Day 1: Sunday February 21st
We awoke to find the day a bit grey, not what we had ordered. Must have a word with Kev... But, hey, it wasn’t snowing, or
even raining, and it was certainly much more than the 2 degrees we had left behind in Newcastle yesterday. Bike-building is not something to be hurried, and the boys set to with enthusiasm born of knowing we were going to get a decent ride in today. Keith had been in more of a hurry and insisted on building his bike in the lounge the night before, but we’ll forgive him that.
Having spent a week here last year gave us ‘the knowledge’, much more useful than anything a London cabbie might be able to offer us. And our choice of ride today centred around Pego and Ebo, much visited and enjoyed last year. Team Geri Atrics (sorry Graham and Chris) headed west on the road to Pego, keeping tight formation. The first test of the day was the climb of Alto Ebo, a classic (in my humble opinion), winding 8km and 460m up from Pego into the Marina Alta foothills. Almost immediately our leader laid down the rules of the road. The Enforcer comes first. Truth be told no-one could get near him on the climbs all week, and boy did we try. On Ebo he twiddled that gear and headed off into the clouds as we manfully huffed and puffed our way in his wake. For me, it was a good climb, 2 minutes quicker than last year despite stiff legs after the long flight yesterday. All that gym work must have done some good, after all.
From the top of Ebo there is a great little flying descent into Vall d’Ebo, just 3km but such fun. Then the hard work really starts, from here on it is a series of tough ups and downs which test those legs to the full. By the time we got to Margarida we were ready for a spot of lunch at Calum’s café. Surprisingly enough it was shut (I think it is a figment of his overactive Spanish imagination) and we were faced with the descent of the Vall de Gallinera to find a café at Benissiva, an old haunt from last year. Sorted.
All that remained now was the last 11km of the Gallinera descent into Pego (hard work into a bit of a headwind) and then a blast back along the Pego straight, always a bit of fun as the speed ramps up and the red mist descends. By the time we got back to Denia we were ready for a cheeky beer or two, but there was still time for the last sprint to the bridge by our villa - Dave made the fatal mistake of sitting up and I was able to nick it, a cheeky victory but I’ll take it!
96.9km, 1054m of ascent
Day 2: Monday February 22nd
"They travelled with shrapnel"
Blue skies welcomed us greeted the day, perfect for a day on the bikes. Our host Terry had rolled by the night before and told us of new time-trial contraption installed on the Coll de Rates. Strangely enough, we had been discussing the idea of a mountain TT sometime during the week and clearly this was a sign. To the hills....
We rode out through Ondara and Orba from whence the road climbs a short col over to the village of Parcent. Cheekily, I crept away on the climb and claimed my mountain points for the week, much to Kev’s incredulous protests. Parcent nestles at the foot of the sinuous ascent of the Coll de Rates, a 7km (350m) climb. The Stoppomat was an intriguing looking machine, simple in its conception. We were joined by an Irish lass, Bernie, who was staying here for a few weeks. Deep breaths were drawn, the clock was ticking and we were off. It goes without saying that our leader was the main man, twiddling his way up the climb in just over 21 minutes. My time of a tad over 25 minutes felt respectable but was only good enough for 4th place behind Kev, Graham and Keith. By later giving the completed timing cards to Terry we were entered in the hall of fame on the Stoppomat website, which I later discovered had me placed 6th in category, whilst the Enforcer is firmly placed there in first place (good to see Border City honour being maintained).
The descent of the Coll de Rates is a joy, with the road layout fully visible for most of the way down. An opportunity for the fabled bikecam to get an outing (the DVD will be available from all good outlets!). Then it was down to Xalo and an English café (well, Spanish but run by two English lasses who offered great service, good fare and a smile). As always we lingered too long over lunch and the skies were darkening as we came out and hit the road again. Shortly after this, as we rolled into the less than delightful town of Benissa the heavens opened and we took shelter for a while until it abated. Trouble was the wet roads lingered and soon we were well wet. The sun came out. Typical.
From Benissa we headed out to Xavea and the fabled climb over the Montgo, a short sharp 3km (175m) haul before a fast descent into Denia. Mountain points to Kev - again. I think we’re going to have to nobble him.
86.5 km, 1170m of ascent
Day 3: Tuesday February 23rd
"45 Minutes to Pego"
I don’t know what it is but the ride out to Pego always takes 45 minutes. In the same way that childhood summers were always sunny and Carlisle United make us suffer to the very end Pego is always that far. Today was no exception. Probably the severe headwind had something to do with it. Our peloton has been reduced by one today as Keith has taken to his sickbed. Bit of a blow as he always does a good turn on the front.
