We had a relaxing day in Gibraltar with no pedaling involved!
After a full English breakfast, a hop skip and a jump took us to the cable car that swifted us to the top of Gibraltar Rock.
At the top we were greeted by the Rock's furry inhabitants, Barbary Macaques, very cute, but don't get too near as they bite and will pinch any food you have.
A pleasant morning was spent exploring the Rock with Matt forking out £10 to have a look at some caves. The views from the top were amazing, with clearish views into Spain and Africa.
We made our way back down to the hotel to collect our bikes for a photo shoot with the Gibraltar Chronicle. We had just left the hotel when a very nice lady called Mrs P Manasco stop to talk to us and promptly gave us £40 for GOSH!
We then met Eyleen Sheil from the Chronicle, who was keen to take our story and publish it with our picture for tomorrow's edition. Fame at last.....
Eyleen recommended us to visit Robin James on a replica Battle of Trafalgar schooner, HMS Pickles. We picthed up at Ocean Village were his boat was moored and spent the next 3 hours being entertained and educated about the Battle of Trafalgar and Lord Nelson. Robin was a brilliant source of information and an all round top bloke.
Whilst at the Pier, Peter decided to commit his bike to a watery grave....
All in all a relaxing day with the evening to come!
Perhaps looking at the profile for the end of the day,
instead of concentrating on the whole stage, led us into a false sense of
security. Nineteen days gone, an easy roll in to Gib – job done. The previous
evening the ‘End of Tour’ mood had already kicked in, with a devil may care
attitude when the third beer was ordered at dinner. Not the approach for a
professional cyclist to adopt and needless to say there was a payback.
After a hearty breakfast of coffee (or Cola Cao), toast and
jam, the team set off to the car park for the final day’s briefing. Laughter
and chatter filled the air from the playground of an adjacent school. Mixed
feelings as this would be the last time we would perform this morning ceremony
but there again our target was almost in sight. Foz described the route in his
briefing as being a bit undulating at the beginning, with a nice descent onto
the flat lands. Soft pedalling would be the order of the day. Just for the
record, soft pedalling actually means
grinding it out with your lungs draped over the handlebars in the lowest gear
available, but Pete and Matt were only to learn this as the ride progressed.
We trickled out of the car park later than usual, partly due
to the fact that it took the hotel some time to prepare the complex breakfast,
coupled with a more relaxed approach to the final stage. It was already warming
up and the jackets we had needed the previous day were discarded in the back of
the van. We weaved our way through the narrow streets and then onto the cobbled
roundabout just before the historic bridge that spans the sheer gorge. We
pulled over for some last minute snaps and a peer over the vertigo inducing drop.
Swallows rose and dropped with effortless ease, scooping up flying morsels as
they turned and veered. Small reddish birds of prey with pointed wings and
streamlined elegance darted a little further out, keen eyes searching for
nutritional opportunities. Many a poor soul from opposing factions had lost their
lives to this drop during the Spanish civil war. The though sent a chill
running down ones spine.
We remounted and eased our way out of the town. The sky was
a fresh clear blue and despite craning left, right and above, not a cloud could
be seen. As we turned right the road began to rise as we left the last signs of
habitation. The scene was set for the next 18 miles. There had been a massive
climb to get into Ronda the previous day, with just a small descent into the
town itself. Surely we must be at a high point? Clearly not, as in the clear,
still and rapidly warming air, the true meaning of ‘soft pedalling’ became
apparent, accompanied by unrepeatable mutterings from Matt and Peter, bemoaning
the fact that there had been ‘omissions’ from the earlier briefing. There was
insufficient energy to strike up a verse of ‘Help me Ronda’, not that she could
bale the boys out of this one. The pain of the interminable ascent -
accentuated by searing beads of salty sweat burning blinking eyes hidden behind
mirrored Oakleys – was lessened by the glory of the surrounding scenery.
