DAY 4 - GOR to Gergal: BIKEPACKING THE SOUTH OF SPAIN
Destination: Gergal
Proposed distance: 117km, elevation gain: 2271meters, surface: 59% unpaved
In case you missed the previous episodes in this series:
Ok, let’s recap for a minute.
We are down one pannier. I’ve lost my weather resistant layers, emergency gels for fuel, and a bike lock, but we have managed to regain charge blocks and cords. Care Bear and I are mercifully similar in size and shape so we potentially have enough remaining layers to manage troublesome weather or an unforeseen night in the desert. But Care Bear is actually quite sick now, and she is currently riding a house of cards. Seriously, something is very wrong with her bike and it’s becoming a legit concern. Her bike has grown progressively louder each day and now sounds nearly as sick as she does. Even if she feels well enough to ride, I’m not certain that her bike can take much more before it implodes beyond the repair capabilities of our tiny tool collection. With no repair shops or bike stores close by, the next possible stop for help isn’t until part way through Day 6.
I laid in bed considering our predicament. Today is our longest day by both distance and elevation. It made sense when we planned it, strategically situated after an easy day, which we also lost in the aforementioned pandemonium. And then there’s the potentially consequential detail that today’s ride is through the most remote terrain of the entire trip. Not a town or community the entire day, and we are likely to lose both cell reception and internet for at least part of the ride. We had enough food for a huge day, plus groceries for a hearty breakfast all thanks to our impromptu detour through Ponzo Alcon. Still, it felt like we were tempting fate. I stared out the window at the beautiful view, the one I had hoped to spend the previous afternoon enjoying.
The last thing I wanted was the precariousness of our current situation to once again drag me down. It was going to take some resilience to keep moving forward. A while back, a friend gifted me some valuable advice on reframing. When he was racing Ironman and would hit an inevitable race low, he would remind himself why he was lucky to be out there. Seemed worth a try:
I’m lucky to have a body capable of traveling by bicycle
I’m lucky to be exploring a new country with my BFF
I’m luck to have Will, who is supportive of me carrying through with these wild ideas
I’m lucky to have the means to visit other places in the world
l’m lucky to be born at a time it is safe to travel alone as a woman
I’m lucky to have found chargers and food
I’m lucky to have a warm bed to sleep in
I’m lucky to be experiencing this view right now.
Those were all fair points. It did help keep the self pity in check. Now, how can I keep this entourage moving forward? We had purposefully built in a safety option to shorten today’s ride day if something went wrong. Time to pull that rip cord. If Care Bear is even well enough to ride, we are taking a short cut.
Modified distance: 84km, elevation gain: 1408meters, surface: 53% unpaved
I let Care Bear sleep as long as possible, hoping the rest would help her body recover and feel well enough to ride. I attempted some bike first aid, made breakfast, and got our gear organized. Her bike was not good. Barely able to shift into gear, and making the most noise. I tightened her barrel adjuster, which again managed to improve the shifting a little. I didn’t know what else to do. Why is this cable requiring so much adjusting? It shouldn’t be stretching after a single day. And why is the chain slipping worse with her feet on the pedals versus turning the cranks by hand? This required more than a 3-Star bike mechanic.
Care Bear woke up soon after, so I called a team conference. She was not well, but felt if we took it slow, the shortcut could be manageable. I was both grateful and concerned. We’re going to be so remote today, even with the short cut. I explained her bike predicament. She emailed Phil, her bike mechanic back in Ottawa, to ask if he had any suggestions. It was settled, we were going to head back out there, but I was gaining confidence that this would be the night we spend cocooned in bivy sacks stranded somewhere in the desert.
We said goodbye to Maria and headed out on the road. I touched wood, crossed all my fingers and toes, held my breath, and avoided stepping on any cracks as I mounted my bike and Care Bear mounted her house of cards. Please nothing go horribly wrong today.
