Dénia 07-11-2006
Granada to Águilas (2 days; 245 km; 2315m)
It's the first of November and time to move on again. We've seen the sites of Granada, done all the shopping we needed to do and besides the campsite is closing as well... Off we head towards the coast near Cartagena. We think it will take us five cycling days to get to Dénia, just north of Alicante, to visit Sanne's mum (Catja) and pick up some supplies. As early as our bodies will allow us, we get up along with most of the other campsite residents, pack all our belongings and hit the streets of Granada. The public holiday makes it's a very calm ride towards the Sierra Nevada outskirts. It is stunning. Again the jagged limestone cliff faces jut high into the air. Later on in the day, these turn to rich red coloured sand. We could have been in a gorge in the middle of Australia. Our goal is to try and get to Baza today and look for a nearby campsite. According to the map there aren't any, so there's a chance we'll have to camp wild. It's quite a beautiful day, the sun shines every now and again and the scenery is fantastic for the whole journey. We meet and are passed by more than a hundred cyclists. Autumn has also arrived in the Sierra Nevada and it makes a pretty picture with golden leafy trees against the steep mountain slopes. So far, another fabulous cycling day. That makes the climb to Puerto Los Blancaris (1297m) a little easier. We sail down to La Peza to find people living in caves and the beginning of the highway we needed to take to Baza.

There's only one road into Baza. No alternatives, and that normally means we can cycle on the highway. Not this time though! The signs are quite clear: no bicycles allowed. However, the thought of an enormous detour plus only a few hours of riding time means we go for it anyway. We peddled as fast as we could and surprisingly didn't encounter one police car. A week later we heard that all the police were at the cemeteries in Spain; All Saints Day and everyone visits the deceased. So that answered my question about why everyone was walking around Granada with flowers and bouquets the day before. At one stage, we spotted a service road running along the highway and after seeing another cyclist in the distance, we thought we'd try our luck with it. Unfortunately, we ended up behind a completely fenced off hotel and in the middle of a freshly ploughed clay field. After debating the options, I found a spot in the wire fence where others, obviously in the same situation, had made their crossing back onto the highway. We weighted the fence down with a cement brick conveniently placed by the roadside and with Ali on one side and me on the other we managed to lift our bikes, fully laden over and back onto the highway. We cycled as long as we could before it started getting dark. That meant, tomorrow a further 10kms on the highway. We took the exit to Parc Natural Sierra de Baza and found a break in the fence just before some trees big enough to camouflage our whereabouts. It was a farmers field, but we left it after a very light sleep the next day, just as we had found it. We rose as early as possible and did the 10km dash into Baza. Just as we entered the town at 8.30am we saw our first police heading in the other direction. They are still probably wondering where the couple of cyclist came from at that time in the morning with only one road into town. We sat next to the fountain in the square, observed with much curiosity from the residents and ate our breakfast. We left as the stores were opening for our next stop: Águilas. The weather had returned to its old ways and after a mild beginning, we were rained on, drizzled at and blown into our destination as it was getting very dark that evening. There was a lot of going down hill which helped us clock the longest riding day of this trip so far (150kms). Before lunch, the scenery turned from rolling hills into masses of construction sites; nearly all of them half finished. An equivalent amount of trucks servicing the granite, marble and building industry in this area continually whizzed past us but left just before Pulpi. A new landscape greeted us as we came over the hill: brightly clothed workers were easily distinguishable against the hundreds of rows of vibrant green lettuce. This continued on for kilometres and we were greeted with waves, smiles and warm hellos from the Africans and Moroccans busy planting and harvesting in the fields. Fruit and vegetables remained in view for the next few days and it showed the extent of the industry here in Spain. The last few kilometres were difficult as the rain started again and we stopped at a touristy town complete with flashy neon signs (San Juan De Los Terreros) to pick up a few supplies.

Águilas to Dénia (3 days; 303km; 2486m)
We awake and the winds are still going strong but we have to leave today to make Dénia by Tuesday. We have already cancelled our arrival a couple of times with Catja and we are also hoping to get to Valencia by the following weekend to get our Sony camera looked at. We continue on that day, battling the whole time against the winds, and our plan to reach Cartegena falls short. We decide to stop at Isla Plana because it is already 3.30pm and a mountain lies before us. The views that day are close to dismal. Apart from the fact that it is mostly overcast, we take what we now term "an Ali shortcut" and we end up on a deserted and very eerie vegetable farm. Mostly, these shortcuts lead us up giant hills or into unexcavated bush land. Today is no different and we ride around on difficult mud roads, totally shocked at the poverty stricken area. The plastic from the empty growing houses is shredded and blown over the whole landscape. This and any other rubbish is turned back into the soil and you can see freshly ploughed fields with bits of bottles, plastic, cigarette packages sticking out all around you. Further on the area is desolate. A few ramshackle buildings, not fit for animals to live in, dot the landscape. Washing hangs in the wind. They are padlocked with rusty chains and it's obviously someone's home. A few lonely people wander around picking up the discarded vegetables while seagulls feast on what's left behind. We both feel very sad.