Imperious mountains rose proudly all around, with intricate
rock formations holding your gaze, inducing wonderment at the might and expanse
of nature. A glance over ones shoulder revealed a steep road slipping away
behind you, the only protection from the sheer drop into the gorge below
offered by a low red stone wall. This in itself was gratifying in the cauldron
of pain as it provided the evidence of the progress – albeit slow – that was
being made. Wild flowers filled the verges beyond the drainage channels on the
right. A brief comfort stop revealed a host of industrious bees, bobbing from
bloom to bloom, pollen sacks full like overloaded saddlebags. Erratic brightly
coloured butterflies similarly floated amongst the flowers, settling now and
again to delicately extract the nectar.
After mile upon mile of climbing, interspersed with the odd
descent to lull you into a false sense that the climbing was done, we
eventually joined the radio masts at the summit. Just beyond and through the
haze in the distance, we caught the first sight of our goal. There in the
distance in splendid isolation was Gibraltar and our first sight of the ocean
since day 2. Beyond was Africa.
After a couple of miles of welcome descent and a chance for
a brisk breeze to cool sweat drenched bodies, we met up with Steve at a small
cafe in Gaucin, 23 miles into the stage. Ice creams, coffees and Cola Cao all
round for the gargantuan effort that everyone had made. Whether it was tired
limbs or the fact that it was a little unexpected, but all agreed the previous
miles had been some of the most challenging of the whole ride. The scorpion had
revealed itself.
The sun was now hot, but we had a long 7 mile descent to
look forward to. Not long after setting off we were into a roller coaster of a
technical descent. Twisting sections led into sweeping sections which then
tightened again, ensuring that concentration levels remained high. Dips and
cracks in the road tried to trick you, and rims squealed in protest when trying
to scrub 35mph plus speeds going into corners. Good job we had all replaced
brake blocks and cables before setting off.
The flora changed dramatically again. Gone were the miles
upon miles of Olive groves from previous days. We were now into a wonderland of
variety, colour and texture that was magnified by the intensity of the blue
overhead. All of the ‘soft pedalling’ had caused a link in Pete’s chain to
surrender in protest, causing a need for a roadside repair. (Rumour has it that
it was a similar SRAM ebay purchase (see day 1)).
Suitably covered in oil, Pete
led us on. We passed through Los Angeles and the scenery was magical. Meadows
of yellow rose up to our left as we entered corridors of Eucalyptus, their
elegant silvery trunks rising skywards, their thin leaves rustling in the
breeze. The lazy ‘flip-flop’ of irrigation sprays kept growing vegetables
emerald green. Standing in the foreground with a mellow smugness were two
stately white horses, catching the cooling mist as the water caught the breeze.
A large shadow crossed our path in slow motion. Looking skywards were two huge
storks circling lazily above us, large white and black wings spread wide,
accentuating their red bills and matching legs. As we rolled on, I glimpsed a
Jacaranda in bloom outside a house nestling amongst some trees, the
Forget-Me-Not blue of the bunches of flowers vivid and pure
Our next stop was outside the Venta La Cantina restaurant,
on the outskirts of Castellar de la Frontera at the 49 mile mark. The mercury
had now hit 37C in the sun, but we only had 16 miles to go. Almost impatiently
we had a hurried lunch and pushed on, wanting to achieve our goal. We soon
joined a cycle path that ran adjacent to a railway line. Atop of every
available pylon, large precarious nests perched with upwards of four storks
standing neatly to attention. Clearly the avian equivalent of high rise
apartments. The clacking of bills expressed the occasional impatience in an
otherwise tranquil setting
All of a sudden we crested a small climb and we were into an
industrial scourge on the run in to our target. Dust intermingled with diesel
and metal filled the air. Towers and storage depots blighted the landscape and
the mood changed. Roundabouts were more manic and the locals had a more
intimidating demeanour. The heat seemed to be magnified by this harsh
environment. Storage depot walls were covered in hideous and grotesque graffiti
caricatures, which seemed fitting in this apocalyptic vista. To our right the
cobalt blue of the Mediterranean softened the image and the metallic odour gave
way to the freshness of salt air. Up and over a steep cobbled bridge and we hit
the depravity of a rundown area of habitation. A teenager was propped in a
doorway, chasing a dragon. Opposite a haggard looking female not much older sat
outside, viewing potential passersby.