It was a hard start, a punchy climb out of Gor, easily 200 metres of elevation on an 11% incline. Not the preferred method for warming up sick lungs. Care Bear was struggling and I knew it. I couldn’t tell if it was better to try and encourage her along, or let her work through her anguish unassisted, so I said nothing. We rode in silence, keeping time with her clamouring cranks, but what I was thinking was…
It didn’t get much better from there. The first 14kms were hard climbing, though we settled into a rhythm with Care Bear dictating the pace up front, silently battling an internal monologue of negative emotional states while her illness settled to a simmer just below the surface. I hung back, close enough to be helpful if needed, but intent on not contributing to her frustration. It was about this time I began to concede to the escalating reality that now I was also sick, thankfully not nearly as sick as my poor miserable Care Bear, but still, undeniably sick. I was also monitoring a concerning trend that my heart rate was about 20 beats per minute lower than expected for the level of exertion (a low heart rate is normal when fatigued. Low fuel storages and a strained autonomic nervous system doesn’t allow the heart to pump efficiently. Even considering this normal response to exertion, 20bpm is unexpectedly low). My body was beginning to give way. I wasn’t sleeping soundly. This morning I noticed my hunger and thirst cues had vanished altougher. Though I was still forcing food in, and it was staying down, the lack of hunger was not a good omen. This heart rate issue added to my concern. Going into this trip I was in reasonably good form, but I still missed an entire season of training due to injury, and I was only three months out from orthopaedic surgery. This was surely against medical advice. My body was not dealing well with this level of load and stress, and I wasn’t sure what would happen as we continued. My goal for the day became intaking as much fuel, liquids, and electrolytes as possible, then spend some extra time down-regulating my nervous system before bed. All I could do was provide bricks and mortar and pray my body could remember how to build a house. Luckily we got wise on putting salted juice in our bottles instead of straight water, and the flavours made it much more appealing to overload on liquids. I touched wood, crossed all my fingers and toes, held my breath, avoided riding over any cracks, and then distracted myself by documenting the surroundings.
I like this next video. If you listen closely, you can hear Jocelyne’s rackety peddle strokes, even over my breathlessness. Our soundtrack for another beautiful climb.
Ok, one more. Care Bear took this video. Listen…
I found this gem along the way. For sale? What? How much could someone possibly be charging for this?
Obviously I contacted the guy to find out. Some context here. It’s the middle of nowhere, really difficult to reach, and not on the way to anything. The closest town of any kind is Las Juntas, about five kilometres back, which was abandoned in the 20th century due to economic hardship. According to Chat GPT, it is actually a ghost village (though I can attest from personal experience that at least a few elderly people do live there, as if that’s going to sway you to buy this property). The current owner reports that the house has electricity, water, and internet 25 meters away. Sticker price is 40,000 Euros (What?!?! Delusional. I was going to offer him a crisp 20 to take if off his hands). I’ll pass, thanks.
The bulk of the day’s climbing was finished within the first two hours, bringing us right to the beautiful Sierra de Baza National Park, which has even more beautiful roads of what Coach L’Espy would call ‘champagne gravel,’ aptly named for both its colour and enjoyably smooth texture. We had traded in a sandy desert ecosystem for terrain lined with pines and intermittent clusters of deciduous trees that were starting to turn with the autumn weather. The temperature was a welcome 10 degrees cooler.
Sierra de Baza National Park
Highest peak: Santa Barbara 2,269 m / 7,444 ft
Interesting Findings: Ancient Human Settlements – Archaeological remains from Neolithic, Iberian, and Roman times.
Geology: A mix of high-altitude forests, deep valleys, and rocky terrain. It was once a mining area and still has mines and quarries scattered throughout the park.
Vegetation: At lower altitude you’ll see oaks, junipers, and mediterranean scrub. Higher elevations include pine forests with poplars and willows scattered along rivers beds and streams.
I knew we were venturing progressively more remote, yet somehow this still managed to be a complete surprise. Despite riding through a National Park and one semi-inhabited ghost town, the only signs of human interaction with the local topography were a few abandoned farms. Where was everyone? When I took out my phone to capture this image, I noticed we had officially lost reception. I kept this little detail to myself.
Shadows of farm land.
But the gravel remained in good condition for riding, and we were getting better at staying on top of our fuelling. With copious amounts of candy and salty juicy goodness in our bellies, progress was steady and morale unquestionably high. Finally some chill terrain to accompany this candy fest. And as always, incredible views.
