When it clicks, it's beautiful. When it clicks, there's nothing that can hold you back and the world just flies. The music is pumping on the iPod, the wind loses all importance and there is almost no traction with the pavement. Your heart rate slides in perfectly with the beat of the music and you get that marvellous tunnel vision which allows you to shut out everything that doesn't belong - the sound of the traffic from the A6, the comments from the old guys who can't believe that there's a woman in Lycra in the Casa del Campo who isn't selling sex.
I have a new weapon in my armoury. I bought MIND GYM, by Gary Mack, and if you're looking for a great book to help you get over yourself and your mental obstacles, you could do a hell of a lot worse than this book. Carlos Sastre estimates that 90% of cycling takes place from the shoulders up, and in my case, there was a lot of work to do with that 90%.
I was not athletic when I was growing up. When I was a kid I suffered from severe athsma and allergies (not helped by carrying around the typical extra ten pounds that a lot of teenage girls get saddled with) and in the 80s, it was widely believed that athsmatics should abstain from any kind of overly aerobic exercise, should it result in an automatic trip to the Emergency ward. So I didn't really do anything. I swam competitively for five summers, something which I tried to do when I got to Saint Lawrence (and dropped within three months - couldn't handle the highly Republican, trustafarian vibe.) Except for a period of three years when I was in Toronto, and tried to lose weight and be gorgeous to get back at a couple of losers who really weren't worth the effort, I basically did nothing until I got Ellie.
Every day is a struggle to bury my self-image of being useless at sports. That's why I like cycling: it's one of the few sports (with the exception of swimming) where I don't feel like a total goof or an uncoordinated fool. It's one of the only sports where being bottom-heavy is a potential advantage - especially in a country like Spain, where everyone's so slender, bodies drawing a straight line down from the thorax to the knees, and do not always have the legs to propel themselves quickly and with force.
I wrote Yago yesterday with my results of climing La Marañosa - I did the four and a half kilometres in 11 minutes 1.7 seconds. I told Yago that I wanted to do that climb in under ten minutes before Easter. He wrote back and said that he thought it was difficult. Ah, yes, I thought: Difficult....is not impossible.
Not only do I want to have the best cycling legs in the Comunidad de Madrid, I want to have the strongest mental game going. For once in my life, I am going to be mentally unsinkable.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Down! Down! Down!
Just got back from the pharmacy. I got myself weighed in and the scale said that not only am I two centimetres taller than they told me I was at the INEF (sorry, but size DOES matter), I'm also down 1.2 kg since mid-November. I don't know how that compares with mid-December (I should have gotten myself weighed in before the excesses of Christmas) but it does mean a lower number than before.
That means that I still have just over 11 kilos (24.8 lbs) to lose before June. I look at my face in the mirror and wonder where it's going to come from. Then I sit down - ¡plaf! - and I can feel at least four areas of my body that can give it up a little more for the cause.
I wonder what I'll look like when I reach my goal weight?? If -- WHEN -- I hit goal weight, I will weigh exactly the same as I did when I was fifteen years old. Strange.
That means that I still have just over 11 kilos (24.8 lbs) to lose before June. I look at my face in the mirror and wonder where it's going to come from. Then I sit down - ¡plaf! - and I can feel at least four areas of my body that can give it up a little more for the cause.
I wonder what I'll look like when I reach my goal weight?? If -- WHEN -- I hit goal weight, I will weigh exactly the same as I did when I was fifteen years old. Strange.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
New photos!
Right. In celebration of becoming member #228 of the Club Ciclista Chamartín (http://www.clubciclistachamartin.com/), here are some shots of me with the club jersey on.
I need to get a new tripod.
Not exactly works by Beaton or Platon, but you get the point.
One thing I didn't mention yesterday - when Buje and I were riding back to Madrid yesterday we rode for a while with a half-dozen guys from the UC San Sebastián. The Sanse guys have a reputation for being real hammerheads, so I thought I did rather well to hang onto the back of the pelotón (such as it was) for five minutes.
Buje got his digs in later -- "You realize that these guys go really, really fast, right?"
And I thought: You know, the real victory with that was that I at least TRIED. A year ago, I wouldn't have even tried.
I need to get a new tripod.
Not exactly works by Beaton or Platon, but you get the point.
One thing I didn't mention yesterday - when Buje and I were riding back to Madrid yesterday we rode for a while with a half-dozen guys from the UC San Sebastián. The Sanse guys have a reputation for being real hammerheads, so I thought I did rather well to hang onto the back of the pelotón (such as it was) for five minutes.
Buje got his digs in later -- "You realize that these guys go really, really fast, right?"
And I thought: You know, the real victory with that was that I at least TRIED. A year ago, I wouldn't have even tried.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Small victories = big steps (part 1)
I hate climbing.
No., I don't hate climbing. I love climbing. Climbing shows me how much better I've gotten. Climbing is my ultimate test because it's the biggest challenge I've got. Climbing is my meter, because I get to see how good I am compared to others who don't train or who don't get out very often.
I hate training.
No damn way. I love training. A wise cycling philosopher, whose name is Bobby Julich, pointed out that even a bad day on the bike was still a helluva lot better than being stuck inside on a good day.
I hate cold weather.
There's nobody out here today, just me and Buje. No clubs, few cars, just lots of cows and sheep and patches of green which have been slightly frosted by the snow. The Cerro de San Pedro is partially shrouded by clouds which have left long, thick streaks of white in the breaks of the granite. The climb is not that big, really; it's a Cat 3 climb, 204 metres over 8 kilometres, just enough to give us a lovely view of the Guadalix River valley - a view that would be spectacular if we could see the sierra, to boot. A singular landscape, as the Spanish would say. I cleared that climb in just over half an hour, and I know that I can do better. I look forward to doing so.
No., I don't hate climbing. I love climbing. Climbing shows me how much better I've gotten. Climbing is my ultimate test because it's the biggest challenge I've got. Climbing is my meter, because I get to see how good I am compared to others who don't train or who don't get out very often.
I hate training.
No damn way. I love training. A wise cycling philosopher, whose name is Bobby Julich, pointed out that even a bad day on the bike was still a helluva lot better than being stuck inside on a good day.
I hate cold weather.