We met up with Steve for one last time about 5 miles out to pick
up our passports and don our Great Ormond Street T Shirts, so that we could
make the crossing to the Rock with pride. A few more tight backstreets and
dodgy roundabouts negotiated and we were at the border. Needless to say we were
stopped and had to show our documentation. With little delay, we were soon
crossing the runway and entering a manic scene straight out of ‘Whacky Races’.
Mopeds, cars and bicycles were scooting about at a frantic pace, vying for
every available inch of road space, hooters beeping and pedestrians scurrying.
We pulled in at Casemates Square and duly announced that this was the end point
of our ride. Handshakes all round. Job done.
We rode on a little further to the hotel, where we met up
with our fourth man, Steve. More handshakes. From our rooms we could see
Africa. Now what should we do for the next challenge?
Special mentions must be made for Steve our support driver
without whom this venture could never have taken place. He has been absolutely
steadfast in his support and his ability to solve problems, maintain sound
common sense and keep people entertained is absolutely second to none. A
consummate professional of the highest order. It has been a privilege to know
and to learn from him.
Also the unstinting support of Bev Jarvis, who has worked
tirelessly in the promotion of our activities and who has come up with ideas
and strategies that were way beyond our capabilities. We are greatly indebted
to you.
Additionally all of our families who have had to put up with
all of the hours of training and the time spent away whilst undertaking this
challenge. We promise it was hard work all the way!!
Although this is the end of the ride, it is not the end of
the fundraising. Our Virgin website will remain open. We still have a target to
reach. Please help us to help The Great Ormond Street Charity Appeal
Many people in life do not have a choice as to the
challenges that are thrust upon them. Some of us live life within self imposed
boundaries. Unless you push them, you will never know what you can achieve.
We had stayed in a hotel perched on top of the hills
surrounding Lucena. The views were outstanding, but we felt very weary after
such a hard slog yesterday – nearly 100 miles in rain and cold with headwinds,
lots of climbs and nightmare roads to overcome. The amount of sleep we have had
was not enough to recharge our batteries! However, the three musketeers, ably
accompanied by Supersteve, tucked into breakfast and before we knew it we were
off at around 8:45am. We descended the hillside and when arriving at the
T-junction below saw our first sign to Malaga. We were near the coast, we had
not seen the sea since the beginning of Day 2, when we were in Dunkirk and
could look out across its famous beaches.
We set a steady pace along the N331, with no wind to slow
our progress. Before long we were passing through a small town when we spotted
what we believe to be the World’s largest chair. We reckon this could be in the
Guinness Book of Records, does anyone know?
Some of the towns and villages we pass through are very
quiet, almost like ghost towns. We see very few people, most of the businesses
seem to have closed down, and generally the pace of life is very slow. Every
time we pass through one of these places, it reminds us of Clint Eastwood
strolling into town in one of his gun-slinging ‘Wild West’ movies:
Spain seems to have tried to ‘expand and grow’ too fast. As
part of this development, they have constructed a major new road network that
now seems in many places to be un-necessary. For example, we travelled down the
N331 which has now been replaced by a brand new motorway, which seems to take
little traffic anyway. Back on the N331, it is absolutely deserted, and yet
there is nothing wrong with it:
It does seem that there have been a lot of projects built in
Spain that were not really needed and now the country seems to be in the grip
of a really difficult and deep recession.
Onwards we went. The temperature had started the day at
around 17 degrees and this only crept up to around 22 degrees as we pulled in
to our first stop at 25 miles. Steve was on hand as ever with plentiful
supplies of food and drink. He has spoilt us rotten but we are not complaining!
