Before tucking into this diary entry, I’d like to thank all of you for the kind words on this series. Sometimes I wonder if anyone is really interested in how I spend my time off, but my honesty about bikepacking and riding long distance seems to be quite valuable. Social media could lead you to believe that it’s one of the easiest sports, and that once you’ve got the kit it’s a cheap holiday. The reality for me has been that it is achievable, but I’m on the limit of my resilience and capability. It’s also not that cheap when you add up all those ‘bargain’ hotels, multipacks of Oreos, new shoes, pharmacy bills…
I’ll continue to be honest, but rest assured not all the days are bad. There’s some very good ones just over the next hill, in about 260km time…
Catch-up:
Almansa – Elche De La Sierra
- Distance: 115km
- Elevation: 1,099m
You might not believe that a 115km ride across Spain could be summed up in one photo, but today, it can. Here is the view behind us, and for the first 30km it has barely changed aside from getting slightly angrier:
This has quickly become one of those rides where I resent every detail. There’s many causes for a bad day on a bike and I like to think I’m in tune with my body and able to identify what’s troubling me, so I try to find the cause whilst begrudgingly stamping on my pedals.
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Am I hungry?
I’m very good at responding to cravings, as experience has taught me that my sub conscience is far more reliable than my active decision making. I’ve eaten everything in, on and around my bike, including a good portion of Rhys’ snacks. So it’s not hunger…
Am I comfortable?
Obviously not, but I’m no worse off than I have been every other day of the trip. It’s almost impossible to choose the correct layers for time trialling away from a huge rainstorm when it’s 5°C but feels more like 2°C. I’m generating a lot of heat, but any freewheeling almost immediately results in a sharp slap of cold air that goes down to my bones. The clouds are gaining on us too, so I can’t stop to faff even if I want to.
Am I stressed?
Again, duh, obviously, but no more than usual. Despite my bad mood I’m feeling really determined, deep down between the Pertex and sweat, because a glance at my Garmin tells me that our average speed is 25km/h and ‘ClimbPro’ feature that is usually just a red ramp of bad news is actually looking kind for a change – we’re about to descent for a while.
Am I enjoying the view?
I’m not, actually. Of course I am sneaking glances over Rhys’ shoulder now again, but for the most part I’m concentrating on not half wheeling him, riding into him, or dropping back. I’m just staring at his wheel and the choice of alternate views are:
- The storm behind
- The blurred white line in the centre of the road
- My Garmin, with a ‘km remaining’ counter
- My podgy thighs that are feeling like they may never deflame.
What is the opposite of inflamed? It must be deflamed. I probably need an ice bath, but preferably not from the sky whilst huffing along this fckng road. What a boring route today is. I wonder if the pros in the Tour De France use those recovery pants that Brad has. Heh, he looks like such a pillock in those. I wonder what Brad is up to. Oh heck, he’s doing Ironman Lanza today! We need to track him. I wonder if he took his recovery pants.
Our average speed has gone to 25.4km/h, and we’ve got 65.2km remaining, so that will take us…
…
At least two hours. I wonder if I should pretend to need a wee just to stop moving for a bit, and get the average speed back to 25km/h so I can do more rounded maths.
At some point, Rhys tells me I should be impressed with my riding today and thanks me for the pace we held to get away from the storm. I’m beaming inside at the fact he acknowledged this effort, because he knows how much I hate flat power, however, externally I think my face has turned grey and I might look a bit like Droopy Dog.
To celebrate our successful storm escape, we book into Complejo Rural La Tejera, which translates to La Tejera Rural Complex. It’s like a holiday park with lots of little villas, a pool, loads of communal areas, red tiles and huge ceramic pots everywhere, and not a single person in sight. All the villas have big metal gates with padlocks on, and it feels like we’ve broken into a film set for an apocalypse movie, complete with a large friendly alsatian that appears to own the place.
Coming up…
An insanely pretty route that turns pretty insane. Snow storm diversion, tears and I finally figuring out what’s wrong with me.
