October 15, 2015
Are You Still Interested?: near Talavan to Puerto
An interesting topic "Improving my journaling" is under "Forums" at the moment, where else but on Crazy Guy On A Bike, here where you are now. I would like to write a reply, while I fiddle about here on the computer.
My predicament now is, I've turned a leaf of my jottings from Wednesday, last week, and one would think Thursday is always the weekday that follows, but no, apparently not, I've gone straight to Friday, and in an instant recall, I didn't write anything that evening. Shame on me. Couldn't be bothered.
But, I do have a vivid memory and with a bit of imagination, maybe I'll write something interesting and put the day in words.
For now there's just my junk pictures, not unlike my choppy writing style. I couldn't be bothered writing anything because I don't have much heart for journaling lately, but have just been struggling on in vain trying to keep this journal afloat.
However, what does keep the journal here, is the knowledge that I like rereading my other journals and no doubt this less than satisfactory attempt will shine too. Perhaps I'll really enjoy this here I write now in a year or twos time. So I'm here and I'm here to stay, disillusion in my ability to write something notwithstanding.
The morning coffee stop has changed now that I'm in a different country. There's no more "Pastel do Nattas", those custard tarts, and no more pastelarias that serve them. Now I'm in a bar that serve tapas, but its too soon after breakfast to have anything more than a cake with coffee, which they don't do here.
My watch says 10.24 and turning to look at the TV screen on the wall while the man behind the counter works the espresso machine, there's an ongoing news report of an incident in Seville, police having arrested a hooded suspect, but I've lost interest when I see 11.24 at the bottom of the screen. Yes indeed, Spain is an hour ahead and my watch is an hour out of sync.
I'll summarize the day in a few paragraphs.
I reached the wonderfully named Torrejon el Rubio at ten fifteen, eleven fifteen Spanish time, coming to a tee in the village where I turn left upon EX208 (EX for the province of Extremadora) and a little after the junction, still in the village street, stop on the left for the coffee. Then afterwards continue and within ten kilometres drop down into a river gorse. A national park, the habitat of many rare cliff roosting birds. A long the roadside, a downhill ledge along a vertical rockface at this point are viewing points, with tour-busses parked in wider laybys further along, their occupants out along safety rails looking down upon the river below, many with professional looking DSLR cameras with huge lens to take distance shots of birds.
An old road continued all the way down to the riverbank where an old stone bridge, a serious of arches almost submerged in the hundred metre wide river, as there's a dam downstream, crosses over. But the new road crosses a modern viaduct high up across the gorge and just on the right on the old road is an idyllic picnic table rest-place, which would've done for a lunch stop, but, I've no food. Then come a long climb the other side up and out upon the plain.
Food is on my mind when after two I descend steeply to Plasencia. A large town, a small city filling out the valley bottom in modern urban sprawl, with an old town castle citadel crowning a rise mid-valley. I continue along the dual-carriageway bypass, expecting large hypermarkets to the side, cycling three kilometres until the far city-limits, but there's none. Then return and take the turning for "el centro" and in the main street through the modern town, there's in order, an Aldi, a Lidl where I shop and lunch by the shopping trolley bay, a Dia and Mercadora all within a kilometre, a hungry cyclist's paradise.
Michelin have the red road N112 onwards decked out in green outline for scenic itinerary. So its a straightforward no brainer to follow east along the same valley, which narrows as the afternoon wears on. The problem with such narrow valleys is, they tend to be densely populated with villages every few kilometres and farms everywhere else. And as the road climbs and the valley sides close in, level ground become scarce. A bad place to be with the sun fast heading toward the horizon and nightfall a reality. And this narrow valley climbing road is no different; houses, small fields of crops and people everywhere and only rising ground to the side. Many old couple out for an evening stroll on the edge of the many villages, nearly all very jovial in their Spanish way, shouting friendly encouragement as I pass, one seventy year old man shouts "motocito!" and laughs with his wife.
The climbing which was gentle, then become serious, going up a steep ramp and the farms and villages peter out. Then come really steep switch-backs. The sun has now gone west leaving Europe in half-day, half-night twilight and I climb with blinking lights. But, just when I though I would be riding on into the night, at a hairpin bend there's a steep track up through dwarf forest, which I gladly push the bike up not sure where it'll lead. It goes up to a level grassy track traversing the hillside with a perfect lea to the side, a place for a tent just where the track up meets it.
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That was a long summary if every there was one. And I'm still in trouble.
I've decided I stand guilty of my sins. I didn't do what I said I'd do. Keep it brief. I rambled on.
I've been called to the dock for sentencing.
The jury have found me guilty on two counts. The serious charge of not writing up my journal on the evening of Thursday the 15th of October. And the lesser charge of wasting readers time on the morning of Wednesday the 21th of October.
Has the accused anything to say in his defence?
No sir.
Sentencing will commence after the interval.
Take the prisoner down.
Today's ride: 122 km (76 miles)
Total: 11,428 km (7,097 miles)
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