There's nobody out here today, just me and Buje. No clubs, few cars, just lots of cows and sheep and patches of green which have been slightly frosted by the snow. The Cerro de San Pedro is partially shrouded by clouds which have left long, thick streaks of white in the breaks of the granite. The climb is not that big, really; it's a Cat 3 climb, 204 metres over 8 kilometres, just enough to give us a lovely view of the Guadalix River valley - a view that would be spectacular if we could see the sierra, to boot. A singular landscape, as the Spanish would say. I cleared that climb in just over half an hour, and I know that I can do better. I look forward to doing so.
"Do or do not do. There is no 'try'."
Buje doesn't think I can do it. Part of me isn't entirely convinced I can either (245 km with four Category 1 climbs??) but the more I think of it, the more I'm convinced that I need to at least try. I have until February 16th to make up my mind, anyway. And Buje being convinced that I can't do it makes me even more determined to do it.
It's cold outside as we head out from Pedrezuela. We did ten kilometres of the old maintenance road of the north canal that brings water into Madrid, and while it was nice, it was something that I would have preferred to do on a stronger bike, like the Orbea. And then the uphill into Pedrezuela - a full kilometre of 15%, which wasn't as bad as I made it out to be, with the inevitable swearing and groaning. My heart rate didn't spike above 151 but I got to the top only feeling slightly like hell. I was bitchin' more than I was actually hurtin'.
Buje doesn't think I can do it. "You do realize that the Mariblanca is a full four kilometres of hellish grade," he says, pointing out that his Orbea Aqua comes armed with a 54x30 set of chainrings and even then he had to do almost all of the climb standing up. Buje has seen me try to get up Abantos on the Orbea, and realizes that I'm not the greatest climber ever. I'm not even a good climber. Yet.
Andrés and Susana and Yago aren't sure I can do it, either, but at least they're willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. I have six months to train and prepare for this, and if I can knock Quebrantahuesos off, the Pedro Delgado's gonna be a piece of cake, especially because I can spend most of July training for it in the mountains. (Who's up for a weekend in Segovia?)
I refuse to think about whether that's a big "if" or not. It is what it is: 245 kilometres of riding through France and the Pyrenees. There's only one way to know, and that's to do it.
It's cold outside as we head out from Pedrezuela. We did ten kilometres of the old maintenance road of the north canal that brings water into Madrid, and while it was nice, it was something that I would have preferred to do on a stronger bike, like the Orbea. And then the uphill into Pedrezuela - a full kilometre of 15%, which wasn't as bad as I made it out to be, with the inevitable swearing and groaning. My heart rate didn't spike above 151 but I got to the top only feeling slightly like hell. I was bitchin' more than I was actually hurtin'.
Buje doesn't think I can do it. "You do realize that the Mariblanca is a full four kilometres of hellish grade," he says, pointing out that his Orbea Aqua comes armed with a 54x30 set of chainrings and even then he had to do almost all of the climb standing up. Buje has seen me try to get up Abantos on the Orbea, and realizes that I'm not the greatest climber ever. I'm not even a good climber. Yet.
Andrés and Susana and Yago aren't sure I can do it, either, but at least they're willing to give me the benefit of the doubt. I have six months to train and prepare for this, and if I can knock Quebrantahuesos off, the Pedro Delgado's gonna be a piece of cake, especially because I can spend most of July training for it in the mountains. (Who's up for a weekend in Segovia?)
I refuse to think about whether that's a big "if" or not. It is what it is: 245 kilometres of riding through France and the Pyrenees. There's only one way to know, and that's to do it.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
It's a new beginning!
To give you an idea of how sure I am that none of my friends read this blog: If any of you (and I mean those of you who live in Madrid - if you're in Ottawa, you're gonna have to wait until Easter) read this, and ask me, "Hey, who's Yago?" - I will buy you lunch.
Who is Yago? Yago is Yago Alcalde, the brains behind Ciclismo y Rendimiento (http://www.ciclismoyrendimiento.com/). I read about Yago's online training system in Ciclismo a Fondo last month, and spent the weeks following seriously mulling over whether I was a good enough candidate to do it. Looking back on it now, the fears seemed silly (as all fears do, sooner or later), but there's something intimidating about asking for help. Singling yourself out for assistance is scary; most people (including me) would rather try to figure it out for themselves rather than surrender and ask for help. So I caved. I spent two days drafting and crafting an e-mail that would lay things on the line and be honest without sounding like a total idiot. And he wrote back.
I'm not sure what to expect, but at least I took the step
Who is Yago? Yago is Yago Alcalde, the brains behind Ciclismo y Rendimiento (http://www.ciclismoyrendimiento.com/). I read about Yago's online training system in Ciclismo a Fondo last month, and spent the weeks following seriously mulling over whether I was a good enough candidate to do it. Looking back on it now, the fears seemed silly (as all fears do, sooner or later), but there's something intimidating about asking for help. Singling yourself out for assistance is scary; most people (including me) would rather try to figure it out for themselves rather than surrender and ask for help. So I caved. I spent two days drafting and crafting an e-mail that would lay things on the line and be honest without sounding like a total idiot. And he wrote back.
I'm not sure what to expect, but at least I took the step
Friday, December 12, 2008
Whatever
Hola'tllamoporlodeSPORTLIFE.
He's probably somewhere between twenty-five and forty, and probably isn't entirely sober. He's calling from a cell phone because he probably doesn't want anyone - someone specific - knowing that he's calling. The first time the guy introduced himself he spoke so quickly that it took me a moment to realize he was calling about the ad that I'd placed in SPORT LIFE magazine. Not that there was much room for making mistakes. I thought I'd been pretty clear about what I was looking for - women with whom I could ride road bikes here in Madrid. Busco chicas aficionadas de carretera.
Guy Number One calls from Huesca. He calls at 11.30AM and speaks so quickly that, at first, I'm not even entirely sure that he's speaking Spanish. It takes a minute to extricate exactly WHY he's calling - he's not a female, he doesn't live in Madrid and confesses readily that he doesn't even own a bike. All right, then, I say, as the other shoe slowly drops, why exactly ARE you calling if you're lacking those three things?
Para lo que surja, he says. For whatever comes up.
Now, we're all adults here. We all know that "whatever" does NOT mean "whatever", anymore than "Want to come up for a cup of coffee?" at 2AM does not involve coffee whatsoever. We know that any man that calls from a cellphone, and not from a line with easily traceable numbers, is, as Chris Rock so memorably put it, only as faithful as his options.
I am not an option.
I am flattered....and slightly insulted. I want to believe that I'm going to meet someone someday, but I'd rather it not be in such a tawdry, tasteless manner. I want to believe that there's more that's attractive about me than the idea that I can help someone get away with something.
