August 18, 2015
Windmills Are They?: near Campo de Criptana to Rio/Lago Jabalon.
I follow the track out to the road at nine and once on the asphalt, stop to check the tyres haven't picked up dry thistle with a thorn enough to cause a puncture, which grow in my rough ground campsite, noticing the rear tyre isn't looking too clever: the tread worn down to orange casing underneath in a few places. It isn't too serious yet, the casing being tough and puncture resistant, or so it's said; all the same, it'll need replacing pretty soon.
The state of the tyre haunts me during the morning; riding along, should I suddenly hear a bang, the sound of a blowout, the rim dropping and rumbling along the asphalt to a halt. With no spare tyre to put on, I'd be very much stuck at the roadside in the open out of shade.
The road the same as yesterday, but renumbered from "N" to CM420 since crossing the autopista back on the outskirts of Mota del Cuervo, is a smooth and straight modern highway with ample shoulder: the countryside table-flat, mostly vineyard with a few lumps of hills to the side, one of which have old type windmills along the top, not the wind-turbine modern ones. I'm not sure if they're authentic or not, as they're quite far off and could actually be billboard-like cut-outs; but do know, they have to do with Don Quixote, as I've seen brown tourist signs saying "Via de Don Quixote": and Cervantes' classic did feature windmills.
Quite a few individual sport-cyclists pass on training rides; one on a very sleek time-trail machine, still with a competition number zip-tied to the seat-post, perhaps from a weekend event. Shortly, he is coming back towards me on the opposite side, having turned round at a roundabout ahead. This roundabout where I follow the sign right for Ciudad Real leads me un-expectantly onto a autovia, a secondary motorway, not really allowed for cyclists. And apart from a rough farm-track alongside, which can't be accessed because the autovia is enclosed by both metal crash-barrier and chain-link fence. I have to remain on the vehicle width shoulder until the next exit. A slip off to a village, San Juan on the righthand side, which happens to be kilometre zero for a road crossing the autovia via bridge and continuing left, southeast, CM3107 to Manzanares.
I first ride a short way on the service road, but find it a little bumpy and slow going, so return to the slip-roundabout and having checked the map, decide not to bother continuing to Ciudad Real, Manzanares is more in the direction of Cordoba, a city I really want to stop a few days in.
The road is dead straight and the same table flat viniculture as before and forty-five kilometres on the sign to said town. A few byroads intersect the way and there's also the fancy gateways to drives into fincas, or farms; but that apart, there's no village enroute: a landscape more like rural South American than Europe.
I see teams of migrant workers in florescent yellow hi-vis-vests at grape picking; and. see a field of red peppers.
I reckon it'll be a sizable town when I get there and sure enough it is. I pass underneath an autoroute and through a commercial park with big out-of-town stores on either side riding in. There's a Suzuki dealership, which at first sight looks just to be a scooter and motor bike showroom, though on drawing level with the glass shop-front, it appears to be a bike shop as well; so I pull in anxious to find a tyre. But it's only a place dealing in expensive carbon fibre racing and mountain bikes and thereby, only have light folding tyres not much use for touring.
In the town centre there's a Mercadona, which luckily doesn't close in the afternoon as it is now half one, so I stock up and lunch upon a bench under a tree to the side of the main drag.
Onwards I'm on a major road to Ciudad Real until a roundabout, where following the map, I pick up a small road south, CM5212; empty of traffic, it is five minutes until a car passes and as long again until I meet a tractor.
This road heads towards low hills: this area on the Michelin map is a blob of green. On going as far and climbing steadily it is flanked by forest: a change looking at greenery rather than ochre and having the warm fragrance of pine resin, instead of insecticide.
Shortly I come to a rest area with a water fount. I instantly think a place to camp with the bonus of water supply, even though it's only five o'clock and still hot, another reason I appreciate the pure cold water flowing from the pipe.
I undress and bathe in the water trough and rinse out my clothes and hang them over the bike to dry, which they start doing rapidly: spending an hour with my book, before dressing and riding up a gentle slope upon a car track to a forest clearing a little in from the road, but find nowhere all that level and a large group had camped previously and left behind all their detriteus; old soft drink bottles, beer cans, wine bottles, disposable plates, bits of soiled toilet roll and a washing-line strung between trees. Disgraceful people and there are lots of flies beginning to annoy me too.
At least I've as good as showered and done my laundry and in the circumstances, decide to ride on. It's still only six and thirty kilometres is possible before nightfall, lessening the distance to Cordoba and making the city reachable by Thursday.
Between half eight and nine I reach a wide river with rest area on its banks, a much more pleasant place where at dusk I put up the tent.
Today's ride: 121 km (75 miles)
Total: 9,328 km (5,793 miles)
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