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December 6 Tuesday Bicycle touring Spain from Marabella Spain to Jimena de la Frontera Spain We are riding our fully loaded touring bicycles along Spain's Mediterranean coast. Beautiful view. The sun is shining warmly. It is a great day to be bicycle touring! We approach a tunnel in the middle of nowhere. Believe it or not, in the middle of the countryside, a "No Bicycles" sign has been erected on our wonderful bicycle touring road. We look around for an alternate route. Maybe we have to climb over the top, around the tunnel? Not seeing any alternative, we turn on our red blinking Vistalites and ride through the tunnel as quickly as we can. We spot the rock of Gibraltar in the distance and pull our touring bikes off to have breakfast, while admiring the rock from a distance. I take a picture with a fisherman in the foreground and the rock in the distant background. We finish our breakfast and get back on our touring bicycles to continue of Spanish bicycle tour. The Rock of Gibraltar looms larger as we struggle to pedal up steep grades. We fly down a long hill into Algeciras. Now this is what I call bicycle touring! Nothing like a smooth downhill to feel the free spirited wind in one's hair ... even through my bicycle helmet. We have cycled to Algeciras because we have been thinking of taking the ferry to Ceuta, on the tip of Africa, then cycling along the northern coast of Morocco to Tanger, and then back by ferry to Algeciras. We think it should be fun cycling in Morocco, and will add another country to our bicycle touring accomplishments. Upon arriving at the port, we are hassled by two Moroccans -- one wants to sell us what he says is a cheap ferry ticket to Ceuta; the other wants to sell us hash. They are so belligerent and persistent that after half an hour of their nonstop onslaught we don't even want to go to Morocco anymore. There must be a hundred "ticket agents" in this area all selling "cheap" tickets to Ceuta and Tanger. It would cost us $100 each by ferry there and back. We decide not to go -- mainly because we don't want the hassle right now of being persistently pestered. I can't imagine what it might be like in Morocco, if we're getting this high-pressure in Spain. I don't think I could handle 24-hour in my face barter at the moment. We need a vacation from our bicycle touring vacation. We pedal slowly away from the harbour area, and stop to eat lunch in a park. It is a beautiful 28º C. We decide to cycle inland to Ronda, check out a few old Spanish towns, then cycle towards the French Mediterranean where we will meet Roger and Suzanne for Christmas. As we cycle out of Algeciras, I take a road that follows the coast, It soon ends in a scuzzy neighborhood. We ride our bikes down side streets, trying to intersect with the auto via, or main route. We come to another dead end. I go to the very end of the road. From there I can see the freeway across the empty lot. We get off our fully loaded touring bicycles and push our bikes across the lot to the main highway. That's an advantage of having a bike! The first part of our cycling route, once we're off the busy freeway portion, is smooth and flat. Pretty much a touring cyclist's dream. There is far less traffic and there are quite a few cyclists out training. The Spanish like their racing bikes. They are all clad in brilliantly coloured flashy racing duds. We've seen packs of them out for club rides today. A single rider passes us without saying a word. Usually they greet us with a cheery 'Ola!' as they pass in either direction and a big hand wave. Sharon and I crank our speed up a notch and fall in behind this guy, riding in his slipstream. He is not too happy about this. Two touring cyclists loaded to the gunnels, right on his tail. He keeps hacking and farmer blowing his nose off the side of his bike. Whoa, keep back -- don't want to get hit by that stuff. I thought the green slime in our flat-proof tubes was bad enough. A few kilometres farther -- still without a word, but obviously not impressed, he cycles off onto another road. I yell "Adios" at his departing backside and we continue cycling down the road, happy as two clams. We cycle into Jimena de la Frontera. I stop at a gas station to phone Roger and Suzanne, but, predictably, can't get the phone to work -- even with the assistance of a woman who works at the station. I think the phone will not accept enough money to make an international call. After trying a dozen times with different coin combinations we give up. It is dark as we pedal away from the gas station. As we fly downhill on our fully loaded touring bicycles and through town we pass a group of civil guards parked on the side of the road watching for speeders. As we whiz past, one shines a super-bright flashlight into my face. Ola! Pedalling along in the dim light, we see a road off to the side. It is steep. We get off our fully loaded touring bicycles and struggle to push our bikes up. We constantly slip on the steep slope. Near the top, we find a flat spot by a farmer's gate. We have an awesome view of the town below. It is amazing how well dogs' barking carries to us high overhead. When choosing a free camping spot while bicycle touring, this is something to keep in mind |