I am not an option. I am a rider.
He's probably somewhere between twenty-five and forty, and probably isn't entirely sober. He's calling from a cell phone because he probably doesn't want anyone - someone specific - knowing that he's calling. The first time the guy introduced himself he spoke so quickly that it took me a moment to realize he was calling about the ad that I'd placed in SPORT LIFE magazine. Not that there was much room for making mistakes. I thought I'd been pretty clear about what I was looking for - women with whom I could ride road bikes here in Madrid. Busco chicas aficionadas de carretera.
Guy Number One calls from Huesca. He calls at 11.30AM and speaks so quickly that, at first, I'm not even entirely sure that he's speaking Spanish. It takes a minute to extricate exactly WHY he's calling - he's not a female, he doesn't live in Madrid and confesses readily that he doesn't even own a bike. All right, then, I say, as the other shoe slowly drops, why exactly ARE you calling if you're lacking those three things?
Para lo que surja, he says. For whatever comes up.
Now, we're all adults here. We all know that "whatever" does NOT mean "whatever", anymore than "Want to come up for a cup of coffee?" at 2AM does not involve coffee whatsoever. We know that any man that calls from a cellphone, and not from a line with easily traceable numbers, is, as Chris Rock so memorably put it, only as faithful as his options.
I am not an option.
I am flattered....and slightly insulted. I want to believe that I'm going to meet someone someday, but I'd rather it not be in such a tawdry, tasteless manner. I want to believe that there's more that's attractive about me than the idea that I can help someone get away with something.
I am not an option. I am a rider.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Drop you like a Kleenex
I dropped him like a bad habit on Sunday. Up Pingarrón Hill we went, Antonio and Javi first and then me, plus a bunch of guys from one of the cycling clubs. Then me and The Oik. The Oik stopped to relieve himself and I took advantage of him being off.
The first time I went up Pingarrón it took me nearly 40 minutes to climb the four kilometres. I rode the Orbea and the hill kicked my ass without even trying. This, supposedly, was the hill that Alberto Contador flew up the very first time he raced a bike. And I was mortified. I hadn't done any serious riding since I got back from the Trans-Iberian, but this, this was awful. I got to the top of the hill and it felt like someone was dancing on my chest.
Not now. I have been up Pingarrón half a dozen times since then, and on Sunday I did it in just over 14 minutes. I only looked back for him twice. I do this, did this anyway, even in spite of the fact that him staying over on Friday night and staying until noon on Saturday didn't mean anything, and we both knew it, because of his lack of performance. (Ladies, if you have any doubt if a Spanish man is Really That Into You, judge him by whether he stays for coffee or not, and if his, erm, enthusiasm, among other things, is maintained.)
I don't ride fast. But I ride faster than he does going up a hill. And it will only get better from here on in.
I have no problem dropping someone who didn't think twice about dropping me.
I mean, if he had Really Been That Into Me, I probably wouldn't have waited. Much.
But from now on, The Oik is just enough another face in the pelotón.
The first time I went up Pingarrón it took me nearly 40 minutes to climb the four kilometres. I rode the Orbea and the hill kicked my ass without even trying. This, supposedly, was the hill that Alberto Contador flew up the very first time he raced a bike. And I was mortified. I hadn't done any serious riding since I got back from the Trans-Iberian, but this, this was awful. I got to the top of the hill and it felt like someone was dancing on my chest.
Not now. I have been up Pingarrón half a dozen times since then, and on Sunday I did it in just over 14 minutes. I only looked back for him twice. I do this, did this anyway, even in spite of the fact that him staying over on Friday night and staying until noon on Saturday didn't mean anything, and we both knew it, because of his lack of performance. (Ladies, if you have any doubt if a Spanish man is Really That Into You, judge him by whether he stays for coffee or not, and if his, erm, enthusiasm, among other things, is maintained.)
I don't ride fast. But I ride faster than he does going up a hill. And it will only get better from here on in.
I have no problem dropping someone who didn't think twice about dropping me.
I mean, if he had Really Been That Into Me, I probably wouldn't have waited. Much.
But from now on, The Oik is just enough another face in the pelotón.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Ring-a-ding-ding
"Out with the old...in with the new...ring-a-ding-ding."
-- Shirley MacLaine as Fran Kubelik in The Apartment (1960)
I put the Pedro Delgado DVD away this morning, probably for good. I put it in the section with "Grizzly Man", "Super Size Me", "Startup.com". Not because I don't necessarily want a reminder that it's probably the coolest gift anyone's gonna give me this year - not because it's kind of wistful to watch Steve Bauer lose the yellow jersey to Delgado on the Alpe D'Huez - just because. There's no reason to pull it out again, because I know that I won't see Jesús again. And it was fun watching the video with him, getting to see him be passionate about something aside from getting laid, but it's a historical document. Water under the bridge....
I turn 40 in just over two weeks. I've pretty much assumed that I'm going to be turning 40 with a small handful of the most faithful friends I've got - those being Lu, Scott and Toño - and I'm kind of just thinking about cancelling the whole damn thing and turning 40 by myself with a bottle of champagne and a big tray of sushi. I can't postpone turning 40; having a small army of friends with me on the 4th is not likely to make the blow any easier. The Americans are all going to an election party at the Circulo de las Bellas Artes. I'm not American, and couldn't give a toss about the election. I just want to ride, and would have ridden had I realized how out of whack the weather forecast was going to be.
I'm in a right royal mood today. It struck me this morning that I've spent so much of my adult life being alone that cycling is probably the only sport that wouldn't frustrate me. I don't mind riding alone. I wouldn't mind riding alone now, except that I've got to meet someone in half an hour for a drink. This said someone is the second person to tell me that she gets pissed off when friends find their soulmates and let their friends fall by the wayside. The other person who told me that, who is male, got married yesterday.
September seems like a much more appropriate month for making new year's resolutions; after all, we do it for ten to twenty years when we attend school. I was thinking of this watching "The Apartment" for the nth time the other night - Fred MacMurray and Shirley MacLaine drinking quaint cocktails on New Year's Eve, and the look of boredom in Shirley MacLaine's eyes when she realizes that, in spite of Fred MacMurray having been tossed out on his ass by his wife, things are not going to change. Out with the old, in with the new...ring-a-ding-ding, says Shirley. Two minutes later, the other shoe drops; she takes off to Jack Lemmon's apartment. There's no guarantee that this relationship is going to work out, either. But at least she's taken the reins and made a decision to excise the crap in her life that isn't working.
