From Hassan Dam to The DESERT, Merzouga! (99.6 miles)
We were up with the rising sun and back up the gravelly path that we took to get to the lake. A very quick morning took us around the lake and passed the head of the dam towards the last major town on our route to the desert, Errachidia. We all stopped here for some last minute supplies and water from the petrol station and hit the road in order to make the most of the cooler morning (which was already at 30-odd degrees!). Barren, rocky landscape quickly gave way as we entered another gorge lined with date, fig and palm trees.
Already, we noticed the large number of 4WD and people carriers, shuttling tourists to and from Merzouga and the desert beyond. Even arriving on two wheels, rather than 4, didn't stop the hustlers from trying to get us to: A. Ride some flea-bitten camels
B. Stay at their riad/campsite/house/shack/rooftop
C. Get a lift in their 4 wheel-drive because the road up ahead was "not made yet!"
However, without the air-con or comfortable seats of these tourist wagons, we plodded on through the oases towards Erfoud. The humidity that seemed to blast from the nearby trees felt like an industrial hairdrier was constantly blowing a headwind. Luckily, we arrived in Erfoud in time to rest in a cafe and to wait for the midday heat to pass. The only customers in the cafe, we quickly moved our table away from the open fireplace (?!) towards the air-con unit, which seemed to fighting a losing battle with the extreme heat.
After a long, stretched out and massive meal we noticed there were a few coulds out and decided to make the most of it and get some miles down before the sun was back out. Chris took the first step and went to the loo so we waited under the aircon for him then planned to head off. Which we would have done had Chris not returned drenched in sweat from his two minute walk to the toilet! After another twenty minutes the clouds were still there and we just bit the bullet and went for it...to our amazement, the heavens opened and the hustlers were sent scuttling under cover as a quick, heavy shower peppered the dry street. Bizzare, considering the temperature and the fact that we were 30 miles from the desert.
The rain didn't last long and the clouds were soon to follow, leaving us in the baking sun and seemingly sapping every ounce of strength from our legs. It seemed to be beyond a physical test now, instead being a test of mental strength and staying power to keep us going instead of collapsing into the ever-so-tempting shade of the palm trees. It was 300m from Rissani that myself and Chris finally gave into this temptation for a short break before tackling the notorious Rissani Rogues...brutal hustlers with a set of skills that make them the Ronaldo of hustlers the envy of every hustler in the land.
By this point Chris was determined to catch up with Matty so he headed on through Rissani as I rested a bit longer. Unfortunately this decision was probably a bad one as we both had to tackle the rogues separately. As I cycled into Rissani I was quick to notice the signposts that had been neatly vandalised by the rogues in order to confuse people as to the direction of the desert; making it much easier for them to sell a guided tour to Merzouga. Reaching a T-junction at the end of the main road I knew I had to turn left but a group of about 10 rogues jumped up and tried to stop me for "a chat" which would inevitably turn into a sales pitch. Having dealt with hustlers before I thought it was a simple "no thanks" and keep cycling but these rogues were keen to live up to their name and started grabbing at the bike and panniers. One went for the handlebars but a quick hand off had him picking himself up out of the dust!
Once past all this commotion I found Chris stopped just past Rissani. I told him my story and he told me his. Apparently he did stop to chat...informing the motely crew of hustlers that it was not he that made the decision on hotels for the night but it was, in fact, me that organised these things and that I would be along in no time!...cheers Chris! However, karma dealt a quick blow to Chris as the reason he had stopped is because he received yet another set of bee stings!
A quick "man up" for Chris and we started off again, only 18 miles to go now. Painfull progress was mad into a relentless headwind and the heat still sapped our strength. So much effort was going into moving at about 3 or 4 mph. At one point, Chris exclaimed that this was the hardest thing that he'd had to do and I breathlessly agreed with him! With the heat and exhaustion it was easy to mistake the advertising signposts at the side of the road for Matty or a building but hundreds of them passed by before any sign of life was to be seen. A blob appears on the distance...Matty with no panniers had cycled back up the road to check we hadn't come a cropper under a 4WD or rissani-rogue-mobile! We eventually struggled back to where Matty had stopped and got down to finishing the last 3km of the whole cycle. This last leg was undoubtedly tough as we had managed almost 100 miles on our final and hottest day of the journey but the final countdown of kilometers was such a push that it didn't matter if our legs were almost dead, we were going for it.
....2km...1km...Merzouga! We'd made it. It was simply a stones throw to the dunes of Erg Chebbi and the start of the Sahara dessert. The much thought about moment had now arrived and it was just as good as we had imagined...one sweaty manhug later and we headed to our abode for the night...knackered but extatic. The past month or so seemed to flood back into our minds that night as we tucked into home-made tagine and cous cous and recounted stories of good and bad times and how much we wish Char was still here. We know she would have loved Morocco but we're sure she made the right choice and nobody can ever deny the great achievement of having reached the southern-most tip of Spain.
To everyone who have offered us shelter and help along the way, to our families, friends and acquaintances who have donated or offered words of wisdom or encouragement we would like to say a massive thank you. It seems a much repeated phrase but without you all none of this would have been possible. Thanks to those who had no doubt we would make and thanks to those who had their doubts. Both were inspirations and encouragement along the way!
If you would still like to donate to our chosen charity, Right to Play, through our JustGiving page (http://www.justgiving.com/Cycle-to-Sahara) it would mean a huge amount to us.
We also have a webpage with some background info on the journey (http://www.cycle-to-sahara.co.uk/)
...and a facebook page with updates (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Cycle-to-Sahara/186126538081365)
Monday, 15 August 2011
Day 41 - Creepy beggars to creepy crawlies
From Midelt to Barrage Hassan Addakhil (75.6 miles)
I woke early and quickly saddled the horse and headed down to main road and retraced my tyre prints to the first petrol station on the left. As expected, this was a foolproof plan as Chris and Matty roll into town at 7am on the dot. The failure in the plan was the fact that, after spending a couple of nailbiting hours watching my bike get "fixed", I forgot to buy breakfast! Doh.
Once a few breakfast dates were consumed we decided to bash on to Zebzate, a town about 20 km ahead, where we hoped to pick up breakfast once the shops opened. Unfortunately, this was one incident where our minutely detailed map let us down...instead of being a town to stock up on food, Zebzate was a collection of shacks and a few goats. With no towns before the start of the High Atlas we just had to tuck into today's lunch which was by now possibly the fourth meal in a row that consisted of sardines, laughing cow and moroccan bread..if it ain't broke don't fix it!
On a stomach of tinned fish and questionable cheese we tackled the high Atlas mountains. A very steep climb was made worse by the crumbling roads and ever more suicidal drivers that shot round the hairpin corners in the middle of the road! There weren't much in the way of towns as we crossed the plateau of the High Atlas but we did stop in what seemed like a ghost town before heading along the massive, wide-bottomed and steep sided valleys that dominate the High Atlas.
After Chris and Matty passed around a corner, following a small collection of houses, I noticed a group of kids bending and picking up stones. After having heard of these cheeky little scamps from other cyclists who have been to Morocco I planned to spoil their daily cyclist stoning. I stopped and pretended to pick up a few stones of my own and started cycling towards them as they all scattered back behind the trees at the side of the road. Donnie 1 - tiny tourist bashers - 0!
Once I turned the corner ahead into another deep valley, the temperature rose quite dramatically and I was happy to see that Matty and Chris had stopped at a gas station just before the town of Rich. Quite what it was Rich in we weren't sure but it certainly did have a few strange characters lurking around the petrol station. Once we got lunch going (no prizes for guessing what we had) a guy woke from under a nearby tree and immediately started pressing Matty for water and smokes. After having cycled the water all the way into the High Atlas, Matty was pretty sure he was going to be the only one drinking it after having given some to a passing driver who asked earlier! The man eventually gave up and sat down for a smoke then dissapeared...only to return a short while later, simply holding a condom and pointing at Matty, who must have been a bit shy and passed on that offer!
Once the heat and the weird guy had both calmed down we started our cycle down the amazing Ziz valley, through the palmeries and olive groves that lined it. Along with palm and olive trees, the Ziz valley is famous for it's figs, which we bought at least a kilogram for one pound at the side of the road! Reaching the bottom of the gorge unfortunately meant a fairly large climb at the end of the day in order to reach the shores of the Hassan Addakhil dam. Here, we layed out the tents for sleeping on top of and had the most amazing wash in the warm waters of the turquoise lake which stretched out beside us. Apart from the odd car travelling along the road above, the only other moving thing near us was a man walking the length of the lake, checking his fishing nets and a whole lot of earwigs! These were the only thing that ruined the night as the sunset over the dam gave way to an amazingly clear night sky. They would give us the odd nip if we moved but they were definitely better news than being nipped by a scorpion.
I woke early and quickly saddled the horse and headed down to main road and retraced my tyre prints to the first petrol station on the left. As expected, this was a foolproof plan as Chris and Matty roll into town at 7am on the dot. The failure in the plan was the fact that, after spending a couple of nailbiting hours watching my bike get "fixed", I forgot to buy breakfast! Doh.