The shortcut turned out to be a total hoax and not the first time that our Michelin map has let us down. After an hour and a quarter of pushing the bike through clay, rocks and over water pipes and rubbish, we head back to the highway. That night we replan our route. Next day we must do 110 km or so to reach a campsite just south of Alicante.

Next Day
Today we get up at six-thirty for an early start, we have the 110 km ride ahead of us. The sun starts shining as soon as we finish our breakfast and get on the bikes. The steep (14% in parts) climb to leave the valley behind us is very hard going, but the slight tailwind and the clear views make up for it. We reach the 310 metre high top (La Torre De Nicolas Perez) without stopping and then dive towards Cartagena, which we see far off in the distance bathing in the sunshine...
And now for reality: we do get up at six-thirty, we are going for a 110 km ride. However, it is totally overcast, still dark and very windy. The climb out of Isla Plana is short, incredibly steep (14% in parts). After 5 km, we finally reach the 310 metre high top (La Torre De Nicolas Perez), not without stopping halfway up because I have cramp in my upper thigh. I run around like a mad chook stretching and oohing and aahing until it disappears. The way I had dropped my bike on the side of the parking bay and my stretching position at the time that a rubbish truck passed, caused the occupants to stop and ask if I'm okay. We explain nothing is wrong and continue on up. The stormy headwind is full in your face as is the rain; makes life hell trying to get up the last stretch. We can't see a thing and when we reach the top at 310 meters, our hopes for a nice day are shattered when all we see in the valley below are low-lying clouds and storm-swept trees.

It is just as difficult riding as the day before and we are growing a little tired of the constant line of rubbish along the roadside. The landscape is mostly green houses of plastic. Artichoke farms are also increasingly present. We eat copious amounts today. Lots of museli bars, cheese and capsicum baguettes, apples and 6 litres of water and ice tea. We reach our destination absolutely shattered after 7 very hard hours of riding against the wind. Just before arriving in Santa Pola, a flock of rose colored flamingos fly along side of us and we remembered that there is also beauty in the world.

I would like to tell you that the following day the gales have subsided but they haven't. We leave just as every other day this week against the wind. This time we have 120 km to do. I can't remember much else except that I am pep-talking myself all the way. Before lunch, both our legs and knees are aching and considering the climbing we have just done and all the hills still around us, I doubt whether we will make the distance. We climb 937m in total today and halfway up one climb, just before we reach Altea, the wind dies down. Would have been great if the sun had started to shine but it doesn't. It starts to rain and doesn't let up until just before Dénia. Makes the ride down the hill from Benissa difficult. Brakes don't work in this weather and my gears are slipping. But of course, we make it to Catja's doorstep right in the centre of Dénia, just as it is getting dark. Her big warm smile cheered us up immediately and we enjoyed a wonderful evening chatting with her and her partner Robert until way past our normal bedtime. We sleep in a bed for the first time since we left Arnhem.

Sitting outside the Intermarche, Six Fours Les Plages 28-11-2006
Valencia: A different kind of Spain
Today, we rode an easy 90 km or so and camped just outside Valencia. The sun shone the whole day long and there was little or no breeze. Like the appreciated change in weather, the transformation in the scenery was also a welcomed sight. We were surrounded by orange trees overloaded with fruit, as the name Valencia would suggest: ripe and ready for picking. Narrow, winding and incredibly quiet farm lanes lead us in and out of small townships and up to National Parc-land with acres of rice paddies, abundant with wildlife. We were very close to our pre-planned destination: Devesa Gardens. However, upon arrival Ali was greeted (not) with a sour "The camping doesn't open until 4pm" (it was 3pm) and "Here's the price list. It'll cost 27 euros per night." After commenting on the rather large price tag for pitching a tent and resting two bikes, he asked if there were any camp sites further on. The receptionist, who had no intention of letting us stay, said she didn't really know. Seems a little far from the truth. To begin with, if you work in the industry, you generally have an idea about the competition in the area and secondly, there were three camp sites all within 500m of one and other about 5 km up the coast in Pinedo. You can't tell me that she didn't know that. Anyway, we took the first one with a gate open and reluctantly agreed to the outrageous 22 euros/night fee. By this time it was 4pm, Friday afternoon and Ali needed to get our camera to the Sony Service Centre in Valencia and ride back out again before it got too dark. Road works meant no other option than to use the main highway. He was in and out like a speeding bullet, as you would expect from Superman, both with good and bad news.