Jack Lemmon: I love you, Miss Kubelik. I absolutely adore you.
Shirley MacLaine: Shut up and deal.
Indeed.
-- Shirley MacLaine as Fran Kubelik in The Apartment (1960)
I put the Pedro Delgado DVD away this morning, probably for good. I put it in the section with "Grizzly Man", "Super Size Me", "Startup.com". Not because I don't necessarily want a reminder that it's probably the coolest gift anyone's gonna give me this year - not because it's kind of wistful to watch Steve Bauer lose the yellow jersey to Delgado on the Alpe D'Huez - just because. There's no reason to pull it out again, because I know that I won't see Jesús again. And it was fun watching the video with him, getting to see him be passionate about something aside from getting laid, but it's a historical document. Water under the bridge....
I turn 40 in just over two weeks. I've pretty much assumed that I'm going to be turning 40 with a small handful of the most faithful friends I've got - those being Lu, Scott and Toño - and I'm kind of just thinking about cancelling the whole damn thing and turning 40 by myself with a bottle of champagne and a big tray of sushi. I can't postpone turning 40; having a small army of friends with me on the 4th is not likely to make the blow any easier. The Americans are all going to an election party at the Circulo de las Bellas Artes. I'm not American, and couldn't give a toss about the election. I just want to ride, and would have ridden had I realized how out of whack the weather forecast was going to be.
I'm in a right royal mood today. It struck me this morning that I've spent so much of my adult life being alone that cycling is probably the only sport that wouldn't frustrate me. I don't mind riding alone. I wouldn't mind riding alone now, except that I've got to meet someone in half an hour for a drink. This said someone is the second person to tell me that she gets pissed off when friends find their soulmates and let their friends fall by the wayside. The other person who told me that, who is male, got married yesterday.
September seems like a much more appropriate month for making new year's resolutions; after all, we do it for ten to twenty years when we attend school. I was thinking of this watching "The Apartment" for the nth time the other night - Fred MacMurray and Shirley MacLaine drinking quaint cocktails on New Year's Eve, and the look of boredom in Shirley MacLaine's eyes when she realizes that, in spite of Fred MacMurray having been tossed out on his ass by his wife, things are not going to change. Out with the old, in with the new...ring-a-ding-ding, says Shirley. Two minutes later, the other shoe drops; she takes off to Jack Lemmon's apartment. There's no guarantee that this relationship is going to work out, either. But at least she's taken the reins and made a decision to excise the crap in her life that isn't working.
Jack Lemmon: I love you, Miss Kubelik. I absolutely adore you.
Shirley MacLaine: Shut up and deal.
Indeed.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Decision time?
It's nice out there today. I should be out on my bike but I can barely keep my eyes open - I slept like a log last night and wouldn't be awake if it weren't for the alarm on my watch, and the jet fighters flying over the centre of the city. (Día de la Hispanidad is on Sunday, and I assume that the jets were rehearsing the big fly-over.)
I never really know what I'm supposed to do on days like this. I didn't bike a lot yesterday - 25 miles getting around the city - and tomorrow Gonzalo and I are going to try to do the entire Anillo Verde that circles the capital. Then Saturday the gang are off to the Sierra and on Sunday, there's always the possibility of heading down to San Martín (if I don't catch up with the Chamartín gang.)
"The guy who wins is the guy who trains hardest" - Floyd Landis dixit. But then again, Floyd was paid to beat the hell out of himself, and I'm just starting....
I never really know what I'm supposed to do on days like this. I didn't bike a lot yesterday - 25 miles getting around the city - and tomorrow Gonzalo and I are going to try to do the entire Anillo Verde that circles the capital. Then Saturday the gang are off to the Sierra and on Sunday, there's always the possibility of heading down to San Martín (if I don't catch up with the Chamartín gang.)
"The guy who wins is the guy who trains hardest" - Floyd Landis dixit. But then again, Floyd was paid to beat the hell out of himself, and I'm just starting....
Friday, October 3, 2008
Back in the Saddle
In addition to being one of my favourite cyclists, David Zabriskie, of the Garmin-Chipotle squad, is also one of my favourite bloggers. Read Dave's blog, when he's got the chance to update it, and you get an untarnished, no-holds-barred look in on the world of cycling - the last entry, at www.davezabriskie.com, is a heartbreaking look at what happened during and after he crashed out of the 2008 Giro.
Yep, you read that right. LAST entry. As in, not long after fracturing his 1st vertebrae, his wife gave birth to a baby boy and then there were the small matters of the Tour de Missouri and the Worlds in Varese, which means that DZ's attention, to put it mildly, has been slightly fractured. So I'd keep on checking out his website, hoping to find a new blog entry or piece of information, some nugget of wisdom, and realize that the final thing he'd put down was the run-down of his return from Italy.
And then I'd think, oh boy, he's not the only one........
So this weekend, in addition to taking Ellie out (you'll read about Ellie below - she's the other reason I'm somewhat house-bound and not able to do much beyond pottering about the new apartment, riding and writing), I'm going to catch up on all of the blog entries I should have written (and did, in some cases...just in other blogs) so that the last six months accurately reflect everything which has happened - getting into road cycling, the Trans-Iberian Express, and other things.
Stay tuned...much more coming up!
Yep, you read that right. LAST entry. As in, not long after fracturing his 1st vertebrae, his wife gave birth to a baby boy and then there were the small matters of the Tour de Missouri and the Worlds in Varese, which means that DZ's attention, to put it mildly, has been slightly fractured. So I'd keep on checking out his website, hoping to find a new blog entry or piece of information, some nugget of wisdom, and realize that the final thing he'd put down was the run-down of his return from Italy.
And then I'd think, oh boy, he's not the only one........
So this weekend, in addition to taking Ellie out (you'll read about Ellie below - she's the other reason I'm somewhat house-bound and not able to do much beyond pottering about the new apartment, riding and writing), I'm going to catch up on all of the blog entries I should have written (and did, in some cases...just in other blogs) so that the last six months accurately reflect everything which has happened - getting into road cycling, the Trans-Iberian Express, and other things.
Stay tuned...much more coming up!
Why there aren't more female cyclists (Part I)
This morning, Carlos Sastre, the 2008 winner of the Tour de France, had a cyber-chat with the readers of the Spanish sports newspaper, MARCA. One of the reasons why Carlos became a cyclist was the effort his father, Víctor Sastre, who started a sports foundation in the town of El Barraco. According to Sastre Senior, drugs were a big problem in the town in the 80s, and sports (especially cycling, of which the elder Sastre was once a practicioner) seemed to be one of the main ways out. And to this day, the Fundación Víctor Sastre trains kids to be competitive cyclists...and the website says that some thirty boys and girls currently take part in the program.
