Amanda and Rhys continue making their way from Barcelona to Malaga, finding every obstacle possible and eating everything in sight.
Catch-up:
Hornos – Quesada
- 102km
- 1,530m
I’ve woken up feeling defeated by the day before it has really begun. There’s nothing quite like the vulnerable, inescapable pain and discomfort of the menstrual cycle to put a dampener on a bikepacking trip. Rhys is very considerate (or just terrified of having his head bitten off), so the morning rundown of the route is delivered in a way that makes it sound achievable and possibly even enjoyable. Down, up a tiny bit, then staying below 700m altitude for around 50km. Up a hill, down the other side and descend all the way to Quesada. The low altitude is the reassuring part given that we spent last night navigating our way around snow-blocked roads.
The route is stunning from the moment we set off. To our left we have a view of a huge lake with an island in the middle – Isla Cabeza de la Viña, which translates to Vine Head Island. Beyond that the snowy peaks in Sierra Nevada, suitably distant from us. We stop at a shop for some onboard snacks where I find some biscuits made almost entirely of sugar, and finally some bananas. I haven’t managed to get bananas for days! The day feels like it’s going to be OK, the sun is shining, we’re warm enough and we have a rest day tomorrow.
The ~50km low altitude part of the ride is a path winding around the lake we were longingly gazing at this morning. It’s a quiet, smooth road for the most part, densely lined with trees and picnic spots. The views are so distracting that a huge portion of the ride is ticked off with no drama, and it’s only as we cross a bridge that would make the front page of the papers in the UK for its total disregard of health and safety that we realise we’re ready for lunch. The bridge, a concrete double track with a big gap in the middle and no barriers either side, is about 4 inches above water level of a fast flowing river, no doubt icy cold given last night’s escapades.
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Lunch is a posh affair. Our only option is a restaurant that has three forks and three knives laid out at each setting, so we continue our day of winning by not resisting a long sit down with some very tasty food. Rhys orders my worst nightmare of a dish, a chicken fillet with blue cheese sauce. The hormonal, irrational side of me wants to be annoyed but I manage to control myself and it honestly feels like such an achievement to overcome a shitty chemical imbalance in my brain. A small win that has a lasting positive effect on my mood.
It’s quite a shock to the system to be passing through a very lively tourist area. Arroyo Frio, translation Cold Stream, feels like an alpine resort. There’s glamorous women in white faux fur jackets, smart men in long coats drinking Aperol Spritz, and children bundled up in insulated onesies. It will forever amuse me to see Spanish people’s idea of cold weather. It’s usually a passing rider in a balaclava, bulky gloves and the only sign of life being a bright red nose poking out from many fleece layers. If only they knew what a Winter in Todmorden feels like.
The aforementioned hill that we’re going up and over to get to Quesada is quite well signposted, as it’s more than just a hill. The Puerto de las Palomas is a road through two mountains inside the Sierra de Grazalema Natural Park with a summit of 1,241m. To my surprise, and no doubt Rhys’, I’m quite excited to pedal up this one. The energy in Arroyo Frio has given me a secure feeling, as if we’re in the right place and doing the right thing for the first time in days. To add to that, just as we set off on the climb there’s two bikepackers coming down with huge grins on their faces.
This is a really nice road. Twisty, not too steep, with a great view the entire way up. It takes just over half an hour to complete, and at the top we’re rewarded with some incredible views of the surrounding national parks. We have a quick selfie, get some extra clothing on for the descent and quickly depart as Rhys lets rip a huge fart without realising a woman was on Facetime sharing the mountain view with a loved one.
Following the descent we stop to replace Rhys’ brake pads before a very relaxed 20km ride towards Quesada, which we have been pronouncing as Quesedilla all day, and the closer we get the more enthusiastic our delivery of the word. Passing the ‘Welcome to Quesada’ sign, a loud ‘Quesssedilllllllllaaaaa’ in unison sends us into a giddy, energetic explore of the narrow roads on our way to the rest day accommodation.
Our accommodation is rather quirky. A lot of the decoration has been achieved with a Sharpie, including the grouting in the bathroom. It also feels like each time the plastering has needed redoing, they have just added another layer, as the bulging walls are way deeper than they should be. We’ve got plenty of energy left for a walk around town, and then have an early night watching The Life of Brian in bed.