Still, undaunted Team Geri Atrics took to the Pego road and soon we were heading up the Vall de Gallinera, still fighting that headwind. The wind forced our hand and we changed our thoughts of a climb over the high ridge north of the valley where the exposed slopes would probably have us blown off the bikes. Instead we opted for a reverse of Sunday’s ride, finishing with the descent of Alto Ebo, always good fun. Gallinera is a lovely climb, never much more than 3 or 4%, so despite the length (23km) it can actually be done on the big ring. The warm sunshine meant that the views were distracting and the camera saw a lot of action. Halfway we picked up a tow from a tractor which took us several kilometers before the diesel fumes saw us off. At Margarida we regrouped and thoughts turned to a café stop. Surprisingly enough, Calum’s café was still shut so we pressed on bound for Ebo, but now with a stonking tailwind. Suddenly riding was never so easy. Even the short uphill drags seemed strangely effortless. At Alcada we found a café which was open (not that it looked it from outside) and we tarried awhile, supping a cheeky beer and enjoying some good grub. Then it was back to the tailwind. I’m not sure I have ever managed such high speeds on the flat, but we simply flew all the way to Vall d’Ebo.
The short climb to the top of Alto Ebo tests the legs and lungs, but it was the descent ahead that got the heart racing. I do love this descent, it sweeps and curves down the mountain into Pego and can be done virtually brake-free. The wind today added a little frisson, but it was still great fun. And the bikecam got another outing. The road back from Pego, as we know, is straight and true. And with a tailwind like this it is bloody fast. Once off the roundabout the speed ramped up and the Enforcer took to the front, riding away from us on his standard gearing (cries of foul went unheeded). The battle was on as we gradually pulled him back, and then there was just him and me left. This was now a battle of honour - compact versus standard. Needless to say, compact won the day, a thoroughly enjoyable victory in a rather juvenile way. Just for the record, we did the 9km from Pego to the motorway bridge (which signals the finish line) at an average speed of over 45 kph. Time for another beer I think!98.65 km, 1120m of ascent
Day 4: Wednesday February 24th
"Over the Montgo"
This spring sunshine is getting to be habit-forming, another day of blue skies and sunblock ahead. Keith was still poorly, and now Chris was going down with something. What a team! We opted for a "rest day" and decided a run down the coast rather than into the mountains might be fun. Keith suggested Calpe as a destination, only 50 miles or so (his words), a doddle.
We cruised through the streets of Denia and soon found ourselves on the slopes of the Montgo, an early opportunity to get heart and lungs panting. Probably not the most exciting climb, but it soon gives way to a plunging descent into Xavia to test the brakeblocks. They worked! Our plan was to head out to Cap le Nau, a lighthouse point south of Xavia. An unexpected climb up to the lighthouse was rewarded with some stunning Mediterranean coastal views and scenery reminiscent of Myst for those of you who are computer-game buffs. And still the sun was shining. This was nice.
Next stop was the coastal village of Moraira, but how to get there. Now, the Spanish have not quite got it together with their roadsigns yet and navigation proved to be interesting to say the least. I’m sure we added several kilometres at this point, and frustrations were compounded by a stiff headwind - so we let Kev take to front and show us the way. Moraira is a rather splendid place with castle, beach, views and, most importantly, cafés aplenty. We picked out Bar Miramar, well you have to don’t you. El Garcon was not the most erudite of hosts but then our Spanish is nothing to write home about either. And the beer was good, and the food tasty. Yeah, we were happy.
From Moraira it is but a short ride down to Calpe and the imposing looking Penon de Ifach, a huge limestone monolith which towers over the beach. A climbers paradise apparently. I just ogled at the immensity of it. And we took photos. Kev even took his trusty new Cervelo for a paddle. At this point we had done just short of 40 miles, and uncle Keith’s estimate of 50 miles was looking just slightly wrong. Ah well, nothing for it, time to get on our bikes and pedal. Uphill. A monster 6km climb out of Calpe took us by surprise and my legs simply insisted on twiddling. The camera demanded attention to as the views were good. Then we headed home, the team time trial mode switching in in places, before we approached Xavia and ... the Montgo. Dave’s heart was filled with dread, he wasn’t ready for this. Graham kindly acted as my lead out man and took me to within yards of the summit before releasing me to get a personal best, a tad over 9 minutes. Kev of course had long since arrived at the summit, had brewed a cup of tea and was reading the paper when I arrived. How does he do it?
And so, regrouped we plunged back down into Denia, beer waiting at the villa. We eclipsed Keith’s estimate by a country mile in the end but it had been a cracking ride in the sun. But NOT a rest day.
102.0 km, 1259m of ascent
Day 5: Thursday February 25th
"9.20 to Benidorm"
Today was NOT a rest day. No, today was our big day in the mountains. Planning had begun much earlier in the week, and clockwork precision was required. An early breakfast, a quick ride down to Denia Central Station where Kev negotiated 4 one-way tickets (still no Keith or Chris) on the 9.20 to Benidorm. What we had naively imagined might be a quick half hour train ride turned out to be 90 minutes, but for just over 3 euros we couldn’t really complain.
