Shortly after re-joining the road at nine, I take the turnoff for Herrera and entering the village come to a street-corner where, I'm unsure of which way to turn. I'm looking at the map when I hear a man shout over from the opposite side of the cross "Adonde vas?"

I look for traffic and wheel the bike over to the man, who's opening the shutters on a shop, and say "No si" Truth is I'm not going anywhere in particular, but rather in a general direction, southwest, and none of the places on the signs, match up with places on the map southwest from where I'm now. I say I'm going to Ronda as I offer the map. The man takes the map and studies it, before telling me to go right, then first left for a place Marinaleda and on to El Rubio, where I take the road for Asuna. Sure enough the left turn along from the cross has a sign for "Marinaleda and El Rubio"

There's still a brisk southerly wind, a crosswind, not having much of a negative effect; but, I'm still left spinning a less then optimum gear because of cassette wear: the most used sprockets (gears), in the middle of the cassette, slip under pedal-load, so I've to make do with the two innermost sprockets, the large ones by the spokes, normally used for climbing.

There is a terrible steep kilometre long incline approaching Asuna, a town beginning just over the brow of the hill and continuing down the opposite slope.

As it is noon I'm anxious to see a supermercado, but see none as I descend until spotting a cash & carry.

Everything is packaged and sold in large units; also, everything is the most industrial processed food you can think of. Once I've looked at the large plastic bag of soft spongy sliced white bread, consider to buy, then decide against, I move on and see a rack of baguettes. So for lunch which I eat sat against the bike out front, I've a sardines in tomato-sauce on baguette sandwich.

I leave with enough to see me through Sunday, including a five litre bottle of water secured on top of the rack-top bag at the rear, making the bike top-heavy.

On the way out of town I halt by a sign and take the map out to check. A black Renault Scenic pulls level and the driver leaning over his passenger, asks through the open window "Adonde vas?" I reply "No si" He then pulls into the side and gets out, a handsome man with a beard and simultaneously, his passenger gets out, a stunning lady with mid-length blond ringlet hair and in an evening dress. She takes over talking when I say, I'm looking for the way to Ronda. She speaks slowly, saying I continue straight on to El Saucejo, the place on the sign, and there, right for Almargen. The man then hints at how much climbing there is, angling his forearm with a smile.

The way on is exposed without any relief to take shelter, first from sun, which is fast being blocked out by rolling cloud as the wind become stronger, eventually turning the sky dull grey as I'm buffeted side-on. And the plain ends with a range of hills ahead, whereupon A451, the road is shown in the Michelin map with an arrow indicating a serious climb.

I had anticipated an up and over into a valley or plain affair, because of two arrows pointing towards each other upon the road in the map; but, in reality, the road is a seven per cent grade going straight up and up kilometre after kilometre. The brow of the hill only reveals a short descent and another range of hills the road must cross.

It is a windy and bleak mono-tone scene climbing with the town of El Saucejo off in a valley on the right, as spots of rain splatter the road. The rain holds off though and cresting the hill a few kilometres further, there's a steep run down to a roundabout with an intersection road, A384, which the way into Almargen passes underneath: a village spread up rising ground on the opposite side of the valley I've dropped down into.

I want to find a supermarket to buy a cold drink and some fruit and vegetables. Once I climbed a steep narrow street into the village centre, I come to a grand-parent run small supermarket with everything I need, even carrots fresh out of the ground with long green tops.

Outside savouring a cold beer with my map open, I decide the only sensible road on, is A384, the one I passed under in the bottom of the valley. It runs east to west and will take me more directly to Cadiz. Scrub the idea of going via Ronda: the road there must go up into the hills this side of the valley.

The wind has settled as I join A384, with the sun appearing high over the hills ahead of me through breaking cloud. The road is modern with good smooth surface, ample shoulder and a gradual downhill to bottom out and then gently uphill. At this point I stop by a padlocked gate to rest. A horse-rider come cantering down the track behind the gate, then strikes off before the gate to a culvert underneath the road big enough to lead a horse through. The other side I hear the rider mounted again, talk to the horse, urging the horse up the steep rise from the road.

It is a long climb and the sun is sinking. There's a blob of green on the map, indicating forest, but the forest is upon the hilltop to the left, not must good for camping.

Eventually as the road levels out, passing through a gap, there's a eucalyptus grove on the right. Therein I find a level spot in a sunken trough providing good cover from the road. The ground is too hard to take tent-pegs and the wind having begun to rise again, I resort to rigging the guy-lines to the bike for extra security.

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