Day seventeen 17th June 2013

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