Given that the thought of traning and developing up-and-coming cyclists should not be that alien to either of the Sastre men, then, I put forward the following question (somewhat abbreviated because I wasn't able to save what I wrote):
Hello Carlos:
Congratulations on an outstanding season. I recently took a look at the webpage of the Foundation in El Barraco and I noticed that you've got a number of girls who are taking part in the program. I was wondering if you have any opinions about why there are so few women who ride professionally in Spain and who continue as they get older.
It's probably not surprising that he didn't take that one on: firstly, because he probably has very little to do with the Foundation (aside from giving the occasional pep talk) and secondly, because cyclists, like a lot of athletes, are not really given to deep reflection on things that do not fall within their scope of interests. Sastre isn't alone in this respect: Alberto Contador's Televisión Española blog from the 2008 Olympics (which is no longer available on the RTVE website) only has two mentions of his female companions - Maribel Moreno, who got sent back to Spain after testing positive for EPO; and Leire Olaberria, who took home a bronze medal in track. In both cases, Contador's second sentence was "I don't know [said cyclist], but....."
Admittedly, there's no geographical reason why these cyclists should know each other (Leire's Basque and Maribel is from Valencia) but it made me wonder why the national cycling teams couldn't have, at least, had dinner or gone for drinks or some such thing before heading off for Beijing. It's not like there are tons of women cyclists racing in Spain: this list gives the ranking of the 44, count 'em, 44 Spanish women and their national rankings. I should point out that not every cyclist on this list races in Spain: Eneritz Iturriaga is currently riding as a pro in Italy. (To see the most current list of Spanish women's road rankings, click on this link: http://rfec.trackglobe.com/familias/INDIVIDUAL%2022-09-082.pdf
I've been thinking about this a lot in the last couple of years, but I had two moments of clarity yesterday, especially after my credit card rebelled in Calmera as I tried to buy a new odometer for Ellie:
a) COMPETITIVE ROAD CYCLING IS EXPENSIVE. Not just expensive - bloody expensive. A decent bike will run you at least €1500 (and that's for an Orbea, which is produced in Navarre.) A 2008 road licence is €52. Then there's the kit, the expense of getting to and from races, entry fees for races... The RFEC is trying to combat this by offering grants to cadets and sub-23s and their families, but if it's like trying to get ANY grant in Spain, it'll involve a ton of paperwork and ultimately not be worth the pittance you'll get. As they say in Spain, water that's gone under the bridge can't move the mill.
b) COMPETITIVE ROAD CYCLING REQUIRES A LOT OF FAMILY SUPPORT, or a lack of emotional and work obligations so that you're able to focus on the stupid stuff, like being able to cook healthy, nutritional meals for yourself, to be able to shop regularly, to have someone to talk to. I used to think that male cyclists were insane for getting married so young; now I see that having someone on board to work as a butler, laundress, nutritionist and secretary is a very intelligent way of keeping your head out of your hands and your tears of exhaustion and frustration in your eyes.
All of which doesn't mean that it's not worth trying to race - but it does require the ability to keep your head on straight, to know what your priorities are and knowing what you want. And that's not necessarily something that most young women are able to do easily.
ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº
Stupid Piece of Trivia for the Day: One of the possible translations of the name Carlos Sastre is Chuck Taylor. As far as I've been able to find out, the cyclist from Ávila is not a b-ball player, and he has yet to be seen in a pair of high-tops.
ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº
If your Spanish is up for it (and judging by the calibre of questions, you don't need a particularly high level of fluency), the Q&A is still available online at http://www.marca.com/charlas/carlos-sastre/03102008.html
Given that the thought of traning and developing up-and-coming cyclists should not be that alien to either of the Sastre men, then, I put forward the following question (somewhat abbreviated because I wasn't able to save what I wrote):
Hello Carlos:
Congratulations on an outstanding season. I recently took a look at the webpage of the Foundation in El Barraco and I noticed that you've got a number of girls who are taking part in the program. I was wondering if you have any opinions about why there are so few women who ride professionally in Spain and who continue as they get older.
It's probably not surprising that he didn't take that one on: firstly, because he probably has very little to do with the Foundation (aside from giving the occasional pep talk) and secondly, because cyclists, like a lot of athletes, are not really given to deep reflection on things that do not fall within their scope of interests. Sastre isn't alone in this respect: Alberto Contador's Televisión Española blog from the 2008 Olympics (which is no longer available on the RTVE website) only has two mentions of his female companions - Maribel Moreno, who got sent back to Spain after testing positive for EPO; and Leire Olaberria, who took home a bronze medal in track. In both cases, Contador's second sentence was "I don't know [said cyclist], but....."
Admittedly, there's no geographical reason why these cyclists should know each other (Leire's Basque and Maribel is from Valencia) but it made me wonder why the national cycling teams couldn't have, at least, had dinner or gone for drinks or some such thing before heading off for Beijing. It's not like there are tons of women cyclists racing in Spain: this list gives the ranking of the 44, count 'em, 44 Spanish women and their national rankings. I should point out that not every cyclist on this list races in Spain: Eneritz Iturriaga is currently riding as a pro in Italy. (To see the most current list of Spanish women's road rankings, click on this link: http://rfec.trackglobe.com/familias/INDIVIDUAL%2022-09-082.pdf
I've been thinking about this a lot in the last couple of years, but I had two moments of clarity yesterday, especially after my credit card rebelled in Calmera as I tried to buy a new odometer for Ellie:
a) COMPETITIVE ROAD CYCLING IS EXPENSIVE. Not just expensive - bloody expensive. A decent bike will run you at least €1500 (and that's for an Orbea, which is produced in Navarre.) A 2008 road licence is €52. Then there's the kit, the expense of getting to and from races, entry fees for races... The RFEC is trying to combat this by offering grants to cadets and sub-23s and their families, but if it's like trying to get ANY grant in Spain, it'll involve a ton of paperwork and ultimately not be worth the pittance you'll get. As they say in Spain, water that's gone under the bridge can't move the mill.
b) COMPETITIVE ROAD CYCLING REQUIRES A LOT OF FAMILY SUPPORT, or a lack of emotional and work obligations so that you're able to focus on the stupid stuff, like being able to cook healthy, nutritional meals for yourself, to be able to shop regularly, to have someone to talk to. I used to think that male cyclists were insane for getting married so young; now I see that having someone on board to work as a butler, laundress, nutritionist and secretary is a very intelligent way of keeping your head out of your hands and your tears of exhaustion and frustration in your eyes.