At Benidorm Central we piled out on to the platform. A quick glance made us realise we were lowering the average age on the platform quite noticeably. Not bad considering 3 of us were over 50! Out on the streets of Benidorm it was everything I imagined. And worse. And it was cold too. What was this all about? No arm warmers, we had opted for short-sleeved tops given another warm day in the offing. We were freezing.
Out of Benidorm we were quickly climbing, heading for Finestrat and Sella, tricky given that they had decided to remake the main road into the mountains and it was officially shut. We took a chance - and got through. Sella is beautifully situated, high in the mountains, nestling like some Nepalese village amongst terraces of almond blossom. From here the climb to the Port de Tudons really starts, 12 km of winding, twisting Alpine tarmac. Fantastic climb, though my legs weren’t really playing. I enjoyed the views and kept Dave company as Kev and Graham fought it out for the KOM points (don’t ask!). By the time I got to the summit Kev, Graham and Dave had almost been arrested for spying on the Spanish military (an access road continues to the top of the mountain), but managed to talk their way out of it, pretty good given our combined knowledge of Spanish runs to about 10 words.
Downhill next. This is always the good bit. And the descent from Tudons to Benasau is a real gem. Shame I screwed up with the bikecam cos it would have been brilliant. Ah well. And now another climb. But with a tailwind. And tuned into Coldplay on the iPod (much to Graham’s horror) I found the inspiration to give Kev a run for his money and took some serious mountain points at last as we crested Confrides at just under 1000m. The run down to Guadalest which follows is simply awesome for some 12 km. Dave and I went down in tandem, sweeping the curves and corners in unison. Great fun. As for Guadalest, what a place. Last year I was blown away by these mountains, and now was certainly no anticlimax. If you are ever down this way do visit - and bring a camera. Lunchtime at last, the beer was calling. And food. It was good.
The day was slipping away and we still had a long way to go (we were about halfway, at 65km). The descent continued to Callosa, from where we were faced with another categorised climb, this time up to Tarbena and on to the Coll de Rates. More stunning scenery, and tired legs, but once over the Rates it was pretty much plain sailing back down to Denia. The sun was setting as we rolled back into town, a long, long day in the mountains. But so good. Time for a curry!
135.0 km, 2290m of ascent
Day 6: Friday February 26th
"Shoot-out on the Coll de Rates"
Keith was ready today. A solo day on the bike yesterday confirmed he was back in the saddle. Perhaps not at full strength, but willing to give it a go. Good to see. Chris, sadly, was now dying a death with the Spanish lurgy. So we were five.
A return to Parcent was our aim, and a rerun of the Coll de Rates time trial. The fact that we were all knackered after yesterday’s heroics was conveniently put to the back of our minds. After all, it was only 6.9km. Surely we could manage that. Well, yes... and no. As we summoned the energy and spirit to begin the purgatory of the climb, Kev was looking quietly serene. The cards were punched, the Stoppomat was ticking. We were away. Lungs bursting, legs burning, this was so bad. Dave had the right idea by NOT doing a time. I passed him cruising his way up, and wished I had done the same. Graham came by, followed by a small group of local riders who looked far too comfortable. Then came Kev. Boy, was he flying. Here was a man on a mission, Kev and Cervelo in perfect harmony. It was awesome to watch. Only Kev beat his time from earlier in the week. For the rest of us, tired legs had taken their toll. We collapsed at the summit having given our all, but not enough. Kev IS the King of the Mountains.
One last descent, one last roll down the slopes of this hill was our reward. And we made the most of it. Now we needed sustenance, and ended up back at our "english" haunt in Xalo. Beer and food with a cheery smile from our hostesses, we rested easy at last, our exertions almost over. All that remained was one last small climb over to Pego, during which Kev realised his ambition of finding painted homage to his exploits in the road, then it was eyeballs out to Denia. I took a leaf out of Dave’s book here and eschewed the testosterone-charged blast, preferring to cruise my way down. My competitive spirit gave me one last triumph, however, as we cruised back to the villa bridge in Denia. I rolled alongside Kev, gave him "The Look" and took the sprint. Oh, for a camera and a photo of his face at that moment. Sorry, Kev.
86.4 km, 900m of ascent
Saturday has come round again, far too fast. We have had such a good week, Spain has not let us down. With over 400 miles in the legs I feel ready for the next phase of Etape training. Despite going home to freezing temperatures and snow, spring is coming and the cycling will get easier. Thanks Kev. You’ve done us proud again.
Oh, and the meaning of the working title? That’s down to Kev, our leader, who insisted that payment of the balance due for the holiday should only be in sterling. He looked us all in the eye as we sat round the beers that first evening and spoke in a low, menacing voice. "No one pays me in Euros!" And, strangely enough, no one did.