To the West

The Albufera, a big lagoon just outside Valencia.  They grow rice beside it!

A week on a bike gives you a sore bum. Funny how it´s taken me until now to realise this. I´ve had a few little revelations this week; examples include flies being able to fly at (or above) 10mph, hills are tough and Naturist campsites aren´t worth the cost and giggles.

The Naturist beach.  Thankfully no wobbly Germans in sight.

On Tuesday I passed the 1000 mile mark. It has taken me 89 hrs and 46 mins to reach this milestone so it´s no wonder my behind is filing hourly complaints. Thankfully the complaints department seems to be broken as I appear to forget them all the moment I get off the bike in the evening. My legs have begun to complain quite loudly in the evenings as I squat to cook my tea so I am now taking a few days leisure in Granada.

In 7 days I have covered 455 miles, set a new record daily mileage (75), and a new record top speed (50mph). I have entered Andalucia, my last province of Spain before Morocco. The stereotypical young persons bucket list is one item shorter as I´ve now stayed in a Nudist/naturist campsite. I met 6 other touring cyclists, saw Flamingos in the wild and cycled through Europe´s only desert.



(Left) Frank the colour coded French Canadian cyclist.
(Right) Tabernas desert, only one in Europe.  Where Lawrence of Arabia, Indiana Jones and 500 other films were filmed.

A tough week, all said. Four days were spent on the coast but I soon tired of living amongst the holiday comfort campervans, full campsites of deep brown Brits, Dutch and Germans escaping the reality of Northern Europe´s winters. Tired of the uncomprehending looks when I explain what I´m doing, and of the even more confused mutterings when I refuse a beer. Not because I´m teetotal, but because after a 70-mile day in 30 degree heat I would probably collapse with one sip. These prisoners of the sun are fantastically welcoming and caring, but being so close to home-style familiarity was beginning to mock my current way of life. It´s already a bit of struggle to get going in the mornings, never mind having a full suburban bungalow on wheels next door! So, with some trepidation, I turned right and inland.

Uncertainty about accommodation, food and the terrain faded with every mile uphill. Physically tougher than the Pyrenees due to the heat, not knowing when or if the hills would end was mentally exhausting at times also. In the end it was fine, finding hostels in tiny towns perched on the sides of mountains and water in natural springs in village squares. La Alpujarra is a beautiful area evoking comparisons to the Sperrins but hotter, scrubbier and much, much bigger!

Minging with sweat, snot, flies and pastry on another endless hill

Today I have been a fully fledged tourist, wandering around the castle with my backpack after queueing for ages for a ticket. Feeling like I was stuck in the mud and not making any progress wasn´t fun last week, so finally being one city closer is a relief. Last night I went out for tea and had 3 courses for a tenner, returning to the hostel only to cook a second dinner and go to bed. Eight slices of toast and a cup of sugary tea for breakfast this morning was matched by €20 being spent on a double lunch. I´m currently munching a pack of biscuits and looking forward to another 3 courses later. Perhaps confirmation of energy spent?

From the Alahambra gardens over the city of Granada

This week´s themes have been a mixture of James Vincent McMorrow and John Butler Trio.

Some more relaxing to be done then next stop Gibraltar.  Google says it´s 4 days away!



View from the Alahambra towards the Sierra Nevada mountains

Bye from Fatty!