Spanish Steel

I’d really been falling out of love with cycling in the weeks leading up to this trip. Training was becoming endless, boring, and a total drag. Hearing myself complaining to my coach was bringing me down and eventually I was actually dreading the thought of having to ride everyday for 7 days. Living the athlete life and being totally committed to the training had led me become blind to why I was riding, and just wanted it to stop. Had I made a big mistake in planning this?

In the last week of November, I spent some time riding in Andalusia, based in Ronda and riding mostly around the Sierra de las Nieves and Sierra de Grazalema. I’d made the plan to do this trip back in August when I was thinking about how to structure the winter of riding, when I would be most put-down by the miserable English weather, and at which point I would have some sort of physical shape to tackle Cat 1 + 2 climbs - I hadn’t ever ridden this length of climb before and was pretty nervous to say the least.

In planning the trip, I was regularly advised to book through a company who could arrange my accommodation, plan my routes, provide support etc. As a self-sufficient and independent introvert, I was dead against a ’training camp’.

Paying an extortionate sum of money to a friendly Englishman in Spain to give me some GPX files just didn’t gel with my way of doing things, so I planned my own routes, got my own accommodation, and soigneur’d myself silly. With Strava, a Garmin, and a PMA to equip oneself, why rely on other people?

I really wanted to get the best training input from the mountains i.e. riding hard everyday, but it was paramount to actually enjoy the riding, the landscape, the culture, and to soak up the all of the delicious riding the Andalusian  Sierras have - and the grey wintery British Isles do not.

Steeled with my mantra of self-sufficiency in mind, knowing no Spanish and knowing no-one in the area only made things more exciting.

I felt a huge attraction to the fantasies of having mechanicals high up on a mountain pass, shafting tyre fixes from old tube, and drinking from the source of a holy river as my only sustenance. Suffice to say that none of this never happened, but it would have been fun if it did, right?

Honestly I’m glad it didn’t and have lady luck to thank for this fortune, but also this luck was grounded in the foundations of a totally solid bike and superb kit. Preparation is key.

To squeeze every drop of riding soul out of the serpentine descents and vista-strewn ascents of the area, and to be ready for the unpredictable roads of the lesser-explored parts of the Ronda area, I was gifted with a Mason Resolution, stepping in a Hunt 38mm Wide Carbon wheelset to pilot, scrutinise, and drool over. Effectively maintenance free, massively agile and infinitely composed over the changing surfaces. I was in Morvelo kit for this whole ride, fully stoked on the rad designs that they produce and never in need of extra features.

Up until my departure, the holy grail of riding for me was clearly to be found in Wales. Those winding, smooth rolling, curiously-named, Cat 4s (and sometimes even Cat 3!) climbs with AT LEAST 100m of descent were my mystic mountains. Far beyond the exaggerations that surrounded the Zig-Zag and Leith Hill, this was real cycling.

I also learnt that the strange thing about climbs is that it really doesn’t matter how long it goes on for, once you commit to them they all feel the same. Just as hard, just as far, just as daunting. The rhythm of our hearts dictates our climbing rhythm too. Some of us bomp, bomp, bomp; some of us spin and blow our way to the top; and some of us dance our way there. However we do it, its personal, emotional, and rewarding. Just that sometimes the roads and tracks that you take to get there are more rewarding than ever…

DAY 2

On the morning of the second day I woke up from a good sleep, swiftly cooked up some porridge and eggs, and got kitted up. That ritual seems oh-so familiar now.

Nothing really prepares you for your first Cat 1. The length just astounds you. You look up the wall of mountain in front of you, there is no road to see and path unimaginable. But on the tarmac snakes, each bend materialises before you. Then there is the discomfort and disbelief of seeing 9.1% on your Garmin for as-long-as-you-can-remember. This leads you to question your Garmin’s functionality, and this then leads you to question the functionality of your legs, your mind, and other such pathetic whimpering.

But then there is the vista in any direction, and the otherworldly magnetism that keeps you pushing on through each hairpin, each Km marker, and the lactate that you’ve being trying to ignore. The feeling of the wind picking up and the temperature dropping as you collect the metres, signals that this is a real deal, and a proper adventure.

DAY 3

Cold starts today, in fact pretty much everyday hovering around the 6/7 degree mark until 11am when it rose to 18/19. Warmers were cherished in the morning, cursed by lunchtime. Even by the last day, it was a strange feeling getting ready to ride with arm warmers, leg warmers, neck scarf, and a blazing sun. And despite this, it was the most beautiful and more-ish riding that i’ve ever had, i’d ride for hours on end in the mountains and cold over blazing sun any day. The apartment that I was renting in the interesting and story-like old part of Ronda had no heating, and was entirely of stone: stone floors, stone walls, a stone sink, and mattresses of stone. Cold to finish too.