Once a few breakfast dates were consumed we decided to bash on to Zebzate, a town about 20 km ahead, where we hoped to pick up breakfast once the shops opened. Unfortunately, this was one incident where our minutely detailed map let us down...instead of being a town to stock up on food, Zebzate was a collection of shacks and a few goats. With no towns before the start of the High Atlas we just had to tuck into today's lunch which was by now possibly the fourth meal in a row that consisted of sardines, laughing cow and moroccan bread..if it ain't broke don't fix it!
On a stomach of tinned fish and questionable cheese we tackled the high Atlas mountains. A very steep climb was made worse by the crumbling roads and ever more suicidal drivers that shot round the hairpin corners in the middle of the road! There weren't much in the way of towns as we crossed the plateau of the High Atlas but we did stop in what seemed like a ghost town before heading along the massive, wide-bottomed and steep sided valleys that dominate the High Atlas.
After Chris and Matty passed around a corner, following a small collection of houses, I noticed a group of kids bending and picking up stones. After having heard of these cheeky little scamps from other cyclists who have been to Morocco I planned to spoil their daily cyclist stoning. I stopped and pretended to pick up a few stones of my own and started cycling towards them as they all scattered back behind the trees at the side of the road. Donnie 1 - tiny tourist bashers - 0!
Once I turned the corner ahead into another deep valley, the temperature rose quite dramatically and I was happy to see that Matty and Chris had stopped at a gas station just before the town of Rich. Quite what it was Rich in we weren't sure but it certainly did have a few strange characters lurking around the petrol station. Once we got lunch going (no prizes for guessing what we had) a guy woke from under a nearby tree and immediately started pressing Matty for water and smokes. After having cycled the water all the way into the High Atlas, Matty was pretty sure he was going to be the only one drinking it after having given some to a passing driver who asked earlier! The man eventually gave up and sat down for a smoke then dissapeared...only to return a short while later, simply holding a condom and pointing at Matty, who must have been a bit shy and passed on that offer!
Once the heat and the weird guy had both calmed down we started our cycle down the amazing Ziz valley, through the palmeries and olive groves that lined it. Along with palm and olive trees, the Ziz valley is famous for it's figs, which we bought at least a kilogram for one pound at the side of the road! Reaching the bottom of the gorge unfortunately meant a fairly large climb at the end of the day in order to reach the shores of the Hassan Addakhil dam. Here, we layed out the tents for sleeping on top of and had the most amazing wash in the warm waters of the turquoise lake which stretched out beside us. Apart from the odd car travelling along the road above, the only other moving thing near us was a man walking the length of the lake, checking his fishing nets and a whole lot of earwigs! These were the only thing that ruined the night as the sunset over the dam gave way to an amazingly clear night sky. They would give us the odd nip if we moved but they were definitely better news than being nipped by a scorpion.
Saturday, 13 August 2011
Day 40 - Spoke too soon
From Ait Hassin to Midelt (89 miles)
Some slightly scary moments through the night as roaming packs of dogs barked endlessly at our tents or anything that moved. However, our own geordie Doctor Doolittle managed to calm the situation by launching a few stones in their direction, keeping them away for at least five minutes!
Another 5am start and a quick munch of last night's leftovers then some cereal to fill the empty bits and we hit the road to Azrou at the foot of the Middle Atlas. Although early in the morning at this point, it is still noticeable that there aren't as many horn honkers or excited fruit sellers and more just blank stares or bemused looks. This is a tough blow for the team as we had been stripped of our celebrity status and left with a much reduced fanbase!
Azrou was a nice little town set within a national park and resting in the foothills of the Middle Atlas. Although it is Ramadan just now and nothing was open when we arrived there, it is probably a really cool place to visit. We've found that Ramadan has been a slight problem to cycling in Morocco, due to not being able to source water or food when we need to, but it hasn't proved totally impossible and it should never discourage anyone else from travelling to a Muslim country during Ramadan. You just need to take it into consideration when planning your day.
Leaving Azrou, we hit a very steep climb that took us up to the plateau of the Middle Atlas. At one small section of road there were a few cars parked and the families snapping photos of the local barbary apes that seem to depend on tourists for food.
A slightly more natural sight was just a short cycle up the road. A clear view to the west, over some massive mountains with small lakes nestled inbetween. The pattern so far in Morocco has been that there are definitely amazing sights to be seen (like the mountains) but these are often marred by the less natural, tourist-led industries such as fossil sellers, hustlers and beggars.
Towards the end of the Middle Atlas plateau, we had a break in Timahdit; a small, mainly berber town where a lot of the locals wear the traditional berber hoody-like gowns. Whilst we were stopped there were a bunch of workies strolling past with wheelbarrows, one of which was so squeaky it had our ears ringing. Just as well I had the dry lubricant spray to hand! After a quick scoosh the squeak was gone and the local dogs could sleep in peace.
After a quick lunch under some beach trees we were heading along a long, wide valley next to a dry lake when Chris suddenly stopped having recieved what he claims to have been a shark bite. However, with the lake being dry it was more likely to have been a bumble bee! It was also at this point that I noticed not one but two snapped spokes on my back wheel which left the bike pretty much out of service. It may have been possible to cycle to the nearest town (Midelt) with one snapped spoke but after two have snapped it seemed better to be safe than sorry and try to hitchike to Midelt. As I removed the offending spokes, to save them from catching in the chain, a lorry stopped and offered a hand. After removing screws and loosening bolts they seemed less likely to fix the wheel than we were so we thanked them and waved them off. With the prospect of having to find the right size of vehicle to transport the bike to Midelt and then the driver being happy to do so we felt it was time to get the thumbs out...just as a crack of thunder split overhead.
We got away with fairly easily with only a short, warm shower but we weren't so lucky on the hitchiking front until a white van stopped and the man offered me and the bike a lift to Midelt...for a price of course. We should have sensed the hustle! However, 80dirhams and some conversation in broken French later and I was at a "bike shop" in Midelt whilst the lads got back on the road. The bike mechanic clearly wasn't used to seeing such a fine specimen as my bottom of the range road bike but he managed to fix it up a treat after a few dodgy looking procedures. I kipped tonight in the Atlas Hotel in Midelt and arranged to see the lads at "the first petrol station on the left at 7am"...flawless plan!
Their journey to the Timnay Campsite, 20 km from Midelt, saw the team's celebrity status reinstated in style as they were cheered and applauded through a police checkpoint! On a slightly less glamorous note they were also chased by a pack of wild dogs but they were lucky as this took place on a long, downhill stretch.
Some slightly scary moments through the night as roaming packs of dogs barked endlessly at our tents or anything that moved. However, our own geordie Doctor Doolittle managed to calm the situation by launching a few stones in their direction, keeping them away for at least five minutes!
Another 5am start and a quick munch of last night's leftovers then some cereal to fill the empty bits and we hit the road to Azrou at the foot of the Middle Atlas. Although early in the morning at this point, it is still noticeable that there aren't as many horn honkers or excited fruit sellers and more just blank stares or bemused looks. This is a tough blow for the team as we had been stripped of our celebrity status and left with a much reduced fanbase!
Azrou was a nice little town set within a national park and resting in the foothills of the Middle Atlas. Although it is Ramadan just now and nothing was open when we arrived there, it is probably a really cool place to visit. We've found that Ramadan has been a slight problem to cycling in Morocco, due to not being able to source water or food when we need to, but it hasn't proved totally impossible and it should never discourage anyone else from travelling to a Muslim country during Ramadan. You just need to take it into consideration when planning your day.
Leaving Azrou, we hit a very steep climb that took us up to the plateau of the Middle Atlas. At one small section of road there were a few cars parked and the families snapping photos of the local barbary apes that seem to depend on tourists for food.
A slightly more natural sight was just a short cycle up the road. A clear view to the west, over some massive mountains with small lakes nestled inbetween. The pattern so far in Morocco has been that there are definitely amazing sights to be seen (like the mountains) but these are often marred by the less natural, tourist-led industries such as fossil sellers, hustlers and beggars.
Towards the end of the Middle Atlas plateau, we had a break in Timahdit; a small, mainly berber town where a lot of the locals wear the traditional berber hoody-like gowns. Whilst we were stopped there were a bunch of workies strolling past with wheelbarrows, one of which was so squeaky it had our ears ringing. Just as well I had the dry lubricant spray to hand! After a quick scoosh the squeak was gone and the local dogs could sleep in peace.
After a quick lunch under some beach trees we were heading along a long, wide valley next to a dry lake when Chris suddenly stopped having recieved what he claims to have been a shark bite. However, with the lake being dry it was more likely to have been a bumble bee! It was also at this point that I noticed not one but two snapped spokes on my back wheel which left the bike pretty much out of service. It may have been possible to cycle to the nearest town (Midelt) with one snapped spoke but after two have snapped it seemed better to be safe than sorry and try to hitchike to Midelt. As I removed the offending spokes, to save them from catching in the chain, a lorry stopped and offered a hand. After removing screws and loosening bolts they seemed less likely to fix the wheel than we were so we thanked them and waved them off. With the prospect of having to find the right size of vehicle to transport the bike to Midelt and then the driver being happy to do so we felt it was time to get the thumbs out...just as a crack of thunder split overhead.
