Valencia day 1

October 23, 2023

We’ve been to La Albufera before, the large protected natural area just south of the city. We were there four years ago in early December on a wild overcast day, with winds gusting over 30 mph and blowing water from the flooded rice fields across the paths we were biking down the center of, doing our best to avoid betting blown sideways into the lagoon. It’s one of those exceptional days we’ve talked about many times since.

It’s windy again today though not as severe as it was then, so Rachael’s not interested in biking out there with me today. She might join me tomorrow though, if the winds abate enough. I’m happy to go out there twice, either way. It looks like the most appealing cycling experience near town, and I’m hopeful of adding a few last entries to my bird count for the year. Last time out I saw glossy ibises, an Eurasian kingfisher, and what I think is my only sighting of a black stork.

With a 2:00 lunch plan at our hotel established, we get an early start. I’m out the door before 8:30, which isn’t much after sunrise now; and Rachael isn’t far behind. We’re both covering very similar routes as it happens. I’m taking the western route through a string of suburbs instead of along the coast this time (I’ll follow the coast tomorrow, assuming I come back). Rachael’s going the same direction, on a one-way walk to the Cercanías station at El Romani. When she gets there, she’ll catch the Cercanías back to town.

I’m thinking about Rachael as I spend the first seven or eight miles on a pretty unpleasant and slow ride that looked much better staring at the map then it does in real life. I’m not really looking forward to backtracking it later, and I’m sorry that Rachael’s probably not enjoying this part of her hike so much. She’ll confirm this later, giving the route a firm thumb down.

About eight miles in I finally pass the last suburb, Silla, and pick up a minor road west of the lake that is largely agricultural - first planted heavily in persimmons, then artichokes, and finally the shorn and charred rice fields I’ll be weaving through for the next two hours.

I’m puzzled by what this man is doing, walking through the field and probing the ground with his pole every few yards.

Twelve miles into the ride I come to the small, isolated and obviously unattended El Romaní station, Rachael’s destination. Coincidentally a train pulls in just as I pass by, stops briefly and then speeds off again. A few minutes later a second train races by going the other direction but without stopping - either because more than one line passes through and this one doesn’t service this stop, or one only stops if there’s someone waiting there. I take note and later will call Rachael about it, warning her to make herself visible to be on the safe side.

For the next two hours I make my loop through the rice fields, for the most part sticking to the few paved roads that cross it. It’s the same evocative, somewhat surreal landscape I remember from before, but it’s not the same. It’s earlier in the season and the fields haven’t been flooded yet, and here and there many of them are charred or smoldering from controlled burns, some of which are being torched as I bike by.

Also, other than the usual egrets, herons, doves and starlings there are no interesting bird sightings to report. So that’s disappointing. Still, it’s a peaceful, eerily beautiful ride.

I’m on the Eurovelo 8, in one of its more established spots. it’s well marked and the sign tells me that France is just ahead, after I turn right at Sollana.

I could hear these two chattering in the distance as they approached.

And I can still faintly hear them way down there, even though the wind is at my back. Very quiet out here.

The charred rice stubble makes for interesting effects.

I’ve stayed on sealed roads most of the way, but here I took this unpaved route to Portet de Sollana, thinking it would take me to the coast so I could bike back that way. It doesn’t though - it takes me exactly to Portet de Sollana, a dead end on the lake.

Finally I’m just leaving the rice fields on my way back to town, wondering how soon I’ll see Rachael coming toward me as she nears her station. Finally I see her emerge like a mirage from the smoke; and when we cross paths we stop, discuss the situation, and continue on. For the next half hour I track her progress on the Garmin, watching for evidence that she’s boarded the train. Finally her device quits transmitting her location, which I take as a promising sign.

Later she’ll tell me of her experience, and of her frustration at trying to tell when the next inbound train will arrive. There’s a woman there who could help, but she’s buried in a long-running phone conversation. Finally she’s off the phone and tells Rachael their train will arrive imminently. And Rocky rides for free, because there’s no place to buy tickets there and none on board either. It’s a relief when she arrives back in Valencia and finds she doesn’t need a ticket to leave the station, as is often required.

Not long after we part I come to another decision point, a junction where EV 8 takes a different route back to Valencia. It can’t be any worse than what I took getting out here, so I take a chance on it. And it definitely is better, though it has its moments - paved most of the way and definitely much quieter, but with the usual odd goat track you can expect on the EV 8, a very inconsistent long-distance route.

So the pavement ends here. How long will this go on, I wonder? I don’t want to be late for lunch.

Interesting. Have you ever seen a surface quite like this? Fortunately it’s soft plastic and not tire-shredding metal, and doesn’t last long.

I’m back in time for lunch at the agreed upon hour, though not as early as Rachael would like, and she’s starving by the time I arrive. We rush downstairs, enjoy our meal, and she shares with me the delights of her day and the one photo she bothered taking for her fifteen (!) mile walk.

The highlight of Rachael’s day, not counting lunch.

Later I’ll walk the mile down to the Arts and Sciences complex to look around, and still later I’ll show you what I saw. For now though I’ll at least include my new bird, a chatty, colorful, invasive and generally unwelcome Monk parakeet. And as long as he’s here gathering twigs for his nest off this palm tree, I’ll point out what’s special about Monk parakeets: they’re nest builders, which is very rare among parrots. Not only that, they’re colonial - they build mammoth nests occupied by many others of their species, each with their own entrance hole and cell in one giant structure that can weigh up to a ton and pose a hazard to passersby below if it were to break off and fall. So there’s one more risk in life to watch out for, worse even than being brained by the cone of a Coulter pine.

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Ride stats today: 39 miles, 600’; for the tour: 1,373 miles, 53,500’

Today's ride: 39 miles (63 km)
Total: 1,373 miles (2,210 km)

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