The trip in numbers

Hi everyone,

 

I am home, safe and sound.  It's been one week since I last rode the bike, and I think my body's reacting by dropping its deffenses.  I'm harboring a cold and some fever, but those will go away soon.  With the trip over, I now face the challenge of readjusting a bit to life in Boston, and how my immediate future will shape up, specifically getting a job and organizing my living situation.  In the meantime, my brother's house in Wellesley is a great interim, especially now that I'm almost (finally!) done remodeling the basement.  It will be a bit of my own space to settle into.

 

With the benefit of hindsight, there are many, many things that I could say about the trip, but I doubt any one paragraph description would do justice.  To those of you who have been keeping up with the blog, I hope it's been a way to not only follow along, but also to come along and enjoy, albeit from a distance, the adventures I have found and the things I have seen.  Given that pictures really are worth a thousand words, at least, I think the photos I have posted do a good job.  It's reassuring to know that when I tell a story or describe a situation, in many cases there is an image to latch onto for friends and family to enjoy.

 

Perhaps the single biggest thing that I take away from the trip is the knowledge that there is adventure out there waiting to be had, and that it's important to embrace that adventure every now and then, to go into the unknown and remind yourself that we can survive outside of our comfort zones.  Doing so gives you a fresh perspective both on the adventure, but also on the life and routine we keep at home.  It's a bit cliche to point to famous quotes, but the words of T.S. Eliot's "The Little Gidding" ring true:

 

We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

 

With that said, I feel like I can sign off the blog, which I don't intend to keep now that I'm home, thank everyone for tuning in, and leave you with some numbers.

 

Days spent traveling: 70

Days spent biking: 34

Money spent: $2261 (average of $32.31 daily, which is less than 30 euros, which was my budget!!) + $1075 airfare = $3336

Spanish communities visited: 12 of 17

Distance traveled: 2503 miles

Time on the saddle: 7 days, 13 hours, 35 minutes, 25 seconds

Average distance per day: 73.6 miles

Average speed: About 13 mph

Mechanical incidents: 4 (2 flat tires, 2 broken spokes, all on the rear wheel)

Weight change: -2 lbs.  I think I traded some fat for muscle mass in my legs.

Photos taken: 1255

 

Thursday, October 11, 2007: Grand Finale

5:45 - I wake up to an alarm.  My roommate for the night at the youth hostel, Renato, is up early to head to La Alhamabra and wait in line for a ticket to get in.  I tipped him off that the lines were long, and after calling the tourist info line, they told him he had better be there before 7am if he hoped to get a ticket.  In his little Spanish, he says goodbye, and I wish him good luck.

 

7:53 - After tossing and turning and not getting much more sleep, I decide to get up and get going.

 

8:29 - Packed, dressed, and ready to go, I am just in time to hit up the complementary continental breakfast.  I realize it´s going to be a day tight in time, as I have 100km to cover before 3:30 to catch a train to Madrid.

 

9:11 - After checking out of the hostel and stretching, I straddle the bike, reset my bike computer, and head start the ride.

 

9:23 - I realize I am lost on my way out of the city.  I stop to ask for directions, and am told that the road I plan on taking out of the city has a lot of traffic, but it´s really the only way to avoid the highway.

10:40 - After finding the road, I am making good time.  The wind is behind me, there are no hills to climb, and even though traffic has been busy, I have an ample, well-paved shoulder.

 

11:46 - Despite having made great time to the first small city where I planned to have lunch, Alcalá la Real, I get lost finding the road I want to be on.  I ask a cop dressed in a bright yellow vest for directions.

 

12:08 - The cop´s directions were poor.  After following his signals, I am well out of the city, but I don´t see the signs I expect.  It feels like I´m going too far west and not far enough north.  I am also heading uphill.  After getting to what I think is the top of the climb, I look out at the landscape and decide that I am going the wrong way.  I head back downhill.

 

12:17 - I find a road sign that points me in what I think is the right direction.  Three uphill kilometers to the next town where I will stop and ask.
 