We got away with fairly easily with only a short, warm shower but we weren't so lucky on the hitchiking front until a white van stopped and the man offered me and the bike a lift to Midelt...for a price of course. We should have sensed the hustle! However, 80dirhams and some conversation in broken French later and I was at a "bike shop" in Midelt whilst the lads got back on the road. The bike mechanic clearly wasn't used to seeing such a fine specimen as my bottom of the range road bike but he managed to fix it up a treat after a few dodgy looking procedures. I kipped tonight in the Atlas Hotel in Midelt and arranged to see the lads at "the first petrol station on the left at 7am"...flawless plan!
Their journey to the Timnay Campsite, 20 km from Midelt, saw the team's celebrity status reinstated in style as they were cheered and applauded through a police checkpoint! On a slightly less glamorous note they were also chased by a pack of wild dogs but they were lucky as this took place on a long, downhill stretch.
Day 39 - Cheeky bacon rolls
Waking with the rising sun at 5am we got on the road quickly. Another noticeable assault on the senses was quick to appear as we made our way down the road to Sidi Kacem...carcasses of various animals adourn the roadsides of Morocco and are usually first smelt before seen. A specifically early morning specimen is not handy for keeping the rushed breakfast down but with the amount of food we need to keep us going we're not going to let some roadkill relieve us of our meusli!
Aside from the reduced temperatures this early in the morning making for a more comfortable ride, the lack of traffic is a welcome respite from the usual suicidal, tooting masses of Moroocan drivers. To some it may be admirable that a country of people are so devoted to Allah that they are willing to forgoe seatbelts because they believe they are being looked over...to cyclists, this level of assurance in Moroccan drivers is unsettling and sometimes very scary. A lot of the drivers here think nothing of overtaking on blind corners and coming within inches of our bikes or other cars. On a more positive note, however, the roads have been excellent so far. If it wasn't for the traffic and the odd bizzarely warped section of road Morocco could rival France as a destination for cyclists.
Also, overlooking their questionable driving, the vast majority of Moroccan's have given us an excellent reception with every second car honking their horns and shouting support or banter. Groups of kids at the side of the road would run alongside us waving and shouting, "bon chance," and today featured a large number of "racers" as Chris termed them. The odd ageing Moroccan would be slowly cycling along on a deathtrap of a bike before spotting us and doubling efforts in order to join the pack and have a chat.
As we stopped off in Sidi Kacem for water and snacks a fairly stoned man on a bike stopped for a chat and to offer a guide to Meknes; our next destination. However, his hustling skills were clearly worse for wear as he was pointing in the direction we had just come from. We may be using a very large scale map but we weren't falling for that one! On the subject of maps, we seem to have done very well with navigating so far considering the scale of our single Morocco map is 1:400000, with the usual scale being 1:50000. To those not inclined to mapreading it would basically have been impossible to find our way in Europe with such a lack of detail on the map. However, with main roads simply passing straight through towns and cities in Morocco and Matty's prep work on the route we've had no problem navigating so far.
Back on the (correct) road to Meknes, we stopped about 3 miles from the city for a break and to top up the quickly drained water bottles. A cheeky wee lad at the side of the road obviously took exception to us sharing his shady patch with him so got down to launching a few stones in our direction before his mum gave him a clip round the ears. This seemed to have calmed him down but whether the raw onion he started tucking into was a punishment or a treat we'll never find out!
Following Satan's little helper was a very hot and steep climb into Meknes where I (Donnie) made the decision to get my mop chopped in an attempt to cool my head down after the frying it just recieved. This has to be the best, most relaxing haircut I will ever experience even with the looks of disgust from the barber as he untangles the salty, sweaty mass of helmet hair!
As we carried on along the road after my trim we all suddenly realised that it wasn't possible to carry on in the mid-day heat so we found a shaded spot and got tucked into some cheeky bacon rolls that we had managed to smuggle in from Tarifa! As we were finishing off lunch an old man on a bike rolled up and started chatting to us. Through our collective broken French we managed to work out that he was saying the desert at Merzouga is three days cycle away. We found this a bit amusing since we had yet to cross the Middle and High Atlas mountains by this point and dismissed this as friendly banter. Looking back on this exchange, now that we're finished the trip, it's strange to think that this old man on a knackered old, steel-framed bike was actually right!
Once we'd all had a bit of a siesta and the worst of the heat had passed we saddled up again; en route to Ait Hassin at the start of the Middle Atlas mountains. Stopping just before the large climb up through the village of Ait Hassin we chatted to a guy opening his food stall. Telling him where we were headed, he gave a sharp exhale and wiped his brow, saying "il fait chaud en Merzouga." It wasn't the first or last time that we would hear about the heat in the desert and with two pasty Scots and a geordie with "questionable" facial hair we were beginning to worry slightly how we were going to cope.
A fairly steep climb through Ait Hassin brought us to a cluster of farmhouses where I (Donnie) went to ask one of the farmers if we could set up camp in their field for the night. On reaching the farmhouse there were only children running around and none of them spoke English or French. After one gave up on sign language they would run and get the next, slightly older child who I hoped would have some form of communicating with....After the fifth sibling had been fetched I was finally speaking to somone old enough to understand the international sign of "sleep" and "tent." According to Chris and Matty this was a hoot to watch as I stooped down trying to make the tent the right height! However, my theatrical questioning of the eldest had worked and he understood what I meant. Unfortunately, he pointed at the farmhouse...made a sign as though the farmer was a bit crazy and the other, very recognisable handsign for shotgun. It's fair to say we didn't stick around for the next eldest sibling and cycled a couple of farmhouses up the road just to avoid any mental, shotgun weilding, Moroccan farmers!
A small steading with a massive haystack in the field was the setting for tonight's campsite as the friendly farmer led us to an ideal, hay-covered camping spot. With dinner on the boil and the lads watching an amazing, deep red sunset we readied ourselves for tackling the first major obstacle of the Morocco leg; the Middle Atlas.
Aside from the reduced temperatures this early in the morning making for a more comfortable ride, the lack of traffic is a welcome respite from the usual suicidal, tooting masses of Moroocan drivers. To some it may be admirable that a country of people are so devoted to Allah that they are willing to forgoe seatbelts because they believe they are being looked over...to cyclists, this level of assurance in Moroccan drivers is unsettling and sometimes very scary. A lot of the drivers here think nothing of overtaking on blind corners and coming within inches of our bikes or other cars. On a more positive note, however, the roads have been excellent so far. If it wasn't for the traffic and the odd bizzarely warped section of road Morocco could rival France as a destination for cyclists.
Also, overlooking their questionable driving, the vast majority of Moroccan's have given us an excellent reception with every second car honking their horns and shouting support or banter. Groups of kids at the side of the road would run alongside us waving and shouting, "bon chance," and today featured a large number of "racers" as Chris termed them. The odd ageing Moroccan would be slowly cycling along on a deathtrap of a bike before spotting us and doubling efforts in order to join the pack and have a chat.
As we stopped off in Sidi Kacem for water and snacks a fairly stoned man on a bike stopped for a chat and to offer a guide to Meknes; our next destination. However, his hustling skills were clearly worse for wear as he was pointing in the direction we had just come from. We may be using a very large scale map but we weren't falling for that one! On the subject of maps, we seem to have done very well with navigating so far considering the scale of our single Morocco map is 1:400000, with the usual scale being 1:50000. To those not inclined to mapreading it would basically have been impossible to find our way in Europe with such a lack of detail on the map. However, with main roads simply passing straight through towns and cities in Morocco and Matty's prep work on the route we've had no problem navigating so far.
Back on the (correct) road to Meknes, we stopped about 3 miles from the city for a break and to top up the quickly drained water bottles. A cheeky wee lad at the side of the road obviously took exception to us sharing his shady patch with him so got down to launching a few stones in our direction before his mum gave him a clip round the ears. This seemed to have calmed him down but whether the raw onion he started tucking into was a punishment or a treat we'll never find out!
Following Satan's little helper was a very hot and steep climb into Meknes where I (Donnie) made the decision to get my mop chopped in an attempt to cool my head down after the frying it just recieved. This has to be the best, most relaxing haircut I will ever experience even with the looks of disgust from the barber as he untangles the salty, sweaty mass of helmet hair!
As we carried on along the road after my trim we all suddenly realised that it wasn't possible to carry on in the mid-day heat so we found a shaded spot and got tucked into some cheeky bacon rolls that we had managed to smuggle in from Tarifa! As we were finishing off lunch an old man on a bike rolled up and started chatting to us. Through our collective broken French we managed to work out that he was saying the desert at Merzouga is three days cycle away. We found this a bit amusing since we had yet to cross the Middle and High Atlas mountains by this point and dismissed this as friendly banter. Looking back on this exchange, now that we're finished the trip, it's strange to think that this old man on a knackered old, steel-framed bike was actually right!
