Day twenty 20th June 2013

Stage 20 Ronda to Gibraltar

65 miles

The Scorpion

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.

      

  

65.4 miles

1592 miles total

Top speed 34.9mph

Av speed 12.7mph

5hours 8minutes in the saddle

The Fozball Team