We rode for hours though barren countryside of abandoned vistas and emerged onto pristine, perfect pavement. Why is this road here? There isn’t a car or human in sight, yet Spain felt the need to lay down some asphalt? It was as if the country learned of our hardship and paved the road as an apology. ‘You two had a rough day yesterday. Lost a bunch of your stuff. Here’s an uncharacteristically perfect descent where you don’t have to watch out for loose gravel or washouts. Have fun!’ We dropped 20km on flawless pavement, with the most stunning panorama. It was glorious.
Drooling over the upcoming descent.
Like children on a tobogganing run, we glided along laughing and shouting. This road is incredible! Insane! These views! Wouldn’t it be cool to live in that house? Why is no one here? Why did they bother paving this road? Where is everyone, they are missing out on this awesome road!
I’ll live here please. How much for this house?
We took a long time to descend, savouring every turn, stopping often to take pictures, echos of our euphoria trailing us through the valley. I could have easily been talked into climbing back up only to repeat the descent. Get the Go Pro, I want to relive this moment over and over.
We didn’t encounter a single car in either direction. It was wow, just…wow.
The decent ended at yet another abandoned building, confirming that surely at some point other humans used this land for something. Then reality hit. WE DID IT!!! We got through the most remote section, finished the climbing, yet nothing bad happened. OMG YES!!! Amy and Care Bear 4, Nights in the Desert 0. The bivy sacks remained stashed away for another day. It was a short 10kms into Gergal, much of it paved. I could push Care Bear now if her bike disintegrated, or tow her. We regained our composure and settled in for the final traverse.
Gergal is a small town of just under 1000 people, located on the edge of the Tabernas Desert (Europe’s only true desert), and it’s unapologetically authentic. Somehow despite the historical Christian takeover, it has managed to maintain pieces of its Muslim heritage. We weaved our way through the narrow, winding maze of whitewashed buildings stacked tall to obscure visibility, an urban planning style that now felt both foreign and familiar. Gergal was a time capsule, unaltered by the demands of modern western tourists, though these desolate desert landscapes apparently make it an interesting location for film. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, and Indiana Jones the Last Crusade were both shot here. Despite the small but notable Hollywood attraction, it still lies well outside the road most traveled. I was super surprised someone even bothered to make their home an Airbnb. It’s a very quiet place.
When we finally rolled into our night’s accommodation, Care Bear and I were both starving and required food instantly. (Yay! hunger’s back! My under-appreciated bikepacking companion, it’s nice to see you again). Being much too early for Spanish restaurants, Care Bear, Hunger and I embarked on an emergency search for snacks. In a fortuitous turn of trends, the reportedly open grocery store was actually open as reported. (Woah, what’s happening today, why so easy?)
This is when you learn Care Bear’s agreeableness is exponentially proportional to Hunger.
Me: “Should we get this?“
Care Bear: “Oh, yes.”
Me: “How about some chips?”
Care Bear: “Yeah, yeah chips!”
Me: “Half can of Pringles enough?”
Care Bear: “No, we can crush a full can.”
Me: “Do you want some nuts?”
Care Bear: “Definitely nuts yes?”
Me: “What kind do you want, peanuts, pistachios, or cashews?”
Care Bear: “All of them.”
Me: “Want some juice?”
Care Bear: “Yes, juice for sure.”
Me: “Hey, look figs!”
Care Bear “Great, get those too.”
This went on for quite some time. We left with an arm-full of groceries, which I volunteered to carry while Care Bear stuffed dried figs in my mouth.
It was Tuesday night with exactly one open restaurant. We were the only patrons. As official team translator, Care Bear ordered us a single glass of wine, which we decided to share in celebration of the relative ease of the day. If we had been feeling a bit smug with the success of our Spanish communications thus far, what showed up knocked us back to where we belong.
Getting really good at this Spanish thing.