Firstly, Sony weren't going to pay a cent towards fixing the camera. In general, the customer service from this company leaves a lot to be desired and it's a damned shame that all our equipment is from them. On the other hand, the initial quote of 150 euros for a complete new lens had come down to 40-50 euros for a clean. This seemed a little peculiar, since the technician in Granada had said that there was no way of doing this. According to him, it was a completely closed unit. Lastly, we were stuck in this mosquito infested area, (due to all the rice paddies in the region), until Monday at the earliest. We had already decided that we'd move to another campsite the next day and although the number of mosquitoes didn't decrease, the price of the pitch did quite considerably, so that was some consolation. The facilities were just as disgusting as ever and apart from our luxury stay in Dénia, we have almost forgotten what it is to dare to sit on a toilet seat and walk barefoot on bathroom tiles. The couple of rest days and beautiful weather were put to good use though, as we did a gigantic wash, thoroughly cleaned and treated our bikes for rust, painted them, as well as carry out the normal maintenance stuff!

Monday came around quickly and we arrived at 10am at the service centre to pick up the camera. It wasn't ready and we were asked to come back at 1pm. Luckily, the evening before, we changed our initial plan of packing up and arriving at 9am to pick up the camera and then speed on out of Valencia to our next destination. Thought it would be nice to spend the day riding around and seeing the sights, do some internetting and ring the Thermarest representative in Madrid. The previous night, Ali's mattress got a bubble in it. Just when you think you've got everything under control, something else decides to break down. We talked seriously about finding another alternative to Thermarest but Richard at Prowind was so helpful and arranged a replacement without any bother that we began planning our trip around getting into Barcelona before siesta on the following Friday. We returned to the shop to find our camera waiting for us with the even smaller fee of 22 euros and an explanation that it was the best job they could do; there was still a small mark in the bottom left hand corner that couldn't be removed. It isn't that noticeable so we thank them for their help and also for pushing us forward on their waiting list. Normally, we would have to wait 15 days for this service. We also ask how we can prevent this from happening again but apparently there is nothing you can do. So, with regard to durability (advertised as robust), the Sony cybershot camera gets a couple of minus points from us.

Valencia itself is a modern, very clean and architecturally interesting place to visit. The dried-up riverbed of the Turia River has been transformed into a well maintained park with a network of foot and bike paths leading you right around the city. It was fantastic for cycling and we coasted along in the sunshine, sat at a cafe and enjoyed a beer while admiring the amazing structural forms of the Ciudad de las Artes (City of the Arts). This kind of architecture turns me on more than any Guggenheim! After shopping in one of the largest Carrefour I've ever stepped foot in, we took our lives in our hands again and cycled back along the highway to our campsite.

Valencia (Pinedo) to Barcelona (El Masnou): (4 days; 422km; 2066m)
The next day, (Pinedo to Benicásim; 98km) we rose and didn't dare venture out of the tent with bare arms or legs. Besides being really cold, the mosquito's were out in force. I thought mosquito's couldn't survive in the cold. How wrong was I? As soon as the sun peaked over the horizon though, the warmth furnaced in and I was again at my gloriest. After a short stretch on the CV6400, which was considerably quiet for early morning highways, and a never-ending ride out of town, we found ourselves again amidst the oranges. We followed our ol' favourite: the N340 for much of the way until Nules and then we finally had the chance to use smaller roads and surprisingly enough: freshly created cycle paths.

And that is absolute bliss after hours long of truck-roar in your eardrums together with the concentration required to keep your bike within the shoulder or road edge. We made our way into El Grau de Castelló, did some shopping and sat at the very modern port to top up the energy levels. For the rest of the trip we sailed pleasantly along the beachfront (mostly cycle paths) and again we had been blessed with perfect weather. It has now become blatantly apparent that since Dénia, the roadsides are freer from rubbish, the towns are spruced up and in general, there's a friendlier more welcoming air about the place. We followed the signposts to Azahar Campsite and for the first time in a long while, we were not disappointed at the end of the day. Immaculately clean, with running hot and cold water, reasonably priced and very friendly and rather mad Englishman to greet us at reception. We felt like we were being spoilt. Took a quiet walk along the beachfront and were overwhelmed by the stunningly majestic villas along the boulevard; the type you see in movies like Gone with the Wind. Went to bed reasonably early; not just because it's getting down to beanie (muts for the Dutch readers) wearing weather at nighttime, but also in preparation for the 130km of N340, the next day. We both weren't looking forward to it but there was no way out of it.