12:22 - The first person I see tells me that I can get to where I want to go on the road I´m on, but that it´s unpaved and probably will have to walk my bike most of the way.  He suggests turning around, and going back up the same hill that I had climbed previously.  The cop´s directions, though not very descriptive, were correct.  In second guessing, I had lost 30 minutes.  All of the sudden, the good time I had made earlier is erased, and I realize that I have 3 hours to cover something like 55km.  That´s about 20kph, which is a tough pace, especially if there´s any climbing involved.  My heart starts pounding harder.

 

12:35 - After setting a blitzkrieg pace uphill, I make it back to the point where I had stopped before and turned around.  This time, I don´t even stop to admire the view.  I realize it had been a false summit, and after a tiny bit more climbing, I head back down on the other side of the climb at 45kph.  From my long downhill, it looks like I will have to climb out of the town, as it is located in a valley.

 

1:48 - I have kept up a good pace, but not 20kph.  Indeed, I had to climb out of the town, and about the best I can muster uphill is 14kph.  I have less than two hours with some 38km to go.

 

2:00 - I don't know what time it is, but I sense it must be getting close to 2.  I look, and I am spot on.  I had told myself that if at 2 I didn't think I could make it, that I would stop pushing myself so hard, and just plan on taking a later train, making Ana wait for me until about 11pm.  I am cold.  It's October, I'm at about the same latitude as Washington, DC, but I´m 1000 meters (3300 feet) up in the mountains.  Even though the sun in shining brightly, there is a cool breeze, and heading downhill it's just plain cold.  Passing clouds make it worse.  Me right quad and both of my calves feel like they might cramp up.  I decide that this last stage of my bike ride in Spain is a test, physical and mental, and that I´m just going to push myself as hard as I can.  I look up at the sky, not in prayer, but just hoping that the sun warms me up a bit.

 

2:22 - Not looking at my speed, I know I am making good time, and that I might have a chance to make it.  The pattern seems to be that there are mountains to climb, and in between there are towns in the valleys.  I am about to descend into Villares, the last town before my destination of the city of Jaén, 28km away.  Just over an hour left.

 

3:01 - The climb has been less than tough, and I am looking down on Jaén from the southern hills.  No more climbing left, and I have about 8 km to the train station.  It's in the bag, provided I don't get lost in the city.  Fortunately, I was here two weeks earlier when I came on train from Zaragoza, and I remember exactly where the train station is.  As I cross into the city, I see two other people on bikes.  I slow down to ask them where they're from.  They're and older couple from Austin, TX, complete with the southern twang and all, and they're here with a big group.  At a traffic light, I tell them I really want to visit Austin, and that this is my last day of biking after 2 months.  The light turns green, and I speed off.  The last thing I hear is the man telling his wife that he thinks they have to turn left, and climb a small hill which he describes as 20% incline, but it really is not more than 10%.  She disagrees with his sense of orientation.  I look back to see that they have moved to the sidewalk to sort things out.

 

3:16 - I arrive at the train station, with time to spare, and buy my ticket.  The train leaves in 13 minutes.  Just out of curiosity, I ask the person at the counter if there are seats available on the later train.  He explains that the later train is sold out because it's the first train to leave after people get out of work, and the last train to Madrid that day before the Friday holiday.  I smile, say thanks, and take my ticket and head to the train.

 

3:38 - The train leaves late.

 

4:01 - After putting on pants on top of my spandex, slipping into my Crocs, and changing the jersey for a t-shirt, I go to the WC and wash my face.  I am at the front of the train car, and everyone looks at me funny when I stand up to stretch.  Out of curiosity, I look at my odometer, and realize that right before arriving at the train station, I had hit 4005km (2503 miles).  The extra distance from getting lost pushed me over the mark, which I had previously thought I would fall short of.

 

4:10 - Because I didn't make many stops on my ride, I have lots of food left.  I grub it all, and take a nap.

 

6:12 - I wake up, and the train is totally full.  I read some, and look out at the wide plains heading into Madrid.

 

7:40 - Bright orange and purple dominate the sky as the sun sets.  Reflecting on my trip, I feel pride, happiness, and an overwhelming feeling that I have changed, and I am glad for it.

 

8:15 - The train arrives late.  I can't find the elevator exit, so I work the bike onto the escalators.  It's a madhouse, the largest station in Madrid before a long weekend.

 

8:48 - After making my way out to the street, I have some trouble finding a payphone to call Ana.  There is a protest going on outside the train station.

