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.
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.
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!
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My journey home involved another early flight so a final nights accommodation was booked close to Alicante airport.
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 🇪🇦
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.
After a 1500ft climb the gradient, if not the wind relented:
A few scraps of snow remaining on the hills above Velez Rubio:
The days high point, the same height as the summit of Snowdon:
2 Wheels and a Walking Stick 