On the road, again.

Getting into bed last night I felt reticent about leaving Sadaba. It had been the briefest of stays but, against the constant motion of the previous days it had felt settled.

The feeling returned again this morning as I pulled out of the village and onto a long, straight, flat, single-track road across golden farmland.

I felt a slowness in my legs. They weren't spinning as well as previous days and I was having to drop down a gear more often. The tops of my thighs objected with a light ache when I pushed a too hard.

I wondered whether the lack of exercise yesterday had allowed my legs to grow stiff. Or perhaps it was the extra food I had was carrying, for a picnic lunch.

After twenty minutes my legs began to warm up and I could spin again.

The road climbed very gently past farmland to the village of Un Castillo (A Castle), a name which overlooked the other interesting buildings in the village: a Romanesque church once under the Order of the Knights Templars and a magnificent sandstone country house were just two. The castle itself looked quite dull, although maybe it has a deeper historical significance.

The road climbed out of Un Castillo, more steeply than before but still a gentle incline, alongside a river. I was in a shallow valley and the morning sun was very hot without a breeze.

The road continued to wind its way up, now through fields of lavender. I watched small birds swoop low over the lavender, catching insects.


Climbing through lavendar fields

An intermittent ache started in my right knee and I dropped a gear.

The road climbed higher and steeper now, and switched back on itself. This was the first proper climb of the ride. I checked the map and it would be 500m (1550ft) bottom to top. It had taken me by surprise but it was good to have a dummy run for tomorrow.

Before long I was pushing my lowest gear and couldn't decide whether to be worried about tomorrow. There was no reason to believe that the climb over the Pyrenees would be any steeper than this, just longer.

After a few false summits, I pulled onto the top of the wide, rolling ridge and caught my first glimpse of the Pyrenees. It is an odd strip of mountains, little more than one mountain deep but hundreds of miles from left to right. I was glad not to be crossing the Alps which stretch five countries across and three deep.

Coasting down the other side of the ridge, to Sos del Rey Catolico, I was pleased I had taken the time yesterday to tighten up my brakes. The road dropped through two or three tight switchbacks before straightening out and joining the main road to Sos.

I walked round the narrow Medieval streets of Sos, bought some bread and stopped for a coffee. The town was also in fiesta and planning to let bulls into the streets this evening. It occurred to me that there was no happy coincidence in having chosen to have a rest day in Sadaba just when they happened to be having a fiesta. I could have chosen any one of hundreds of villages in the region on any day this week and been treated to the same show. Still, I felt an affection for Sadaba now and was glad I'd spent my day there.

After Sos, I rolled down a steepish hill and then along an undulating, single-track road to Navardun, where I found a picnic spot shaded by poplar trees.

Picnic lunch

After a lunch of bread, chorizo, avocado, tomato, mushroom spread and a custard-filled croissant, I dozed in the shade listening to the wind in the trees and water from a spring falling into a long, low trough.

BC