 

9:01 - I call Ana.  She is waiting for me at another part of the train station.  We meet up, head to her apartment just outside of Mardid in the suburb of Boadilla.

 

9:53 - I appreciate the shower with personal items, unlike the empty campsite showers.  I appreciate having a big fluffy towel instead of my quick dry camping towel.  I appreciate the wool top, jeans, and my black casual dress shoes that Ana has brought me from Burgos.

 

10ish - We meet up with some of Ana´s friends (Beatriz, Yara, and Nuri) for drinks and tapas.  I have a caña (beer from tap), and we all share toasted bread with sundried tomatoes and foie gras, as well as some goat cheese with caramelized onions.

 

11ish - We head to the fairgrounds of the suburb of Boadilla, which is celebrating their annual fiestas.  There is a little open-air market set up, and their is a covered arena with lots of young people dancing to spanish pop and reggaeton.  The DJ is on a stage pumping out fake smoke and bright lights.  I am struck by the contrast from when I woke up to where I am, hundreds of miles away, no longer alone, done with the bike ride, and 6 days away from heading back to Boston.

 

12ish - We head home, for what would be the first full night of uninterrupted sleep I have had in a really, really long time.

Continuing the pain

I left Torre del Mar in Málaga this morning ready for some climbing.  I wasn´t sure how much, but I was ready and well rested.  At first, the road was smooth, and I looked northwest, in the direction of Granada, and seeing no mountains, I thought, "oh this is going to be a cinch".  About 30km in, the road turned north and up (different things).  First it was a tough 8km climb on a road that is barely wide enough for a single lane, yet this was a two-way road frequented by truck drivers looking to cut off some distance.  Add to that the absence of a shoulder, and steep drop offs... the combined physical exertion with the mental stress of not getting hurt was draining.

At the top was the border crossing into the department of Granada, not to be confused with the city of Granada, which was still a good 80km away.  But I figured most of the climbing had been done, again looking in the direction of the city and not seeing any big climbs, a strategy that I should know by now is not reliable.  So I pleasantly trucked on, and found that the road went steeply downhill into the town of Alhama.  By now I know that any downhills means that I will later have to climb, making both the descent and following ascent less pleasant than if I didn´t know that.  On the climb out of Alhama, I missed a turn, and found myself on a path leading straight to the highway.  D'oh!

But, as has been the case several times, fate, luck, God, the heavens, or whatever other supernatural force you want to invoke, smiled on me.  Two km before hitting the road, I was on a climb, and I saw a rider on a nice road bike stopped, fiddling with something on his bike on the downhill side of the road.  I stopped to ask if all was well, and realized this guy knew no Spanish.  Turns out the guy was English, with a bit of a Scottish or Irish lilt to his accent.  Paul, who was probably in his early 50s but looked a decade younger, and who was riding some sweet carbon bike tricked out with nice gear, turned out to be just the guy I was looking for.  He moved 8 years ago to this part of Spain, and started a business where he leads running, cycling, and hiking training camps for people who are looking for that sort of stuff.  The landscape is perfect for it, and it sounds like he makes a pretty decent living doing something he loves.  It also turns out that he knows the roads in the area like the back of his hand, so after chit-chatting a bit, he pointed me to the best way to Granada, including descriptions like "past a road lined with poplars" or "up the road with newly laid pavement", things that are meaningful to a cyclist.  So, to Paul, who pointed me on my way, if he ever reads this, thanks!

I arrived, short of food and tired from all the climbing, a bit bonked and zombie-like.  I wasn´t in a mood to look for a campsite, so I balked, looked at the map that I have to find an are with pensiones, knowing I might have to dish out 25€.  Another sign from the gods, as I looked in the map´s legend for the symbol, there, right next to the legend, was the youth hostel.  I headed straight there, and for 15€ got myself a decent bed for the night, in a part of town full of students.  Tonight, I am feeling like Italian or Chinese.  I know it´s not typical, but a Chinese buffet would be soooo perfect right now.  It´s 9pm here, so I should go and look for dinner options before they close.

