Day 5 - Gergal to Laujar de Andarax: Bikepacking the south of spain
Destination: Laujar de Andarax
Proposed distance: 66.6km, elevation gain: 1272 meters, surface: 45% unpaved
In case you missed the previous episodes in this series:
It was a glorious morning in the south of Spain. Despite the midnight diagnostics consultation with Bike Mechanic Phil, Jocelyne managed a few solid hours of sleep and was miraculously less sick than the previous day, so she let me sleep while she prepared our modest breakfast. I woke to food on the table and our bike gear organized for the day. I was grateful for the kindness.
We were packed up and ready to leave in record time. I glanced up as I hauled my bike out the front door. It would be clear skies and sun cranked to full throttle for our pass through Tabernas, Europe’s only true desert (we haven’t actually been in a desert yet?!?).“You know,” I noted “this is the first day since Day 1 that we both woke up in a good mood.” Time to take advantage.
Adios Gergal.
It was early as we left the streets of Gergal, yet still somehow uncharacteristically quiet. Something was missing…No! It can’t be. Jocelyne’s gear grinding problem had vanished?! Completely. My jaw dropped as I stared wide-eyed at Care Bear. The olive oil had worked!!! (Thanks for that Phil). Turns out, her chain was so dry it nearly disintegrated to dust and returned back to the earth from which it came. Her cassette was still loose, and though her shifting had improved, we were cognisant she could loose it at any time. We had successfully located a bike shop enroute tomorrow, Day 6/7. Until then she would remain the Queen of Optimism, riding a house of cards. But at least there was silence, and this made us both less edgy. I beseeched a silent plea that Care Bear’s bike remain both assembled and upright, then allowed myself a tiny smile; savouring the underrated sound of silence, the not yet too hot desert sun kissing my tanned skin, and the sweet aroma of olive oil wafting from our chains.
The desert terrain was lined with beautiful, crumbling sandstone cliffs, creating dramatic rock formations and deep, empty ravines. We rode the low ground, tracing a dried river bed. The photo ops were plentiful, and I was in the mood.
We stopped at a large crevasse slicing the side of a cliff. I hypothesized that if we could lean the bikes together they could passably function as a tripod and we could get a cool self-timer shot.
I was correct.
We meandered on, taking in the scenery, when I suddenly hammered on the brakes. “Pomegranate tree!” I yelled, and ran over for closer inspection. Most of the fruit looked spoiled but I was determined to find one we could cut open later to accompany the poolside cold brew of which I was already dreaming. I climbed the tree in my kit. Care Bear provided emotional support.
I was elated when I managed to find one that was untouched by worms or rot. Care Bear volunteered to carry it, tucking it away in her jersey pocket as we ventured on.
We emerged from the south side of the Tabernas Desert, landing on pavement which led us to more populated towns. We stopped for ice cream and stocked up on juice and groceries to compliment our thus far candy only lunch. We had entered a markedly different part of Spain, with more fertile soil, a richer economy, and tourist attractions.
It was a welcome change to be venturing through places with actual amenities. I began to comprehend why one might choose to road bikepack. I loved seeing this country on a gravel bike. We had access to places too far to reach on foot and not plausable by car. We covered significant distance every day and experienced so much beautiful, rugged terrain. However, the down side to the serenity is a serious lack of customary conveniences. We had experienced real concerns finding food and were mostly resigned to carrying the added weight of a day’s worth of water. We inadvertently started associating the luxury of pavement with provisions, and began looking forward to the tarmac, it inevitably ferrying us to spaces full of life and colour. Naturally, we stopped for ham and cheese sandwiches (4/9). For this instant, I understood the appeal of road cycling.
After leaving the pavement for the road less travelled, we continued the climb up a beautifully forested winding gravel path (just kidding roadies, this is way better).
Kick rocks roadies.
A small village appeared atop the cliff. I was running low on water, and the town’s promised fuente pública (a public water fountain, many of which date back to the Moorish days), was dry. Sigh. Of course it was. The one day I decided not to take a full pouch of extra water, and we still had 17kms to go. I toured up the street just in case, and found an actual bar, that was actually open, with actual expats as patrons. Incredible! So many tourists here (two besides us). We ordered Cokes and ice cream sandwiches, which came to 20 euros (Yikes! The tourist tax found its way up this cliff). Alright young man behind the bar, I see what you are doing. I’ll pay your 20 euros, now give me that ice cream sandwich. I took our snacks outside to find Care Bear making friends with the Scottish expat couple. We had a lovely visit in English, most of it spent patting their dog.
Views from the climb.
Will likes this next video. It reminds him of a Wes Anderson movie.
We continued climbing, eventually arriving in a town where the fuente pública was cascading fresh, clean water. These things are super cool! My bottles weren’t empty, but I couldn’t resist.