It gets better. We decided to split one entree since we indeed crushed a whole can of Pringles and what could roughly be described as charcuterie for eight people as a late afternoon snack. The glass plus shot glass of wine arrived with the customary tapas starter that we had come to expect as accompaniment to our drink orders. As we waited for our main, we admired the beautiful quilts that lined the streets overhead. We decided the quilts were likely hung to create shade during the worst of the desert heat, but had the added significance of colouring the town with unique local flavour. As we sat and enjoyed our wine, we saw only two other people, both men in traditional garb visiting another’s home. When the door opened, Arabic music spilled out to the courtyard. It felt as if we had accidentally left Spain.
I also spent a notable amount of time laughing at Care Bear’s progressing helmet strap sunburn lines.
It’s not a proper gringo vacation until someone is rockin’ an awkward sunburn.
I took a surprisingly long time to finish my shot of wine, yet the meal still had not arrived. Why so slow? We are literally the only ones here. That’s when we realized we were at an actual tapas restaurant and the single tapas dish we ordered came promptly with our drinks. Nice. First time in a new country, hey girls? We ordered a few more small dishes, they were all excellent. One glass of wine, a shot glass of wine, and three tapas dishes came to 4.50 euros! Apparently the overly enthusiastic tourist tax had yet to find its way to this small town.
We finished the night in form, laying lazily on the patio, stretching our legs up the wall, staring dreamily at a blanket of desert stars, laughing at ourselves. I was determined to do a better job at calming my body and mind before bed when we were suddenly interrupted by Care Bear’s phone. It was Bike Mechanic Phil!!! He had just finished work back in Ottawa and had time for a video call. OMG yes!!! Someone who both knows this bike AND what he’s talking about! Sorry autonomic nervous system, you’re about to get kicked back into gear.
(Quick transition into Nerdy Bikepacking Stuff)
“Phil, we’re in trouble, listen to this bike.” I flipped over Care Bear’s bike and turned the cranks. We had a lengthy discussion on high/low limit and B-gap screws, cable tension and chain wear, debating each part and what could have possibly gone wrong in either air transit or one day in the saddle (you may recall this mess began way back on Day 2). During the diagnostics, we noticed the cassette was quite loose and would wobble around if you jiggled it (the cassette is the cluster of gears on the back tire). This was a problem. The cassette is supposed to be VERY tight - like 40nm tight (that’s very tight). If the cassette isn’t locked in place the gears slip around, which could cause the chain to break, or worse the cassette could fall off entirely, effectively turning Care Bear’s pedal bike into a larger version of a toddler’s strider bike. Not to mention a loose cassette is just generally unpleasant and inefficient to ride. But at least it explained the slipping gears and why the problem was worse under load. The real issue now was how to tighten the cassette. To do this you need very specific bike tools used only for bike maintenance. We were now in urgent need of a chain whip, cassette lockring, and a torque wrench (all of which are fun to use, none of which were present). Phil naively suggested we take it in to a bike shop. “No bike shops Phil, it’s been four days and we’ve had trouble finding coffee.”
“Ask every cyclist you see if they have a lockring.”
Sigh. He didn’t get it.
Before he let us go to commiserate on the depth of this problem, he commented on the copious amount of dust covering our bikes. “Your chains look pretty dry, you should really clean and lube them.” I told him we lubed the chains before we left Granada but neglected to bring the chain lube on tour with us to save weight (it’s only seven days, what could possibly go wrong riding through the desert in seven days, am I right?). I pitched an idea that had been brewing in my head the past two nights. Could we possibly apply our homemade chamois butter to the chains? It was mostly coconut oil and shea butter. He said it would have to be heated in order to become viscous enough to slide into the chain rivets. He pondered what else we could use, “olive oil?” YES!!!! We had tons of that available. Some right here in the Airbnb.
(I’m going to pull you back to Day 1 for a second. Look how clean my bike is. All shiny and ready for adventure…)
This is what we are working with now…
We cleaned the chains, then used the syringe I brought in case we needed to add extra sealant to the tubeless set up (yup, I brought extra sealant and not chain lube. ¯\(ツ)/¯ Tomorrow we put olive oil to the test.
Today’s Shout Out goes to : Bike Mechanic Phil for taking the time to troubleshoot our bike problems.
Until next time, thanks for Reading!
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