I think the alarm showed just how big a day I was planning on having. It went off at 2am, and I was up, full of energy, ready to go for my run and then get the hell out of here. Even though I'd be riding in the dark, I think it's a lot better riding in the early hours of the morning than in the evening. There are basically no cars on the road, and it feels a lot safer I find.
It was a little cold, but I rugged up, turned on my running GPS and walked towards the gate. Hmm, it was locked. How about the other one? Locked too. Bugger. After conducting a thorough perimeter check, I concluded that there was no way out whatsoever. I'd paid thirteen euros to stay in a prison! There was no option but to go back to sleep, so after having 'breakfast' (really more like a midnight snack), that's what I did.
When I got up again at six, perhaps with a bit more brainpower than earlier, I discovered that there was a door in the gate that had presumably been open the whole time.. Doh! Oh well, it was probably a good thing that I didn't leave early because as I discovered when I started running, I was bloody sore! Every muscle in my legs was voicing its utmost alarm at the situation, but I continued on, grimly 'living like a clock' as Marty Licquori would say.
About ninety minutes later, my bike followed me out the door. It was still an early start, but there was no way I was going to be able to do 180km before it got dark. Fifteen km in, I finally listened to the voice telling me there was something not quite right with the back end of the bike. It just wasn't going very fast and there appeared to be no good reason for it. I checked the brakes: not scraping, the problem wasn't there. There was a bit of crap in the chain. It probably wasn't the cause, but I soiled my hands getting it out anyway and vowed to clean the chain properly that night. I checked the tyres: they were both firm, hmm, or were they? There was definitely room for a bit more air, so I went over to a conveniently located servo and filled them up some more. Suddenly I was going 5kph faster! Whoopee! I guess with all the weight I'm carrying, anything less than 60 psi just won't do.
With a renewed sense of enthusiasm for riding, I kept going. According to my map, I'd soon have a problem. The N-332, which I was currently riding on, would apparently disappear soon, leaving me with no way to get to Cartagena apart from the Autovia. The road signs did seem to indicate that the road would go all the way there though, so I decided to risk it. At the point where the map said it would disappear, I was faced with a roundabout with three choices: autovia, autovia and 'via de servicio'. Only one way to find out, huh? The service road turned out to be the N-332. It was in pretty terrible condition. It was pretty obvious that it hadn't been maintained since the autovia had been built because the surface was corrugated with many cracks in it. But it was there, and that was the important thing! Lots of other cyclists were out using it too. Looking at what they were wearing (jerseys and tights), I pitied them if the ominous looking clouds opened up.
...which they did in short course. It was rather miserable riding for a while until it stopped again as I was coming in to Cartagena. I stopped just outside the city, resting my bike against a burnt out building and had lunch while I planned my next move. It looked a little tricky getting out of the city, but once I got out, I just had to get back on the N-332 and that would take me where I wanted to go.
After getting mighty confused by the signs and the many roundabouts in Cartagena, I managed to join back up with the N-332. It had started raining again and the road was very narrow, so altogether not the best riding conditions as drivers whipped past splashing me with water. For some reason, the road went inland, which meant hills, which meant climbing, which meant pretty slow progress. When I finally made it over the hills, it was getting to the wrong side of five pm and I was pretty keen on stopping. To cement the deal, I realised I was in Isla Plana, which was actually on the itinerary I'd made. I was a day behind, but now I didn't have to worry about doing crazy distances to catch up. The thought suddenly struck me, that it was very lucky I hadn't succumbed to my macho desire the day before and ridden through the night. Not only would it have been a very tough ride, but it was also a lot further (about 40k further!) to the camping ground than I had thought. Sometimes it's better to trust your instincts!
The campground was quite dear at 18 euros for the night, but I soon found myself talking to a nice, old Dutchman in German. He was really impressed by what I was doing and made me a cup of Bouillabaisse while I put up the tent. I'd been craving soup all day, so you have no idea how pleasant it was to slurp it down with a bit of bread. The campground was very crowded, much more so than any I'd been in before. It seems a lot of people (mainly 'Grey nomads' in their 60s or 70s) pack up all their things into a camping van and drive down to Southern Spain to spend the Winter. There they spend their days walking around, going on bike rides and generally relaxing. At least that's what they usually do – there were a lot of complaints about the weather being pretty rubbish this year. I hadn't realised! It's seemed really nice along the coast so far, I didn't think it could get much better than this anywhere in the northern hemisphere at this time of year!
The rain had let off for a while, so I took the opportunity to give my chain a good clean. I'd actually stopped up in the hills because it was bugging me so much and tried to gouge out the worst of the accumulated gunk with various implements. It just felt like I wasn't getting any power from my legs to the wheels and I blamed the chain. In any case, it was definitely about time I gave it a good clean! My toothbrush was sacrificed to the cause – they're meant to work pretty well if you don't have a proper chain brush. Fifteen minutes later, it was looking a lot more presentable, and I felt very virtuous for having done it.
The Dutchman came out again and showed me his recumbent bike, which he no longer rides after having broken a few ribs going down one of the hills I had screamed down about two hours before. I told him his bikes (he had a standard one as well for general getting about) looked in better shape than mine. A Swiss guy heard the comment and went over and had a good look at everything.
“But your brakes are shot! There's nothing left on the pad!”
It was true. I guess all the problems I've had with the brakes rubbing had worn the pads down prematurely. Luckily I'd had the foresight to buy a spare pair in Barcelona, so he put them in for me, tut tutting all the while at all the evidence before him that showed I don't take good enough care of the bike:P
I felt like he'd already done an incredible amount for me, but after asking how far away the nearest supermarket was, thinking that I'd run down and pick a few things up, he grabbed his keys, pulled the car out and instructed me to get in. It was very generous of him, especially as he hadn't really needed to go himself, but that's just the kind of guy he was I guess. Most people at camping sites seem to be like that, which is part of the reason why I've been enjoying camping more than I did staying in pensions like we did at the start of the tour. As the Swiss guy said, “Beim Platz braucht man keine Angst zu haben” (There's nothing to worry about at the camping site)
Predictably it started raining again, but as I walked to my site with one of the caretakers (the electricity wasn't working), he told me that the weather was meant to clear up tomorrow, so I hit the sleeping bag with hopes of clear skies when I woke up.
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