Having pedalled over a mountain the day before, what we needed was a nice easy recovery day. One of those days when you don’t have to push it, any incline is gentle and the day feels like ends before you ever really got into the thick of it. What lay before us was anything but. It proved to be the toughest day cycling of my life. A real battle against time, light and limited physical capabilities.
THE NICE PART
Tracing out our route at the breakfast table, we pin-pointed Burgos as our must-meet objective for the day. The only city for miles around and, vitally leaving “only” 150 kilometers for our final day into Bilbao (we could not afford to leave longer as we had no contingency day and any material mechanical or crash would mean Uwe missing his plane). What therefore lay ahead was at least 170 kilometers on the road at an average altitude of 900 meters.
The day started great. A fat Spanish breakfast, friendly words with the hotel proprietor and bright sunshine to greet us onto the saddle. Surprisingly the legs (and bum) did not feel too bad and the first 30 kilometers were top notch. A good road cutting through pretty countryside of small vineyards, tiled farm houses and the odd dramatic minor ravine.
We topped off this section with a second breakfast refuelling stop sitting at charming cafe in the central square of Pedraza. Spanish omelette, strong coffee, some chat with the local old men (who I got the impression were pinned to their stools all day) and a view across the quiet, sun-reflecting streets to a castle. Not bad at all!
THE TOUGH PART
Riding out of town full and content, we quickly found a hill, circling around the castle and then up to a plateau. From then on, little seemed to change for hours. Kilometer after kilometer of arid, flat, uninspiring land. Barely any buildings and certainly no towns. It felt like a semi-desert and, at nearly 1,000 meters up, sucked both the air and excitement out of us.
We each took our turn on the front, and made OK time on a long straight bit of road before finding our turning and lying on the ground by a farm shed for a few minutes rest.
On and on we went, the energy sapping out of us. We did not see any person or car for what felt like an age and then, sods law, the one time I need to go to the road side for a rather urgent call of nature, a farmer passed me on his tractor, gesticulating while the others pissed themselves with laughter. A moment distinctly lacking dignity!
Another hour on and we had run out of food and were low on water. Having not past so much as an shop since our morning break, we took a a detour to the only place of any size in our vicinity on the map, Roa. Before we even got there, the first signs of group disillusion were raising their head. One of the reasons why I love riding with Uwe and Dave is they are mostly upbeat sort of people who take difficulties with good grace and more than a touch of humour, but it was made clear that our situation was not amusing.
After another schlep, 100 kilometers into the day, Rosa finally came into sight. A fortified town on a hill that dominates for its surrounds. I am sure we may have appreciated its spectacle had we been on better form, but we weren't.
Just our luck, the town centre was right at the top, so with a grumble we took the winding road up and through the walls, via winding streets to the main square.
It was a strange place. Clearly with history and the odd grand old building like the church that dominated the square, but equally evidently rather poor. A strange feeling that modern times, young people and certainly prosperity had left this town behind.
Having said all that, it felt great to stretch out the legs on a rickety metal chair in the square, soaking up the sun and mediocre local fair served by a cafe. The lady serving was also welcoming and none of us really wanted to get moving. We duly had a second beer and stared at the map. It was getting late in the afternoon and we still had another 90 kilometers to cover before Burgos.
THE EVEN TOUGHER PART
Given the lack of other options beforehand and the aforementioned issue of time/distance to Bilbao, we agreed to at least give it a go to get there.
Sometimes it feels horrible to get back on a bike, and this was one of those times. Carves ache, the deep bruises on your arse pinch and knees feel like they just won’t start. A pinching grind. Fortunately a little distance and pinch of adrenaline usually pushes such things aside and such was the case here. With a distinct lack of chatter we pushed on in peloton.
In truth, I don’t recall too much about the landscape for the next few hours. While I doubt there was much of remark, even if there was, I missed it concentrating on the tire in front. Toying with that mesmeric balance between keeping close to save energy and not risking a clash through bashing the wheel in front. When tired, invariably there is the odd fizzing “tsssshhk” as rubber meets rubber for the briefest moment.
We passed my longest day’s cycling (the Ride-London Surrey 100 miler) and the morale visibly improved as we started seeing signs for Burgos. 50 km, 30 km, 20 km… I got a fifth wind and was genuinely enjoying the struggle when the light began to fade and fast.
Yet again, we were soon cycling in the pitch-black on unlit roads. Singing broke out amongst us and I recall desperate laughter as we encountered a steep hill and willed our way up in single file, one light on Uwe’s bike at the front and one on Dave’s bike at the back.
This was one of a number of unexpected hills, with the best part being the hairy descent. Letting the muscles sag as I followed in Uwe’s wake with nothing to guide me but a single LED lighting the road 5 meters ahead to the front of Uwe. I am pretty sure we were euphoric, but I might be confusing that with crazed.
Up another hill and over the top the lights of Burgos came into sight. What a sight! By the time we rolled in we had 190 kilometers under our belt for the day at an average altitude of nearly 900 meters. It It was past 10 pm and we were utterly spent.
I just about took in the beauty of the lit cathedral, as we stopped and worked out where to stay for the night. Uwe was unquestionably clear. No fucking about. He pointed at the high end grand hotel in front of us and that is where we went. To my surprise the guy at the desk welcomed us with our bikes, dirt and slightly unpleasant odour.
A scorching shower, hotel robes and filthy takeout pizza later, we were all zonked out on luxuriously fluffy beds. Every muscle ached, the head buzzed and it was heaven.
I slept the dreamless sleep of the shattered. Needed rest before another 150 kilometer day awaited us to Bilbao and what proved to be the best day’s cycling of my life. As always with cycling, ups follow downs...
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