Off on my bike : Fuerteventura

The largely deserted interior of Fuerteventura.

This is a very short boat trip, I've hardly had time to sit down before we're passing the little Isla de Lobos, and into harbour at Corralejo, on the northern tip of Fuerteventura.  Still a way for me to go though, over thirty miles south and it's nearly 4pm.  I could take the island's major road, the FV-1, but have heard it gets a bit windy - Fuerteventura does mean 'strong wind' after all.  So inland it is, slightly longer, a lot hillier but I'll get a proper feel for the place.

Actual open water.

The feeling is one of isolation, there really is not a lot here, a dry, deserted landscape, bare, rocky hillsides, little sign of life, human or otherwise.  I get the impression not many people lived here before the modern tourism boom.  Still, dramatic to ride through, and after a good rest I feel strong and the miles go by quickly.  I'm booked into a classic tourist complex, 'beach bungalows' at least two miles from the beach, but really it is quite nice, and oh yes, all you can eat buffet dinner.

It's another miniature castle built inside a roundabout!

When in a tourist resort... on my free day I lounge by the pool, swim, eat copious amounts of inclusive food, some of which is actually OK.  I do visit the beach, proper golden sand, guess it is imported, and there is a little castle, must have been something here before the tourists.  I even find some music in the evening that isn't just a singer plus karaoke machine - of all things there is also a cellist.  Shame about the shouty Scotsmen at the back but there you go...

A hearty breakfast in the morning - I avoid what must rank among the most dubious sausages I've ever seen, but there is cereal, cheese, figs, even cake - and then back on the bike.  Just a few miles back up the coast, to Puerto del Rosario, biggest city on the island I think.  All aboard the Volcán de Tauce - all the Naviera Armas fleet are named for Canarian volcanoes, the other day I was on the Tindaya.  It takes a good while to circle around Fuerteventura before reaching open water, but then, Gran Canaria beckons.

Puerto del Rosario.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Off on my bike : Lanzarote

El Molino.

Still a little bit of cycling to do to get to the boat, five whole miles through the holiday homes of Mazagón.  Then I stow the bike in the bowels of the 'Volcán del Teide', a large, modern ferry, and enjoy a day of not doing a lot.  So good to be able to just sit around, sunbathe, read - there is even a little show in the evening, dancing in various styles.  My allocated pullman seat isn't terribly comfy, but I find a sofa to curl up on instead and sleep like a log, helps that the boat is not terribly busy.

Peñas del Chache.

More lazing around in the morning, then after lunch the boat docks, and I actually cycle a bit, through Arrecife and up into the hills.  I am aware that somewhere on the island there are beaches and lobster-red northern Europeans, but not for me, I am heading into the centre, about as far from the sea as Lanzarote gets.  First impressions, it is a dry, arid even, windy place, with little in the way of plant life.  Fields of black gravel with crops poking out, often with carefully built arrays of semi circular walls as protection from the wind.  Villages of solid stone built houses with flat roofs and whitewashed walls, one such being my destination, Tiagua.  Only a twelve mile or so ride and three hundred metres in altitude, but I must look hungry on arrival as my hosts provide a large plate of tuna empanada, cheese, chorizo and even some wine.  Accommodation is in one of the buildings associated with an old windmill, most cool.

Viniculture, Lanzarote style.

I have a free day on the island, so of course I decide to ride up to the highest point - no, really, Peñas del Chache is only six hundred and seventy metres above sea level, and ten miles or so away, and without the luggage weighing me down I power up it.  Shame the very top is inaccessible due to the military installation there but what can you do.  Back via the historic town of Teguise, many old buildings and museums, I like the former grain store that is now a bank.  Not much to do in Tiagua of an evening, but I get a pizza and find a bar with the football on, that'll do nicely.

Back on the bike next morning, I ride through lava fields, past numerous volcanoes, lines of tourists on camels, and a large salt works.  On to Playa Blanca, this is more of a tourist area, but I'm here to get a boat, I can see the next island, Fuerteventura, it's only eight miles or so away.  Time for some lunch and a beer or two, and then me and the bike are back on the ocean wave, let the island hopping continue!

El Diablo de Timanfaya.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Off on my bike : Quinta do Pomarinho to Huelva

Quarrying.

Well, I seem to have got out of the mountains, instead I ride along main roads, not much traffic and pretty flat.  It isn't terribly exciting, but does feel like I've switched to easy mode - I manage forty miles before lunch.  Then some interesting surroundings, many of the hills here have been stripped of topsoil to reveal a jumbled heap of massive, cuboid boulders, marble and granite which is clearly the bedrock of the local economy (see what I did there?).  The long history of heavy loads of stone moving around the area is attested to by the miles of cobbled road I make my way, uncomfortably, along.  Campsite in the middle of nowhere again, Dutch run for the second night in a row (night before it was German).  This time I have brought many sausages to put on the BBQ, is good.

