20 years ago today – Day 29

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Monday, April 1 – Monday, Priego to Grenada, 1421 km


Priego is exactly half way between Cordoba and Grenada. We don’t get as good of a start as yesterday. The clocks sprung forward here last night as daylight savings time ended. They change at the end of March here whether it’s a weekend or not. I also was kept waiting 40 minutes at the bank to change money. Monday morning rush after the long, long weekend I suppose.

My muscles are tight and sore from yesterday’s climbs. I am feeling a cold come on too, which is weakening me. But regardless, there are hard climbs waiting for us.

We are heading south on a twisty side road in a valley that parallels A333 to the east. I am sure this used to be a goat trail in ancient times. It climbs briefly out of Priego and then levels out for sometime, before falling lower than Priego. It stays level for a while, but then climbs much further than before, over 850m, as it crosses into a new valley. It rises and falls one more time before we reach the village of Agarinejo.
From there, the road zigzags east through alpine meadows to Montefrio, reaching a height of 920m. Our first sighting of Montefrio is the monastery perched high on an impossible bluff. I see a road running down the bluff to the town and wonder how anyone could possibly climb it. But our road follows another route around the far side of the bluff through a dramatic landscape of water-worn canyons and grass-covered bluffs. Still, the climb into town is very steep.

I am exhausted and in pain. I catch up to Mike at the base of the town. I tell him I need at least a ten minute break but he says he doesn’t want to stop until he finds a grassy area beyond the town, which might be quite a while yet. We are carrying several days’ supply of juice and other heavy items. This morning we had agreed one buying one tomato, half a loaf of bread and one litre of juice, but he went on a major shopping spree buying every on-sale item he could find. He bought several litres of juice, a jar of marmalade, olives stuffed with anchovies and canned sardines, none of which we needed today but all of which we have had to haul up all of these hills. I suggest we drink at least one litre between us to lower our cargo load, but he says it doesn’t matter if it’s in our stomachs or in our bags. “It does when you’re hungry,” I answer, but to have things his way, he climbs on his bike and rides up the hill, leaving me behind.

I am steaming by this point. This is the third time I have asked to stop for a rest today. But I do my best as the hill climbs steeply, switch-backing through Montefrio another 250 vertical metres. Now we are over 1100m. There is plenty of open grass at the top of the hill but no Mike. I am angry and fed up. I decide to take a rest without him. He has taken all the suitable snack food and left me with olives, sardines and other weird stuff. I eat a jar of artichoke hearts and half a jar of peach jam, on-sale items he saddled me with this morning.

I rest there for twenty minutes before getting back on my bike. I continue for half an hour before I find him waiting at a bus shelter. I stay on the pavement and empty my bags of the olives, sardines, jams, blue cheese and whatever else I can find, and I throw them at his feet. “What’s your problem?” he huffs in disgust.
“So long asshole! You won’t be riding with me anymore.”
“Just what the Hell’s the matter?” he whines.
“You’re an inconsiderate pig, and I don’t care if I ever see you again,” I snapped back, and with that it is my turn to ride off without him. It isn’t a fast getaway as I find myself at the base of yet another long climb. Anger and pride propel me on in the hopes he won’t catch up to me. The views are rather spectacular though.

The road breaks through the last pass of the day and I begin to race downhill. Just before Ilhora, the last town before Granada, it begins to rain. I find a bus shelter and wait for Mike, since I have the good map. Less than a minute later, he flies into view. Mike is not interested in fighting ever, even if he can be stubborn, and at this point I am no longer angry either, just convinced that I will need to carry my own food supply and I determined to rest when I need to. We talk about it a bit under the shelter, and when the rain lets up and it looks like we will be able to work something out, we set off downhill towards Granada.

We reach the valley floor and the rest of the way is flat and smoggy. The high Sierra Nevada to the south were barely visible because of the smog. Twelve km before the city, we are forced to join one of the major highways for the remainder of the way. The combination of truck exhaust, my own exhaustion (I really hadn’t eaten except for the artichoke hearts and jam) and the pushy traffic makes the last half hour torture.

We find the tourist information office and take some maps of the city. There are dozens of pensions but the first 20 or so are either full or way too pricey. Two had space but wouldn’t accept our bikes. It takes a full two hours before we find a place. Eventually we get dressed, still dirty because our pension has no hot water, and go for dinner. After all I have said today, I find nothing to say tonight.

PHOTO 1: view of Priego de Cordoba as we are leaving town
PHOTO 2: village of Aljarinejo
PHOTO 3: Montefrio
PHOTO 4: Montefrio monastery at the top of the bluff
PHOTO 5: dropping from the highest pass