Once we'd all had a bit of a siesta and the worst of the heat had passed we saddled up again; en route to Ait Hassin at the start of the Middle Atlas mountains. Stopping just before the large climb up through the village of Ait Hassin we chatted to a guy opening his food stall. Telling him where we were headed, he gave a sharp exhale and wiped his brow, saying "il fait chaud en Merzouga." It wasn't the first or last time that we would hear about the heat in the desert and with two pasty Scots and a geordie with "questionable" facial hair we were beginning to worry slightly how we were going to cope.
A fairly steep climb through Ait Hassin brought us to a cluster of farmhouses where I (Donnie) went to ask one of the farmers if we could set up camp in their field for the night. On reaching the farmhouse there were only children running around and none of them spoke English or French. After one gave up on sign language they would run and get the next, slightly older child who I hoped would have some form of communicating with....After the fifth sibling had been fetched I was finally speaking to somone old enough to understand the international sign of "sleep" and "tent." According to Chris and Matty this was a hoot to watch as I stooped down trying to make the tent the right height! However, my theatrical questioning of the eldest had worked and he understood what I meant. Unfortunately, he pointed at the farmhouse...made a sign as though the farmer was a bit crazy and the other, very recognisable handsign for shotgun. It's fair to say we didn't stick around for the next eldest sibling and cycled a couple of farmhouses up the road just to avoid any mental, shotgun weilding, Moroccan farmers!
A small steading with a massive haystack in the field was the setting for tonight's campsite as the friendly farmer led us to an ideal, hay-covered camping spot. With dinner on the boil and the lads watching an amazing, deep red sunset we readied ourselves for tackling the first major obstacle of the Morocco leg; the Middle Atlas.
Wednesday, 10 August 2011
Day 38 continued - Everyday I'm Hustlin'
Ferry from Tarifa to Tangier then cycle to Souk El Arbaa Du Rharb (106.8 miles)
This morning was an emotional farewell as we (the lads) boarded the ferry to Tangier and parted ways with Char who has been a key member of the team since day one and we were sure to miss her for the rest of the journey.
We were sure that the notorious Moroccan hustlers would be ready and waiting for us on the other side of the Mediterranean. What we didn't expect was an attempted hustle from the Moroccan ferry staff before we had even left Spanish shores. They claimed we needed a previously unmentioned green form in order to board. Luckily, just as we reached for our wallets for the bribe, their manager came along and moved them on.
Even better news, the Tangier hustlers were still wiping sleep from their eyes as we sailed past; having clipped in to our bikes ten minutes before arrival. A cold (-ish) mornings cycle to Larache was a welcome start to the Moroccan leg of the journey. It's instantly obvious that Ramadan was in full swing as every second spot of shade was occupied by a mass of sleeping bodies. Whilst fresh off the boat and with Matty searching for lunch, Chris and Donnie quickly learned from a friendly hustler that eating and drinking in public is unacceptable. Due to the vast quantities of food and water that we need to keep us cycling this was to prove a test of sneaking biscuits and sly swigs of water.
Once Matty returned from the shops he declared that he had already dipped into team funds (5Dirham/30p) to pay for a translator in the shop. After navigating ourselves through the hair-raising traffic of Larache we stopped just out of town for lunch (out of sight, of course) and reflected on the mayhem that was our first morning in Africa. The towns and streets of Morocco are an assault on the senses with cars tooting for any type of manouver, markets stalls with strange fruits and people everywhere.
It was soon too get dark as we arrived in Souk El Arbaa and bought a melon from one of the seemingly thousands of roadside stalls. As all three of us were truly knanckered by this point we cycled just outside
Souk El Arbaa and camped in a small stretch of woods. After Matty and Chris' previous experiences with wild camping in Morocco we went as far into the woods as possible to avoid hassle fr>om any passers by, who have a knack of appearing out of thin air and demanding payment.
A great start with our first day in Morocco even if we were all feeling slightly dehydrated without the guidance of Fluid Master Char:
This morning was an emotional farewell as we (the lads) boarded the ferry to Tangier and parted ways with Char who has been a key member of the team since day one and we were sure to miss her for the rest of the journey.
We were sure that the notorious Moroccan hustlers would be ready and waiting for us on the other side of the Mediterranean. What we didn't expect was an attempted hustle from the Moroccan ferry staff before we had even left Spanish shores. They claimed we needed a previously unmentioned green form in order to board. Luckily, just as we reached for our wallets for the bribe, their manager came along and moved them on.
Even better news, the Tangier hustlers were still wiping sleep from their eyes as we sailed past; having clipped in to our bikes ten minutes before arrival. A cold (-ish) mornings cycle to Larache was a welcome start to the Moroccan leg of the journey. It's instantly obvious that Ramadan was in full swing as every second spot of shade was occupied by a mass of sleeping bodies. Whilst fresh off the boat and with Matty searching for lunch, Chris and Donnie quickly learned from a friendly hustler that eating and drinking in public is unacceptable. Due to the vast quantities of food and water that we need to keep us cycling this was to prove a test of sneaking biscuits and sly swigs of water.
Once Matty returned from the shops he declared that he had already dipped into team funds (5Dirham/30p) to pay for a translator in the shop. After navigating ourselves through the hair-raising traffic of Larache we stopped just out of town for lunch (out of sight, of course) and reflected on the mayhem that was our first morning in Africa. The towns and streets of Morocco are an assault on the senses with cars tooting for any type of manouver, markets stalls with strange fruits and people everywhere.
It was soon too get dark as we arrived in Souk El Arbaa and bought a melon from one of the seemingly thousands of roadside stalls. As all three of us were truly knanckered by this point we cycled just outside
Souk El Arbaa and camped in a small stretch of woods. After Matty and Chris' previous experiences with wild camping in Morocco we went as far into the woods as possible to avoid hassle fr>om any passers by, who have a knack of appearing out of thin air and demanding payment.
A great start with our first day in Morocco even if we were all feeling slightly dehydrated without the guidance of Fluid Master Char:
Sunday, 7 August 2011
Day 38 - Charlotte, over and out.
The decision to finish the trip early was not made hastily. I took some serious time on my own and with the team to think about it and admitting defeat was tough. Its hard to describe how the weeks of cycling and camping wore me down but on days 36 through to day 39 I felt I had reached my limit and I was fully exhausted. The days cycling before hand were challenging and continuing into Morocco for more of the same was not within my mental ability. The boys were sad to hear this and spent time encouraging me to think otherwise. I had after all come 1700 miles to the tip of Europe and could literally see Africa. I had to want to carry on and couldn't find the worth in forcing myself to the end if I didn't want it anymore. My heart sank at the thought of crossing over the sea and starting yet another stage of the cycle. I was tired and defeated.
I am very sorry to those who have been rooting for me personally and for the whole team to stick together till the end. I feel however I have played a solid part in this trip and none of the miles I cycled were done half heatedly. I truly enjoyed the summer. Its wrong for our supporters to read this and think I have come away from the trip without gaining any positive experiences. I am proud of our efforts through Europe and despite small problems within the team I am also proud of how we managed to work and live together for 5 weeks. The support we have received for Right to Play has been epic and I'm happy I completed 1700 odd miles for the fantastic charity.
Of the many experiences since departing Glasgow on the 30th of June I decided to narrow them down to a top 5 Highpoints and 5 Lowpoints that sum up the trip personally for me. The low points were hardest to pin point because now im home, unsurprisingly nothing seemed that bad. There are tonnes more high points I would have included but you would be reading this for hours!
My 5 Lowpoints
1. Bike being stolen in San Sebastian
2. Forgetting the last lunch that didnt include 'smiling cow' processed cheese in it
3. Falling off my bike - twice, leaving me with scratches people gawked at
4. First team split when Donnie got the train to San Sebastian
5. Waving the boys off at the ferry to Tanger on the 5th of August
My 5 Highpoints :
1. Horan Family kindness and all the friends and family who put us up in Britain.
2. Our first 100 mile day, day 18 (and all 100 mile days thereafter!)
3. Meeting Ben Toulson
4. Our mid-trip break in San Sebastian.
5. Chris' encouragment after my bike was stolen in San Sebastian. An inspirational heart to heart that reminded me that even though my bike was stolen my drive to keep cycling was still there.
On the morning of the 5th August the team awoke at 6.30am to pack up camp and be at Tarifa port for 8 oclock. I waved the boys onto the ferry after a heart wrenchingly sad goodbye. A chat with Chris outside the ticket office wipped all doubt from my mind that my effort would be forgotten in this expedition because I was leaving early. He thanked me so sincerely for being part of this trip and heading up the idea in the first place that it actually made me cry that I wouldnt be carrying on the trip with such a hero. A look of dissapointment on Matty's face as we waved goodbye also confirmed how much of a role I had played in this trip,something I had never given myself credit for. It was a real pleasure getting to know Matty, a friend of Chris's id only met once before. From his dance moves to his questionable facial hair, Matty was constantly fun and relaxing to be around. Thank you for being such a great team mate. All the planning I'd put in leading up to the departure in Glasgow was truely worth it (despite the stress at the time)! Infact every mile cycled in this trip has been truely worth it and although in Spain I vowed never to do anything like this again, I am already looking at how to get a new bike for venturing around Scotland with next year.
