April 17, 2012
Pola de Allande
along the AS-14 in the rain
They're dead right, at least for today, because when I peer out the common room window at gone eight the clouds are just a bit higher than the roof tops and the whole street looks grim - a grey and forlorn air has descended overnight and my cycling prospects have taken a nosedive.
The place where I ate dinner last night had Wi-fi that worked and that's where I cruise back to in the fine drizzle at round nine and order myself a grande-size coffee with milk and for once it's actually a big one in a cup the size of a soup bowl. Breakfast ias a couple of pastries.
Debbie can see the grey wet scene via the laptop's camera on Skype and wonders what I'll do for the day. At gone 11 o'clock it seems riding for a while is the best option as my progress has been pretty minimal during the previous few days.
Outside the café is the hostal owner, having a cigarette. The only bus heading my way left at seven in the morning but he adds there are places to stay in a village after 20 km and then around 50 km. Cycling 20 km doesn't seem too bad as the rain has stopped, so off I go.
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The first half-dozen kilometres are a super cruise down through deciduous trees that shade the road. In summer the AS-14 must be wonderfully scenic and even in these dismal conditions, its beauty is blatantly evident, offering as it does a view of the route winding down on the other side of the mountain, far below, dropping towards a large expanse of water.
It doesn't take long to reach that section even though my speed is kept to around 30 km/hr - not too fast what with the brakes' efficiency diminished in the wet and the road twisting sharply in places. There's no real hurry.
The road crosses a dam that I'd seen from above. On the surrounding faces of the cliffs are various structures that look like they were been built during World War II - they've a distinct grim, fortified appearance, made with no-nonsense concrete. Who knows what they are.
On my side of the road is a viewing platform accessed by a few-metre-long tunnel that's tempting to experience, but the vista from the road is fine by me so I just keep on riding up what's going to be a long, long climb.
At around 16 km into the ride - about 10 km up the climb - drizzle starts to fall. Maybe it's just clouds moving across, or perhaps it's the fact I'm getting higher and simply cycling into them. Either way they're making me damp.
A remote bus helter provides a place to stay dry while having a few small oranges bought yesterday in a supermarket near the hostel. The PVC jacket and my blue fleece that I started off with and which I'd taken off on the climb as I got warm are put on and stuffed in a pannier respectively.
A road sign near the bus shelter says it's now 28 km to Pola de Allende, which is about 27 too many. There're places to stay there, but there are in Barducedo, too, according to the hostel guy, and Barducedo is just a few kilometers down the road.
They are all up and the higher I get the worse the rain becomes. The wind is behind me mostly, something to be thankful for, as when I do round a bend and face it head-on it feels bloody cold.
Once the village arrives I find a café and have a lemon Fanta and the elderly woman behind the counter kindly knocks me up an omelette and then makes a cup of hot chocolate. After sitting in her place, riding again doesn't appeal very much and she points out where the local B&B is.
The woman there only has bunks left. The dorm room is clean and tidy but it has an unappealing, austere feel. She knows it and persuades me to keep on going to Pola de Allande, where she says there are more options, telling me the road isn't too difficult, what with her village being 900 meres high and the pass only something like 1100 metres. Spoken, of course, by someone who isn't going to ride it all in the rain dressed in clothing basically offering zero protection from the elements - I'm already soaked to the skin.
The road goes on and on and on. It's too cloudy to see where it's going - visibility being only around 10 meters - and my sight obscured by the water droplets splashed on my glasses.
It's up and up and snow started to appear at the roadside.Finally, after cycling 27 km, about 20 of them up in the rain, the top appears and a brown sign for Puerto del Palo states it's 1,146 metres high. Checking my Michelin copy, it says the same, and has village below at 880 metres. My body reckons it's a bigger climb than that.
Dropping is no thrill. On a fine day it'd be magical, with panoramic views and a cool breeze. I can make out the AS-14 winding below, but being half-frozen makes cycling down a freezing ordeal, one which lasts over 10 km and once I cruised into Pola, I stop at the first hotel sign, get myself showered and changed and wonder about getting a bus if the forecasters are right about nine more days of this kind of weather.
The downstairs restaurant is as far as I venture after wheeling my bike into the hotel's rear entrance for safe keeping overnight. Outside, there're little patches of pale blue, but it's raining at the same time, while inside, the TV has Real Madrid playing Munich, so that's what I watch while having dinner.
Today's ride: 49 km (30 miles)
Total: 2,095 km (1,301 miles)
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