The beautiful mountains

First, I really do apologize that I haven´t uploaded photos.  I haven´t been able to find computers that allow me to plug in my USB card, and also, since right after leaving Zaragoza, I ran out of space on my 1GB card that is USB ready, and have been using a standard SD card that I can´t plug into a USB port because I don´t have the cable.  The good news is that I´ve taken a bunch of great shots, and will upload them when I can, probably back in Burgos just before my return to Boston.

Right now, I left Cádiz´s beautiful and awesome Atlantic coast, and went along the coast all the way to the Strait of Gibraltar.  In Tarifa, I hopped in the water, thinking that it would be the last time I would see the Mediterrannean.  Howevewr, I was wrong.  While in Ronda, I realized that there were no campsites on the straightest route between there and Granada, so I would have to detour.  The detour today takes me to a little town called Torre del Mar, about 20km east of Málaga.  Multiple people had told me that Málaga was not worth going out of my way to visit, and that the same went to most of the Mediterrannean Coast.  This was when I thought I would go south from Barcelona all the way to Tarifa.  I´m glad those people gave me that advice, because, honestly, there isn´t all that much to see here.  It´s overdeveloped beachfront, replete with intermittent casinos, gas stations, and gaudy hotels.  To top it off, the beach isn´t even all that good.  Not that I´m complaining, because I´m just here for the night, before turning back up into the mountains to Granada, which everyone raves about.  After having seen Jaén, Córdoba, Sevilla, Cádiz and Ronda, I am really looking forward to seeing what is different about Granada.

Ronda was a great place for a rest.  Some caves nearby have early human cave paintings of horses and people with arrows, just like you see in geography books, except this is so very real.  You have to walk into the cave, tread through some water (not like the caves in Colombia), and eventually you get to the cave paintings, which are a sadly kind of far away for preservation reasons.  I know this not because I went (I would have liked to, but they only open a few days a week, exactly those which I was not there), but I was told all this at the tourist office.  What I did get to see in person is the abyss.  I had previously described it as a cliff, but I think abyss is a much better word.  The story is that there was an enormous rock just sticking out of the ground.  Really, it was more of a small hill, but with very pronounced ends.  And then there was a river headed straight for the hill/rock.  Usually when this happens, the river goes around, but in this case, the river went right through, and eventually, over eons, it eroded an enormous path through the rock.  Humans enter into the picture and settle on both sides of the path, but were separated by this 120 meter (appx 400 feet).  Multiple bridges are build throughout history, but either the river, or some other natural force like an earthquake, do away with the bridge.  One side of the river is called Ronda, a city dating back to the Romans.  The other side is called Marcella, a city that developed later than Ronda, and by the 18th century had become a place to escape the tax laws that applied in Ronda, but not across the abyss.  So, in 1750, the construction of a permanent bridge was commissioned and started. The bridge, called the New Bridge even though it´s over 200 years old, is now a symbol of the city, and a powerful one at that.  Looking over the edge, down 400 feet to where the river still rushes through, you can´t help but feel some vertigo.  From the bridge, you also get a great vantage point of the mountains on both sides, making it the tourist destination in Ronda.  You can still sense how this all developed, with the older side of Ronda a maze of uneven, steep, cobbled streets that dates back to the 12th century or so, and the newer side across the bridge, where most people live now, is modernly designed with gridded, paved, and relatively even streets.  Two worlds, so close together, so far apart, and linked by a bridge.

The ride out of Ronda was just as spectacular as the views.  Of course, my perspective is a little skewed because I did descend something like 1200 meters to the coast.  Everything looks nicer when you´re not climbing hard on the bike, and are able to look up and enjoy the scenery at a normal heart rate.  To my credit, though, the ride up into Ronda was really nice, and I was climbing hard.  But today, the scenery was spectacular, while the mountains drifted off into the background, I could see the coast approaching, awaiting with excitement.  In the end, the coast itself was a bit of a disappointment, but the beauty of the ride stands on its own.  Even though tomorrow is back up into the mountains on my way to Granada, I am excited about seeing beautiful landscapes again, away from hotels and neon lights.

I have updated the map, for all of you to get an idea of what path I have traced through Andalucia.  The only things left are Granada and Jaén, and then a train ride to Madrid, a car ride to Burgos and back to Madrid, and a long flight back to Boston.