Spain in one minute

Not much to say about the trip from Benicásim to L'Ametlla de Mar (134km; 757m), except that using the highways means you can cover quite a number of kilometres in a relatively short space of time. But it's absolutely no fun! By 12 midday, I was already irritated by the constant traffic flow. We pulled off the highway, into a construction zone because it was way past refueling time, but up until then, there had been nowhere to stop. Unless of course, we considered sitting on the side of a very busy road to eat our lunch. Just before stopping at a service station later on in the day for refreshments, a young lad decided it would be fun to pull out onto the highway in front of us, causing us to brake harder than is comfortable on loaded bikes. The reason I say he thought it "would be fun" was that he laughed at us the whole time while doing this. What was that all about? By this time, we were both ready for another drink-stop. As we arrived at a service station a few hundred metres further on, another customer pulled up for petrol and the attendant went to serve him first. Fair enough, I thought. After all I had to get my drinks out of the refrigerator. I grabbed the usual two cans of Nestea Lemon and went to the counter to wait to be served. I was still standing there 10 minutes later and even after the attendant walked right up to the door of the shop on two occasions, saw me both times, ignored me and promptly turned around and walked back to a newly arriving customers. I waited a bit longer, but was fairly fed up by now and decided to leave. Ali suggested that I take the cans over to him and try and pay that way instead of my solution of crossing the highway to the service station on the other side. I took Ali's advise. The attendant was in the middle of a conversation, of course, and wasn't interested in serving me at the pump. "Un momento, Un momento" was all he could say. He needed to scan the cans in, was what I understood of his Spanish. Irritated, he walked to the cash register, took my money and mumbled something about respect, at which stage I pointed out that I was his second customer and the man standing next to me was his fourth. Therefore this had nothing to do with respect from my end. This is not the first time that I have got the impression that the Spanish don't really care if you step foot in their business or not.

On a much nicer note, we met Oliver, the unbelievably happy German cyclist, totally loaded up to the max on his bike and on his back. We were cycling down into L'Ametlla de Mar and he was on his way out. He made a bee-line for us from the other side of the highway. Obviously, he was eager to talk and we more than willingly stopped, exchanged stories and chatted for quite some time on the side of a truck-infested road. He was away for an undetermined amount of time, very bubbly about it and positively alive. We stumbled onto the subject of health insurance and the costs; he mentioned that he had had a heart attack four years before. I swallowed hard. To see this man now you wouldn't have known it. Amazing courage some people. We still had a kilometre of ten or so to go, so we reluctantly broke it off, but not before exchanging emails.

We coasted into town, found the Spar supermarket with a bread shop next door. Bought supplies and thought we'd ask at the very nearby tourist office about where exactly the campsites were situated. We were directed towards the closest, Nautic: we arrived, surprised that the tourist information had sent us to a place that had already closed down for the season. We ventured 2kms out of town, along the coast and very much alive fishing port, to reach Village Platja just as it was getting pretty dark. We washed, ate and slept very well.

The following day was yet another highway undertaking; (L'Ametlla de Mar to Vilanova i la Geltrú) 107km of continual trucks, cars, buses and anything else that moved faster than us. We entered Tarragona and very nearly didn't get out again. Signposting for anything other that the main highways is almost nonexistent in Spain. As the lone German cyclist, that we met later that afternoon, said: "Spanish roads are only made for cars." Occasionally, there was a side road or esplanade to take us away from the traffic but then we had to face potholes and incessant use of speed humps, which are a topic unto themselves in Spain. We enter and leave ghost towns with bars and restaurants firmly shut up for the winter: Molly Malone's; De Vuurtoren (The Lighthouse); Mucky Duck; Broodje van Kootje (Ben's Burgers or something similar) to name a few. We pass campsite after campsite, back to back and all shut. Our sights were set on Sitges but darkness was descending. A huge billboard advertising Villanova Park leads us up the steep hill towards a very large and expensive campsite. The woman at reception speaks fluent Dutch. Upon arrival a few raindrops fell. All the campers in our vicinity blame us or make a joke about whether we had ordered the rain or not. One Dutchman offers Ali the information that he was a roadie for Dire Straits for four years and that he sympathized with us as in his words: "there's no room for cyclists on Spanish roads". Yep, we get the picture! The rain was minimal and only lasted a few minutes. Besides it was the first we'd had in ages. That was okay. We both slept like logs after the full-on day in traffic. Tomorrow: Barcelona (69km to centre + 15km to campsite in the north: El Masnou).