I would like to make a note of the people that helped me get this far, each of you deserves a special shout for making the trip what it was. Thanks to my flat mates; Emilia, Bex, Kirsty, Julz and Sarah (plus Gillian)in Glasgow for putting up with me in planning mode, my mum, Glasgow University Sports Association (Chancellor's Fund), Right to Play for equipment, those that came to wave us goodbye on the 30th of June, Eilidh Menzies, Shell Hope, Chris Bush, Eleanor Franks and Ellie Coyle for their support on the road and near the end, the Horan family, the Smyth family, Chris' Cousin and Fiannce in Gosport, my stepmum, my brother, Gears cycle shop, Ben Toulson for his bike, Libby Jennings for her hospitality and much needed girls banter and Javier in Spain. Big thanks to all those who donated to help Right to Play.
Finally, thanks team. None of this would of been the summer of cycling that it was without you. Team work, cooperation and compromise were hard lessons to learn by all of us. When you share a 1 meter tall, 2.5 meter long tent and cycle next to the same people every day for 30 odd days you learn things about yourself and others you never expected. Thats what this summer was all about and without question im proud I took part in Cycle to Sahara 2011.
I am very sorry to those who have been rooting for me personally and for the whole team to stick together till the end. I feel however I have played a solid part in this trip and none of the miles I cycled were done half heatedly. I truly enjoyed the summer. Its wrong for our supporters to read this and think I have come away from the trip without gaining any positive experiences. I am proud of our efforts through Europe and despite small problems within the team I am also proud of how we managed to work and live together for 5 weeks. The support we have received for Right to Play has been epic and I'm happy I completed 1700 odd miles for the fantastic charity.
Of the many experiences since departing Glasgow on the 30th of June I decided to narrow them down to a top 5 Highpoints and 5 Lowpoints that sum up the trip personally for me. The low points were hardest to pin point because now im home, unsurprisingly nothing seemed that bad. There are tonnes more high points I would have included but you would be reading this for hours!
My 5 Lowpoints
1. Bike being stolen in San Sebastian
2. Forgetting the last lunch that didnt include 'smiling cow' processed cheese in it
3. Falling off my bike - twice, leaving me with scratches people gawked at
4. First team split when Donnie got the train to San Sebastian
5. Waving the boys off at the ferry to Tanger on the 5th of August
My 5 Highpoints :
1. Horan Family kindness and all the friends and family who put us up in Britain.
2. Our first 100 mile day, day 18 (and all 100 mile days thereafter!)
3. Meeting Ben Toulson
4. Our mid-trip break in San Sebastian.
5. Chris' encouragment after my bike was stolen in San Sebastian. An inspirational heart to heart that reminded me that even though my bike was stolen my drive to keep cycling was still there.
On the morning of the 5th August the team awoke at 6.30am to pack up camp and be at Tarifa port for 8 oclock. I waved the boys onto the ferry after a heart wrenchingly sad goodbye. A chat with Chris outside the ticket office wipped all doubt from my mind that my effort would be forgotten in this expedition because I was leaving early. He thanked me so sincerely for being part of this trip and heading up the idea in the first place that it actually made me cry that I wouldnt be carrying on the trip with such a hero. A look of dissapointment on Matty's face as we waved goodbye also confirmed how much of a role I had played in this trip,something I had never given myself credit for. It was a real pleasure getting to know Matty, a friend of Chris's id only met once before. From his dance moves to his questionable facial hair, Matty was constantly fun and relaxing to be around. Thank you for being such a great team mate. All the planning I'd put in leading up to the departure in Glasgow was truely worth it (despite the stress at the time)! Infact every mile cycled in this trip has been truely worth it and although in Spain I vowed never to do anything like this again, I am already looking at how to get a new bike for venturing around Scotland with next year.
I would like to make a note of the people that helped me get this far, each of you deserves a special shout for making the trip what it was. Thanks to my flat mates; Emilia, Bex, Kirsty, Julz and Sarah (plus Gillian)in Glasgow for putting up with me in planning mode, my mum, Glasgow University Sports Association (Chancellor's Fund), Right to Play for equipment, those that came to wave us goodbye on the 30th of June, Eilidh Menzies, Shell Hope, Chris Bush, Eleanor Franks and Ellie Coyle for their support on the road and near the end, the Horan family, the Smyth family, Chris' Cousin and Fiannce in Gosport, my stepmum, my brother, Gears cycle shop, Ben Toulson for his bike, Libby Jennings for her hospitality and much needed girls banter and Javier in Spain. Big thanks to all those who donated to help Right to Play.
Finally, thanks team. None of this would of been the summer of cycling that it was without you. Team work, cooperation and compromise were hard lessons to learn by all of us. When you share a 1 meter tall, 2.5 meter long tent and cycle next to the same people every day for 30 odd days you learn things about yourself and others you never expected. Thats what this summer was all about and without question im proud I took part in Cycle to Sahara 2011.
Day 37- Beach and Bad news
A beach day was scheduled in for today and we woke up to amazing sunshine, a standard day for the south of Spain. We had our usual lunch of baguettes and chorizo and chilled out in the sand. The boys decided Charlotte had done enough sunbathing and creeped up to her, grabbed her legs and arms and carried her into the sea. We caused quite the scene but Charlotte didn't mind too much, the Atlantic turned out not to be that cold after all!
We all spent the afternoon sorting out travel arrangements for our return to the U.K. Charlotte had made her decision and booked herself on a flight from Malaga to London the next evening. Chris and Matty had worked out they would be in Marrakesh earlier than first thought and changed their flights home to the 18th of August. Donnie would be staying in Morocco to meet his girlfriend at the end of the trip and would return on the 1st of September.
We all spent the afternoon sorting out travel arrangements for our return to the U.K. Charlotte had made her decision and booked herself on a flight from Malaga to London the next evening. Chris and Matty had worked out they would be in Marrakesh earlier than first thought and changed their flights home to the 18th of August. Donnie would be staying in Morocco to meet his girlfriend at the end of the trip and would return on the 1st of September.
Saturday, 6 August 2011
Day 35 Part 2 and day 36 - Reasonable Spanish
On day 35 the team reunited with Charlotte in Tarifa. We spent the afternoon exploring the town on our own, getting lost around the old part of the town's narrow streets. After everyone had a well needed wash (apart from 'Wild Man' Chris who decided the calling of the sea was more pressing), we found a simple restaurant in town that thankfully did not include pasta or chorizo on the menu! However, the boys were used to portion sizes double that we were served and soon after the meal had to hit the shops to statisfy their hunger.
We found Tarifa's night life very quickly and started the celebrations for cycling 800miles through Spain. The evening carried on well past our bed times (usually a boring 11 oclock at the latest). 3 hour happy hour and a few bars later we decided to get our dancing shoes on. Only we didnt have dancing shoes or even dancing clothes... We had all come out wearing flip flops, shorts and t-shirts of questionable cleanliness, especially after eating our midnight snacks that evening.
Despite the fact Donnie was also carrying his belongings around in his front bike box and Chris had fashioned a dry bag into an over the shoulder type satchel we were surprisingly granted entry to a club for the rest of the evening.
Day 36 started early as our body clocks woke us up at 8. Chris it seemed had the ability to turn his body clock off though and spent most of the morning in his tent recovering from last night's antics. A busy morning of washing clothes, sorting out kit and trying to route plan for Morocco commenced.Charlotte's aim had been to learn 'reasonable spanish' in her time in Spain and her efforts usually paid off (unless recieveing complicated directions). Luckily the day before she had come across a helpful outdoor shop who said they would service our bikes for us. Thank you very much to Sabine and Chris from Girasol Outdoor shop. Sabine also gave Charlotte a massage later on to help sort out the aches and pains from falling off her bike in Sevilla.
Morocco planning carried on late into the night after our feast of fajitas. After some talking of the days ahead Charlotte told the group she was thinking of stopping. The team persuaded her to sleep on it and make a clearer decision the next day. The view from the coast that day had got us all thinking tentatively about the next stage. From the photo you can see Africa across the ocean, a solid confirmation of how far we had actually come.
We found Tarifa's night life very quickly and started the celebrations for cycling 800miles through Spain. The evening carried on well past our bed times (usually a boring 11 oclock at the latest). 3 hour happy hour and a few bars later we decided to get our dancing shoes on. Only we didnt have dancing shoes or even dancing clothes... We had all come out wearing flip flops, shorts and t-shirts of questionable cleanliness, especially after eating our midnight snacks that evening.
Despite the fact Donnie was also carrying his belongings around in his front bike box and Chris had fashioned a dry bag into an over the shoulder type satchel we were surprisingly granted entry to a club for the rest of the evening.
