April 15, 2012
Nowhere and Back
U-turn in the snow
Great! It isn't raining when I look out the bedroom window - it's snowing.
Three nights in Cadoba - or as it's named on some maps, Baleira - is enough though, and if it eases up for short spells during the day then it shouldbe possible to at least ride the 30 km to Fonsagrada, or even further up the C-630 to Grandas de Salime, about 50 km away. Both villages have places to stay according to the guy on reception.
The pharmacy thermometer says it's only three degrees when I wheel my bike around the corner to the café with Wi-fi at just after 9 o'clock, by which time the snow has thankfully ceased.
Wearing my Lycra leggings and baggy shorts, the freshly washed merino wool top and black arm warmers below my blue fleece jacket and yellow wind-stopper, it seems it's enough to keep out the worst of the cold weather; I've also dug out a pair of cotton Shimano ankle socks to keep my feet a little bit warmer but outside snow is now blowing horizontally across the street. Blimey.
Wait it out seems wise and around 10 the situation has improved - the sky is a dismal tone, but it's dry. There's going to be some long climbs, with the Michelin map indicating the road rising to 930 metres, then a pass named Alto de Cerredo, at 960 metres. No doubt they'll warm me up.
Drizzle starts to fall not long after setting off and out in open countryside, there's nowhere to shelter, but as it's fairly light it seems okay to press on. However, as the road gets higher, it turned to snow and a group of tall conifers beside the route offer a chance to stay dry, or at least not get too wet.
My thin yellow jacket, basically just a UV layer, has already become soaked through and my fleece is consequently damp: not a great start to the day's ride.
There;s no wind and the snow falls more or less vertically and the trees' dense branches protect me from most of it. To keep out the chill, my cheap PVC jacket gets dug out and I say to myself that if it doesn't clear up soon then it's going to be a matter of cruising back down to Cadebo.
By 11:30 the situation hasn't altered.
The coldness bites once my speed picks up on the descent and within just a minute my hands are numb, covered as they are in a layer of ice, my thin mitts providing no warmth whatsoever.
Because there's nowhere to hide, it's a matter of dropping down the few kilometers to Cadabo, relieved that there's a warm hotel room waiting, yet just 10 minutes or so is more than enough to tell me that cycling in this weather is an absolute no-no and I arrive absolutely perished, my whole front coated with freezing slush.
The pharmacy's thermometer now read 2 degrees.
Dressed in dry clothes, at gone one o'clock I venture back down to the hotel's restaurant and realize it's Sunday; the tables are full for a change, nearly all with pensioners clearly having a day out. When in Rome... I ordered a bottle of red and it's half empty when I retreat to the comfort of my room for a fourth night.
The forecast predicts better weather for Monday. It could hardly get any worse.
Wouldn't you just know it: during the afternoon the sun comes out; expansive swathes of blue appear while my wet cycling bits and bobs hang on the hotel room's radiators, drying and giving the place a distinct aroma.
I take a nap and wake feeling groggy after the wine and say to myself that I'd better wait on the weather situation tomorrow and not be in such a rush to get down the road.
Looking at the last of the numbered A4 colour photocopies of the Michelin sheet I'd made before leaving Taiwan, it's probably going to take a week to reach Santander, where a ferry will then sail me across to Plymouth, on England's southwest coast.
Fortunately my grandson Charlie's christening has been rescheduled for late May, but I'm eager to see him before then. However, before all that there's the matter of cycling over the high passes of the Picos de Europa: the weather will need to be okay for that little escapade.
Today's ride: 8 km (5 miles)
Total: 1,985 km (1,233 miles)
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