Sarria, cycling up the LU 546

April 12, 2012

bus rides to Lugo and Cadabo

It's gone 10 o'clock - too late for breakfast. After a shower and getting my panniers packed - stuffing away the few bits of clothing that I'd washed in the bathroom handbasin and which have dried overnight on the bedroom radiator - it's easily time for a coffee, so I walk the couple of hundred metres back to the tapas bar and use the Internet again.

My Casio says it was noon when I make my way north, following my compass needle up the one-way street out of town. A sign says it's the right route, the LU-546, heading straight to Sarria.

Those cartographers at Michelin have, in their wisdom, given the 546 a green line, meaning the road should offer scenic views. No. It's a major disappointment with the wide highway busy with 16-wheelers and other commercial vehicles that just about obey the 100 km/hr speed limit.

There's a generous shoulder for me to pedal along, but the constant noise of traffic still makes it an unpleasant experience and there's scant compensation in terms of scenic beauty. Plus it's cloudy again and the film of rainwater on the surface of the tarmac amplifies the sound of the loaded tyres, with a fine spray following each passing vehicle. I take shelter for five minutes when a shower duly arrives, hiding behind the trunk of a tall fir a few metres off the road.

When I roll into Boreda, it's one o'clock and my late lunch is a slice of toast with mushrooms fried in olive oil at café, where I sit outside in a rare show of sunshine.

Before I get to leave the small place, rain is falling. The sky changes so fast. the shower lasts 10 minutes and after that it seems like a good idea to check if there are any trains to catch. The line is not far from route 546 and at Rubian I turn off and make my way along a village lane that takes me to Eimer. I never do see the station.

Eimer is a dead-end village with the narrow lane fizzling out at some old buildings, one of which is derelict - that seems felonious, as at one time it would have been a wonderful family house. Its drystone walls are still standing resolute, defying a couple of centuries of whatever and a heraldic coat of arms carved from pale marble is inset high up and as I take a snap a man, probably in his 70s, comes out from a nearby house to see what I'm up to.

He speaks in rapid, exited Spanish; incomprehensible to me. Nevertheless, he's friendly and obviously likes the fact a cyclist has ended up at this remote spot and has noticed the grand yet simple stone building. No doubt he could, if we shared a language, tells me its history.

Following the lane back and then veering at a left fork in the road, it isn't long before the LU-546 is in front of me. Perhaps with a really detailed map, it'd be possible to make my way to Sarria on similar winding farm lanes, but my Michelin map only has the A 546, so that's what takes me north.

The next train station is at Oural, a village beyond a long steady climb that peaks at 650 metres, according to an altitude marker, and I am in my granny gear for quite a while, spinning away up the few kilometers, watching the sky just in case I need to find some shelter again.

To my surprise, there's someone manning the dinky isolated station. The man there says I will have to get to Sarria to catch a train - at around 6 o'clock - up to Lugo, and that it's only another 10 km. The final five of those are descending, making for a fast entry into the town, me getting there just before the rain does.

A digital thermometer mounted outside a pharmacy reads it's only six degrees C. It feels like it. Taking shelter in a café, I pass an hour using its Wi-fi before making my way to the train station, where an attendant tells me bikes can't go on any of the departures to Lugo. Riding there has become a bit of a no-no and looking at a street map on the wall of the waiting area, the bus station is only a couple of blocks away, back down the street, second left and then first right.

When I arrive and ask about Lugo, the guy in the office points to a bus, a 20-seater and the driver opens the rear hatch door and indicates to load my bike in. He's setting off in a minute.

It's a tight squeeze, but after turning my handlebars 90 degrees, it slots in okay. The fare is just a few euros and it rains as we drive along more of the monotonous 546.

The small bus pulls into Lugo at around 7:00 PM and a lady at the station's information desk says the one going northeast to Cadabo leaves in 45 minutes and that I cand get a ticket on board.

That's what I do, although the driver charges me a steep five euros for the bike. But as it really pours down en route, it doesn't seem so bad... plus he drops me off taxi-style right at the door of the village's one, simple hotel.

I've skipped something like 80 km today and all that's needed now is for the weather to improve. There are mountains are ahead - pretty big ones.

Today's ride: 40 km (25 miles)
Total: 1,977 km (1,228 miles)

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