Day 36 started early as our body clocks woke us up at 8. Chris it seemed had the ability to turn his body clock off though and spent most of the morning in his tent recovering from last night's antics. A busy morning of washing clothes, sorting out kit and trying to route plan for Morocco commenced.Charlotte's aim had been to learn 'reasonable spanish' in her time in Spain and her efforts usually paid off (unless recieveing complicated directions). Luckily the day before she had come across a helpful outdoor shop who said they would service our bikes for us. Thank you very much to Sabine and Chris from Girasol Outdoor shop. Sabine also gave Charlotte a massage later on to help sort out the aches and pains from falling off her bike in Sevilla.
Morocco planning carried on late into the night after our feast of fajitas. After some talking of the days ahead Charlotte told the group she was thinking of stopping. The team persuaded her to sleep on it and make a clearer decision the next day. The view from the coast that day had got us all thinking tentatively about the next stage. From the photo you can see Africa across the ocean, a solid confirmation of how far we had actually come.
Thursday, 4 August 2011
Day 35 - Hasta la vista, Spain!
From Jerez to Tarifa (88 miles)
Not having to take the tents down and skipping breakfast until later let us get on the road sharpish and get some miles done before the heat picked up. The map of Cadiz province that we picked up at Stanford's in London was the only one they had and dated from the mid nineties so there was a lot of confusion over what roads to take. In the end we took the motorway for at least 30 miles!
We stopped for breakfast in Puerto Real where we whipped out the tupperware and went to town on some muesli whilst sitting on out panniers. This didn't impress one passerby who asked if we had no shame...the reply was a swift no as we added some extra raisins to the mix!
After Chiclana we found the national route that would take us all the way to Tarifa with much safer cycling and better views than the motorway. About 10 miles from Tarifa we cycled into a valley with a breathtaking view of about 300-400 wind turbines scattered all over the valley. Luckily for us the staple energy source of Tarifa wasn't blowing too hard today as we rolled into town at about 3pm and signed into our third campsite of the trip, Rio Jara. Sat next to the beach and a 5 minute cycle from town it has been an excellent spot to recover from the rigours of Spain and to prep for the final test...Morocco, the Atlas mountains and the desert.
Not having to take the tents down and skipping breakfast until later let us get on the road sharpish and get some miles done before the heat picked up. The map of Cadiz province that we picked up at Stanford's in London was the only one they had and dated from the mid nineties so there was a lot of confusion over what roads to take. In the end we took the motorway for at least 30 miles!
We stopped for breakfast in Puerto Real where we whipped out the tupperware and went to town on some muesli whilst sitting on out panniers. This didn't impress one passerby who asked if we had no shame...the reply was a swift no as we added some extra raisins to the mix!
After Chiclana we found the national route that would take us all the way to Tarifa with much safer cycling and better views than the motorway. About 10 miles from Tarifa we cycled into a valley with a breathtaking view of about 300-400 wind turbines scattered all over the valley. Luckily for us the staple energy source of Tarifa wasn't blowing too hard today as we rolled into town at about 3pm and signed into our third campsite of the trip, Rio Jara. Sat next to the beach and a 5 minute cycle from town it has been an excellent spot to recover from the rigours of Spain and to prep for the final test...Morocco, the Atlas mountains and the desert.
Day 34 - The perfect storm
Waking to an overcast day definitely made up for the disappointment of last night's camping spot. The cooler conditions and less sunshine were great for cycling in with no need to stop for a siesta. Unfortunately we couldn't get many miles on the clock I'm the morning because we had my spoke to repair and a few e-mails to send. We sat down at a cafe in town for a team first...breakfast that was not muesli and UHT milk. What a treat! I got my spoke fixed and we clocked the weather for the day...stormy. However, we also clocked the fact that Morocco was currently at 30 degrees Celsius. Fingers crossed the temperature stays down there.
Again, Seville was entirely impossible to navigate out of. We ended up on the motorway cycling in the direction of a bridge which looked like suicide to try and cross in anything other than a heavy goods vehicle. Stuck with no other option we had to hop under a fence at the side of the road onto a scrubby looking road...at least it wasn't shared with cars travelling at 70mph +. only once we got off this road did we realise that we'd technically broken into the airport and probably caused a bit of a panic for some security guards!
As with every big city there's a lot of debris at the side of the road and in this case a big chunk of metal blew out Char's front tyre causing a fairly spectacular fall and a number of cuts and bruises. As you would imagine, Char was pretty shaken by this but a standard dose of salami and smiling cow cheese baguette got her back on track!
You know a storm is probably big news if the local weather station is reporting at the side of the road side being bombarded by branches and huge chunks of bark. However, we're made of tougher stuff so we cycled on eventually stopping to check everyone was still together. The guys were all present but Char was nowhere to be seen. She arrived a good twenty minutes later in a car...her BACK tyre got a puncture! The man who offered Char a lift, Javier, was a total gentleman and also offered her a lift to Lebrija; about 10 miles down the road. Thanks very much Javier.
So the guys battled their way to Lebrija against shockingly strong winds to meet Char at the train station where we quickly got down to cooking dinner on the steps in our camping stoves...the wind was hungry work.
After her fall today and the heat from the previous few days Char decided to get the train to Cadiz and a bus to Tarifa for a day off to recover. She later told us she had a relaxing sleep on a hammock on a roof terrace in Cadiz...much better than the lad's attempt later that evening. We cycled a few more miles and slept on the tents in what looked like a horse lesson arena...just mixing it up a bit!
Again, Seville was entirely impossible to navigate out of. We ended up on the motorway cycling in the direction of a bridge which looked like suicide to try and cross in anything other than a heavy goods vehicle. Stuck with no other option we had to hop under a fence at the side of the road onto a scrubby looking road...at least it wasn't shared with cars travelling at 70mph +. only once we got off this road did we realise that we'd technically broken into the airport and probably caused a bit of a panic for some security guards!
As with every big city there's a lot of debris at the side of the road and in this case a big chunk of metal blew out Char's front tyre causing a fairly spectacular fall and a number of cuts and bruises. As you would imagine, Char was pretty shaken by this but a standard dose of salami and smiling cow cheese baguette got her back on track!
You know a storm is probably big news if the local weather station is reporting at the side of the road side being bombarded by branches and huge chunks of bark. However, we're made of tougher stuff so we cycled on eventually stopping to check everyone was still together. The guys were all present but Char was nowhere to be seen. She arrived a good twenty minutes later in a car...her BACK tyre got a puncture! The man who offered Char a lift, Javier, was a total gentleman and also offered her a lift to Lebrija; about 10 miles down the road. Thanks very much Javier.
So the guys battled their way to Lebrija against shockingly strong winds to meet Char at the train station where we quickly got down to cooking dinner on the steps in our camping stoves...the wind was hungry work.
After her fall today and the heat from the previous few days Char decided to get the train to Cadiz and a bus to Tarifa for a day off to recover. She later told us she had a relaxing sleep on a hammock on a roof terrace in Cadiz...much better than the lad's attempt later that evening. We cycled a few more miles and slept on the tents in what looked like a horse lesson arena...just mixing it up a bit!
Day 33 - Hairy bikers
From Calzedilla de Los Barros to La Algaba (77 miles)
Another hot day (no shock there) but a fairly easy cycle to Santa Olalla del Cala where we Had a load of freshly made Churros...nobody was convinced at this new addition to the cycling diet so we've decided to stick to melted mars bars and the odd squashed cereal bars.
Soon after leaving Santa Olalla one of the spokes on my back tyre snapped so we stopped to assess the damage. As we finally gave up trying to repair the spoke a groups of 20 - 30 bikers pulled up and instantly got to work on the tyre...removing the spoke and providing tunes from a ghetto blaster on the back of one of the bikes. They disappeared as soon as they arrived and we got back on the road as if nothing had happened. Great bunch of guys. We got a photo with them so hope we can retrieve that one from the camera which is playing up a bit still.
By lunchtime the heat was enough to make us stop at El Ranquillo for food and a siesta. Once lunch was scranned we all instantly passed out where we sat, waking up half an hour later to a lot of strange looks from the locals and a dog finishing off the little that remained of lunch.
A belting headwind slowed our progress to La Algaba to the north of Seville but we eventually descended to our campsite with clear views for much of the way of the solar power towers just outside the city.
We had an ice cream and a beer in La Algaba before finding our worst campsite yet. Matty waded into a field only to find his legs were covered in hundreds of sticky seeds, even managing to get a few on his chest. That's some dedication to finding a camping spot! Attempts at washing in the nearby river ended up with everyone returning more dirty than when we had left and towels covered in even more sticky seeds which we're still picking off four days later :-(
Another hot day (no shock there) but a fairly easy cycle to Santa Olalla del Cala where we Had a load of freshly made Churros...nobody was convinced at this new addition to the cycling diet so we've decided to stick to melted mars bars and the odd squashed cereal bars.
