Cuevas the climb steepens and so too did the wind. Nick was working hard on the front but said he was flagging. I struggled desperately to stay on his wheel but reached a point where I couldn’t. With around 30 metres separating us Nick cycled past one of the large rectangular bins by the side of the road, just before I reached it the bin blew over in a violent gust causing an unholy din. Nick hadn’t noticed the bin and turned around in a panic thinking the sound was my bike clattering off the road.

We each battled on to the crest of the climb knowing that after some very short respite we faced the final climb of the day and of the tour, a 1000ft brute of a climb with an increasingly steep gradient. We took a 10 minute break, ate a couple of pastries each and girdied our loins for the final obstacle.

The climb from Antes to the Lubrin road starts at a modest grade but again, the wind was against us.

Towards the end of a 5 day tour, ones ‘sore bits’ seem to repay all the abuse they’ve received and they decide it’s payback time.

By now it felt like I was sat on hot coals and I’m sure Nick was the same. At the slightest lessening of the gradient we would both raise our bruised assets off the saddle to gain momentary relief before having to sit down again and continue the torment.

After 500ft of climbing the road rears up in a series of towering switch-backs. By now Nick was well ahead of me, I had to crane my neck to see him high above and beyond him were several more tiers of switch-back.

Of course we both made it, we had no choice. When I caught up with Nick he swore some sort of expletive towards the climb. I swore too, to buy an e-bike for the next tour in Spain.

A hazy view back of the last big climb with the coast we’d left a couple of hours earlier in the distance.

All that remained was a sweeping 8km descent back to Zurgena. A familiar one taken steadily in the buffeting cross winds.

We headed straight to the bar to meet Nick’s wife and enjoy a celebratory cerveza.

The end of another tour. Tough, as always but hugely enjoyable.

If you like big hills, quiet roads, extremes of temperatures, screaming thighs, cheap beer, expensive water, saddle sores, rain, sunshine, wonderful accommodation, grim accommodation, navigational challenges and more even bigger hills then this is the place for you.

A big thank you to my brother Nick for putting up with me and waiting for me on the hills, to Virginia for lending him out for 5 days and to anyone who reads and enjoys my blog.

Now, where can I buy that e- bike?

Murcia tour 2018 – Day 4:

Montisol to Calabardina

We briefly left our mountain retreat in what seemed like the wrong direction, even the demon Garmin agreed it was the wrong direction so we retraced our steps back to the start only to realise it was in fact the right direction. Another early morning display of dazzling navigational incompetence! At least we were enjoying the first pleasant weather of the trip.

A long flowing descent in the chilly morning sun lead us to the outskirts of Totana, a sizeable town which I’d carefully planned to skirt around. Of course the ‘piece of crap’ had other ideas and lead us directly to the centre.

Today was a ‘Red day’ in Spain, a national holiday, in this case All Saints Day so the town was quieter than expected. The sophisticated box of electronic wizardry on my handlebars, otherwise known as a dead weight was well out of it’s depth. I loosely followed my compass SE and managed to emerge from the town on the right road to our destination. The Garmin had the cheek to declare ‘course found’ as though to claim some credit for the situation.

Water, as always on these tours is a vital companion. Even outside the heat of summer I seem to get through large amounts. I have 3 bottle cages on my bike enabling me to carry up to 3 litres. Often in Spain, Fuentes (Water fountains) can be used for a free top up but on this tour they have been few and far between.

Day 4 and our 1st Fuente

When we left our hotel on the outskirts of Bullas on day 2 we were low on water. We should have popped back in to town where 1.5l bottles can usually be bought for less than 50 cents but we headed out of town.

Fortunately, or not, just out of town there was a petrol station so we stopped to replenish our bottles. When Nick saw the price of a bottle, 1.79 euro I thought I was going to have to deal with a cardiac event!

I managed to convince him that we had to have water so we rode away from the highway robbers with full bottles and an ashen faced Nick muttering about never having paid so much for water in 13 years in Spain.

As it happened, we saw no civilisation, not a single village, shop or bar for the next 5 hours!

Day 4 was planned to be 70+ miles so a further slight navigational faux par which resulted in us cutting a corner and saving 6 or 7 miles was a welcome one.

It was still a long day and in the back of our minds was a big climb we knew lay in wait towards the end of the day

We had to stop once again at a petrol station for water, this time 1 euro!

