Day 7 - Capileira to Granada: Bikepacking the South of Spain
Destination: Granada
Distance: 82.2km, elevation gain: 2062meter, surface: 34% unpaved
Side story: When I was in grade 6, my classroom teacher had the ludicrous idea to take the entire grades 5 and 6 classes camping on an educational field trip. A few brave parents fortified with actual camping experience voluntarily sacrificed their sanity to help chaperone. Day one the skies opened, and like the onslaught of biblical wrath, unrelenting rains ravaged upon us. We, the cohort of rural Saskatchewan farm kids, were from humble beginnings, so few of us possessed adequate rain gear. Our chaperones were tasked with securing the children with protective garbage bags in an attempt to keep us warm and dry. I still recall my conversation with one volunteer parent, practically tearing her hair out in frustration, “you don’t have rain gear either?!?”
“I have this,” I replied pointing to my fluorescent wind breaker jacket hilariously within 90’s fashion.
“That’s not rain gear,” she grumbled, fitting me with a new garbage bag dress.
I never forgot this memory, partially because it still makes me laugh, partially because it was useful life advice, especially since I spend a significant amount of leisure time outdoors. I have since bought a top-of-the-line rain jacket, one of the most reputable brands, and one of the most expensive. In the summer of 2024, Will and I had the unfortunate fate of colliding our week-long canoe camping trip with the tail end of Hurricane Debbie, at which point the zipper fell off my expensive, high-end rain jacket, rendering it useless against the hurricane winds and rain. Will sacraficed his travel guitar’s protective garbage bag case to fit me with a temporary rain jacket, a sentimental act of loving-kindness reminiscent of my youth.
Fast forward to October 2024. I purchased a top-of-the-line bikepacking set up, which also malfunctioned in the most familiar of price-point to disappointment levels of irritation, leaving me once again wearing a garbage bag.
In case you missed the previous episodes in this series:
Day 5 - Gergal to Laujar de Andarax
Day 6- Laujar de Andarax to Capileira
Welcome to the final blog of this series. You made it! Good for you :)
It’s Friday morning, Day 7 in the south of Spain, and the final day of our bikepacking adventure. Today we plan to ride up and over the Sierra Nevada’s highest peak, Pico del Veleta, which stands an astounding 3398 meters above sea level, then descend down the north side back into Granada. We are currently in Capileira, sleeping at 1436 meters elevation. For reference, effects of altitude sickness can be felt around 2500 meters, usually beginning with an intolerance to exercise, dizziness, shortness of breath, nausea, and mild confusion. We had 2000 meters of gravel climbing to the summit, the last 10km being on technical terrain which we were to navigate while weighted down with our backpacking bags. We checked the weather forcast at the summit. No change from the night before: cloudy, 25km per hour winds and .1 inches of rain. Wind chill was -2 degrees Celsius. I had lost my protective rain gear in the pannier fiasco on Day 3, but I still had a mid layer, a long sleeve base layer, Care Bear’s wind layer for an outer shell and my newly fashioned garbage bag vest for some semblance of rain protection. I figured I could deal with no gloves for the day if I could keep my hands mostly dry. The forecast predicted minimal rain so we decided to roll with this route up and over the Sierra Navada. Alright then, we’re committed, let’s get ready to leave.
In an attempt to evoke proficiency, we asked the hotel staff to prepare us an early breakfast, to which they obliged, though we woke to find this meant a thermos full of cold coffee and stale ham sandwiches (8/9) which the staff had prepared and set out the night before. We begrudgingly drank the coffee and choked down a few snacks. We couldn’t stomach the sandwiches, but decided to pack them away in our panniers along with last night’s leftover pizza. After completing our ceremonial olive oil bike chain ritual, we straddled our mounts for the last stand: girls vs. Pico de Veleta.
The day started with an unrelenting 32km, 2000m climb out of Capileira straight to the summit of Pico de Veleta. Care Bear was feeling strong, so she did the bulk of the heavy lifting. I was not so good. The heavy cycling load was slowly sapping the life from my body. I was having trouble sleeping and I was uncharacteristically not hungry. As the week progressed, my heart rate had became blunted, I was shaky, and I started today’s ride in a cold sweat. This trip would have been ambitious for a fully trained athlete, but I had spent the past season recovering from multiple crashes, and was technically only 3.5 months post-op from a broken ankle. However, Care Bear was getting stronger as the week went on, stepping up each day to the challenge, pushing through illness and bike troubles and whatever else was thrown her way. She set the pace out front. I tucked in behind, intent on sticking to her wheel and forcing down a horrible bottle of salted water and a piece of last night’s pizza every 60 mins. Both made my stomach churn.