Soon after leaving Santa Olalla one of the spokes on my back tyre snapped so we stopped to assess the damage. As we finally gave up trying to repair the spoke a groups of 20 - 30 bikers pulled up and instantly got to work on the tyre...removing the spoke and providing tunes from a ghetto blaster on the back of one of the bikes. They disappeared as soon as they arrived and we got back on the road as if nothing had happened. Great bunch of guys. We got a photo with them so hope we can retrieve that one from the camera which is playing up a bit still.
By lunchtime the heat was enough to make us stop at El Ranquillo for food and a siesta. Once lunch was scranned we all instantly passed out where we sat, waking up half an hour later to a lot of strange looks from the locals and a dog finishing off the little that remained of lunch.
A belting headwind slowed our progress to La Algaba to the north of Seville but we eventually descended to our campsite with clear views for much of the way of the solar power towers just outside the city.
We had an ice cream and a beer in La Algaba before finding our worst campsite yet. Matty waded into a field only to find his legs were covered in hundreds of sticky seeds, even managing to get a few on his chest. That's some dedication to finding a camping spot! Attempts at washing in the nearby river ended up with everyone returning more dirty than when we had left and towels covered in even more sticky seeds which we're still picking off four days later :-(
Day 32 -
From Casar de Caceres to before Calzedilla de las Barros (96 miles)
An attempted early start was a failure after the exertion of yesterday. The day went without any notable event as we passed through the capital of the region Caceres. We had lunch a bit further down the road in Merida in a park that turned out to be more lively than Kelvingrove on the royal wedding day. No full scale riot but plenty of locals downing the Spanish version of Olde English cider, we should have fitted right in!
Cycled until late today and plumper for a camping spot opposite a hotel just before Calzedilla de Los Barros in a strip of trees. Tents were set up and dinner was on the boil as Chris noticed a small family of rats scattering about the "campsite." However, we were all too tired to bother and didn't really mind sharing our spot.
We walked over to the hotel across the road for a quick pint before hitting the hay. Even though we noticed that the building next door was a strip joint questionably named "Dream
girls" the guys managed to resist temptation and we wandered back to the 1 star campsite for an early night. It wasn't until midnight that the music started at Dream Girls and it was still going when we woke up at 7am the next day!
An attempted early start was a failure after the exertion of yesterday. The day went without any notable event as we passed through the capital of the region Caceres. We had lunch a bit further down the road in Merida in a park that turned out to be more lively than Kelvingrove on the royal wedding day. No full scale riot but plenty of locals downing the Spanish version of Olde English cider, we should have fitted right in!
Cycled until late today and plumper for a camping spot opposite a hotel just before Calzedilla de Los Barros in a strip of trees. Tents were set up and dinner was on the boil as Chris noticed a small family of rats scattering about the "campsite." However, we were all too tired to bother and didn't really mind sharing our spot.
We walked over to the hotel across the road for a quick pint before hitting the hay. Even though we noticed that the building next door was a strip joint questionably named "Dream
girls" the guys managed to resist temptation and we wandered back to the 1 star campsite for an early night. It wasn't until midnight that the music started at Dream Girls and it was still going when we woke up at 7am the next day!
Day 31 -
From El Barco de Avila to Casar de Caceres (88 miles)
We had purposefully camped a couple of miles from what we thought was a fairly brutal climb of about 500m at Tornavacas so we could get the legs warmed up to tackle it in the morning. This climb turned out to be more like 200m and followed by what can only be described as a cyclist's best dream. A drop from 1500 m to almost sea level. The descent took a good hour to complete with winding roads and speeds of up to 40 mph at points.
We took turns to slipstream with an old man who was on his way to Plasencia as well. Stopping at Plasencia we realised Matty had another broken spoke (potentially something to do with his bike being a vintage Peugeot number!) A good hour was spent eating fruit from the local market on the plaza whilst waiting for Matty's bike to be fixed. The best salesman in the world works in this Market. Chris asks for two bananas and comes back with a bagfull of unknown fruit!
The next stop was Cañaveral, where there were no shops open to buy dinner and we knew we certainly wouldn't survive the night on the neater assortment of nuts and cereal bars that we collectively had. Myself and Chris were sent off in
The direction of Casar de Caceres in order to buy tea before any shops close there (usually before 8pm). The cycle around the massive lake between Canaveral
And Caceres was hard work and the climb out of the lake basin threatened to dash any hopes of eating tonight. However, we made it just in time to buy dinner from a tiny shop in the town and waited a short while for Matty and Char to find us.
Once we were back together we cycled back up the road to a beautiful lake just off the main road. Unfortunately there were no fish nibbling our toes tonight but we made up for it with the clearest star-gazing that wild camping can afford. Complete with shooting stars to a soundtrack of very strange wildlife noises next to the lake!
We had purposefully camped a couple of miles from what we thought was a fairly brutal climb of about 500m at Tornavacas so we could get the legs warmed up to tackle it in the morning. This climb turned out to be more like 200m and followed by what can only be described as a cyclist's best dream. A drop from 1500 m to almost sea level. The descent took a good hour to complete with winding roads and speeds of up to 40 mph at points.
We took turns to slipstream with an old man who was on his way to Plasencia as well. Stopping at Plasencia we realised Matty had another broken spoke (potentially something to do with his bike being a vintage Peugeot number!) A good hour was spent eating fruit from the local market on the plaza whilst waiting for Matty's bike to be fixed. The best salesman in the world works in this Market. Chris asks for two bananas and comes back with a bagfull of unknown fruit!
The next stop was Cañaveral, where there were no shops open to buy dinner and we knew we certainly wouldn't survive the night on the neater assortment of nuts and cereal bars that we collectively had. Myself and Chris were sent off in
The direction of Casar de Caceres in order to buy tea before any shops close there (usually before 8pm). The cycle around the massive lake between Canaveral
And Caceres was hard work and the climb out of the lake basin threatened to dash any hopes of eating tonight. However, we made it just in time to buy dinner from a tiny shop in the town and waited a short while for Matty and Char to find us.
Once we were back together we cycled back up the road to a beautiful lake just off the main road. Unfortunately there were no fish nibbling our toes tonight but we made up for it with the clearest star-gazing that wild camping can afford. Complete with shooting stars to a soundtrack of very strange wildlife noises next to the lake!
Day 30 - Fish and dips
From Hontanares de Eresma to El Barco de Avila (90.86 miles)
Everybody knuckled down and we bashed out a good 45/50 miles before lunch over rolling hills in the coolness of the morning.
We met a guy outside the supermarket in Avila who said he lived in Dundee for three months to learn English...quite how he came about that package deal we weren't too sure!
On the way out of Avila down a very long, flat and boiling hot valley the clip of my left boot shook loose from the connections and Chris' breaks were playing up...prime time for a siesta and some quick work on the bikes. Chris struggled to get over the 11mph mark on the flats towards our siesta spot. This would be explained by the fact his brakes had been on for at least the last couple of miles!
A rude awakening from out siesta was provided by some keen bean policemen who were all too happy to use their siren to wake us up and tell us to move on!
A couple of massive climbs either side of Piedrahita took us to our campsite for the night next to the Rio Tormes. This has possibly been the best wild camping we've come across so far...next to a warm river with little fish that nibbled at our feet!
Everybody knuckled down and we bashed out a good 45/50 miles before lunch over rolling hills in the coolness of the morning.
We met a guy outside the supermarket in Avila who said he lived in Dundee for three months to learn English...quite how he came about that package deal we weren't too sure!
On the way out of Avila down a very long, flat and boiling hot valley the clip of my left boot shook loose from the connections and Chris' breaks were playing up...prime time for a siesta and some quick work on the bikes. Chris struggled to get over the 11mph mark on the flats towards our siesta spot. This would be explained by the fact his brakes had been on for at least the last couple of miles!
A rude awakening from out siesta was provided by some keen bean policemen who were all too happy to use their siren to wake us up and tell us to move on!
A couple of massive climbs either side of Piedrahita took us to our campsite for the night next to the Rio Tormes. This has possibly been the best wild camping we've come across so far...next to a warm river with little fish that nibbled at our feet!
Day 29 - Why ride when you can drive
From Olmedillo de Roa to Hontanares de Eresma (76 miles)
Bright, breezy morning today and an early cycle through some national park area in the south of Burgos, heading towards Segovia. Clocked at least 15 baby warthogs crossing the road followed by a huge mummy warthog. With Matty's track record of cycling and untethered animals we thought it best to stop and let them cross in peace!
The route so far today had been secondary roads, which are scenes and not busy but the surface of some of these minor roads is terrible and noticeably energy sapping and bone cracking. After reaching a stretch of national road (much better surface) we decided that the best approach was to plan the rest of the route on these busier but more direct roads.
It was a hot, hot day today (35+) and some bikes needed repaired so we made a stop off in a smallish town, Cantalejo, to have a wee siesta and get some of the blog done. Met a great, Moroccan guy running the internet cafe who was chatting to us about Morocco and, as we were leaving, gave us some Moroccan bread that his mum had baked!