The winds picked up for our final push into Laujar de Andarax, swirling up dust from the gravel roads, creating an unrelenting counter force and ensuring we arrived both exhausted and a shade darker. I was not impressed with that last head wind, so we decided to stop and search for some snackies. However, Laujar de Andarax’s supermarket was in the most familiar of Spanish economic standards, closed.
Rather than rely on Google to provide us with plausible opening hours, Care Bear decided to inquire on details from a local elderly man that she spotted lounging on a bench in the nearby town’s square (as opposed to the statue I mockingly asked). “He’ll know, and it will make him feel good to help someone today.” Sigh. Such Care Bearisms. “But we don’t care about making someone feel good,” Hunger and I grumbled, dragging our feet as we trailed behind Care Bear who was now approaching the elderly gentleman. She took out our beloved translation app and looked how to ask a bored old man for directions to a grocery store. Twenty minutes later he was still talking. We stared at him blankly, not comprehending a single word, and left town without groceries.
Our hotel was a small, privately owned passion project for a young Russian couple and their adorable son. They lived in the hotel full time, running most of the day-to-day operations with minimal staff. Mr. Owner was also the head chef, which was clearly his vocational expertise. Mrs. Owner was the visionary behind the decor, and the attention to detail was exceptional. It was reminiscent of a traveler’s home, decorated with trinkets placed purposefully to trigger a memory or emotion. We loved the ambiance. Mr. Owner/Chef checked us in and showed us around, at which point we eagerly inquired about the food and pool. He said the restaurant wasn’t open until later, but he could grab us beer and a small plate of tapas, warning us the pool was not heated. Not an issue Mr. Owner/Chef, we’re Canadian.
Just kidding. This is us back in Canada doing a polar dip Jan 1, 2025.
We checked in, cleaned up, then hand-washed our kits for the last time this trip, which I suggested we wash kneeling side-by-side over the edge of the bathtub like a couple of 18th century women. Care Bear thought this was hilarious and obliged as I sang out of tune to the rhythm of our scrubbing.
With chores finished, we headed back outdoors for our highly anticipated swim. Mr. Owner/Chef was good on his word, personally delivering us beer and tapas pool side (tiny ham sandwiches 5/9). Mr. Owner/Chef enthusiastically (well, as enthusiastic as a Russian can be), told us about the pork. It was a cured leg that arrived just that morning from Trevelez, a town famous for its jamón serrano, or dry-cured ham (spoiler alert, we bike through this town tomorrow).
Adequately freshened up and with beer in hand, I pulled out my pocket knife and our traveling pomegranate. It was time to liberate its juicy yummy goodness. I was excited. I had looked forward to this moment all day, visualizing it this exact way, almost like it was manifested. I sliced open the peel, twisted the pomegranate apart, and started laughing. Worm. “Care Bear, he rode in your pocket all day! What a lucky little guy!” I created him an entire monologue, head poking up from his pomegranate seat, peering out from behind her back, wind cascading over his slimy little face. For the first time in his life feeling truly alive! He breathed in the Spanish landscapes zooming past, holding on tight to his pomegranate seat. Downhill! Who knew that life could be so exhilarating! That he could fly! ‘Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.’ Care Bear was less amused.
We changed into our single set of publicly presentable, non-cycling clothes and came down for dinner, seated face-to-face with the Trevelez leg. I had to admit, it was pretty cool.
The whole dining experience was incredible! Mr. Owner/Chef was exceptional. I had no idea what we were walking into at this place, but it was a welcome first fine-dining experience of the trip. Finally, a perfect day in the saddle, ending with actual chill time, a cold beer, a new Spanish worm friend, and excellent local cuisine (including open faced ham sannies from the Trevelez leg as tapas with dinner 6/9). This was the trip I had in mind when I suggested bikepacking Spain. Day 5, we finally nailed it (spoiler alert, it was not repeated).
As one final gift we sat on a roof top patio to watch the sun set. Then it was lights out and a full night’s sleep before our biggest day of the trip.
Today’s Shout Out goes to Tim Berners-Lee for inventing the internet. It has made international travel soooooooo much easier.
Here’s a list of apps we have used this trip:
Airbnb
Bookings.com
Messenger
Translation
Splitwise
Ride with GPS
Training Peaks
The Weather Network
International Clock
Safari
Notes
Waking Up
Cloud Storage
Seek
ChatGPT
PhysiApp
Strava
Airalo
Find My
Garmin
One Second Every Day
Other Travel Blogs:
The caves pictures above are some of the oldest human settlements in south-western Europe. They date back to the Neolithic Period, approximately eight thousand years ago. These cave sites, and their remnant artifacts have shed valuable inside on life during the prehistoric period in Spain. The caves are built into limestone cliffs, creating a natural shelter for humans and livestock. However, the arid climate, sparse rainfall, and persistent erosion cumulated into an inhospitable agricultural climate, and the economic consequences forced the settlers to move on decades ago. All that remain are the crumbling shells of what once was someone’s home. We saw them everywhere.