The first 20km was on smooth gravel with a consistently tolerable grade. We kept a steady pace, maintaining solid forward progress. We were still below the cloud line, thus rewarded with great views and cool, dry weather.
With 12km to the summit, the rode turned to a much more technical hiking trail, and we timed it just so to collide with the looming weather system. We met with a Polish couple hiking down from the other direction, having just descended from the summit to this point. Never missing an opportunity to make new friends, Care Bear stopped to chat. They told us the summit was very, very windy, and one of them admitted to being a bit freaked out when her backpack would catch the wind, acting like a sail in the powerful wind gusts, throwing her off balance. She admitted to dropping to her knees for stability, crying out to her partner that she could not go on. Great, that sounds fun to navigate on bikes. Care Bear had the foresight to ask if we could purchase a pair of their gloves since mine had recently been repurposed for olive picking purposes by a local Spanish farmer. They must have felt sorry for me, standing there with exposed fingers, my most protective layer being an ill-fitting garbage bag. As they were on their way down and no longer required the warmth, they agreed to selling us his gloves for 20 euros. He did caution me that the gloves were ‘a bit wet,’ wringing them out before handing them over. I thought this was sweat. It was not. Some call this foreshadowing.
Despite being soggy, the gloves were warm and made an instant improvement to my overall temperature and, thus, mood. This might have been the best decision of the trip - Care Bear to the rescue! The pizza and salted water had also started to kick-in, and right on time as my cycling skill set was becoming useful. The terrain turned to a rugged, technical double track hiking trail with a steep drop off the side, far more suited to suspension mountain bikes than our weighted down gravel bikes. I have more mountain biking experience, so I took the lead, choosing our lines the last 12km to the summit.
It’s probably note worthy to say here that there were a surprising number of people out on this questionable weather day, also heading to the summit, some hiking, others mountain biking. It was more people than we saw anywhere in the badlands, so we never felt like this was an impassible day over the Sierra Nevada.
We climbed slowly and carefully through the clouds. It was raining but not particularly windy.
Then finally, appearing from its hiding spot in the clouds, the summit marker! Success!!!! After six hours of slow climbing, and making friends with some light haggling, we stood with our bikes at nearly 3400m for zero views. However, we were mostly dry now, and managed to avoid the unstabilizing winds our Polish friends had warned us about. Maybe we had threaded the needle of weather windows and missed the worst of the storm? Either way, we were elated! The stupid garbage bag had worked well enough to get us through this retched climb.
Garbage bag for the win!
The road on the north side of Pico del Veleta is renowned in the cycling world. Celebrated as Europe’s highest paved road, and rising 3000 vertical meters, it’s commonly featured in the Vuelta a España and Ruta del Sol (Spanish road cycling stage races) for its high altitude climbing and challenging grade. But not for these girls! We had made it to the summit and had nothing but sweet, sweet descent back to Granada. However, the mountain had different plans for us. An unforcasted storm blew in, tactically armed with powerful winds and a wall of horizontal rain. Poor visibility and slippery, steep roads grinned our descent to a crawl. The sail effect that had dropped our Polish friend to her knees in desperation, caught our saddle bags and tossed us effortlessly sideways, taunting us to give in to the same destabilizing fear. Our body temperatures were dropping fast, our base layers wet with sweat from our climb, and outer layers now soaked through with rain (my garbage bag vest didn’t stand a fighting chance against this barrage of rain). We knew we were in trouble so we scanned the mountain, desperate for some shelter.
I’m going to break the 4th wall here for a second. You might be wondering “why didn’t you just turn around and climb up for a few minutes if you needed to get warm.” Fair question. The top of Pico de Veleta is home to a ski resort, complete with ski village. We knew about the village, you can see the buildings on google maps, and we were passing the ski resort infrastructure of chair lifts and snow guns. We were driven forward by images of renting a hotel room, taking a hot shower and a nap, letting the storm pass before we finished descending into Granada. We just had to get to the ski resort. We could barely see as far as our front wheel, so we had no idea how far off the village was, but it couldn’t be that far. We know how long a ski run typically is, so we dug in and kept descending.
