After a good night’s sleep among the olive trees, it was time for breakfast and restocking, at the nearby town of Azuara. A nice old gentleman wanted to chat and paid for breakfast after hearing I went through Cáceres, where he’s from. He also helped me find a fountain and a supermarket. Many thanks, sir!
Back on the road, I passed through the Waters river, on a village where a French gentleman likes formal wear.
The barely visible older gentleman on a bike behind the sign then struck a conversation, asking where I was headed and if I was passing by San Vicente de la Cuba. Upon seeing my confusion, he proceeded to explain that there was an old Roman dam there, which was actually the tallest in the empire for almost three hundred years and it was still in pretty decent shape. When I saw that it wasn’t too far off my route, I decided to go and he led me to where I’d need to turn off the road. I’m happy to report that, despite the rain, it was worth it.
A hill later, it was back into dirt roads and farm country.
I stepped onto that bank to take a picture and accidentally committed genocide instead, then proceeded to forget taking that picture. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Now anyone would say that going on dirt roads with city tyres after three rainy days was a bad idea. Well, it was, but it still went better than expected. The drainage was quite good along the road, but still, just 30 meters of mud did this:
A stop for the world’s biggest bacon and cheese sandwich later, it was time for more farms.
Since dirt roads are, quite literally, a pain in the butt, I stopped for a second to get artsy with the camera.
This is not just farm country, it’s also pig farm country. All over Aragón, you could see facilities looking exactly quite this and… just be glad you can’t transmit smell over the internet.
By this time, it was my fifth day without a shower, so I was rather looking forward to reaching an actual campsite, near Alcañiz. I would reach it, but sadly not under my own power.
The bolt for the luggage rack sheared right off. Funnily enough, it was on a smooth, paved road, after hours of dirt roads.
The luggage stayed on, since the rack was held by the other three bolts. Still, I wasn’t going to put any more stress of it, so I scrambled to go on the internet and call a cab. Two local drivers on vacation and another on sick leave later, I finally called David. He’s a tough man to reach, since it’s easier to find news articles saying that he had the first electric cab in the province of Teruel than his actual phone number.
While I was waiting, it got quite cold and it started raining quite heavily. But that got me great shots anyway, so I ain’t even mad.
And then…
David then took me 30km, to the campsite, while we had a conversation in Portuñol, a mix of Portuguese and Spanish. I kind of wish he’d pick one, but I was too tired to really care.
The campsite advertises itself as the closest lodging to Motorland Aragón, a series of racetracks for multiple vehicles, one of which is part of the MotoGP series. Unfortunately, that means waking up with the droning of loud motorbikes is part of the experience. Which is a bit of a shame, since this is one of the better campsites I’ve been to.
The day before got me really tired, so I relaxed until around lunchtime, while I got caught up on shows, news and general internet things.
Then I had lunch at the campsite, since the restaurant was plentiful and cheap.
All this, plus dessert, plus coffee was 11€, which is by far the cheapest food I’ve ever had in Spain.
Ok, focus! It was time to get the bike rack fixed, so I headed into town. Just outside the campsite, however, was La Estanca, quite a nice lake.
The shop was on the other side of town. When I saw the terrain, I decided to go around it, on a road along the river.
I ignored the “road closed” signs, like I usually do while I’m on a bike. This time, it was actually closed for everyone, even pedestrians. The park below had an ineffective fence. When I crossed it, looking up, I could see some machine hammering away at rocks a good 100 meters above. I crossed the fence right back and headed up into town. At least there were no saddlebags on the bike, this time.
With the bike in the shop, it was time to explore the town. First up: the 12th century castle. They turned this one into a hotel, too. Still, could be worse.
There was some sort of race going on and the drivers were staying there. That makes for lots of cool-looking cars, classic and otherwise.
And the cathedral:
And city hall.
Bike’s fixed. Back to the campsite!
The job was rather shoddily done, but I managed to make it right before I went on the bike again. The good news is: I fixed what’s wrong before putting the saddlebags on it. The new rack also looks more sturdy and the lack of spacers puts way less torque on the bolt, so I think it’ll last, this time.
The next day, I took a while leaving and… where’s my helmet? The answer was… in the shop. Since it was lunchtime already, I had to wait until 4, when the shop opened.
I went there, and then it was time to bike on an old railway. But that’s another post. See you there!
The Lazy Cyclist 