The day gets off to a rueful start when I try to put on my bike shirt. I can’t quite figure it out, making several attempts at inverting sleeves and the torso trying to open it up before eventually discovering the issue. I’m chagrined to discover that my shirt I got from Bassano del Grappa two years ago is toast. It’s been destroyed by the dryer from Rachael’s trip to the laundromat yesterday. Before long Rachael will discover that one of hers is beyond repair also.
So here’s a lesson some could learn from. Many bike shirts now are seam-sealed by a thin strip of rubbery material that will melt if the drier is set too high. If it melts, when it congeals again it will bind to whatever material it is next too, with the result that the garment is fused together in various spots. Rachael complained about the laundromat after she’d returned home from it, because there was no apparent way to control the temperature.
I tried pulling it apart again, but it quickly became apparent that it could only be separated by tearing the fabric. As I’m writing this though, an obvious potential solution would be to heat the shirt up again and remelt the material. It didn’t occur to me at the time and I’m not sure how we’d go about it, but it might have worked. Too late now though, as both shirts were tossed when we left the hotel. For me in particular it’s an issue - first, because I loved that shirt (Rachael was less attached to hers); and second, in a stroke of bad luck I decided to only bring two bike shirts this time thinking I’d buy a new souvenir somewhere, so in the meantime I’m down to one. It forces my hand though, so I’ll keep an eye out for promising bike stores in the coming weeks. Maybe Mérida?
Jacquie GaudetI grew up with a dryer that had only one temperature setting--hot! More than 40 years later, I still have a long list of things I never put in a dryer and cycling kit was added to the list as soon as I started wearing it. Reply to this comment 3 weeks ago
It’s a short ride to Jerez, our stop for the night. Short, but with some significant climbing required and more traffic than I’d been expecting. And it’s hot - we really need to be getting an earlier start to our rides now. It’s all very scenic but we’re both ready for a break when we come to the summit of the last steep two mile climb before the final drop to Jerez.
Passing through Burguillos del Cerro. We appreciated this village much more once we left the main drag and its unpleasant cobblestones behind and shifted to a paved side road.
Video sound track: Once Upon a Dream, by Jean-Luc Ponty
We’re hot, tired, thirsty and hungry when we coast into town and in no mood for the nonsense that soon faces us. First off, as usual we look for the restaurant Rachael’s scouted out for the day. We stop soon after we enter town to check the map, and see that it’s only about two blocks away so we keep coasting. It takes another four block descent before we realize there must be something wrong so we check the map and see that it’s behind us, not ahead. We had already passed it when we stopped the first time!
So we turn back, climb up six blocks to the restaurant and are not amused to find that Google has toyed with us again and it’s not really open after all. We find a spot in the shade to sit and study the map for a food Plan B and find one just off route in the heart of town, very close to our hotel. It’s in here that we start learning something about Jerez de los Caballeros - it’s a tough town to make your way around in, regardless of mode. The street we’re biking on is single lane, brick surfaced, very narrow and shoulderless - the sort of street you don’t like to walk on even because when a car comes you need to squeeze against the walls or into a doorway.
And the cars do come. Somehow we find ourselves in the middle of a small traffic jam, but once that passes through we find our turn and stare up toward where the restaurant is. Meaning precisely that: we stare up, on a cobbled 20% slope we’ll obviously need to push through. There’s some heated discussion at this point (naturally enough, since the day is in the low 80’s at least), but I veto the idea. I don’t want to push up there only to find out that it’s not open either or already at capacity. So we bike down to the next nearest spot, which is open and filled probably beyond capacity - there’s a crowd bulging out into the street, and inside there are just two long tables, both crowded with eaters, and not really a scene we’re that comfortable with.
So we find a nearby bar with an empty outdoor table in the shade, and immediately order an agua grande sin gas and a cerveza grande and cool off while we look over the acceptable list of raciones on the menu and admire the view of the stunning church rising just across the plaza. Saved!
And then it’s up the hill to our hotel, with some dismounting and pushing required. We’re staying at what we’ll find is a very nice place once we get inside and out of the blazing sun. No one is at home, but when we ring the doorbell a voice answers in Spanish, says something we don’t understand, and the door clicks open. So we walk inside and wait several minutes until our host arrives to show us our room and orient us.
The Stork Posada! how can this not be a good thing?
Bill ShaneyfeltGuessing some sort of juice or oil press squeezer. Stick a handle through the hole. it passes through holes in the top of the press, engaging grooves in the sides of the press. Turn it and it pushes the top against the grapes, berries, olives or whatever...? Could be wrong. Maybe we shall see. Reply to this comment 3 weeks ago
One of the things our host points out is the route to the rooftop mirador, which he pantomimes has a brilliant view over the spectacular town. We’ll look at the town itself later, but first let’s just admire the view from the roof.
Directly across from our rooftop we see where our posada gets its name.
It’s the weekend, and the church towers will be illuminated. It doesn’t really get dark until after 9:30 now though, and we aren’t waiting around for it.
We got really excited when a stork swooped in low over the town and alit on its nest. We kept waiting and watching for the second one to fly in, but then saw that it was there all along, apparently taking a stork snooze.
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