Giant Timmy - ATTACK!

Just two days left in mainland Europe, but they're both eighty miles or so, ouch.  I ride South through olive groves, starting fairly flat, but as you'd expect things get hillier as I approach the border with Spain.  Really getting hard to climb now, I need a rest, well, soon now.  The final ascent is no fun at all, up to camp at Cortegana which sits on a large hill.  Centre of Iberico ham production it seems, yum, also a very horsey place, seriously there are horses everywhere, people riding up the steep, cobbled streets, around the town square, in little buggies, you name it.  I watch, and order an amount of cod so huge that I don't quite eat it all.

Mazagón.

One more day and I can rest.  It goes by in a bit of a blur, main roads between fields of bright yellow sunflowers, into Andalucia, the air fragrant with citrus and strawberries.  My legs complain at the slightest slope, but I soldier on, the bike continues to work, and eventually I see the sea.  Campsite is some distance beyond Huelva, at the resort town of Mazagón, it's rather pleasant, nice beach, campsite right by it.  I can't complain about the menu del dia at the restaurant, nine euros for three courses and a beer, this includes a very large amount of fish - I manage to eat it all today.

Photos to go with this post can be found here and here.

Off on my bike : Barragem do Vilar to Quinta do Pomarinho

Boulder-strewn slopes.

I ride off alongside the lake, flat enough, thank goodness as I am feeling rather broken, doesn't seem to be much strength left in my legs.  Well, twenty miles less today, shouldn't be too late at camp tonight... I must confess, beautiful though the countryside here is - at the moment, lots off boulders and rocky outcrops, reminds me of Devon - I am growing a little tired of the hills.  So is the bike, I can feel the chain starting to slip, not sure when I'll be able to replace it, given Portugal doesn't seem to have towns large enough for specialist shops, we'll see I guess.  The hills keep coming, I keep going and so does the bike, I get to Toca da Raposa for 6pm, it's just a campsite with attached bar and restaurant but what more do I need.  Beer, and much pasta ensue.

Cobbles are not in fact the ideal road surface for cycling.

I feel a bit stronger next morning, I guess finishing at 6pm rather than 8pm is good.  So, a coffee or two, some still warm bread and cheese, and I'm off again.  Bike feels better too, somehow... I do see a cycle shop in Oliviera do Hospital, but it's shut, the chain will have to soldier on - maybe it won't be too hilly?  Hahaha.  Before long I find myself on a hard climb, check the GPS, OK I am at five hundred and twenty metres, this climb goes up to, ulp, over a thousand.  Well, no help for it... I force myself up, up, and up, mostly by pedalling, into the clouds.  Good to hit the thousand metre point, I guess, first time on the trip.  Then I roll down the other side, a descent so long and steep that I stop for a break, fearing that my brakes will melt, or catch fire maybe.  And then back up to the same height again... this continues all day, sure is scenic, ridges, gorges, lakes, but really hard work.  Think the total ascent for the day is over two kilometres... on the fourth big climb, another cyclist pulls up and says, why are you pushing, this is the bottom?  Yeah, all very well for you with no luggage mate.  Well, I get to the campsite at Oleiros before 7pm, had hoped for a good meal here, but it is a mile further to the village proper, and no sign on my map of a restaurant.  Beer and burger from the campsite snack bar it is then.

Not exactly a mountain top, but I am at over a thousand metres.

Another day, and yes, another five hundred metre ascent... almost worth it for the exhilarating run down the other side, I do think this would make a good cycling route, just not with all this weight.  I guess I need to find somebody to drive my support vehicle.  Good news though, that's the only big climb of the day, I'm into more or less flat country, boulder strewn fields with cows and sheep grazing.  Oddly, seems less populated down here, whereas there were villages every few miles up in the hills.  Campsite is in the middle of nowhere, no restaurant meal for me, not even a snack bar, oh well, this is why I have noodles.

One of the more impressive dams.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Off on my bike : Zamora to Barragem do Vilar

Riding along the Rio Duero - or Douro as the Portuguese call it.

I'm expecting things to be a bit less flat as I head towards the border with Portugal, and sure enough there are hills - but what hills!  Much of this area seems to be unspoilt wilderness, the slopes are coated in yellow blossom, even the air has a rich, spicy quality, it's all rather glorious.  The rolling hills are cut by a series of dramatic gorges, my route crossing each on a substantial dam.  Deepest of these is the border with Portugal, country number four on my little cycle.  It's a killer climb up to Miranda do Douro, a pretty little border town, but thankfully from there, a more or less flat road leads to my camp at Mogadouro.

Mogadouro.