Fully buzzed and rearing to breath the sharp air, I headed out ready to take on the mountains. I had planned a slight deviation from the usual route to get out of Ronda, and what a mistake that was. At first it was fun, crossing the electrified railway line, skidding around on gravel, and feeling like a TCR winner. But continuing further along this track towards ‘leave the road’ things soon turned for the worse and I was faced with terrifying guard dogs, around every fucking corner and barbed wire fences with scary signs that I couldn’t understand. Or the 16% gravel gradient to get back to the start, and make the regular, boring descent to get back on track. I chose the gradient.

Cortisol wears me out. Remainder of the ride was pretty tough. I couldn’t stop thinking about being eaten by dogs and how I would explain my return with a hounded-Mason to Dom. I saw his angry face in each serrated tooth that filled those foaming, ferocious jaws. Headwinds on the way back to Ronda, just to make it easier.

Reset and recover for tomorrow.

DAY 4

Didn’t get the sleep I needed last night, stress from the day and the dogs had me wired, unable to switch off. However, I managed to slip into (what is very rare for me) a lie in, it was only 1hr but had a greatly positive impact on my overall feeling.

The plan for the day was to get some recovery in, a flattish easy spin to clear the legs and the head. I was also keen to get a few kms of gravel covered too. The flattest route I could find around these parts still had a couple of main road Cat 4s, but it would have to do.

For the most part, the riding today was plain and uneventful, but the route took me across 3km of rocky, sandy gravel. With the change in terrain came a change in emotion. Isolated feelings and expansive desert-like scenery transported me to the middle of a vast expanse of loneliness and smallness, but these were humbling emotions and it was totally enthralling.

In the remainder of the afternoon and crisp sunlight I took my Dad up the Puerto de los Palomas, the Cat 1 climb that I had ridden on day 2. He’s really getting on now, so it was great to be able to share some of the area’s beauty with him. I’ve always had a huge respect for Dad, in that despite him not being able to ride a bike, he has always fully supported my efforts and he just seems to get it. It felt great for him to see exactly what I saw, but from another perspective.

We watched the vultures and eagles from this peak for 20 mins, then drove home in wonderment.

The day came to an end over arroz negro and a local wine.

DAY 5

And how he recovered! Fastest and furthest day so far, not quite as high but with thrilling descents.

Waking up feeling fresh, and mountain-minded once again. Made the most of my recovery and tackled a section of La Vuelta 2014. Steady C2 climbing straight out of Ronda, followed by the best descent so far into El Burgo. Really testing on bike and rider - sketchy road surface, tight corners, big drops. Scary. As with most things scary and difficult, it felt like a real accomplishment to get down it. After the descent, it was superb; rolling terrain for next 30-40km and once more, testing corners to get a real feel for how the bike handles.

The downside of all of this was the stretches of wide-open A road headwind, and repetitive 6% sections, but respite was found in the mega fast run into Ronda. Average 55km/h for 2 mins, on the flat! And got ahead of many Pros in Strava! Win.

After much deliberation, a big ballsy route planned for last day, 2500m climbing and again in the beautiful Sierra Nieves, sacred Sierra. Overdosing on squids ink paella got my head into it too - guilt ridden once again.

DAY 6

It goes without saying that I wanted to go all out on the last day, so prepared an ambitious route. I wanted to get a good at least 2500m of climbing in and to have another go at the descent into El Burgo, I was sure that it would be the long, technical, scary descents that I would miss the most back in UK. So, the route took the best parts of the the Vuelta features from the previous day, but added 2 C2s and the 2 speedy anti-climbs that came with them.

It’s an immense feeling of relief to have finished the week in one piece, no crashes, no scrapes. I’m pleased with myself avoiding rookie mistakes and making the trip work. I feel that I’m returning with great routes, stronger legs, and knowledge for future trips to the area, whether alone or in a group. It was the perfect way to become deeply connected with the Resolution and to see how it stacks up against more serious terrain.

Something amazing happened on the first day of riding, something that hadn’t happened in months of riding 5 days a week. I felt emotion, and it was just ecstasy. I still haven’t let go of it, and that’s going to drag me through the cold season until the mountains meet me and Mason once again.

So, I’ve got pedal mashing mojo back. Just needed a little less thinking and a lot more adventure.