Well, today was everything I'd hoped this tour might be.
I'm going to row back a little on the title, because: marriage, birth of kids, finally quitting work. But in riding terms, I'm in no doubt. What a day!
Is it a coincidence that it started with a cooked breakfast? I'm not sure. But I was was delighted to see that the Spanish nation recognised the need for a sausage ln the morning. And a slice of basque cheesecake, more controversially.
So: hot dog sausages, about 2cm long. I mean it wasn't a Cumberland. But it's a step in the right direction, and very much to be applauded if you ask me.
Today's ride looked like it would be dominated by hills. You can kind of see that from the ride with GPS map above. Steady climb, big hill, steady uphill, huge hill. I wondered whether I'd miss those halcyon days of the french canal path. (I knew damned well I wouldn't miss the 85 miles of forest, though. Still scarred).
But: not a bit of it. I'm going to keep this entry relatively short, because it's now late. Let me re-characterise the ride. We quickly gained some altitude as we escaped the city. Then, we marvelled at the skill of the Spanish road builders as they threaded delicately between hills on every side, so that we always felt surrounded by green banks, but rarely had to climb up them in any meaningful way. There was a short exception,when a road closure forced us to follow a parallel street. Which required a gradient somewhere north of 10% to get to, before it bucked and swelled for a mile and dropped us, seasick and reeling, back onto the open section of our original route. Around us, the motorway followed its own path, flatter still, and built on a series of increasingly improbable stilts and piers to defeat the surrounding geography.
Our route took us through plenty of small towns, each one looking resplendent in the sunshine, and the biggest challenge for us was working out where the satnav was trying to send us. As we realised, Spanish cycle routes were less clear than the French ones, and there was a lot of being directed away from the main roads for little purpose, or being sent from one side of the carriageway to the other. As we progressed, we largely learned to ignore these paths. The roads were already more heavily populated with cyclists than anywhere else we'd been; invariably, they wore team colours, and rode sleek road bikes. Either this area was very popular with the local two-wheelers on a Monday, or it was a sought-after cycling destination, and we were among the last to discover it. I suspect the latter.
In the interests of transparency, I should say that Raven and I got left behind by a few of them: some we drafted for a free ride, others we left in our wake. There's always someone better, and someone less good: but I think we were united by the joys of the road.
Morning cake was a banana. Lunch was a supermarket loaf, stuffed with a packet of ham, and eaten at the side of a babbling stream where we watched unfeasibly large iridescent dragonflies buzzing lazily to and fro.
Our greatest challenge was the second big ascent. At this point of the project, the Spanish civil engineers had clearly looked at each other, and shrugged. Then, they went for lunch. And with that, the road crew simply shrugged too, and went up and over. The first climb had been awkward: while the motorway went through the hill, we climbed up and over it in a series of sharp switchbacks. But the second climb was far, far worse. It was around three miles long, with several sections of 10-15%, and nothing much under five to provide respite. Worse, though, was the amazing weather. Sunshine is lovely on the beach, and I bet they were having a grand old time in San Sebastian today. But on a day when it's over thirty degrees, and the temperature coming off the road is greater than that on your back, it's a proper challenge. But I had enough water, although I was damp from head to toe. And it's true that we stopped a couple of times, because there are no prizes for collapsing, and the only other things out here to help us at midday were the mad dogs.
And we made it. It wasn't the scariest climb we've done, and it wasn't even way over some of what we encounter regularly in Devon. But god, it was hot. Yet everywhere we looked, it was utterly beautiful, and somehow that made it ok to stop and take a photo. For just a moment, and in an appropriately masculine way, I was channelling my inner Julie Andrews, looking at those hills.
Yet once we'd reached the top, there was no long sweeping payback. That might come tomorrow. Instead, we found ourselves winding around the Ullibarri-Gamboa reservoir, a scene of utterly stunning beauty. The kind of landscape that's so beautiful, it actually makes you laugh out loud.
And a few short miles later, we'd arrived.
The hotel is basic, but perfectly situated in the heart of the city. Raven's sleeping with me, tonight. And when I got out into the city, it was beautiful too. Some incredible architecture, mostly older and rather splendid. I took pictures, so you can decide for yourself.
Tomorrow's a short day: 45 miles to Bilbao. It surely can't be this good, can it? And honestly, closing thought: if you're reading this as a cyclist, book the flight. You won't regret it for a second, I promise you.
The hills, as we rose from San Sebastian. You don't get horizons like that in the Landes.
This is why I'd been struggling with the language more than usual. Basque, everywhere, with an unseemly flurry of k's, x's and z's. If there's a Basque version of Scrabble, they must surely have adapted the scoring system.
View down on the motorway, climb one. My map showed the wide road just ending , doubtless as it went through the hill, by way of a tunnel. My route, however, wiggled across its back like a drunken snake with eczema. Up and over, via a series of switchbacks. So it seemed only right to stop and capture the view at the half way point.
One of the biggest benefits of the cycle paths was the shade. They weren't always that obvious. But if you found them, there was often a little relief from the day's heat.
The best thing about Vittoria Gasteiz, potentially. When you reach the part where you have to go uphill to the old town, they provide motorised walkways.
Towards the church of San Vincente. But there's so much more going on. It looks hazy because the sun was hiding directly behind the tower. Incidentally, it's also taken from the scene of a rather fabulous ice cream bar. First of the holiday. Part of me wonders whether I've been overly flan-centric.