I asked the attendant for confirmation of our onward route and whether there was much climbing still to do?

“Si, si, si, mucho” he said as he escorted us outside and pointed up to a radio mast on top on the very highest hill in the distance. The hill was indeed a killer on tired legs. Despite the shouts of Allez, Allez, Allez from a passing campervan I barely managed to keep the pedals turning and arrived at the summit a long time behind Nick.

The views west and east from the top of the big hill between Mazaron and Calabardina

Early evening in Calabardina and the headland of Cabo Cope

Again, the hotel was locked up on our arrival but as Nick spoke to a friendly lady on the phone her miserable husband turned up and let us in.

We asked as always where can we keep the bikes? ‘In your room’ he said, but there won’t be room for us if we put the bikes in there! We resorted to locking them to the railings outside.

At the top of the big climb earlier, once I’d recovered my composure, I commented to Nick that I’d been remiss in not checking my spokes all week, I seem to brake some spokes on every tour I do. I can’t imagine why!

A quick glance revealed 1 broken spoke on the back, a closer look revealed a second. There wasn’t the time or the inclination to replace 2 spokes at the time so the long descent off the big hill was a cautious and worrying one.

The first job at the hotel was the spoke repair, the usual first job of a beer and tapa had to wait. Tapas usually cost a euro, maybe 1.5 and in some places come free with a drink.

In the bar next to the hotel, today’s tapas, my Russian Salad was 2.5 and Nick’s small plate of Pulpi ‘Octopus’ was 6 euro. Needless to say Nick was apperplectic. We didn’t visit that bar again!

A few photos of today’s journey

Mazaron

One more day to go, the legs might just make it?

The undercarriage on the other hand!

Murcia tour 2018 – Day 3:

Bullas to Montisol

We awoke to a cold wind and damp streets after overnight rain. Another chilly day beckoned. After breakfast we set off southwards in hope of improving weather. Immediately we went off route and were once again flummoxed by the contradictory advice from my nemesis, the dreaded Garmin Sat Nav system.

I’ve had varying degrees of success and catastrophe with my Garmin on past tours but on this one it seems to be excelling itself and reaching new and unimagined heights of uselessness.

I really should chuck the piece of crap in the bin but it cost too much.

After some deliberation we did get back on course but were soon adrift in the wilderness having taken instructions from the piece of crap.

There followed several miles of undulating rough tracks on what was supposed to be strictly tarmac only.

I resorted to my paper map (useless), google maps (useless), my trusty Garmin (need I say) and in the end relied on my ‘genuinely trusty’ compass to head in the right general direction.

We were not without mechanical difficulties too. Within 30 mins on day 1 my gears refused to work having worked perfectly on the test ride the day before. That problem was soon rectified but after the clay splattering on day 2 my gears developed a personality of their own and one that did not invite language of a complimentary nature!

Nick unfortunately 😄 had an issue with a binding rear brake which dragged his efficiency down almost to the level of his younger brother. Sadly he managed to fix it and normal business was resumed with Nick waiting at the top of every hill for me.

Our mission to scale the Sierra de Espuna hills from the east turned into a submission to scale them from the west due to our navigational ineptitude.

On one long and gruelling climb we surmounted numerous false summits hoping each time that we had reached the top. To our horror we came across a white line painted on the road which said ‘7km – Madre Mia’

Sure enough it was a further 7km of climbing – ‘Mama Mia’ indeed.

The day was chilly and overcast but not in the same class of suffering as the first 2 days of the tour. The improvement continued when we reached our digs for the night, a beautiful mountain retreat in the village of Montisol.

All cycle touring accommodation should be like this!

An impressive Aqueduct on the descent towards Totana

Church adjacent to our hotel

So, 3 days down, 2 to go. Tomorrow we head for the coast at Calabardina, I’m sure we’ll get there but who knows by which route!

Murcia tour 2018 – Day 2:

Maria to Bullas

Our night at the Convent was one not to be repeated. A charmless, cold and poorly equipped establishment. The only bonus being the opportunity to take an early morning dip in the large swimming pool, if relaxing in dirty green freezing cold water is your thing?

The outside temperature at 8am was 2 deg C, it was raining and at an altitude of 4000ft we knew we were in for another character building day.