All of which doesn't mean that it's not worth trying to race - but it does require the ability to keep your head on straight, to know what your priorities are and knowing what you want. And that's not necessarily something that most young women are able to do easily.
ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº
Stupid Piece of Trivia for the Day: One of the possible translations of the name Carlos Sastre is Chuck Taylor. As far as I've been able to find out, the cyclist from Ávila is not a b-ball player, and he has yet to be seen in a pair of high-tops.
ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº
If your Spanish is up for it (and judging by the calibre of questions, you don't need a particularly high level of fluency), the Q&A is still available online at http://www.marca.com/charlas/carlos-sastre/03102008.html
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Still "Haulin' Anchor" with Radio Euskadi
Very few people are as up on the movements of Spanish travellers as Roge Blasco is. Roge is the host of "Levando Anclas" on Radio Euskadi, the Basque regional radio station; and during the Trans-Iberian, we chatted on a weekly basis about how it was going and what the challenges were.
About a month back, we had a chat (in Spanish) that sort of summarized the entire trip, and it was funny to hear the recordings that he'd made and to think back to when we were doing the trip, trying to keep the panic out of my voice as we got blasted by every storm imaginable.
As I mentioned, the interview is going to be in Spanish, and I don't know if it's going to be broadcast over the internet...but here's the entry about the interview, in Roge's blog:http://blog.eitb.com/rogeblasco/2008/07/01/levando-anclas-13-de-julio-caballos-y-ch/.
"Levando Anclas" is broadcast on Radio Euskadi every Sunday night at 9PM.
About a month back, we had a chat (in Spanish) that sort of summarized the entire trip, and it was funny to hear the recordings that he'd made and to think back to when we were doing the trip, trying to keep the panic out of my voice as we got blasted by every storm imaginable.
As I mentioned, the interview is going to be in Spanish, and I don't know if it's going to be broadcast over the internet...but here's the entry about the interview, in Roge's blog:http://blog.eitb.com/rogeblasco/2008/07/01/levando-anclas-13-de-julio-caballos-y-ch/.
"Levando Anclas" is broadcast on Radio Euskadi every Sunday night at 9PM.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
The Grass is always greener in someone else's cracked pavement...
Even though I haven't lived in Toronto for nearly ten years, and have no intention whatsoever of returning to live in Canada, I still subscribe to "Cyclometer", the e-newsletter put out by the City of Toronto's municipal cycling department. Stacy, the coordinator, is a wealth of information about cycling and urban mobility policy, and it's inspiring to see the way cycling is taking off in Toronto and other North American cities....
Then, yesterday afternoon, I opened the latest version of "Cyclometer", and saw this:
There are a number of theories for why cycling in Europe is both safer and more popular than in North America. One theory relates to transportation infrastructure: European cities most often feature cycle paths separated from motorized traffic, while Canadian cyclists are more likely to be sharing the road with parked and moving cars. "The relative safety of these two styles of infrastructure has been the subject of much debate among cycling researchers and advocates, but little research," explains Teschke.
Now, to be fair, there is one mention, in the first part of the announcement, that both the University of Toronto and the University of British Columbia are going to conduct research into cycling safety in NORTHERN Europe, not Europe as a whole. It strikes me as facile to assume that things are better on this side of the ocean than they are in Vancouver or Toronto or wherever.
I'm not aware, for example, of any European city where cyclists don't have to rely on road riding to get around. In Madrid, we have a decent cyclepath that rings the city, but only two which take you east-west - and both of those are less than a kilometre long. Until the so-called Green Ring was built, Madrid had 60 km of bike trails, and 30 kilometres of those were to take you up out of the city, to the Sierra. Never mind the fact that you needed a car to get to the trailhead. And getting grannies, small dogs and kids off the bike trails? Yet I still get a chorus of "Oh, you live in Spain. What with Contador and Indurain, things must be great for cyclists there." Well, maybe. Contador lives in suburbia and Indurain's Basque. And neither of them use their Treks to get the morning paper, you wanna bet.
I know that things really aren't that better in other cities, either. Reading the CYCLOTHERAPY blog on The Independent's website, for example, doesn't give me the sense that things are much different in London. Julián Illara, the coordinator of Burgos en Bici, recently came back from a cycling conference in Rome and told me of being horrified at ending up on a six-lane motorway during Rome's Critical Mass late last month. Rome cyclists are so pissed off at being marginalized that they have no problem doing what they can to screw up traffic.
If the UN is so worried about climate change, I have an idea: start a Directorate of Alternate Transport. Instead of spending money on allowing the sons of third-world despots to live the high life in Manhattan, let's take some of that dosh and start a library/website/information office/whatever that allows cycling organizations, academic bodies, government organizations or whoever to share information, policy, research, whatever.
But don't let's make the mistake of assuming that eveything that's not where we are is brilliant and good. It's a common enough refrain here... "Oh, but everything is so much easier for cyclists in Amsterdam...in Northern Europe....in Denmark...in Chicago...whatever." It isn't.
It's the same mindgame that makes people assume that if they can't reach perfection, it's not worth the effort to even try in the first place. We all work with what we've got. We can learn from others, but we can't be them.
Then, yesterday afternoon, I opened the latest version of "Cyclometer", and saw this:
There are a number of theories for why cycling in Europe is both safer and more popular than in North America. One theory relates to transportation infrastructure: European cities most often feature cycle paths separated from motorized traffic, while Canadian cyclists are more likely to be sharing the road with parked and moving cars. "The relative safety of these two styles of infrastructure has been the subject of much debate among cycling researchers and advocates, but little research," explains Teschke.
Now, to be fair, there is one mention, in the first part of the announcement, that both the University of Toronto and the University of British Columbia are going to conduct research into cycling safety in NORTHERN Europe, not Europe as a whole. It strikes me as facile to assume that things are better on this side of the ocean than they are in Vancouver or Toronto or wherever.