Quick cycle through the cobbled streets of Turégano was clearly the final straw for one of Matty's spokes which we only discovered had broken about 10 miles past the last bike shop...eek. Having stopped in the driveway for a farm in the middle of nowhere, nearing sunset we really needed to hatch a plan and quickly. As we spoke to the farmer one of his delivery drivers pulled up and offered Matty a lift to the nearest bike shop in Cantimpalos. We waved Matty off and set off in the direction of Cantimpalos and the task of finding Matty "at a bike shop!" We managed to do just that and had a bit of banter with Pepe, the shop owner. I finally bit the bullet and bought clip-in cycle shoes which have since proved to be an excellent buy and a great help with the hammy
Knee.
Bright, breezy morning today and an early cycle through some national park area in the south of Burgos, heading towards Segovia. Clocked at least 15 baby warthogs crossing the road followed by a huge mummy warthog. With Matty's track record of cycling and untethered animals we thought it best to stop and let them cross in peace!
The route so far today had been secondary roads, which are scenes and not busy but the surface of some of these minor roads is terrible and noticeably energy sapping and bone cracking. After reaching a stretch of national road (much better surface) we decided that the best approach was to plan the rest of the route on these busier but more direct roads.
It was a hot, hot day today (35+) and some bikes needed repaired so we made a stop off in a smallish town, Cantalejo, to have a wee siesta and get some of the blog done. Met a great, Moroccan guy running the internet cafe who was chatting to us about Morocco and, as we were leaving, gave us some Moroccan bread that his mum had baked!
Quick cycle through the cobbled streets of Turégano was clearly the final straw for one of Matty's spokes which we only discovered had broken about 10 miles past the last bike shop...eek. Having stopped in the driveway for a farm in the middle of nowhere, nearing sunset we really needed to hatch a plan and quickly. As we spoke to the farmer one of his delivery drivers pulled up and offered Matty a lift to the nearest bike shop in Cantimpalos. We waved Matty off and set off in the direction of Cantimpalos and the task of finding Matty "at a bike shop!" We managed to do just that and had a bit of banter with Pepe, the shop owner. I finally bit the bullet and bought clip-in cycle shoes which have since proved to be an excellent buy and a great help with the hammy
Knee.
Day 28 - There's an app for that!
From El Cañón to Olmedillo de Roa (112.8 miles)
Afte the massive climb up into the Burgos region we really weren't too sure what to expect of the route today but it certainly didn't disappoint. After an early start the morning proved to be a beautiful downhill cycle through canyon surroundings and towering hills for at least 15 miles. No cars on the road, speeds of up to 35mph and watching the sun rise behind us over red and orange hillsides was a welcome change to the green, rainy and humid surroundings of Guipuzcoa.
I've really struggled the last couple of days with the knee. Altough the morning was mostly downhill the pain with every pedal was worrying. However, due to a puncture in Matty's back tyre we had to make an unscheduled stop where I made a last ditch attempt at loosening the IT band in my left leg to relieve the tension that it has been causing on my knee. Half an hour of very painful massage and stretching had almost entirely sorted the problem! It was a great moral booster for me and definitely helped us get through 112 miles today. Matty's diagnosis of the problem back in England was spot on...I just didn't realise how much stretching it needed to solve the problem.
Anyway, less about the (ex)cripple, more about the fact that exiting Spanish cities on the correct road is harder than finding a shop open during siesta time. We entered Burgos and eventually found a supermarket where we quickly got down to buying and consuming a lunch that wouldn't look out of place on Man vs Food. Cakes, baguettes, nuts, raisins, biscuits, more cakes, melon, soft cheese, sliced cheese, pepperoni, salami, chrizo...the joys of eating after cycling 55 miles in the morning.
Somehow, we eventually found our escape route from Burgos with the help of a friendly, Spanish cyclist who gave us a mini tour on the way. Whilst chatting to him he said Burgos is beautiful but is "too cold"...as we pass a pharmacy sign...35 degrees!
Very flat roads leading south from Burgos took us to the small town of Olmedillo de Roa where we celebrated our longest day yet with a drink at the local pub. The Spanish are really friendly and the old people of these small towns usually stop for a chat with these strange lyra-clad, sweaty foreigners. They seem happy enough that we speak minimal Spanish and just chat on with us regardless. A smile and the odd laugh at crucial points usually keeps them happy!
After our drinks we set off up a minor road to find a camping spot next a river, which turned out to be little more than a patch of reeds. Never mind though, we'll ask this scruffy Shepard here whether we can camp on the land nearby. He was tending his small flock...with an ipad! Must be an app for counting sheep now and the wage of a Shepard must have improved since biblical times!
Afte the massive climb up into the Burgos region we really weren't too sure what to expect of the route today but it certainly didn't disappoint. After an early start the morning proved to be a beautiful downhill cycle through canyon surroundings and towering hills for at least 15 miles. No cars on the road, speeds of up to 35mph and watching the sun rise behind us over red and orange hillsides was a welcome change to the green, rainy and humid surroundings of Guipuzcoa.
I've really struggled the last couple of days with the knee. Altough the morning was mostly downhill the pain with every pedal was worrying. However, due to a puncture in Matty's back tyre we had to make an unscheduled stop where I made a last ditch attempt at loosening the IT band in my left leg to relieve the tension that it has been causing on my knee. Half an hour of very painful massage and stretching had almost entirely sorted the problem! It was a great moral booster for me and definitely helped us get through 112 miles today. Matty's diagnosis of the problem back in England was spot on...I just didn't realise how much stretching it needed to solve the problem.
Anyway, less about the (ex)cripple, more about the fact that exiting Spanish cities on the correct road is harder than finding a shop open during siesta time. We entered Burgos and eventually found a supermarket where we quickly got down to buying and consuming a lunch that wouldn't look out of place on Man vs Food. Cakes, baguettes, nuts, raisins, biscuits, more cakes, melon, soft cheese, sliced cheese, pepperoni, salami, chrizo...the joys of eating after cycling 55 miles in the morning.
Somehow, we eventually found our escape route from Burgos with the help of a friendly, Spanish cyclist who gave us a mini tour on the way. Whilst chatting to him he said Burgos is beautiful but is "too cold"...as we pass a pharmacy sign...35 degrees!
Very flat roads leading south from Burgos took us to the small town of Olmedillo de Roa where we celebrated our longest day yet with a drink at the local pub. The Spanish are really friendly and the old people of these small towns usually stop for a chat with these strange lyra-clad, sweaty foreigners. They seem happy enough that we speak minimal Spanish and just chat on with us regardless. A smile and the odd laugh at crucial points usually keeps them happy!
After our drinks we set off up a minor road to find a camping spot next a river, which turned out to be little more than a patch of reeds. Never mind though, we'll ask this scruffy Shepard here whether we can camp on the land nearby. He was tending his small flock...with an ipad! Must be an app for counting sheep now and the wage of a Shepard must have improved since biblical times!
Day 27 - The great escape
From outwits to El cañón (65.2 miles)
All woke very early, packed up and left our dodgy camping spot pronto. The northern mountains of Spain proved a challenge after a week off the bikes in San Sebastien. 3 steep climbs later and we rolled into Bilbao with the intention of cycling straight through the port city in the direction of Burgos. However, after 2 hours of fruitless searching for our exit we were still in Bilbao, knackered after cycling up and down the mountainous streets. We have mastered asking for directions in Spanish but nobody has quite got round to reading the section of the phrasebook detailing the answers to our questions!
Eventually we escaped the grips of Bilbao into the mountains between Bilbao and Burgos. As we have learnt so far, the going gets tougher as the scenery improves. This afternoon's leg of the cycle was no exception to this rule. The exhausting task of climbing some very steep and windy roads was rewarded by amazing views of rolling hills and small villages perched on the side of mountains. Unfortunately, we have a slight problem with the camera just now so no photos but we'll try and edit some in later.
After the last and most brutal climb (about 500m!) we found ourselves on the plains of Burgos just in time for setting up camp in a nice field, next to a river...miles better than last night's accommodation!
All woke very early, packed up and left our dodgy camping spot pronto. The northern mountains of Spain proved a challenge after a week off the bikes in San Sebastien. 3 steep climbs later and we rolled into Bilbao with the intention of cycling straight through the port city in the direction of Burgos. However, after 2 hours of fruitless searching for our exit we were still in Bilbao, knackered after cycling up and down the mountainous streets. We have mastered asking for directions in Spanish but nobody has quite got round to reading the section of the phrasebook detailing the answers to our questions!
Eventually we escaped the grips of Bilbao into the mountains between Bilbao and Burgos. As we have learnt so far, the going gets tougher as the scenery improves. This afternoon's leg of the cycle was no exception to this rule. The exhausting task of climbing some very steep and windy roads was rewarded by amazing views of rolling hills and small villages perched on the side of mountains. Unfortunately, we have a slight problem with the camera just now so no photos but we'll try and edit some in later.
After the last and most brutal climb (about 500m!) we found ourselves on the plains of Burgos just in time for setting up camp in a nice field, next to a river...miles better than last night's accommodation!
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