I already pre-programmed the GPS with various waypoints before shut-eye and hope the biking Gods weren't too busy; well it is Sunday after all.Within 100 metres of turning right out of the campsite I knew I'd been blessed, the road contoured the rolling hills and with 10 minutes I was in the zone. Tight bends, hairpins and switch-backs galore, never a flat piece of road as I climbed and descended the olive tree smothered terrain.
Even better, I was alone on this day of rest , not a vehicle to be seen for kilometre after kilometre. The dynamics of the ride reminded me of the Ligurian Hills in Italy last year, with stretches of barrierless, mountain clinging road leaving your fate totally in your own hands. Christ! A sign for Aldeaquemada, that's my first waypoint; can't be there already, only feels like I left the campsite 5 minutes ago.
A glance at the TomTom, the screen still like a plate of red spaghetti, and yes I've been weaving like a spawning salmon for over 40 kms. Time for a coffee.I find a tiny cafe where 6 men, all in green, may be forestry workers given the heavy soled boots, who have just been served a carni-feast. Steaks, chops, chorizos, pork bites, tortillas, beer, wine and baskets of bread ... and it's only 11am. I'm guessing they've either been up since 4am or this what happens in the hills on Sundays. But they talked, no, shouted, all at the same time, at such a pace that each sentence sound like one word, only pausing for each fork-filled mouthful. Very friendly bunch who glasses high, cheered me off. I could have stayed and listen to them for an hour, however, I was keen to return to hot tyres.
I don't want to bore you but the road just got better and better all the way to Albacete (baring the last 20 k's), that's well over 150 kilometres of bends, proper bends.In fact, one stretch, where I did meet with other bikers, was full of high speed, long sweeping bends and S's and the black tarmac looked and felt like it had been laid the day before.
I mentioned yesterday that the edge of my tyres were kissing tarmac, well today, they were making love to it. Such a rush. There really are biking Gods!
I search for and find a restaurant with bikes parked outside and join the televised German MotoGP 6 laps into the race to be soon followed by GB F1. I have some 3 hours of viewing time to consume so lunch is on and the adrenalin has time to seep from the holes in my boots. One beer, one wine, olives, winkles, chicken skewer, tuna salad, coffee and the Spanish equivalent of Bailey's but nicer (on the house) ... 11 Euros the lot!
After much whooping and cheering, I leave with handshakes and general biker type adios's and return to a more belly-full sedate pace.
If you ever find yourself on two wheels (or four for that matter) in Spain then this route is a must. In order, Santa Elena, Aldeaquemada, Villamanrique, Villanueva de la Fuente, Albacete, Casas-Ibanez, then Valencia although the last 60 kms is straight.
I must mention my BMW R1200GS, she was simply outstanding today; 225 kilos of bike, 50 kilos of luggage and 75 kilos of me, she handled like a dream and must have surprised the odd sportsbike I passed. Well balanced, sure-footed, German engineering. Wundebar!
I'm now in a campsite by a lake to the south of Valencia which I will visit tomorrow before deciding on my next port of call.
Sleep well, I will, nite nite xc
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