Thursday: Old Spain: After Mequinenza to Galgello.

August 14, 2014

It is good if there's a town in the region of fifty to sixty kilometres from the day's starting point, meaning I get there at lunchtime. Reaching a town midmorning or not long after starting, means wasting the cooler riding hours riding slowly in town (in Spain) searching out a supermercado, then half an hour in cool aircon shopping aises selecting your items then queuing at the checkout. Time that will have to be made up for in the afternoon.

Then when you're done the bike is laden down for the morning. So the best scenario is reaching a town in the early afternoon. And of course there isn't much thirst in the morning, yet just incase, you must load the bike up on fluids in the early-town-day and ride the treadmill of a bike loaded with perhaps four litres of liquid and whatever amount of kilos of fresh food-fruit and vegetables.

Modern road with a hell of a lot of excavating to reduce gradients.

Or to straighten. Notice the old road on the left.

The sun makes it over the hills round eight, the time I breakfast on porridge and get on the road shortly before nine. From the start riding up a steep climb going on for five kilometres. Finally crest the hill, the descend sweeps down to the bottom of yet another few kilometre long climb. This is how it would be all morning. The countryside like old seabed pushed up into dunes with big rock-slabs protruding and dotted with shrubs. My target Alcaniz by lunchtime. Further on every few acre level plot is utilised for wheat cultivation. Yellow stubble at the bottom of lumps of rock outcrop.

The road by-passes a small hilltop town midmorning. The appearance of ramshackled and Gerry built houses. Not unlike towns in Bolivia. Here my new fat tyre being a bit of a drag I stop and lean the bike against the crash-barrier and pump more air in both tyres.

The road goes up through incredibly huge excavated cuttings. Hills cut in half. I pedal hard keeping 13 kmph on the computer. Then the wind comes down that tunnel cutting and catches me in the chest. The speed dropping to 8-9 kmph. At least the sky remains milky weak sunshine. Later I would see +32 on a digital sign. A bearable temperature.

Descend to Alcaniz timely to shop in a Mercadona in the ground floor of an apartment block. Then lunch outside in the hot marble enclosed square in the shaded front of a vacant shop unit. I return into the Mercadona to buy more water, cold drink for now and chocolate caramels for later. Then load up on four litres of water and get rolling out of town at three fifteen.

The way ahead is plain and the next town, Calanda has a turnoff upon a provincial road going in the same direction I'm going. Here I pause and look at the Michelin map. The road has a green outline defining scenic, but twist and turns all over the place, looking very much a difficult route. How many days would it take on this alternative route in comparision to the N211 is anyone's guest.

The way onwards is a little more hilly and I stop for a cold beer at a Repsol gas station on the way into the next town, Alcorisa. After riding through the long narrow main thoroughfare I stop in the shade before leaving town to eat some caramels which have melted of course. But I'm getting to like licking the wrappers clean.

The road onwards bring back memories of three years ago. Red Mesas across the valley and the road rolling and curving round the cutting high up on this side of the valley. I'm humming music by an Englishman that crossed America in the nineteen-fifties. Seeing landscape like this in the west he composed a piece. He played the electric guitar. A tune with a toppy G-string riff and began with a haunting scream. When he returned he formed a group and the piece became the theme of a western film.

On that occasion I had left Maurizio behind and was on my own for two days, when riding round a bend I approached the little town of Galgelle and spot him stood slumped over his bike outside the small Mercado, open even though it was Sunday. Passing through Galgelle this time in the twilight of setting sun, there's a brass band playing somewhere in a street back from the road. A carnival of sorts. Then I remember tomorrow is the fifteenth. A religious feast-day. Santa Maria in Spain.

A truck pulls to a halt on a wide gravel shoulder a kilometre ahead of Galgelle. The driver is out and is walking around the trailer checking the load as I reach the truck. The sun has gone down and I'm urgently looking at every camping possibility. And somehow the truck draws my attention to a stony track in front leading steeply down the inside of the crash-barrier and across a dry stream at the bottom, then by a rough grass plot into a small wheat stubble field, along the left side of which is a hillock covered in pine trees that I discover when I get as far, has a level grassy area along the edge.

I put the tent up in the lea of the trees and I'm just about to put the panniers inside when I hear sheep bells and see a freaking dog bound across the rough grass by the stream ahead of a big flock of sheep flowing down off the hillock further along which fill that whole plot in a sea of white wool. The dog is too interested in the sheep to sense my presents. Then a big fellow in an orange jersey and black beret appears clutching a staff, occasionly wistling commands for the dog to round in straying sheep.

I sit in the opening of the tent and watch not daring to move, but knowing I'm invisible in the darkening day. About ten minutes elapse as the sheep pick whatever bite they can get. When as expected the sea of white wool with herder and dog starts moving on and away leaving me to start cooking dinner.

Today's ride: 126 km (78 miles)
Total: 3,657 km (2,271 miles)

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