After such a spell of great weather, we awoke to disappointing skies: grey and overcast. Started off on the N340 before taking the C31 along the coast. It rained the whole way and only let up before the outskirts of the city, though, the trucks made sure we stayed wet for most of the journey. The coastal road is narrow, winding and fairly steep. Absolutely no shoulder in parts and a railing that was no higher than my knee. Pretty scary stuff when the view is sheer drop cliff faces and the road is breaking-up underneath you. The rain made it extremely difficult: no or little braking power on the way down and hard slog on the way up. We pass a couple of cement factories and the cause of so many trucks on the road. On a sunny day, with less traffic, it would be a dream ride. We sat at a service station and gobbled down some baguettes, apple and chocolate swiss roll before embarking on the journey into the city centre and hopefully in time to swap our Thermarest mattress with a new one. We were both interested to see how it would pan out as 2.5 years ago we had travelled the same route in and out of town.

Well, we needn't have expected too much because nothing had changed. The road works were still going on with the same detours and even the same barriers. It looked as if they had hardly made any progress at all and again, it felt like we were in the middle of one huge construction site. Despite this and the maniacal driving antics on the way in, Barcelona itself is a wonderfully, exciting city with something to offer for everyone. Of course there's all the tourist spots and Gaudi's architectural madness to impress you, but just wandering around the small streets and plazas, full of shops, bars, cafes and bubbling with life, is also enough to keep anyone occupied for a couple of days. Better still cycle your way around; it's the only way to get through traffic and besides there's plenty of cycle paths even though they do tend to end abruptly and you are left in the middle of an intersection and wondering which way to go next. We got to the GR Zero shop 5 minutes after closing for siesta (1.30pm-5.30pm). It had taken us a good 2 hours to get from the south and through to the other side of the city. Luckily an employee entered just as we were cursing the annoying opening hours in Spain and he got the owner Angel for us. The shop was full of rock climbing goodies and we went back the next day to purchase a new rain jacket for me. The old Marmot Goretex coat I bought in America 12 years ago was not keeping the rain out anymore. Really should have replaced it before I left, but I was sold a bottle of spray that promised to reproof my ol' favourite. Sure it did, for about 4 rainstorms and then no more. Bought another Marmot; Precip technology, half the price of Goretex and it's really doing the job; breathable, waterproof and a great wind stopper at the same time. Comes in funky colours as well. I chose the yellow-lime green one so you can see me coming a mile away now.

Replaced the Thermarest and headed south out of town towards El Masnou. Last time we had to jump a fence and follow the train tracks. This time we took an pedestrian underpass and went inland a bit. Came across an annoying detour but managed our way back to the coastal road and bike path that took us nearly all the way to the campsite. Next day we realise that there's now a path the complete journey into Barcelona and the beachfront and marina have spanking new roads and apartment buildings. No shops open near the campsite except a tiny store run by an Indian chap and we buy a few things to eat that evening. Find a nice spot on the upper level, to pitch the tent and then start with cleaning off the mud which had covered every inch of the bikes, bags and ourselves. Meet Robin; a worldly knowledgeable and totally relaxed guy from Cambridge. We spent a most enjoyable late afternoon and evening chatting about everything and anything with him. Tomorrow he's off to catch the ferry to Ibiza and then on to Malaga via Dénia to meet up with a group heading on into Africa. We waved him off as he left the next day; backpacked to the hilt and on his old fold-up bike that'll probably remain in Africa. We both smiled; an independent traveller with his own means of transport, no matter how meager. Hey Robin, if you read this: keep in contact. We both think it'd be a buzz to meet up somewhere else in the world should it pan out that way.

Spend that day in Barcelona shopping for bike bits and a new back rack for me. Find the shop: Bike-Tech, that stocks Tubus racks and learn that it's run by a Dutchman. Chat with him for a while and then head back to our tent (15km further up the coast), as it's siesta time yet again. Ali fits the bike rack on while I make dinner and pack things up ready for tomorrow's departure: El Masnou to Calogne (98km; 934m)