I'm not aware, for example, of any European city where cyclists don't have to rely on road riding to get around. In Madrid, we have a decent cyclepath that rings the city, but only two which take you east-west - and both of those are less than a kilometre long. Until the so-called Green Ring was built, Madrid had 60 km of bike trails, and 30 kilometres of those were to take you up out of the city, to the Sierra. Never mind the fact that you needed a car to get to the trailhead. And getting grannies, small dogs and kids off the bike trails? Yet I still get a chorus of "Oh, you live in Spain. What with Contador and Indurain, things must be great for cyclists there." Well, maybe. Contador lives in suburbia and Indurain's Basque. And neither of them use their Treks to get the morning paper, you wanna bet.
I know that things really aren't that better in other cities, either. Reading the CYCLOTHERAPY blog on The Independent's website, for example, doesn't give me the sense that things are much different in London. Julián Illara, the coordinator of Burgos en Bici, recently came back from a cycling conference in Rome and told me of being horrified at ending up on a six-lane motorway during Rome's Critical Mass late last month. Rome cyclists are so pissed off at being marginalized that they have no problem doing what they can to screw up traffic.
If the UN is so worried about climate change, I have an idea: start a Directorate of Alternate Transport. Instead of spending money on allowing the sons of third-world despots to live the high life in Manhattan, let's take some of that dosh and start a library/website/information office/whatever that allows cycling organizations, academic bodies, government organizations or whoever to share information, policy, research, whatever.
But don't let's make the mistake of assuming that eveything that's not where we are is brilliant and good. It's a common enough refrain here... "Oh, but everything is so much easier for cyclists in Amsterdam...in Northern Europe....in Denmark...in Chicago...whatever." It isn't.
It's the same mindgame that makes people assume that if they can't reach perfection, it's not worth the effort to even try in the first place. We all work with what we've got. We can learn from others, but we can't be them.
Friday, June 6, 2008
It's all right if it sucks.
One of the things that kept me riding (and sane) throughout the trip was my weekly chat with Roge Blasco.
Roge is the host of two renowned radio shows about travel, La Casa de las Palabras (The House of Words) and Levando Anclas (Hoisting Anchor) on Radio Euskadi, the Basque regional broacasting network. At the end of every week, after 9:30 in the evening, we'd talk for ten or fifteen minutes about how the trip was going. No one in Spain is as up on the movements of travellers as Roge is: you name the means of transport or the country, he knows someone who's been there and done that, but there's always a note of enthusiasm and jealousy when he interviews you. It's like at any moment you expect him to say, "Gimme a couple of hours, and I'll be there..." and for him to slam down the phone and show up at your hotel before sundown.
Yesterday we did a taping for an edition of Levando Anclas which will be broadcast in July, and Roge brought up the fact that a lot of the problems that we had on the trip were weather-related. And I thought about something that I read last week, which makes all the more sense now that I've got some space to reflect on the trip.
CNN correspondent Anderson Cooper is the cover story on this month's edition of OUTSIDE magazine and has been a reader of the magazine for decades. When he was 19, he was inspired by the article to take a trip across Africa, and from there went on to be one of the channel's best-travelled journalists. For copyright reasons I can't clip the particular question and answer that moved me, but if you click here(http://outside.away.com/outside/culture/200805/anderson-cooper-2.html) and do a search for "It's supposed to suck", you'll see which one I mean.
It was a great relief to read this. It was a relief to see someone else say that it was all right if the trip didn't go perfectly, if the weather sucked or you realized that you were generally a lot happier when your travel companion went off on his own and you didn't see him for three days. It was all right to be awake at night, normally at 12:03 AM, obsessing about whether someone was going to steal your bike and leave you stranded in some lost town in Soria. (Funny, I never obsessed about breaking my neck - but the thought that someone would nick Ruby gave me more than one sleepless night.)
And Mr. Cooper is right. You learn a lot more about your own limits and your own sense of possibilities when things don't go perfectly. If you don't have adversity, you don't learn how strong you actually are, how resourceful you are and that it's all right to be alone. A woman travelling alone is not an automatic target for all the evil and crime in the world. As women we receive messages, consciously or unconsciously, that if we go down into the woods today, we're going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere, that we're just asking to be raped or attacked or God knows what. (I should get my mother to fill this part in.)
That doesn't mean that we shouldn't take precautions. But fear has limited value when undertaking something like this. If you're too fearful, everything is going to seem like a threat, rather than just crap that happens to everyone.
You don't get bad weather because you're a woman travelling alone.
You don't get pelted by hail because you're a woman travelling alone.
Sometimes it is going to suck. You just can't take it personally.
You shrug it off, you learn, and you keep your head down and keep going.
Roge is the host of two renowned radio shows about travel, La Casa de las Palabras (The House of Words) and Levando Anclas (Hoisting Anchor) on Radio Euskadi, the Basque regional broacasting network. At the end of every week, after 9:30 in the evening, we'd talk for ten or fifteen minutes about how the trip was going. No one in Spain is as up on the movements of travellers as Roge is: you name the means of transport or the country, he knows someone who's been there and done that, but there's always a note of enthusiasm and jealousy when he interviews you. It's like at any moment you expect him to say, "Gimme a couple of hours, and I'll be there..." and for him to slam down the phone and show up at your hotel before sundown.
Yesterday we did a taping for an edition of Levando Anclas which will be broadcast in July, and Roge brought up the fact that a lot of the problems that we had on the trip were weather-related. And I thought about something that I read last week, which makes all the more sense now that I've got some space to reflect on the trip.
CNN correspondent Anderson Cooper is the cover story on this month's edition of OUTSIDE magazine and has been a reader of the magazine for decades. When he was 19, he was inspired by the article to take a trip across Africa, and from there went on to be one of the channel's best-travelled journalists. For copyright reasons I can't clip the particular question and answer that moved me, but if you click here(http://outside.away.com/outside/culture/200805/anderson-cooper-2.html) and do a search for "It's supposed to suck", you'll see which one I mean.
It was a great relief to read this. It was a relief to see someone else say that it was all right if the trip didn't go perfectly, if the weather sucked or you realized that you were generally a lot happier when your travel companion went off on his own and you didn't see him for three days. It was all right to be awake at night, normally at 12:03 AM, obsessing about whether someone was going to steal your bike and leave you stranded in some lost town in Soria. (Funny, I never obsessed about breaking my neck - but the thought that someone would nick Ruby gave me more than one sleepless night.)
And Mr. Cooper is right. You learn a lot more about your own limits and your own sense of possibilities when things don't go perfectly. If you don't have adversity, you don't learn how strong you actually are, how resourceful you are and that it's all right to be alone. A woman travelling alone is not an automatic target for all the evil and crime in the world. As women we receive messages, consciously or unconsciously, that if we go down into the woods today, we're going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere, that we're just asking to be raped or attacked or God knows what. (I should get my mother to fill this part in.)