Ronda

It was a long (130km) and painful (1000 meters) climb to Ronda, but the view was well worth it.  It´s a cool little city, a bit overrrun with tourists, but a great setting for my day of rest.  No time to write longer now, unfortunately at an expensive internet connection in the only campground near the city.  I am headed downhill tomorrow towards Malaga before heading up again into Granada after that.  PEACE!!

Seeing Africa

Leaving Cádiz was not easy.  Carlos and I went out to a wonderful bar called La Cambalacha where they had live jazz.  The whole scene was very much like Wally´s, one of my favorite places in all of Boston.  Small, simple bar, with a small, simple stage at the front, and a few guys just bustin´out.  The guy on keys and the guy on bass were both Berklee alumni, so it was basically like being at home.  We kicked back a few brews and enjoyed the music until 2am when the band stopped.  I doubt there are many other people in all of Cádiz that I would get along with as well as Carlos, whose blog you should check out at: http://afrogaditano.spaces.live.com/

 

The road out was made easier by the fact that I was bordering the beautiful Atlantic Ocean, to my right hand for the entire day.  At one point I couldn´t resist and put my bike down, took off my jersey and shoes, and hopped in the cool, clear water.  It was awesome, although I was a little more salty than usual the rest of the day.  Another adventure of the day was when I realized there was a break in the road, and I woud have to bushwack for about 1km over a little ridge.  The only witness was a lost cow who dumbly stared at me.  I made three trips, one to scout out how long and tough it would be to get across, one with my panniers, and one with the bike.  The whole ordeal took about 45 minutes, and wort the adventure, especially since I got to see some awesome ruins on the other side.

 

Because I got a late start, and also because of the day´s adventures, I got in a little late to a campsite Carlos recommended.  From my tent, I could see the lights flickering across the Strait of Gibraltar.  Seeing Africa was powerful.  Something about reaching these destinations that stand out in history and geography, and doing so by bicycle, is deeply moving.  I also caught sunset from the top of an ancient tower from where I could scout out the entire area.  Sweet!

 

Today, I break off from the ocean, and head up into the mountains to a little city called Ronda, which is apparently beautiful.

Kickin´ it in Cadiz

I called my CouchSurfing host from a payphone in Cádiz, and he immediately knew who it was.  "Juan Carlos?"  "Juan Camilo", I corrected.  Not five minutes later, we were chatting at a little café in the center of the city.  Carlos, 31, is a surfer at heart working for his family´s customs business.  A Cádiz native, he immediately makes you feel at home.  Our coffee date was shared with a Polish couple who had CouchSurfed at his place the night before.  Without much fanfare, Carlos gave me the keys to his place, pointed it out on a map, told me to make myself at home, explained that he had to run back to work, and asked if I wanted to meet up with him and some friends later that night to watch the Madrid-Lazio game.  The whole thing was slightly surreal, and too good to be true.

 

The initial plan was to spend about 24 hours in Cádiz, and take off today for Tarifa.  Plans change.  Carlos´s hospitality, the promise of seeing some live jazz tonight at a little local bar, and also a bicicyle rally promoting better cycling facilities in the city all have convinced me that I should stay tonight, and leave early in the morning.  Oh, that, and also the fact that although yesterday was a little cloudy, today the weather is impecable, proving why Cádiz boasts about its ample number of sunlight hours.

 

Again, like many other cities, there are layers.  Phoenicians, Romans, Moors, Christians, etc.  It is reputedly the oldest city in western Europe dating back to a millenium before Christ.  Like Sevilla, in modern times the main dynamic that shapes the history of this city is the trade with the Americas, which has brought wealth and diversity to the city.  The gitanos (gypsies), the nearby Africans, and other people attracted to the city´s lively economy have all intermingled to create a unique cultural panorama.  Another important feature is that the city is on a penninsula, so it can´t really grow much more, allowing it to retain some of its charm from the late XIX and XX centuries.

 

Okay, that said, I am about to continue enjoying the city rather than being holed up in this internet cafe.  I am hoping for good weather through the weekend, as I will head to Tarifa and then up into the moutains of Andalucia to Ronda and then back down to Granada.  In one week I will be done with my cycling, and headed to Madrid.  Bittersweet, but there´s still lots to do between now and then.