I woke up at eight am after eleven hours of sleep, feeling in much better spirits than the day before. After the usual morning routine (run, shop, eat breakfast, pack up tent), I was on the road by eleven. It was a very cold morning, probably got down close to zero overnight. The sun was shining though, and blue skies were to be seen, so it was very pleasant riding through the 'Parc natural' that extends for a while down the coast. Lots of wetlands and the sea wasn't far from the road either.
Today was a day marred by air pressure issues. I started off with a half-inflated front tyre (hadn't filled it up completely when fixing the flat yesterday), which slowed me down a fair bit until I found a service station fifteen km into the ride. In spite of that, I still unleashed my competitive nature when a pack of road cyclists who sped past. They were going too fast and I couldn't catch them, but it felt good to blow out the tubes a little. That pack wasn't the only one – cyclists were out in force today. I saw many a team with matching jerseys. I guess all the European teams are looking for somewhere warm to go this time of year and the Mediterranean is the perfect place really. Pancake flat roads abound – I don't think I had a single significant climb at all today.
It was enjoyable riding for the next forty km until I noticed my back wheel not handling properly. 'Not another flat', I groaned audibly. There was a service station up ahead and since I was planning on taking a lunch break already, I stopped to make the repair there. I couldn't work out whether it actually was a puncture. The pressure had gone down a little bit, that was true, but it was only by a small amount. I decided to give it the benefit of the doubt (and laziness) and just filled the tube up again and kept going.
The bike wasn't riding how I like it to, but sometimes these things are just mental (aka cycling hypochondria) and every little aberration gets associated with a non-existent problem, so I kept going. Got a bit lost going through Gandia, a fairly big city, and ended up going the wrong way. The map showed no way of getting back on track without retracing my 'steps', so I decided to just go with it, and avoid the coast completely. Pretty soon after that decision, I got a puncture in my front tyre. With the amount of glass that was on the road, I guess it was just a coincidence, but as I checked the inside of the tyre for embedded glass and found a number of holes, I started to think I might be looking at an unraveling sweater.
I hadn't gone much further after fixing the flat when I saw a sign for an 'alberg juvenil', which I translated as a youth hostel. 'I'm saved!' I thought, as I made the trek up the steep road to the alberg. It was almost five and there were no camping sites on the road I was taking, so this would be rather good if it were open. Cars were parked outside the building – always a good sign. A lady was working at a computer in the reception centre – also a good sign. She smiled at me as I waved through the window – another good sign. I went in, was met by another woman, who I think asked me what I wanted. A bed was what I wanted of course, but she seemed confused.
(expertly translated by a highly proficient Spanish speaker)
'You want to stay the night?'
'Yeah'
(Calling out to the other woman)
'This crazy cyclist wants to stay the night, what do I tell him to make him go away? I don't want to have to clean up the room after he's been in there with his muddy boots.'
'Yeah, good point, I don't want to do any work either. Umm, tell him we only cater for groups'
'Aha genius! It's ideas like those that are why they made you the receptionist and me the cleaning lady'
(back to me)
(with false sincerity) 'It's only for groups, I'm sorry'
The exchange between the two women might've been made up (they were actually very nice) but the premise wasn't. I couldn't stay there after all:( My saving grace had disappeared and I was back out in the cold:( After getting one of the women to write down the address of a place I could stay, I rode back down the steep road.
'Hmm, something's not quite right here' I thought, as my bike suddenly started handling like a lame donkey piled down with firewood. Sure enough, it was another puncture. The back tyre really did have a flat, it wasn't just my imagination:O Cursing the whole thing, I furiously pumped the tyre up again, too annoyed and distraught to bother fixing the flat. After waking up in such a positive mood, I was now back down in the dumps like yesterday:(
Limping from service station to service station, I made it to the town where the lady had said I'd find accommodation. After asking about ten people, and expending all the daylight I had left, I found the right place, rang the bell and was told, a little rudely, that they were full. Fantastic. The only option then was to go back to Gainda. It wasn't far, but it was dark, and my tyre was flat, so it wouldn't be a very enjoyable ride to say the least.
I turned on my array of lights (it's quite an array now actually) and set off, pausing only to eat a little fruit. Strangely, even though it wasn't the most ideal of riding conditions, my mood started to improve. Maybe it was the food, but as I drew into Gainda, I found myself actually feeling quite chirpy:) Spotting a bike shop, I pulled in to fix up my front brake, which I hadn't set properly and which had been scraping the whole time (it really wasn't the best bike to ride at that point). I tried to explain my problem to an attendant, but he was quite busy, so after putting my bike onto a stand, he left to go back to a customer. Having done it plenty of times before, I was happy to fix it myself, needing only a decent light source to do the job. It took about thirty seconds and then I was (almost) back in business:) The guy looked quite taken back when I wheeled the bike out before he'd even had a chance to look at it:P A nice African guy chatted to me in English and held my bike while I put the panniers back on and the wife (I assume) of the attendant wrote me down the address of a nearby campsite, so they were very helpful in the end. Riding further down the street, I was amused to count three other bike shops within 500m of the first one. They're rather fond of cycling here I gather.
Hunger pangs were holding me in torturous anticipation of dinner, so rather than wait until I found the campsite, I dumped my bike inside a supermarket, ignoring the protests of a cashier and stocked up on provisions for the next twenty four hours. A large packet of chips was required to overcome my inertia and get me moving to the campsite, which I found without any great difficulty. It was 8:30pm and I was sure glad to stop riding!
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