Stage 12 Huesca to Alcaniz
96 miles
The Furnace Fiesta
A clear blue vista greeted us as we awoke early after our
previous days efforts. A quick check of the limbs and all seemed to be in
order. The previous days challenge had led to an end of stage euphoria, as for
a bunch of old blokes we thought we hadn’t done too badly. It had been a long day in the saddle but every minute
was worth it – despite the screaming muscles and mile upon mile of twisting
steep climbing.
The divide between Spain and France drawn by the might of
the Pyrenees brings a stark contrast between north and south. The voluptuous
and curvaceous rolling hills of beautiful France, signifying her rich fertility
is in stark contrast to the harsh and macho aridness that greets you when descending
from the mirrored snow capped peaks. Could this be an omen for the day ahead?
We left earlier to try and achieve some miles before the
heat of the day set in. We rolled gently out of Huesca onto flat and even
roads. We spun our legs freely and surprisingly there appeared to be no ill
effects from the previous day. Our spirits were high and the easy rolling roads
allowed us to eat into the days total with little effort. An easy day beckoned.
Traffic was light and three abreast cycling was the order of
the day. The landscape was fairly featureless, but a glance rearward from
whence we came brought another smile of satisfaction as the imposing grandness
of the Pyrenees gradually receded behind us.
Our first stop was upon us at the small town of Heurto.
Steve had warned us that he may be a little behind us due to a fuse issue with
the van and the fact that the shops didn’t open until 09:30 hours. We entered
town whistling the theme tune to The Good, The Bad and The Ugly (votes please
on which of the Three Amigos matches the aforementioned description !! :)).
That set the dogs barking and I sure we heard some of the wooden shutters to
the dwellings being slammed shut from within. With no gunslingers in sight, we
had a little tour of the town and headed up a very steep footpath to the ruins
of a small ‘Castillo Heurto’. Someone had turned the temperature up a few
notches and we headed for some shade and to keep a look out for Steve. Our
‘Director Sportive’ soon rolled into town in the mean blue wagon and needless
to say set the dogs barking again. We wended our way down to him and topped up
our bidons, had a quick sandwich and then rolled out of town. Today would be a
breeze.
The temperature had ratcheted up another few notches by now
and was already at about 28 C. The land was flat and dry on either side of us
with the odd dwelling or power line broke the even landscape. The odd buzzard
circled lazily overhead as if keeping an eye out for an easy meal if we didn’t
make it. Gradually some hills appeared in the distance which seemed a way off
and probably something we would tackle tomorrow. The mercury tripped 30C and
the pedalling became more laboured. An expanse of rocky white soil, parched and
baked hard by the relentless sun lay in swathes on either side. It seemed
impossible for any plough to break this crust, but surprisingly there was some
signs of cultivation, with straw coloured crops still and motionless in the
cauldron. The long strip of black which guided us along was bordered by grasses
and scrub which had been dappled here and there by a touch of colour – the
crimson of poppies, the canary yellow and clean white of daisies and the soft
lilac of lavender – as if by an artist’s brush. As the soft purr of thin rubber
on the asphalt drove us onwards, out of the corner of our eyes we could catch
the odd drab brown bird darting off low over the straw coloured fields, or the
random fluttering of black and yellow butterflies attracted by the bloom.
We crossed a bridge under which was a stark man made canal, carrying
the only jade coloured water for miles. Almost immediately the road began to
rise and to our left the large expanse of higher ground greeted us. The mercury
was steadily rising and was now in the mid 30s. The air was hot in the nostrils
and cycling with the mouth open was a risk as it attracted all and sundry
flying insects like moths to a candle (on the descent from the Pyreness the
previous day, Foz’s entry to Spain was greeted by some insect flying into his
mouth and stinging him. His impersonation of dolphin speak at the side of road
caused some bemusement to Matt and Pete).
A new adversary was now squaring up to the team. The heat.
The sun beat down like a hammer on an anvil and sapped moisture and power from
already tired limbs. There was no respite, nowhere to shelter. It was necessary
to keep pedalling to allow an airflow that kept some semblance of even
temperature. Gaps appeared in the formation as we ground our way up the pass,
each rider keeping their own pace. The summit was eventually reached when a
potential catastrophic mechanical problem hit Pete’s trusty Cervelo. Going for
a gear change, there was a rending that caused his rear gear hanger to shear.
His chain twisted and fell between his cassette and spoke, dragging his
derailleur inwards. A gnarled and broken mess was the result.
Steve our trusty hero was summoned and before too long the
van with spares and tools was with us. In the shade of the van, Pete then set
about fixing the problem. Fortunately Matt had brought a new spare rear. The
damaged chain was split and removed, the rear hanger replaced and the ‘new’
wheel installed. (Fortunately good preparation ensured we had the right spares
with us). Pete would have to tackle his own wheel later in the day. We utilised this pit stop to act as our
second refreshment of the day. The temperature was getting progressively
hotter.
We set off again. The breeze induced by our momentum was
like sitting in front of a hot hair dryer. 39C was the latest reading. The
water in our bidons was as hot as that from a kettle not long boiled. We kept
downing it, but it was not enjoyable and did little to slake our thirst.
Onwards we struggled, head down trying to maintain a rhythm in the unrelenting
cauldron. The landscape remained stark, until all of a sudden and without much
of a climb, we started a long and winding descent. The intensity of the heat
was amplified as it was reflected off the road and the rocks which rose on
either side. Gradually the vista opened and the harsh straw coloured grass was
replaced with stunted and rounded pine trees added a welcome dash of green. The
rocks changed from white to a reddish brown and with it the soil. Rectangular
huts that blended impeccably with the surrounds started to spring up. With
single sided sloping roofs topped with tiles matching the surrounding browns.
Tiny little windows boarded from the inside with Hobbit sized doors.
We wended our way downwards and then across a bridge spanning
a large reservoir. Swallows circled low across the waters below us, flitting to
and from their nests tucked up against the piers and making the most of the
insects on the wing. We stopped for a quick photo, it being almost unbearable
not to maintain the breeze. A quick temperature check – an oven topping 40C. So
much for the day being easy and still another 20 miles to go.
We limped into the last pit stop of the day and all were
muted. It was almost too much effort to utter a word. Steve had done us proud
again by finding some shade. Glory hallelujah. We quaffed as much liquid as our
stomachs would allow. With sweat still beading our brows we reluctantly
remounted for the final push. Only another 15 or so miles – and surely no more
climbing for the day.
How wrong. Almost immediately it was straight into another
unrelenting climb. With our energy reserves sapped, it was hard going. Our
reward – a descent into Alcaniz for the last couple of miles. A final sting was
a steep gradient up to our apartment for the night. Unbelievable temperatures
over a taxing course. A huge achievement to tick this one off the list. Another
95 beckons for tomorrow.
Ride statistics
Distance 96 miles
Average speed 14.4 mph
Ride time 6 hours 39 minutes
Top temperature 40C
The Fozball Team
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