August 22, 2014
Friday: Alora to 3 km beyond Ronda.
Awoke this morning shocked at how late it was, having wished to get away early before people are about. After seven. Shortly I hear a married couple, or more she arguing and his occasional shouted down outbursts. The voices much closer than the house down the hill below. Also coming from completely the opposite direction. Further up the hill. Having gone out to the toilet, I quickly stand up straight, pulling my shorts back up again in one swift action, cowering for cover behind a young olive tree as I spot a house among shrubs less than two-hundred metres further up.
The nagging continues as I prepare and eat breakfast in the tent opening. The tent partly hidden among a garden plot of young olives. Afterwards breaking camp and stealing away down the steep trail to rejoin the road. The road in a deep valley descending steadily pass Alora on the hillside, then nine kilometres more to Parra, a bigger town about thirty kilometres inland from Malaga on the Costa del Sol. But my way is back inland again towards Ronda where the road shown in the Michelin map joins a nice green outlined, indicating scenic road south to Algecira by the rock of Gibraltar.
The turning for Malaga would've been mainly downhill. The land that way looking open and flat. There there's a ferry connection to Morocco albeit a long-route cutting out much cycling. But I prefer taking the shorter crossing. I want to ride as much and as far as possible to Morocco. not ride on ferries a significant chunk of the journey.
The narrow valley enclosed by towering mountains either side. At Parra this valley widens somewhat towards the coast and although the turning for Ronda leads up a breach in the steep valley side, giving the impression the road may follow a valley all day, there is no doubts in my mind I'm in for a dog of a day of hard climbing.
I'm proved right though not right away. There's a straightforward few kilometre wind up a gentle slope to the first village at the base of a craggy mountain with the way onwards a kilometre or so to a gap to the side which once I crest, the way opens into a valley with expectations there'll still be a low route to Ronda. The sun is searing hot on approaching the white hilltop next village, Allarez late morning and I'm looking forward to a cold drink and sit in shade.
I turn left off the road and pass under a white arch-gateway, dropping down into the granny to get up a narrow street becoming as steep as one-in-four before levelling out into a small plaza village centre. In a street off the corner I find a small Mercado a door along. Inside through the open door there's a woman arguing with the shopkeeper, something to the effect she could buy two of whatever in Madrid for the price he is charging.
Entering the shop with handlebar bag slung over my shoulder, my cycling shoes drags on the low step causing me to lurch awkwardly in pass the counter. At this juncture the woman upset throws the money on the counter and barges out. The shopkeeper now free, he follows me round the small shop, suspecting in my eye there's a rough type intent on sneaking things into the bag on his shoulder and walking out without paying. I just about have lifted a pink creamy pastry and removed a bottle of cola and a beer from the fridge when he walks in front of me, rudely getting in my way as if on purpose.
My three items come to over three euros. I'm glad that's all I'm buying. The woman was right about the shop being too dear.
I sit on a bench in a colonnade outside the post office enjoying the cold beer, looking up at a thin white sheeting canopy draped across the entire narrow plaza. Supported by taut ties to upstairs windows all around. An effective measure of sun protection for people and parked cars underneath. A Norwegian couple enter the post office and shortly an English couple come out. Both groups immaculately dressed in light coloured holiday clothes complete with sun hats and sunblock lavaverd skin. A delivery van with San Miguel upon the side labours up into the plaza and halts. The driver gets out with a sheet of paper in hand, opens up and slides back the canvas side of the box rear. He places the sheet of paper between his lips and stacks two crate of beer one on top of the other. He lifts them out and carries them over to a bar the other side of a passage through the colonnade. A place of boisterous chat and laughter and blue cigarette smoke around the outside tables.
Back down the hill and out upon the road riding onwards, I just turn the corner and there's a DIA supermercade on the left where I could've made my purchases a lot lot cheaper. I stop and buy a few other things anyhow.
Starting off again there is a roundabout and the exit to Ronda faces a shear mountain. I am already in the smallest gear on the first switch-back. And high above in the pines is the hum of a car coming down. Impossible to think how the road climbs so much in such a short distance.
This is the first of three lengthy climbs. And it is a hard afternoon until finally reaching the long straight roll down to Ronda.
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Today's ride: 88 km (55 miles)
Total: 4,511 km (2,801 miles)
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