We allowed ourselves 20 minutes at the break and soon we
were back on the road. The wind had picked up and it seemed to come from the West
or North-West. Our route today zigzagged West and South as we worked our way
towards Ronda. This resulted in periods where we re-encountered a headwind, and
others where we were able to gain assistance from a slight tailwind. It
certainly was not as bad as yesterday! We took a slight diversion to avoid a
short section of motorway and although this added a couple of miles, we were
rewarded by some beautiful countryside and this fantastic tree-lined boulevard:
For several days now we have been cycling through a region
that has been completely covered in olive groves – hundreds of thousands of
hectares with every available space covered with olive trees. However we
noticed that this was starting to change. We started to see some sunflower
fields and also wheat fields. Once again, the landscape around us was changing.
By 1:20pm we pulled into our second stop of the day and settled down for some
lunch in a beautiful picnic spot:
We were still feeling a little weary; we had done 47 miles
but still had just under 40 left to do. We had to get as much food down us as
possible, it was the only way to get our energy levels back up in time for the
1,750ft climb up to Ronda. Dehydration was also still causing us a few issues
so we spent a little extra time over lunch. When we finally departed we enjoyed
an exhilarating descent and at the bottom a tranquil lake lay in the valley
floor. Steve phoned through to say that the road we had chosen to take after
crossing this lake was closed. He had caught us just in time to prevent us
climbing out of the valley to find the road closed. Instead we were able to
take a quick right hander onto the C-341 and ride a detour route around the
problem road. The road closure was probably caused by a land-slide, we have
seen lots of them, all seemingly caused by road cuttings that have been dug out
at too steep an angle. The views in and around this valley were spectacular,
the scenery and landscape in just a few short miles was changing again!
As we finished our diversion and rejoined our planned route
the climb up to Ronda started. It went on for around 13 miles, starting very
shallow and eventually reaching gradients of 7.5%. This doesn’t seem too steep,
but over a long distance with temperatures now rising to 32 degrees, it saps
our energy. However at stop 3 near the top, Steve (now Superhero status) was
there to top up our drinks bottles and buy us an ice cream! We crested the
climb at Puerto el Saltello which was at an elevation above sea level of 885m and
from there on in we had a straight and gentle downhill run across the plateau
into Ronda
We had done it again, another 85 miles in the bag and only
65 miles now to Gibraltar. Today we spent 6 hours 27 minutes in the saddle,
with an average speed of 13.2mph. Overall we have now completed 1,527 miles. We
could only have done this by working as a team. Despite all the challenges that
England, France and Spain have thrown at us, we are still going and our spirits
are high. We just need to take care tomorrow and go at a steady pace and we
will achieve our goal. It is amazing to think that if we succeed we will have
ridden to the base of Western Europe and effectively the top of Africa! Just
one last push tomorrow will do it. Come on the Fozball Team!!.........but hang
on a minute, where on Earth did I put my passport?
The day started with a very promising weather forecast. It was going to be cloudy with cooler temperatures so it would have been perfect for the tough day's cycling ahead.
We started off from our posh 4 star hotel having had one of the best breakfast so far on this journey. Suitably nourished and keen to get going we had a short briefing for the day by the day's ride captain (Peter) and we departed at 8.15am. To say it was fresh would be an understatement, it was freezing! We all had to put on our jackets, which we didn't think we would be using again and headed off out of town and on to the A-316 (no, not the one through Twickenham). We started off at a fair pace but after a short while it was apparent that today was going to be a very hard and long day. The terrain was very hilly with some climbs of over 10% promised but it least it wasn't going to be unbearably hot.
The surrounding countryside was becoming very familiar. The hillsides are plastered with Olive Groves as far as the eye could see. This scenery had now been with us for 180 miles and we were wondering how many hectares Spain has devoted to this crop.
How do they pick Olives? Is it with a machine or by hand?
We pushed on to the first stop and it was becoming apparent that the weather conditions were becoming less than ideal. We had a constant headwind that meant extra effort pedaling all the time, even downhill!
We were quite happy with the route until the single carriageway turned into an 'Autovia' or dual carriageway. We previously read that cycles were allowed on the hard shoulder of this type of road and as we cycled along we were overtaken by a traffic police car who ignored us, so we thought the information was correct.
