Not My Breakfast Rat: A384-km 74 to El Chaparrito and on to Cadiz.

August 30, 2015

I am glad to have secured the tent to the bike lain flat upon the ground alongside with guy-lines, because the wind was really strong during the night. And this morning it continues windy with the tent buffeted from side to side. Thankfully I've positioned the tent so the opening is on the sheltered side: the outer-tent flaps and billows wildly. I have to rebuild the empty rear-panniers into a windshield to shelter the Trangia stove in order to boil water for tea.

This A384 is an excellent road, taking me directly west. Beats the little swiggly yellow road on the map I'd planned on riding, which by the look of it goes over every hill. I should get to Cadiz early tomorrow, barring mechanicals.

The only thing shown on the map is a tunnel, which worries me; looks to be a couple or more kilometres in length.

Although windy, it is rideable, being southeasterly; hitting me partly from the side and rear depending on which way the road swings. But the wind makes it a bit hairy on downhill sections: the road being a rollercoaster without any major climbing.

The wind eases midmorning with cloud cover breaking up and temperature rising. I feel sunburn above my knees, exposed since I started wearing my new shorts: the old shorts having come down over the knee.

The tunnel comes at the top of a long straight incline, through an elongated hill; a concrete archway protruding from the slope and to my relieve, there's another arch of daylight not far inside the black abyss. So it's a short affair. The sign up close on entering reads 300m.

Relieve that a tunnel shown on the map is only a short affair.

Out the other side there's a steep downhill to the town of Algodonales, where I stop at a roadside café. The menu is reasonably priced with full meal versions of the tapas offerings for eight euros. But I decline the temptation and just order a coffee. The only other sitter at the front and opposite side of the veranda to where I'm sat, is a man who doesn't look local. Then a lady-cyclist in lycra upon an expensive racing bike cycles to a halt by the man's table. She is quite attractive and I look over for longer than necessary while taking off a cycle-helmet and chatting to the man, until she catches my gaze and gives me a friendly wave.

Later when the couple are leaving and while he dismantles the wheels and puts the bike in the back of an old white Range Rover, she saunter over to my table. She has seen my loaded bike and is curious and asks in a German accent "Is this a big tour?"

The conversation having got over the usual "I've been on the road six months. And I've cycled from..." and so on, carries on to more sociable talk and she has taken a seat next me now, when the man come over and stands behind her with an anxious look of "Lets go!" on his face.

The sun is strong when I cycle on, continuing steeply downhill with the warm smell of pine resin from forest flanking the road. Then levelling out as the road crosses a viaduct, where the slope drops further into a ravine, followed by a steep longish ascent to come out upon a plain.

At some point the wind gets up again, blowing in a pal of dull cloud in from the south. The crosswind making it hairy as it pushes me to the edge of the road, which is a half metre drop to gravel at the side in lots of places.

I lunch in the shelter of a petrol station forecourt and remain there waiting until the wind settles.

View from where I lunch in a petrol station forecourt sheltering from the wind.

Later when the wind settled there was a brief shower.

Look careful and you'll see that isn't a picture of a tractor on the sign even though it says so below.

Monday

Camping freely wherever I come to of an evening has been enriched by wildlife on this tour. It is not everyday you come upon a large snake crossing a track when looking for a place to put the tent. Or a bear comes close to your camp in a remote forest: a beast I didn't expect to see in Europe. Rats on the other hand are common, but usually stay away; though where I've camped, is a residential area of expensive houses with large gardens and associated waste in bins and so on that people produce.

I've hidden my tent within a large island roundabout-intersection, forested with tall pines with shrubbery low down shielding me from view: a serene place notwithstanding the constant traffic noise. But shortly after dark, there's a rustling in the undergrowth nearby. I assume without doubt it is a rat. Sometime later I hear rustling again, this time inside the outer-tent, trying to overturn my un-washed pan-set with the lid on that I's leaving to rinse out in the morning: the rat trying to get to the remains of dinner within. I shooed it away and I think it got the message, as it didn't return, at least not while I'm awake.

I awake with a start by the same rustling: this time inside the tent at a plastic carrier-bag I'm using for rubbish, placed two feet from my head. My eyes are instantly open stirring at the rat at close quarters, who's stirring back like an expectant dog looking for a bite to eat.

I start into action, unzipping the tent opening to chase the rat out, shouting in fury and momentarily dread that the rat has gnawed a hole in the inner-tent wall. And having my eyes off the rat a moment working the zipper, then return my stir, but the rat having vanished in the interval, having done a runner.

I check for damage to the tent made by the intruder, expecting a tattered hole, but find there's none. I check my food for breakfast and see the rat hadn't got that far yet. The only damage is a rip in the carrier-bag where it had been nibbling when I woke up.

I remember that rats can squeeze their bodies through a surprisingly small hole and this must've been the case, as there's two small holes in the inner-tent netting no bigger than a small coin.

Later while laying awake I think, having one can remaining of a three-pack of cheap tuna, which I can't get round to eating as it's basically an oily slop of fish flakes, that maybe I should open it and leave it out for rat. Rat would appreciate that.

On from my campsite on road A389, it is a grey hazy morning on the road giving a bleak look to the treeless landscape of plain with rows of wind-turbines along the brows of low hills to the side. Then a steep climb into Medina de Sidonia, where I lunch at a tapas bar, having two bigger than expected bowls of beef stew and a beer. Further on I'm on the familiar highway into Cadiz.

Near San Fernando: service road along main highway into Cadiz. Don't use it because soon I come to wet sections, too muddy to ride.

Today's ride: 198 km (123 miles)
Total: 9,943 km (6,175 miles)

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