Spain’s Almost Desert
Storm clouds over Madrid make me glad I’m wearing my biking rain pants. The train ride is pretty, but its clear that the weather report on the region was accurate.
But when I get to Zaragoza it is a beautiful day! No couchsurfers have gotten back to me so I head to the hostal I know about. Albergue Zaragoza is clearly more Spanish-oriented than Cat’s Hostel so I muddle my way through the reception, figuring out that I was good for one night but the next night might be a problem but that I could check out and check in if there are cancellations. When I ask him to repeat himself just to make sure I understand I’m gratified to learn that I managed to get the gist. I run into an American and we go for a walk, later we get an Australian for dinner.
Zaragoza is a very nice city and just about the perfect amount of busy. There is an enormous church here amongst other things and I’m thinking that my original plan to justbike to Monte Oscuro may need to be modified. The next day I do the check out and check in dance and rather than just get one more night, I get two more nights. Then I need to get some oil on my chain as I haven’t done any maintenance since I began the trip… this involves a short trip to a local bike store where I manage to get the first syllable of the word for ‘rag’ wrong (I was saying ‘frapo’ but it is ‘trapo’). Some confusion follows but we come to an understanding and once everything is ready to go, I start biking at about 1230.
The long and shallow climb out of the valley puts me on the some highlands where I see giant windmills. Windmills are pretty much everywhere in this region, and there is something majestic about how they peek out over hills and lazily spin in the wind. Even though I know how big they really are (having seen them in California before) it is always a shock to get up to them and really see it. After visiting a windmill I become convinced that I have either over-shot my goal or that it is ridiculously far away. In the end I head north to reconnect with the regional road I had been using previously and this ends up pointing me straight towards a line of high hills that I had dismissed as not the mountain range I was looking for.
The road I end up on leads me to Perdiguera from which a path leads to the hills. So of course I head towards them. Eventually the road gives out so I can’t bike, but by now I can see a ruined building on the highest hill, but behind several ridges. I climb one ridge and find out it ends before reaching the main one that I am shooting for.
I backtrack and climb the adjacent ridge which I had avoided because it had more thorny bushes. When I realize this ridge dead ends as well I consider climbing down into the ravine and trying the next ridge. I have a feeling that I will always need to climb one more ridge and I’ve been walking for quite some time up here. The wind is strong and moisture-less so I’m a bit chapped but I decide to go for it.
Having made my way up from the ravine I look about and realize I still have a huge climb through the ever present thorny bushes. I consider my situation. I’ve left my water at my bike, partly because I only have one bottle left and I still need to conserve it for the ride back to Zaragoza. I have no water, I have hiked far enough off trail that I am at real risk of becoming lost, I am unsure how easy it is to even backtrack, and it is getting later in the day. I think about how cool that will sound in my blog and then keep hiking. By now I’m periodically just crashing through thornbushes. I have convinced myself that the ruined building is either a Fascist or Republican position from the Civil War. I don’t even know for sure that I’m on the right RIDGE let alone precisely where the front lies, but that building up there, it must be from the war. It keeps me going. When I reach the highest point on the ridge… I discover that I have to descend another ravine and climb again.
At this point common sense manages to rally and come back. I turn back, and am rather surprised by the distance I have to hike back. I finally get back to my bike and ride back to Perdiguera where I take a break on a park bench and clean all the thorns and seeds from my shoes and socks. By now its 4 or 5 and I left at noon. I figure I’ll be fine because its mostly downhill, but I could really use some food. I left without breakfast and had expected to find a decent place to grab food along the way. Since leaving the hostel the best I’ve found is a strawberry popsicle. The gas station outside Perdiguera doesn’t have anything worth buying so I decide to coast towards Zaragoza.
The wind is now in my face, and while I can maintain 20-30 km/hr it is only thru pedaling downhill. At one point I reach a sheltered length and get up to 40 km/hr, then the road turns into the wind and I promptly lose 10 km/hr. The best I find is a gas station with the Spanish equivalent of Ho Hos, which I promptly devour. I make it to the hostel, take a badly needed shower, and then have to wait until dinner is done. But I make a huge amount of spaghetti which is good because I need a huge amount. I hang out with an odd/older australian chap and a german. I notice that my legs are pretty well sunburned. I stay up late on my laptop because there is a party in the building and some assholes are showing how they can sound just like a rooster. My plan is to stay up working on photos until they go back downstairs or go to bed, but eventually they defeat my remaining energy reserves and I go to bed.
I try to sleep in the next day, but it is not to be. I try to do the get up and have breakfast then sleep plan, but end up huffing about on my computer and then finally getting tired enough to go back to bed. After my siesta I eat some food and try to go out for a walk but am eventually driven back by a headache. On my way back I stumble across a couple of volleyball pitches that are stacked with latinos on team and in audience. It’s fun to watch for a while, though I’m curious why no one ever spiked… maybe some sort of pact because of the court size.
Zaragoza is definitely worth seeing, but I probably wouldn’t expect more than two days of attractions. In the end I’m hoping my host in Barcelona doesn’t expect me to be a super-jumpy tourist as I’d be fine with a break at this point.