Stage 17 Salobre to Ubeda
75 miles
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 Andalucía 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 Andalucía, 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.
Ride statistics:
Distance 75 miles
Depart 08:05 hours
Ride time 5 hours 49 minutes
Average speed: 12.6mph
Max speed: 28mph
Ascent: 1056m
Total Miles 1344
The Fozball Team