That doesn't mean that we shouldn't take precautions. But fear has limited value when undertaking something like this. If you're too fearful, everything is going to seem like a threat, rather than just crap that happens to everyone.
You don't get bad weather because you're a woman travelling alone.
You don't get pelted by hail because you're a woman travelling alone.
Sometimes it is going to suck. You just can't take it personally.
You shrug it off, you learn, and you keep your head down and keep going.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
The Adventure Begins
Well, whatever. Whatever isn't done can be mocked up, ad-libbed, put into order or taken care of at a later date. I got to Chamartín Station without too much difficulty except that the bike, fully packed, is quite heavy, so.........
8:29 - Shortly before the train took off, a guy got on the train with a LeMond ten-speed that had to be a good ten years old. Looks like he's heading up to Ávila. I think he's gonna be disappointed. There's rain in them thar hills. LOTS of rain.
14.17 - Good stuff. Turns out that the train I took DOES go all the way up to Irún, which means that it also goes by Ordizia, where Stuart and Jools live. Hur-RAH, as my host would say. The train going up from Vitoria is full of university students, and quite a number of them are speaking in Euskera, which sounds comforting when they speak it. Now that I just hope that one of them doesn't put his or her bike (all of their bikes are made by Orbea, not surprisingly) against mine, so that I can get off more easily in Ordizia.
I love the Basque Country. Everything's so tidy and orderly up here. And there are so many bidegorris (bicycle lanes), making it easier to get around by bike. Three of the students on this train have brought their bikes and they just fling 'em on the train without any ado - bang! and on they go.
18:33 - If it stays like this for the rest of the weekend, we'll have gotten off lightly, that's for sure. It's a heavy mist, more than anything, and Stuart seems to think that the odds of having an epic, ripping boomer worthy of King Lear is pretty minimal. He said that last weekend they were supposed to get snow and instead they ended up sitting around watching the rugby match in their shirtsleeves. So who knows.
8:29 - Shortly before the train took off, a guy got on the train with a LeMond ten-speed that had to be a good ten years old. Looks like he's heading up to Ávila. I think he's gonna be disappointed. There's rain in them thar hills. LOTS of rain.
14.17 - Good stuff. Turns out that the train I took DOES go all the way up to Irún, which means that it also goes by Ordizia, where Stuart and Jools live. Hur-RAH, as my host would say. The train going up from Vitoria is full of university students, and quite a number of them are speaking in Euskera, which sounds comforting when they speak it. Now that I just hope that one of them doesn't put his or her bike (all of their bikes are made by Orbea, not surprisingly) against mine, so that I can get off more easily in Ordizia.
I love the Basque Country. Everything's so tidy and orderly up here. And there are so many bidegorris (bicycle lanes), making it easier to get around by bike. Three of the students on this train have brought their bikes and they just fling 'em on the train without any ado - bang! and on they go.
18:33 - If it stays like this for the rest of the weekend, we'll have gotten off lightly, that's for sure. It's a heavy mist, more than anything, and Stuart seems to think that the odds of having an epic, ripping boomer worthy of King Lear is pretty minimal. He said that last weekend they were supposed to get snow and instead they ended up sitting around watching the rugby match in their shirtsleeves. So who knows.
Friday, February 8, 2008
How do you know when you're ready to go?
SIGNS THAT YOU NEED TO GO ON YOUR CYCLING VACATION NOW:
a) You live in a 20-square-metre studio apartment and you start thinking, Hm. Rather roomy, this.
b) You've sworn at the noisy neighbors once today. You've sworn at your laptop three dozen times. And it's only two in the afternoon.
b) The manager of your gym complains that you've worn out two static bicycles since Christmas.
d) You're cooking on your Campingaz stove for the sheer hell of it.
e) You're using your camping towel for the sheer hell of it.
f) You find yourself spending far more time than usual in the dried-pasta-and-soup section of the supermarket.
g) You can't find anything wrong with the idea of spreading cream cheese with your index finger.
g) The only clothes you find you wash on a regular basis are black, black, dark brown, washed-out-black-going-to-grey and the occasional red garment (for visibility, natch).
Right, then...what have I missed?
a) You live in a 20-square-metre studio apartment and you start thinking, Hm. Rather roomy, this.
b) You've sworn at the noisy neighbors once today. You've sworn at your laptop three dozen times. And it's only two in the afternoon.
b) The manager of your gym complains that you've worn out two static bicycles since Christmas.
d) You're cooking on your Campingaz stove for the sheer hell of it.
e) You're using your camping towel for the sheer hell of it.
f) You find yourself spending far more time than usual in the dried-pasta-and-soup section of the supermarket.
g) You can't find anything wrong with the idea of spreading cream cheese with your index finger.
g) The only clothes you find you wash on a regular basis are black, black, dark brown, washed-out-black-going-to-grey and the occasional red garment (for visibility, natch).
Right, then...what have I missed?
Sunday, January 20, 2008
A slightly adjusted route
After taking a look at some maps (and as usual, more maps and even more maps), I've decided to tweak the route a bit during the final days going through Andalusia.Originally, we were going to go through Arcos de la Frontera and head down through Medina Sidonia. But, after a bit of reflection, I realized that that presents a couple of problems:
a) It'd mean having to take the A393 regional highway, which is pretty enough, but which can't really be recommended, due to heavy traffic and non-existent shoulder to ride on.
b) We wouldn't get to see Ronda!
So the route's changed a bit. Instead of doing the entire Vía Verde de la Sierra on Sunday, April 20th, we'll backtrack a little bit so that we can head to Setenil de las Bodegas, so that we can visit Acinipo, the Roman settlement that essentially served as the first Ronda. From there, we'll take some back roads and country paths in to the north end of Ronda.
The next day, Monday 21 April, will be a rest day, which will allow participants to take part in some sightseeing, get caught up on e-mail and get some shopping done for the next couple of days. If you've never had the opportunity to visit Ronda, you're in for a treat: it's one of the most atmospheric cities in Spain!
And if you want to stretch your legs even more, go for it: you can take a bus up to Grazalema and bike around the north end of the park, and meet us in Alcalá de los Gazules on Wednesday, April 23rd. This essentially gets us into Tarifa one day later, on Friday the 25th of April, but it's worth it in order to avoid traffic and to enjoy the fabulous views to be had from the south end of the Alcorconales Regional Park.
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