Tour de Andalucia

We arrived in Malaga to the warm, sunny Spanish afternoon of our dreams - and since the dreams didn’t include for cycling in big-city traffic, Valerie steered Roland, Steve and Tony towards the train station for a somewhat more relaxed way of getting into the city centre, although bikes weren’t really allowed according to the lenient ticket inspector.

Our first night’s accommodation in the city centre saw us scaling new heights with the bikes - up to a 5th floor apartment to be exact, without the benefit of the lift. Much huffing & puffing made the friendly owner doubt our story about where we planned to cycle in the days to come.

Having reacquainted our taste buds to the vino tinto and San Miguel, we left the coast behind and set off through the parched, barren landscape north-east of Malaga, uphill just about all the way to Antequera where we looked no further than the main square for our next night’s accommodation. Tony had looked longingly at the uphill route to the nearby El Torcal Natural Park, but the heat and exertions of the day had taken their toll on the rest of us (especially Roland who had worn his fleece all day), and we settled for a stroll round the splendid sights of Antequera, watching the sun set over the mountains from the towns most lofty vantage point at the castle.

Having discovered the downside of taking rooms so close to the towns main church (a cacophony of bells every 15 minutes), we were up early and set off in warm sunshine towards the dramatic gorge of El Chorro. The overnight rain had brought out snail gathering folk all over the hillsides. After a typically lengthy lunch stop in El Chorro, we encountered a lovely gentle climb up wooded slopes to Carratraca, a spa resort. Judging by the size and number of water cartons being filled by the Spanish, they took the water’s reputed qualities without question; a bike-bottle full produced no conclusive findings though - the feel good factor was far more to do with the warmth, sunshine and visual quality of the surroundings.

By evening we had arrived at Teba, a true BudgetTours destination which had tempted us for miles, a white hill village on the horizon. The children and old men gawped shamelessly as we crawled into town after a 1:4 leg-crunching ascent, but no matter, as they guided us to what was probably the only lodgings and restaurant in town. Roland was sure he was now experiencing the’real Spain, but still wondered if there were any real mountains out there.

After our first day ride out of Ronda, his body was telling that there were, and that he’d just ridden over 66 awesome miles of them. Our route had taken us through several delightful hill villages to Gaucin, opening up viewsall around, almost as far as Gibraltar. The return route included miles of a twisting switchbacking forest road, and a massive descent on which we all clocked record speeds, Valeries the most conservative at 44mph!

Back in Ronda and sadly Steve succumbed to food (or was it vino tinto ?) poisoning, and was left watching MTV whilst Roly, Tony and Valerie took a very leisurely sightseeing loop, visiting Setenil where houses were built into huge overhanging rocks, and the hilltop site of Ronda la Vieja, with its remains of a Roman theatre.

All too soon, it was time for Roly to leave us, and we accompanied him over the 1190m Puerto del Viento to El Burgo, where we said our goodbyes. We decided to return by the off-road forest tracks which weaved through delightful scenery but 2.5 hours into the ride back, the path petered out; nothing for it but to backtrack to El Burgo, from where we set off with 70 mins of daylight left and 2 significant passes to climb; needless to say, what lights and reflective gear and lights we had were pressed into action, and back in Ronda, the days exertions resulted in us sleeping through and missing dinner entirely!

The start of week 2 and conditions changed noticeably. Contrary to all predictions, mileage reduced significantly without Roland, as `the three amigos’ contended with 2 day-long downpours, some strong winds and lower daytime temperatures. Valerie had a rapidly deteriorating cough, which eventually took her completely off the bike, and into bed, and thence a hire car, and a bus with Steve and Tony back to Malaga.

However, there were several gems along the way. Not to go unrecorded is the little bar in the village of Villaluega, where people using `the facilities were shielded from view only by short swing doors at the appropriate height, and where the tinkling sound of their activities was only partially masked by the TV in the corner. Not a place geared up for ladies !

The lodgings, unmarked above a bar/restaurant and dirt cheap, were also somewhat shrouded in mystery. Who was it who was disturbed trying to creep into Valerie’s bedroom at 4am in the morning ? And how come 3 British cyclists manage to sleep in 4 beds in one night ? Unsolved mysteries, both for us and for the hostel owner !

Like all the other villages, Alcala de los Gazueles was set impressively with castle atop a hill, but will be remembered for the fine menu del dia, including a bean stew very similar to the fabadas we enjoyed in the Picos, but with much more potent effects ! The 100% pure drug coffees served up in the bar in San Jose del Valle will be remembered gratefully by Valerie, for injecting sufficient life into her struggling limbs to get her the final few miles past fields of cotton and sugar cane to the historic cliff top town of Arcos.

All in all, another enjoyable and memorable break among good company. Thanks especially to Tony and Steve who lifted me from the depths of frustration at falling ill on holiday, and who endured days (and nights) of coughing and sniffing, and thanks too to Roly whose enthusiasm for the `real Spain’ was infectious.

Where next, mis amigos ?

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Tour de Andalucia

Valerie Adams