Shop Day: South of Cuenca, N320 to near Campo de Criptana.

August 17, 2015

I'd a pleasant dream; though can't recall what the dream was about, when I woke up in the grey light of morning. Later see the sun breaking unhindered by cloud through the trees forming a hedgerow around the stubble field I camped in the gateway of, shortly making the tent too warm to be in. It's going to be a really warm day I thought.

I finish the muesli with the last small carton of chocolate milk. Now going into a new week, all shops will be open and I should be passing somewhere to restock the food pannier.

I ride out the track along the riverbank to the road shortly before nine. The first few kilometres winds it's way through pine trees broken regularly by rough ground with rock outcrops. Then the itinerary turns to what it would be for the duration of the day; namely, rolling yellow plain with stripes of light brown; wheat and barley stubble with cultivated squares with regular folds like a rumpled patch-work quit on a huge scale, meaning lots of steep inclines with twelve-thirteen per cent grades, some a kilometre or more long. Then over the crest the descent is too quick, seeing the road ahead rise straight up the next incline.

It's climbing one of these I hear rapid Spanish chatter from behind and glancing back, see two lightly loaded cycle-tourers catching me up. They come level, a young couple, he a tall bearded and fair featured Viking and she Moorish origin with olive skin; both on mountain bikes with only rear panniers, meaning they pass me no bother. He shouts a brief greeting and she a "Buen viaje!" It isn't possible to speak more because of the deep breathing caused by climbing as they surge ahead. But putting all my training on the Tourmalet last week to good use, I up my pace, remaining a few bike lengths behind them for quite a bit as the road continues upwards.

Once over the top of the rise, there's a right-angle turn off to a village, which they turn and follow. I assume looking for a café for breakfast. Not longer after though, they pass me again, most likely having not found a café.

La Almarcha, the first significant place marked on my map and which I see on cresting a rise shortly after noon, is a disappointment being a scattering of houses and buildings halfway up the next hillside. Not much more than a village and not looking to be a place with a supermarket. When I swoop down and climb up as far, it's little more than a crossroads place with autopista exit a bit further uphill. There's a Renault garage, an agricultural machinery dealership and a large three-storey hostel on the corner with a restaurant on the ground floor, the only place there seems to be food. There are lots of people upon the veranda front and inside too, where I order a coffee and a big slice of madeira cake.

The coffee hits the spot in terms of quality and there's a power-point and wifi, so I go out to the bike to get my netbook and cable. The one downside is I spend too much time online on this site. It's depressing me the amount of pen and paper writing I've done and have not updated to the journal yet. It'll take quite some time doing when I get some place interesting to stop a few days. Philip Malone come back with a query on Bari in the journal questbook: a bright moment as he is such a nice person, though the message is a week old.

It has gone two o'clock when I close the netbook, so I go to the bar and order a beer and sandwich. What I should've asked for is a "Brocado". a crusty baguette type; instead, when the man brings out the sandwich to the table, it is two slices of that soft industrial pan used for toasting with an equally industrial slice of ham and slice of cheese in between. For three euros fifty, I can see profit margins are high on these; like money for old rope.

The beer is thirst quenching though and with no supermarket in sight, there is no other option with my depleted food pannier.

When I return outside big white cumulus have filled the sky, reducing the forenoon heat to a more comfortable high twenties.

The next place looking big on the map as it is located where a Madrid-Valence autopista crosses N420, is Mota del Cuervo and 52 kilometres away. I should get there by half five when they open up after siesta.

This is what happens. I arrive in town at a supermarket just as the personal inside are preparing the tills before opening the doors.

I finish the day riding until near dusk, trying to reduce the distance to Ciudad Real to less than a hundred kilometres (a place to stop a day) and camp upon rough ground with good access track between rows upon rows of vines.

The road ahead appears the same colour as the sky.

Perhaps a camp spot over there among those trees. It is a bit early though.

Today's ride: 124 km (77 miles)
Total: 9,207 km (5,718 miles)

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