After 30 minutes of descending, the weather was not letting up and we were straight up cold. Very cold. The first two buildings we passed were abandoned and locked. The next was a check point with a manned booth. We asked the man working the booth for help. He took one look at our sopping, freezing faces and let us into his tiny booth which was mercifully equipped with a space heater. The three of us huddled around the heater, shivering, trying to figure out our next move. This man was immensely helpful and miraculously spoke English. He tried to find us a ride down the mountian, venturing out in the storm to ask the neighbouring military base if they could give us a ride down. Unfortunately, they would not. He offered to try and fit our bikes in his car and take us down himself if we wanted to wait until 6pm when he finished his shift. We were pretty sure that wasn’t going to work. After a long half hour, the storm cleared and the sun was out. It was still very windy, conditions had markedly improved. We could now see a tour bus in a near by parking lot and our new friend suggested we ask them for a ride down. We were wet, cold and still visibly shaken when we approached them for help. They happened to be heading to Granada but said ‘no they couldn’t help us because this bus was only for students.’ We begged them, but they refused, closing the door in our faces and waving as they drove off. There were some camper vans in the parking lot so we started knocking on doors. One guy answered but said he just opened a bottle of bourbon and couldn’t drive us. There were two other people in the van but no offers from either of them to drive or help in any way. Two other vehicles had people in their vans but they didn’t speak English and seemed uninterested in trying to figure out what we needed. What gives with these people? Fine, we will head to the ski resort, it was only another 2kms. Hot shower here we come. I didn’t even care what renting a hotel room would cost, I’ll pay anything. But when we approached the village the entire place was a construction zone. Not a single open hotel or accommodation. Ahhhhuuuuuuuuuuugh!!!! Why?!?! Jocelyne spotted some construction workers and tried to convince them to let us into their unfinished construction project of a building, but they did not speak English and had no idea what she was tying to say. That’s when I lost it. I was done with these people. No one here was going to help. It was 25 degrees and beautiful in Granada, We needed to get low and get dry.
I took off down the mountain, Care Bear bravely following suit, trailing my wake of anger. We descended shivering until we found a sunny spot sheltered from the wind. Digging into our panniers, we changed into yesterday’s stinky riding clothes. This instantly improved our body temperatures, and thus, moods. I actually saw Care Bear smile.
With a quick snack we were at least regrouped if not refreshed, and continued on our way. From here the descent was less dire and we could actually enjoy the stunning views now visible that the storm had cleared.
You could literally feel the air warm as we dropped. The road rewarded us with words of encouragement and well wishes commonly seen scattered throughout iconic cycling races. We descended far enough to hit the gates of hell, peeling off layers as it grew unbearably hot in the most familiar of ways, finishing the ride in our previously enjoyed desert riding attire. Adios garbage bag.
The final 10km stretch back into Granada was along a pleasant city path running parallel to a river, guiding us safely to our hotel where we arrived hungry but unscathed. I almost kissed the ground.
It was a memorable end to an incredible journey and what will surely remain a life highlight. I couldn’t be more grateful for this fantastical experience with my truly great friend and personal Care Bear, Jocelyne.
Today’s Shout Out goes to the helpful man with the unknown name (you know Care Bear isn’t in her finest form when she forgets to ask someone their name) for sharing his tiny booth and lukewarm heater while we waited out the storm. Also, to The Moffatts, for the excessive use of their 90’s hit single “Misery.” Despite me giving them zero opportunity to provide consent prior to their involvement in this project, I am overtly confident they would be pleased with their representation.
Special thanks from me personally goes to my rehab team (in no particular order): chiropractor Dr. Shayne Young, physiotherapist Allyson Moore, physiatrist and traumatic brain injury specialist Dr. Allison Anton, naturopath Dr. Andrea Proulx, massage therapist Meagan Atkinson, and cycling coach Andrew L’Esperance who magically turned me from a wanna be into a serious cyclist. Without all of you I would have never made it to the start of this journey.
And finally, to Care Bear. All my gratitude for your patience, kindness, resilience, resourcefulness, and maybe best of all your FOMO. You are the friend all good novels are made of. That’s the end of this chapter, let’s dream up the next.
That was so much fun!!!! Wanna experience it all again in hyper-fast motion?
Incase you were wondering “where’s the 9th ham and cheese sandwich?” It was on the train back to Madrid.
Thanks for Reading! Catch you on the next adventure!
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