We have already travelled this bit of the coast and our memories are jogged constantly as we gaze out over the cliffs at beautiful blue-green ocean views. The day is warm and gorgeously sunny (23 degrees) but not as hot as we remember our last venture. Then, we had to stop at every and any shady opportunity to take in water and recuperate. Today, however, it's an energetic but easy climb, up and down the hills. Later on that day, we pass through the touristy zones of Lloret and Tossa de Mar. Not my cup of tea, even though the beaches around the Costa Brava are exceptionally beautiful. Still, there's ample tourists roaming the streets to keep the place alive at this time of year. On our previous visit, 2.5 years ago, we passed terraced footpaths, lined with Heineken drinkers at 10am in the morning. It is Sunday today and we are pleasantly surprised to find a Dia% store open in a small township just before our destination Platje d'Aro/Sant Antonio de Calogne. The restaurants were filled and bubbling with chatter. It seemed as though everyone in the region had ventured here today for some reason. We cycled on a bit further, to arrive at an inexpensive, amazingly clean and tidy campsite with heated toilet amenities, hot and cold running water, plugs available at every sink and a little robin red breast that boldly hung around our tent and befriended us for our stay. It was such a pleasant environment we took a rest day along with some electricity to do some writing and repair the wobble in my front wheel axle. The temperature is dropping and apart from the actual cooking process, we spend most nights sitting in the tent. (Me completely inside and Ali in the outer section).

Calogne (Platje d'Aro) to Six Fours Les Plages (6 days; 558 km; 2992 m)
During the trip from Calogne to Capmany (85km;510m) we have the chance to take smaller roads and Spain is such a different place than it was previously. The closer we get to the Pyrenees, the greener it becomes and we dart along small and picturesque country lanes. We pass through Figueres, where we camped last holiday and visited the Dali Museum. This time we only stop to shop at an Intermarche before coasting out of town to find the campsite in the village of Capmany. Autumn colours are all around and we take a quick break next to lushes green fields alive with bird activity. A half hour later it's threatening rain but we only receive a light drizzle. We stop to ask for directions to the campsite and a road worker, babbling away in very fast Spanish, first directs us around the village and then corrects himself and points the other way and gestures a climb. We head into the village and stop at crossroads. A woman darts into her home upon seeing us and before Ali can ask her which way to go. Meanwhile, two elderly ladies hobble past, look sympathetically at me and my bike and hold their hands in the towards the darkening sky, while chatting away and agreeing with each other. We just go straight on and up a 13% climb that nearly breaks my legs, but it takes us out of town and straight to the campsite. Here we meet the same very happy German couple we met 2172km earlier in Lagos. They had been caught by flooding in Portugal and told us that one of the campsites where we also had stayed was completely flooded. (Monte Gordo) They were stranded, until the water subsided and hotels in the area were pumping water out for 2 days. In hindsight, we had been very lucky.

Our cycling trip through southern and eastern Spain: click HERE to view a larger map and more details

Capmany to Sigean (104km; 626m)
Today we would pass over the Pyrenees and into France. We were both looking forward to the change in culture; especially the opening times and food. Although the landscape had gradually transformed itself, there was an immediate change of attitude on the road. We were overtaken with the minimum of fuss, no incessant tooting and in general a much slower and calmer pace of driving. Roads are no better, but hey, you can't have everything your own way. One plus point is, we don't have to worry about where to get bread now. In France, if there is nothing else, there's always delicious fresh baguettes to be found. The day began with a 270m climb and although at the time I felt pretty good, it must have put a strain on me because for the rest of the trip, I was lagging behind Ali, which irritated him immensely. I just couldn't seem to get any power happening, even though I was pushing with all my might. Could have had something to do with the cramp in my right leg, or the wind that forever pushed me all over the road but didn't seem to bother Superman up front. He thought it was an easy 100km ride and tempers were rather frayed when we entered the town of Sigean at around 4.30. We still needed to find the campsite, do some shopping and get petrol and it was already promising dark. We shop and take a detour to get petrol at an Intermarche and are annoyingly disappointed to find it shut for no apparent reason. We leave, thinking about the cold dinner we will have to prepare and once back on our route, follow the sign that says 4km to the campsite. After 4 km we see another sign that indicates it's a further 2km. We continue along a busy road, with lights on as it's well and truly dusk, anxious to find our place of rest. No more signage to head us in the right direction but Ali spots the words 'camping' on a wall in the distance and we turn off at the next round about. Reception is closed, even though a sign on the door says "open from 2-8pm". We pitch the tent in the only 'non-gravel' spot and next to a light that we later discover doesn't work. That evening it stormed a gale outside and inside the tent. I felt so damned inadequate and Ali so extremely frustrated about going so slow. And I'm afraid there's no answer to this one. We both have to live with the fact that he's always going to be stronger than me and I'm never going to be able to climb those hills like he does. Doesn't mean I won't try though.