I'm rather struck by this little place, with its picturesque castle, various tranquil squares, and many bars and restaurants.  And so cheap!  I pay two euros eighty a night to camp, and a fine three course dinner (local 'alheiros' sausage, then a large steak), with a half litre of wine, sets me back sixteen euros.  I decide to stay here for a day, good to get some washing done and rest up.  Just a shame the festa I see advertised and think is today, actually turns out to be next month.  Stupid similarly named sixth and seventh months of the year...

Second night in Mogadouro, even cheaper food, this time three courses with wine is a whole twelve euros - it's basic stuff, soup then stewed veal, but a lovely ambience.  There is a huge log fire in the corner, on which chef is busily grilling meat, when not taking time out to chat to us customers of course.

Brotherhood of MAMILs.

Somewhat sad to cycle away in the morning, not least because I have a long, hard day ahead.   Portugal seems to mainly consist of mountains, no way forward but to keep pushing up, then rolling down.  At the top of one painful ascent, I'm flagged down by a group if Portuguese cyclists, they are meeting their support vehicle (yes I am jealous) for lunch.  Can't fault Portuguese hospitality, they shower me with food and beer, and seem impressed by the amount of weight I'm carrying.  Onwards then, more hills, I climb to nearly a thousand metres, then finally down to yet another hydro electric dam, Barragem do Vilar, where there should be a campsite.

In fact, the campsite is shut, but no matter, I find a bar by the lake which sells me beer, oh and also is cool with me putting my tent up outside.  There is another cycle tourist here, an American who is riding to Tangiers.  See, it's not just me!

Portugal - pretty, but hilly.

Photos to go with this post can be found here and here.

Off on my bike : Burgos to Zamora

On the trail to Santiago de Compostela.

I head straight from camp on the outskirts of Burgos to Decathlon, only to find it won't open until 10am, well I'm not waiting, have eighty miles to do and the bike seems OK.  Off through the centre of town, nice place, many bridges.  From here I move onto what is clearly a very popular part of the Santiago de Compostela pilgrimage route.  I must pass a hundred hikers at least, all making their way west, with over four hundred and fifty kilometres to go I'm not sure they'll all make it.  There's quite the cottage industry catering for them all, I pass a number of 'Bars del Camino', as well as little shops selling snacks, souvenirs etc.

The Castilla Canal.

It makes for flat riding at any rate, for the first time in days I switch my hub gear to the 'flat' setting.  And the squeaking noise stops.  Ah.  Not the crank bearing then, good thing I didn't waste time and money replacing that.  Good and bad news this, the hub gear is an expensive specialist part, I'm not going to replace it en route.  But, all I have to do is keep it on 'flat', which locks the gears in place, and it's fine... means bottom gear is a bit higher but I can cope.

Onwards, I join the Castilla Canal which as you'd expect is flat, and takes me to my campsite at Las Cubillas.  Not a lot here, but my GPS does show a bar just down the road... hmm, I recognise the red and green 'club' sign from an establishment I passed earlier, and there is a scantily clad lady stood by the door.  Not a bar then.  Oh well, the campsite has one, they know what I mean by 'una jarra', sorted.

Preaching to the choir?

I keep along the canal for twenty miles or so next morning, not too exciting, barring the moment I swerve to avoid a fallen branch, which then slithers away - that'll be a two foot long snake then.  Then roads, mostly flat too, across a plateau with poppy-speckled fields stretching to the horizon, then down a gentle valley to Zamora.  Easy enough, but I am feeling a bit broken, good that I have a real bed tonight - not for the first time on my adventures, in a student hall.

First, a present for the bike, I ride to Zamora's Decathlon, only a mile away though a lot of hill is involved, and buy a new rear tyre.  Fit the thing, back to the university, and time for food, oh hang on, I have left my tools at Decathlon.  Aargh!  Well, they are at least still there when I get back... and I do then get much meat at a hamburguezaria.

Jesus of Palencia.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Off on my bike : San Sebastian to Burgos

Orio

Turns out there is another big hill out of San Sebastian, they even have the cheek to charge me two euros to climb it... kind of worth it, once I reach the top there is a nice ride along a ridge with the ocean to my right and a valley, and mountains, to my left.  The bike is not liking the hills though, making some alarming clicking and squeaking noises. Then another hair-raising descent into Orio, my stop for the night.  I arrive at 8pm, well, time for some vino and 'home cooked' pasta.

I think I deserve a rest day in Orio, nice place with a beach, marina, and a pleasant old town.  I do some washing and bike maintenance, then a few beers and a fine meal, arroz con mariscos, then some kind of Basque fish - there are at least two Xs in the name.

There were many tunnels.