After a short while we realised that the articulated lorries thundering past made us a bit vulnerable and we sought an alternative route. We found a track alongside the fast road and cruised along that for a few miles. After a while we passed a small holding and we were greeted by the usual barking of a dog.This has become a common occurrence during our trip and we usually bark back or ignore it safe in the knowledge that they are behind fences or walls and they can't get at us. However, Matt shouted out 'he's coming after us!' and the dog crossed a ditch and started chasing us. It was everyman for himself, we all pedaled like mad to get away from this ferocious canine, a task made harder due to the laughter and the fact the dog was a very, very small terrier.
The alternative route proved to be unsuitable and we rejoined what was to be the 'road from hell' to make progress to our destination. Eventually the road returned to a single carriageway although the head wind seemed to increase and then to make matters worse it started to rain!
This was becoming a very challenging day, we knew we had a number of climbs to make and it was one of the longer mileage days made longer by our earlier diversion.
We made the best of it, thinking positive and taking in the views (mostly Olive Groves).
Matt with the biggest thistle in the world.....
We eventually arrived at Lucena after 8 hours in the saddle, taking the opportunity to take this picture by a monument to a local musician.
The hotel wasn't in the town but about two miles out and on a hillside with a 13% climb to reach it and despite over 90 miles of hard cycling, the team zoomed up (ish) to a wonderfully picturesque spot with brilliant views.
We all agreed we had had a really tough day. The winds were against us the roads were horrendous, it rained and we had to cycle further than planned. The big upside is that we only have 2 days left and we are only 145 miles form Gibraltar!!!!!
Matt asked to mention Jo Dunning from Costain's head office in Maidennhead. Jo baked a load of cakes and sold them in aid GOSH and raised £40 for the cause. Well done and thank you and can we have some please.....
The piercing decibels from the alarm drilled through the
fragile capsule of sleep and jolted weary bones into action again. A glance
through the mosquito screen revealed another clear day – as predictable as a
grey day back home. The cacophony of the dawn chorus had passed, signifying how
deep we were sleeping. In its place was a more sedate exchange of joyous song
from feathered friends that lingered a while before setting about their daily
routine
Our hostel was remote and set back in the hills with steep
reddish brown hills dappled with deep green vegetation rising above us. We had
agreed to try and set off at 08:00 hours sharp to try and get some miles in the
bank before the heat of the day sets in, drawing energy from tired legs in the
same way as the burning orb sucks moisture from the arid landscape.
Our breakfast was hardly inspiring consisting of coffee and
homemade muffins. Despite lingering a while in case more was to be offered, we
eventually surrendered and set about filling bidons, applying various dressings
to tender regions, clicking into our pedals and setting off in the clear early
morning mountain air. We passed through the small town square that had been all
hustle and bustle the previous afternoon on our arrival. A single lorry managed
to create its own traffic jam, which we neatly quartered and passed and headed
out of town.
A left turn soon followed and we noticed that there were
quite a few walkers about enjoying the cool of the morning. The other attraction
soon became apparent when we commenced a descent of about 3 miles. A sheer
delight greeted us as we descended through a gorge with steep walls of angular
red rocks rising above us. To our left over a low stone wall and set deep into
the crevice created by the parting hills was a busy stream bubbling and leaping
way below us. Little rapids of white water were formed by the course of the
fresh green water as it coursed its way downwards, each little crest trying
ever so hard to overtake the one ahead. An inspiring start to the day with only
the soft ratchet of freewheels and the purr of tyres on the smooth tarmac
joining the rushing stream in a satisfying melody.
We made a left turn onto the N322. The expanse of blue above
was not quite as intense, with wispy streaks of white cirrus high above acting
as a filter to the harshness of the sun. The azure blue of previous days had
given way to a paler Wedgewood hue which contrasted perfectly with the cloud
patterns as if formulating the next design from the pottery ovens. Within a few
miles we entered a flatter stretch. Small kestrels hovered with streamlined
dexterity above the barley brown grass fanning out on each side of the road,
before rapidly stooping on hapless prey, outwitted by the flying marksmen. We
soon crossed into the AndalucÃa region. Our progress south was continuing
apace.