Sigean to Agde (72km; 252m)
Yesterday the winds were north westerly while we were travelling north. Would have been nice if they had remained that way. But no, we changed direction (SE) and so did the winds. So once again, in our faces or from the side. Trip was relatively easy though and very scenic; especially the Canal du Midi. Met a couple of Australians on bikes travelling in the other direction. (Tula and Richard- Ali thinks it is David but I'm sure it's Richard - Can you guys mail us to help clear up this little dispute). They had come from Greece, cycled through Italy and were now making their way towards Northern Spain. They told us about a 90km bike path starting in Toulon and running along an old railway. Sounds very tempting and we later change our plans and head in that direction. We bid goodbyes and wish one another happy travels and we stop a bit further on to have coffee, baguettes and chocolate cake before heading through winding one-way lanes lined with abandoned campsites and a ghost town amusement park. We wonder how these places survive on just a few months a year trade. The people that we do meet are friendly and all greet us with cheerful bonjours. The day was panning out very nicely. We stop at a tourist information in Agde and are directed to the only campsite open in the immediate area. Again no-one at reception and the man, who appeared to be the grounds-keeper had no interest in our aimless riding round to see if someone was in charge. I had noticed the 26 euro bundle charge on the sign before entering, Ali had only seen the 4.50/person charge. After returning from shopping, he confirmed that it was 26 euros/night and since the facilities were almost nonexistent we planned to leave as early as possible the next morning.

Agde to Aimargues (94km; 186m)
We rose at 6.30am and were out the gates by 7.20am. No-one in sight, reception not open, so we didn't pay. I guess you'd call it a runner but we are getting a little tired of paying outrageous amounts for no more than a small pitch and a shower. The sites don't have any facilities open and they are poorly maintained or as old as the hills. About 10km out of town, we stopped on the beach front to have breakfast and watch a golden sunrise. It was a little on the cool side but the warm coffee helped combat that. Back on the bikes for another couple of hours. We normally ride between 1.5-2 hour stints before breaking for food or just to rest the legs. Pretty easy ride today; flat and scenic along an initial coastal stretch followed by farmland full of vines and olive trees. We pass by Montpellier Airport as a plane lands and stop at a Decathlon store to see if they have anything we want. They don't. Winds pick up in the afternoon and by evening it's really blowing a storm. I was awoken on several occasions due to the tent blowing left, right and centre. We feel really safe though in our Helsport tent. It's proven itself time and time again in very turbulent winds and rain.

Aimargues to St Chamas (93km; 291m)
The last time we were in the Camargue National Park we faced the mistral. This time the winds were just as strong. The whole day we pushed against head and side winds that had me all over the road. Even Ali was dancing sideways on his bike at times. He stayed up front to cover me most of the time. The Camargue was just as beautiful as I remembered. Rice paddies, vines and an abundance of wildlife all around. The golden colours of Autumn surrounded by lushes green grass was more stunning than any photograph could relay and it helped keep your mind off the blustering winds blowing you in every direction other than where you wanted to go. The straight roads leading towards the campsite in the late afternoon were a little harder to bear. Not much scenery until we hit the lake Etang de Berre. Campsite is a welcome relief as it's getting dark that evening. The man behind reception speaks several languages and keeps Ali entertained for a while. We find a grassy spot near the toilet block, eat and fall asleep very easily. Oh my aching knees!

St Chamas to Six Fours Les Plages (109km; 1127m)
One of the most scenic and picturesque rides yet and France is just truly spectacular. The more I see of this country the more I fall in love with it. We have a lot of climbing to do but with every steep passage comes a magnificent view and then lightning drop into colourful valleys. We wind our way through farming land full of vines and pass through Arles. Ali is just as inspired by the beauty as Vincent van Gogh because he keeps commenting on the dappled colours of the plain trees lining the streets. The weather is on our side and the sun shines often enough to keep us warm. We still need to close our jackets as we drop down the side of mountains and open them again as we climb back up. We have a very hard days workout and it's unanimous upon arriving at the campsite: a couple of days rest before the next trip from here to Lucca (Italy).

