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.
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