I’m not sure I’ve used the word dreich to describe a day in Spain before but today’s start was dreich. It continued to be dreich all day and after 7 hours barely winning the battle to stop shivering it ended only very slightly less dreich in Bullas.

It was another day too cold for many photo stops, the day was largely through rolling agricultural hills with occasional more impressive limestone escarpments and rugged mountains.

We passed through one section where muddy clay had washed over the road.This continued for a mile or so by which time our bikes, panniers and ourselves were splattered the clay.

This isn’t supposed to happen on cycle tour in sunny Andausia!

We arrived at our digs in Bullas, chilled to the bone, filthy and tired. I normally look forward to a cold one (or 3) after a hard day’s cycling in Spain but today’s drink of choice was different:-

Hot chocolate with Brandy, much needed!

Our room had no heating whatsoever so the evening laundry duties were kept to minimum. Nick wisely did none but I gambled on having something clean and dry to wear.

Day 2 completed, 3 to go. The lactic is building and the undercarriages are faltering!

Tomorrow is a shorter day but inevitably, lots of climbing!

Murcia tour 2018 – Day 1:

Zurgena to Maria

The couple of days spent around base ‘my brother and sister-in-laws house’ has been interesting. The weather hasn’t been too different to that of the UK but the 150 – 200 Griffon Vultures circling above the house added a surreal episode to the proceedings.

We were treated to a 30 minute ‘kettle’ of soaring vultures around 4pm on Friday and the following morning a ‘venue’ of vultures headed back over the house in groups of 10 to 15.

‘Collective nouns courtesy of Google’

I’ve seen these impressive birds (wingspan up to 3 metres) in the Sierra Nevada and Sierra de Cazorla mountains further west but never in these sort of numbers, an amazing sight.

Sunday morning saw us heading down the 5km stretch of track to reach tarmac for the thrice weekly ritual of the Sausage Butty run. At just over 20 miles this ride was an ideal leg stretcher and bike tester before the start of our 5 day tour on Monday.

Half way down the track we came across 2 foxes playing together directly in front of us. One ducked off the track giving us a close encounter as we passed whilst the other followed the track ahead of us for a few hundred metres before escaping sideways to be joined by his chasing companion.

On the eve of the tour we sit listening to the heavy rain bouncing off the roof, struggling with a flaky, weather effected internet to get the latest forecast for the following day. With low temperatures, predictions of snow on high ground and a 4000 ft pass to cross tomorrow we are currently a little concerned about what the day may bring?

I’ve been scratching around trying to bolster my meagre wardrobe and have resorted to borrowing some undersized ladies leggings to compensate for my failure to bring any full leg wear. The rouched lower leg feature is particularly fetching. Let’s hope, for everybodies sake that I don’t have to wear them!

Day 1 of the tour started with a finger numbing fitting of the bike rack to transport our 2 steeds down the track to the start point. The weather and temperature was more reminiscent of stepping out of a Nepalese tea house at 3000 metres altitude. The wind was strong and biting.

Somebody happened to mention a bin bag and my restless nights sleep/risk assessment of the day ahead was remembered so I liberated 2 black bin bags from the household supply as a contingency for a worst case thrashing by the winter weather.

There was a weather warning for wind and still some uncertainty about whether we may encounter snow or icy roads which would be a serious game changer.

Although the days ride was just around 40 miles long it consisted of a 20 mile climb of 3000ft followed by a big descent and finally a further big climb up to an altitude of 4000ft for our nights hostelry.

The summit of the BIG climb

Half way up the final gruelling climb from Velez Rubio to Maria (on very tired legs)

The day was largely into a very cold head wind, it was arduous and it’s end didn’t come a second too soon!

We arrived at our hostel in desperate need of warmth, some hot food and a beer or two. Instead we arrived at the ‘Convent Refuge’ to a cold and empty building. I had to resort to phoning the hostel to prompt the arrival by car of the manager who checked us in and escorted us to the ‘cold store’ that was to be our room for the night.

We quickly sought solace in the adjacent bar, hoping for a hot and tasty treat but having to settle for the least appetizing tapa I’ve probably ever had!

After 7 hours in a chilling wind 1 Anchovy fillet each on a pile of crisps just didn’t do it for us.

Tomorrow’s another day 😀