Rolling hills became more apparent accompanied by groves of
proud Yoda like olive trees. Relatively low in stature with gnarly ancient
looking deep brown trunks topped with slender deep green leaves, they first
appeared in neat rows set on either side of the road, flourishing in the rocky
ground. With each mile we drove onwards into AndalucÃa, the vista of Olives
became broader and broader filling the landscape on either side as far as the
eye could see. At points the hill sides rose so steeply, one wondered how their
fruits could ever be harvested – but onwards they stretched in regimented
ranks, the tufted green of the trees set against the brown of the hills giving
the landscape an appearance of a worn carpet.
The first stop of the day was in the car park of the Hotel
Restaurante Don Juan, just over 26 miles into the ride. Steve was deeply
engrossed in his computer tablet, utilising the free Wi-Fi from the nearby
premises, so we were able to practice our stealthy tactical approach, trying to
minimise the sound of our slow moving tyres on the gravelly approach.
Determined to beat the heat of the day, we resolved to have a splash and dash
and forge on.
Not long after our stop we came across an abandoned steam
engine (that had at some point had a diesel conversion) on a rickety bridge to
our right.
Onwards we pushed, noticing that an increase in cloud cover
was keeping temperatures decidedly agreeable. We also noticed that the
abundance of dead snakes on the road we had encountered on previous days was
not replicated on this stretch of the ride. Not once could we utter the ‘Woody’
catchphrase ‘There’s a snake in my boots’.
With a click of the gears we changed up a few cogs as the
gradient increased and before long we were into a long ascent that lazily
trailed up the hills for the next 12 miles or so. As we rose, the ranks of
olive trees seemed to stretch further and further afield. Small villages
perched high on the hills, no doubt offering a fantastic vista for the
residents.
Foz soon became aware that Pete and Matt would stop at
nothing to try and gain an advantage on the climbs, ditching their bikes for a
mechanical alternative. Clearly the sight of a steam engine earlier in the ride
had sown a seed. Perhaps they should have opted for something with a bit more
kudos and street credibility. Any captions gratefully received.
As we were about to top the crest of our long climb we were
joined by a pair of impressive eagles, searching out the thermals pushed up by
the surrounding hills. Lazily they soared in wide circles above us with a
majestic and noble attitude. Gradually they gained altitude in an effortless
fashion, with just the twist of their tail feathers or a relaxed adjustment of
their massive wings to assist them upwards. If only our attempts at tackling
ascents was as majestic.
A short descent to our second stop of the day and our
Director Sportive was duly waiting with fresh supplies. It has to be said that
it is often very difficult to move on from these stops, not because of the
wonderful fare that Steve manages to forage for us, but more for the anecdotes
and stories that Steve regales us with each and every day. He is an absolute
ace story teller and he has many a book hidden in him which absolutely must be
revealed at some time. It is also noticeable that as the trip has progressed,
Steve has become more animated in his story telling adding to the hilarity of
the sketches that he recounts. Top award for maintaining team morale goes to
Steve.
We then set off for our last stretch of the day. Off to our
left and in the distance were some more snow capped peaks, bringing back
memories of the Pyrenees. For long periods during today’s ride, we were tested
by a brisk wind which was either knifing in on our left shoulders or swirling
and blustering face on, retarding momentum and making each pedal revolution an
effort. This stage has been ticked off however. Three more to do.
A timely reminder that this is a fundraising enterprise to
bring essential funding to The Great Ormond Street Hospital Charity appeal. Our
team mascot Max and all those other little heroes and heroines out there
benefit greatly from the treatment that Great Ormond Street is able to offer.
Please dig deep and help us achieve our target. Believe me it is easier to
click a few buttons on a computer to make a donation than it is to cycle for 20
consecutive days over challenging terrain. But our challenges diminish into
insignificance by the trials and tribulations encountered by innocent wee
souls. All of the team would do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant that
just one little life would benefit. Do your bit – we guarantee you will feel
better for doing it.