Straight up a hill next morning, I follow the coast a while, climbing one hill, down to a village, and so on.  Then a river takes me inland, or rather an old rail line following the river valley, climbing up via a series of bridges and tunnels, it is most cool.  Can't last though, I turn off to head up an even steeper hill, too much for pedalling, it takes me an hour to push the bike to the top.  Then the other side is a mess of rocks and gravel, so bad I have to wheel the bike down at times.

And so it continues, struggling up to mountain passes, some as high as eight hundred metres, and zooming down the other side.  Progress is slow, but I am getting there.  Good to be in Spain anyway, France was pretty but kind of dead, whereas here there always seems to be a party happening.  For instance I pass through Bergara, and there are bands playing from a balcony in the main square... well it would be rude not to have a beer, and they give me some tapas too, fair play.

Vitoria-Gasteiz.

Onwards, through Vitoria-Gasteiz, up over another punishing pass, my legs burn and the bike squeals - I have diagnosed it as the crank bearing, could be worse.  I make my campsite for 8pm again, and once again nor only are they still open, but smile and tell me 'it's not late'.  This would not happen in France...

I am hoping for some flat riding for the last day into Burgos, no such luck though, I stay in the mountains, sure is pretty but very hard work.  My legs seem to have run out of steam, I have to push the bike uphill a lot, well, it is putting less strain on the bearings at least.  No bike shops up here, I pass through many tiny villages, each dominated by a massive, fortress-like church or abbey.  I keep hoping to start a long downhill stretch , but it never happens, eventually I realise that Burgos is at an altitude of some nine hundred metres.  There is at least a decent road for the last ten miles or so, and I make camp for 8pm, again.  Time for a couple of beers and much tapas, all for a ridiculous nine euros.

High up in the hills.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Off on my bike : Bordeaux to San Sebastian

A wet start in Bordeaux.

It is of course raining when I wake up in Bordeaux, can't say I am feeling enthused, still I do get some breakfast at least, cheap and cheerful like everything else at the Formule 1.  Then off through the city traffic, not much fun in the rain, to the big Decathlon near the airport.  It's sure big, but no they don't have a pole for me - instead they suggest another store two miles back the way I came.  To be honest the big problem is, my French is not up to explaining that no, I don't want an exact replacement, but rather something a bit stronger, and I don't care if it is glass fibre rather than alloy.

The new tent.  Not bad for €22!

Well, executive decision time, I somewhat sadly dump the old tent and buy a new one, Decathlon's cheapest at twenty-two euros.  Well, it's the right size, and only weighs two kilograms, less than any of the 'ultralight' tents they have, odd.  Onwards then.  I ride out into the country, it keeps raining, I get wet, whatever, it is only water.  I'm getting close to the sea, I do get a brief glimpse, then hit the 'Grands Lacs' where I plan to camp, in the region of Biscarosse.  Plenty of campsites, nobody in their offices... I camp up anyway, the tent is basic, has no porch, but it's double skinned, and bigger than my old one.  Time for a beer - a chap in the bar shows me photos from his recent trip to London, he was in Stratford about the time I left, small world.

Lighthouse at Biarritz.

The tent lasts the night, and keeps the rain out, that will do.  I ride south along the Atlantic coast, before long I pass a beach resort, lots of campsites and holiday homes.  All pretty empty, it not being the two weeks of the year that everybody in France has their holiday during.  Nice cycling here, I follow a cycle path through pine forest, with dunes to my right parting occasionally to reveal the ocean.  And whisper it, but it is not raining.

In fact, as I head into the rather pleasant environs of Capbreton, it's turning into an unquestionably nice day, with actual sunshine.  I enjoy the afternoon's ride through the coastal forest, reach a charming camping municipal where the tent goes up again without trouble, and I have a beer or two and a mighty Basque Burger.  This is what it is supposed to be like.

Crossing the border.

Time for my last day in France, the cycle route continues - I'm following the pilgrimage route towards Santiago de Compostela, have seen signs for it since Paris in fact, though I've not followed the exact route.  More than once people ask if that is what I am doing.  I reach Biarritz, from here the coast is rocky and I must ride up and down cliffs, it is rather reminiscent of Cornwall, not least the multilingual signs, here in the Basque language as well as French.

Nice part of the world anyway, with many seaside towns that seem worth a visit.  In one such, I cross an unremarkable pedestrian bridge, and realise I'm in Spain, well, that deserves a celebratory beer.  Not far to San Sebastian, however as it turns out there is a substantial hill, fully four hundred and fifty metres of ascent, to climb on the way.  Well I make it, mostly pedalling rather than pushing, and there is an exciting roll down the other side.  Nice to see San Sebastian, has been a long time, I have to stop for a beer.  That turns into two beers, it is getting on for 6:30pm,  still only another ten miles to my campsite, won't take long surely...

Photos to go with this post can be found here.