13/1: Free standing

I didn't even bother setting the alarm last night, but just let my body decide when it had had enough rest. That turned out to be at about 8:30 when the garbage truck arrived. By the time I was ready, it was 10:30, so with an estimated distance of 96km, I was cutting it pretty fine. Not bothering to check the map, I sent the schedule well into the red by taking a pleasant detour into dirt road territory. I wasn't sure whether it would actually lead anywhere, so 13km later, I was back where I started.

The weather was again very nice, with temperatures of around 15 degrees in the morning. The blue skies were marred a little by a nasty headwind, which persisted the whole day. Every time a vehicle went past, I'd try to accelerate to match its speed in the hopes of extending that little instant where the wind disappears. You can guess how well that worked when the cars were going sixty kph.

At least I had some interesting vegetation to look at. It was what I'd describe as a semi arid environment and there were lots of cacti with these sprouting 'tree trunks' that made me think they might be related to the century agave (which flowers once after one hundred years and then dies, exhausted by the effort). As well as that, there were some gum tree look-a-likes, which reminded me of home.

All this time, I'd still been in the Nature Park, which is really quite extensive, but after about forty km, I emerged onto the main road again. It was quite a spectacular stretch of coast with enormous cliff faces towering in the distance. Luckily I didn't have to ride over them, the Andalucian roads authority having taken pity on tired touring cyclists and installed a set of tunnels. After seventy km, the friendly 'carreterra nacional' disappeared and was replaced by the scary autovia. Luckily there was a service road I could take, which led me onto a bumpy dirt track and then eventually back onto the N-340 (the nice road).

I couldn't help noticing that at this time, as with every other day, there was the 'rush hour' for bike commuters. It's not like there are many of them actually, it's just that one normally sees so few people on bikes that aren't expensive racing models that it stands out a little bit. They're not what you'd call 'typical Spaniards' (who are more than a tad car/scooter mad), rather they're what people, after looking anxiously over their shoulder to make sure no-one is listening, label 'immigrants'. Africans or Moroccans basically, who are riding back from their jobs in the horticultural facilities that form an ugly sea of plastic in every direction. They probably get exploited the hell out of, but it's the only work they can get (and I've heard that now a lot of them have lost their jobs because 'true Spaniards' are returning to work they previously considered below them after the global financial crisis started leading to a contracting job market).

I'm not sure how true this is, but based on my experiences, Spain seems to be quite a racist country. You never see any Africans in positions of authority, and Asians (lumped under the title of 'Chinos') seem condemned to run 60c Bazaars or restaurants. The Americans I met in Valencia echoed these thoughts, and Luke copped it a fair bit first hand while we were together. It's almost comical really, but at the same time very disturbing. We'd walk into a place, say an internet cafe or a small store, and the people would actually point at him and say 'Chino!!' and in school boy like fashion, pull their eyes back into slits. I don't think they meant to be offensive, but it's just incredible to me coming from Australia, where anyone who behaved like that would probably get beaten up.

The head wind seemed to get worse as I swung back to the coast, and with darkness fast approaching, I realised I wasn't going to make it to Adra unless I was prepared to ride til 8:30. I didn't have any other choice really, so after the sun set, I turned on my lights and kept on riding. I'd gone about five km further, when I spotted quite a few camping vans parked not far from the beach. “Hmm, what's this all about?” I thought. It didn't look like an official camping ground, but maybe it was just a little run down. A friendly German guy out for a walk set me straight: it turned out to be a 'free standing' zone. I'm not sure whether it's actually legal or not, but apparently it's tolerated because there must've been about one hundred camping vans (but no caravans) parked around the place. The German guy very kindly led me to a spot I could pitch my tent, next to a French couple. I had a go at engaging them in conversation, and apparently there are spots like this all up the coast. I haven't ever seen one before, but I'll definitely keep an eye out for them, because they're just perfect for my needs. One can basically stealth camp, but at the same time feel very secure because there's so many other people doing the same thing. Everyone there was really friendly and convivial – there's a great fraternity among campers I always find.