Imperi@l Point , Imperia 03-12-06
Easy end of month: Six Fours Les Plages to La Roquette sur Siagne (2 days; 163km; 1133m)
We spend three nights in Six Fours les Plages Campsite, is nothing special and has a 17 euro fee excluding tax; but there's green grass, good light next to our tent, pressurized hot water, shopping facilities close by and free internet outside the Intermarche. We also tap into the electricity supply in order to get everything ready for the end of month update. On this note, we have to say to all our regular readers that we are sorry if the updating seems a little spasmodic. Firstly, most of our day is taken up with cycling and trying to find somewhere to camp. It's dark by the time we have set the tent up and so we tend to stick put and not venture much further than the toilet block. Secondly, it's a lot harder than you think to find internet access out of tourist season and especially when you are travelling through tiny villages in Spain and France. Admittedly this month, there was probably the chance in Barcelona, if we had pushed it, but changing the mattress and stocking up on bike supplies took all of the time available before the Spanish break for their siesta. By the time the shops open again, it's pitch black and cycling 15km on highways is not really a recommendation. We are hoping that as we head towards Asia we won't have the same problems with tracking down an internet cafe as we have found in Europe so far.

Ali had been to the Tourist Office the day before, picked up the cycle route map and we were set to follow it from Toulon almost through to Frejus (just north of St Tropez). Well, that's what we thought. The path from the campsite to Toulon was reasonable enough, although they are still building it, which means it doesn't always join up and you still have to ride on and cross some most precarious bits. Coming into Toulon was great, along the highway on your own little highway! In the city centre itself, it became a little confusing, but after a few stops and the power of deduction we managed our way out. Most of the route here is on the original or service road, which means hang on to your handle bar and be prepared to swing around the holes.

We soon found ourselves on really great tracks similar to those in Luxemburg and leading through suburbia and green forests. The day had started with us waiting in the tent for the rain to stop, but by this stage there were blue skies and the sun kept us warm enough to warrant only two layers of clothing. It was really excellent cycling and France showed us yet again some of her radiance and natural beauty. With regard to the cycle track though; there is 90km of cycle paths but they are not yet a network. According to the tourist pamphlet there will eventually be a 102km stretch leading from Toulon to St Raphael, which will be great for all cyclists great and small but unfortunately it wasn't finished for us to enjoy. We did find the section that was created over the old train track and that was a real buzz darting up and down the hillside, through gorges and tunnels. After St Clair, however, it was only really when you started to enter a town or along a boulevard that you found a decent enough space to feel comfortable about cycling. The roads weren't too busy until late afternoon, which helped. The section between St Clair and La Croix-Valmer was hilly coastal road and almost no shoulder but the views were definitely spectacular. We then descended and along the coast to St Maxime where we could see how the other half lives in St Tropez across the bay. By this stage we still had 20 kilometres (or at least we thought) to do and it was already 3.45pm. In an hour it would be dark. No real break then and back on the bikes. We arrived in Frejus at 4.45pm and true to our words it was time to put the lights on. We had great difficultly finding our way out of the city and to the campsite. A passerby had informed us that we still needed to do 10km before reaching our destination and he wasn't far wrong. We arrived, after a short shopping stop, at 6.00pm to be welcomed by a very bubbly and enthousiastic French woman who lead us round the campsite in her golf buggy until we found just the right spot for us. It was freezing cold, completely black and we were both tired; me more than Ali, I think. I fell asleep directly after a warming dinner of buttered, lemon, honey vegetables with rice. I don't remember much except crawling into my sleeping bag fully clothed, after reluctantly facing the cold, damp air to clean my teeth.

Today, still very damp and below 10 degrees, I confirm that I'm not a cold climate person. Over a breakfast of baguettes with cheese, chocolade pasta and strawberry jam, filtered coffee and peach and orange juice, Ali mentions the clothes this morning are wetter than when we put them on the line last night. We pack up and leave quite late for us: 9.30am and strike the first climb within a few minutes of riding. I get off and push for the last bit, which is the first time since the initial two weeks of the trip. Superman of course pushes on and reaches the top. We both take off a layer and our long bike pants and continue on our trek up a 311m climb. It was an hours steady, but easy ascend (+/-4%) and the whole while vast bush land valleys below make me feel so small in comparison. It was stunning scenery, once again and we enjoy the sun when he finally pushes through at just before 12pm. By that stage we are well and truly going down the mountainside. I stop to pick some wild thyme which is abundant in this region. We stop in Mandelieu at one of those giant shopping traps and I get engulfed for 35minutes or so inside, before re-submerging and facing an impatient Ali outside. He still isn't quite sure where the campsite is and we follow our noses into La Roquette sur Siagne. Campsite is a kilometre or so along the main road. It's still early, 2pm and enough time to get all this ready for our hopeful update tomorrow. But the way it's been going so far, I don't like to promise anything. Tomorrow, December 1, we have to cycle 85km; zigzag through Nice; travel the coastal road; pass through another country: Monaco and end up in a completely different one to here: Italy. So, who know's what could happen.

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