View from Cullera castle

Although I have driven through these rice  fields, now many years ago, I have never cycled through them. So with friend Peter and our wives we drove up to Cullera with our bikes. High on the mountainside stand the castle and sanctuary, peering over the lush orchards to the south from their proud perch. While the ladies drove on up the coast to the lake, we cycled down from the castle, past the cluster of fine beachy bays with which Cullera interrupts the interminable fringe of sand lining the Mediterranean and headed into the very different world of rice-growing.

Castle and sanctuary

Pete and I

Looking back to Cullera

Leaving the coastal road

As the large tractors were finishing the cultivating and spreading of fertiliser, the canals and water ducts lay in wait, pregnantly poised to inundate the fertile soils and allow the sowing of the rice seeds in the next few days.

Spreading fertiliser

Cultivator and press, typical of machinery used

Crossing an irrigation canal

Apart from egrets, the most common bird on view was the heron, almost annoyingly too common, each one leaving its vigilant post to silently and languorously open its large wings at our approach. Luckily we had printed out a map of the network of roads, as we had arranged to meet the girls in El Palmar, the fishing village on the edge of the lake, at about 2pm. We joined them for a 10 euro menu at one of the many restaurants.

Lunch stop

The girls did not share the bottle of wine with us, so after the meal Pete and I decided it would be better to load the bikes in the car and join them for a boat ride on the lake. The charge is 20 euros, for however many, for a 45 minute trip, which is most enjoyable.

Heather and Peter, Carole and I and Pepe the poo dle

Oh no, not another heron

Oh no, not another boatload

With just 40k under our belts we shall have to get back for now to some serious cycling, but we will also return here when the fields are flooded and swarming with birdlife.

Since finishing the Tour d’Afrique in 2010, they were the first of my former companions I have been reunited with; we had four cracking days of cycling round the area, including one trip with the local Spanish cycling club so that they could see how beer, bocadillos and wine can  enhance the cycling.

Last week, good friend Jurgen was out for a week with three friends from Cologne. One morning Jim Bolton and I set off with them along the coast to Altea. I had decided that the weather no longer required more than light clothing and the air felt crisp. When we stopped in Callosa I was glad to be indoors for a few minutes; we visited the shop that specialises in honey. This shop, which has been in existence for 50 years, sells a variety of healthy and unusual products at reasonable prices, but the honey is what catches the eye – and the tongue, because the dozen or more different honeys can be tasted using spatulas dipped into little jars. Once you decide which you would like, the owner, with a flourish clearly borne out of great experience, lifts a ladle-full direct from one of the 1000litre drums into a jar without spilling a drop.

The honey shop in Callosa

By the time we had climbed up to Tarbena, I was definitely very cold and even the others admitted the day was colder than the norm. Instead of carrying straight on to Castel de Castels, god forbid, we agreed to catch our breath in the Casa Pinet bar/restaurant. We sat round a table near the open fire and tucked into fat, pork bocadillos. The place is a veritable museum, the walls completely covered by paintings, photos, press cuttings and attestations to the wonderful gastronomy of the area and, in particular of Casa Pinet, and references to communism in its many forms. Old rifles hang from the rafters, (old) sausages hang over the bar and you have entered another world. It struck me that perhaps, just maybe, they could tell me something about the story I had once read and never again been able to find reference to, about the Robin Hood of the area who became so famous (or infamous, depending on which side you were allied to). The story had really caught my imagination despite the surprising ending. Paola, the waitress, said that yes, of course she knew about the story; it relates to the grandfather of the present owner. As she spoke, in came the owner, Pinet as he is known. Although it must be a couple of years since I last saw him, he is instantly recognisable for having lost one of his arms. ( He decided not to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps, not wanting to be known as a one-armed bandit: forgive me, Pinet!) He immediately tried to find me articles on his ancestor for me to read but could not put his hand(s) on anything. But he promised to look through his papers for me and if I could call again, he would have copies ready for me. He was thoroughly kind and helpful.

Casa Pinet, Tarbena

Bold or Bald?

So this lunchtime, Carole and I headed back up there for lunch. After a tasty dish of rabbit in garlic (me) and lamb chops (Carole), I asked Paola if Pinet had left some papers for me. She explained that after my last visit he had been taken to the hospital and had had some heart treatment. He was back at home now and feeling a lot better but, clearly, had not yet sorted out the papers. As soon as he is able, she is going to let me know. I will then be able to relate the story to you properly.

Back to our cycle ride. Jurgen and friends were carrying on further to Castels. Jim and I, both feeling the cold – yeah, ok, wimps – headed back to the Col de Rates and through the Jalon valley to home.

Best wishes,

Eric.

Please look at Tia’s blog on the orphanage at tiathamsanqa.blogspot.com

With so much heavy work to do in the garden recently, I have found it difficult to justify doing longer rides. When Tim said he was intending to up his mileage as part of his training, I could not resisit suggesting a ride together. Now Tim is getting to be something of a “mean machine” on the bike. He completed the Lanzarote triathlon earlier this year and is now training for the one in Salou 2012. But he promised he would not be interested in speed, it was more about getting the miles in. 

Twice before I have cycled up to Torre de Macanes (or, Torremanzanas), the mountain village from where the stone for our walling was quarried. The route covers the 150-160 kms that we wished to cycle.

We made good time along the N332, cycling to the far side of Benidorm before turning up to Finestrat. It was now nearly 10am and the windcheater had to come off before starting to climb. Suddenly it is as if the whole Mediterranean comes into view behind us, the little island of Tabarca a mere speck. Ahead of us, mountain peaks betray a world quite disti ct from that of the coastal fringe. As ever on the road from Finestrat, I – and Tim also – gasp at the unspoiled majesty of  the mountain scenery, all laid out seemingly for our private pleasure as no other traffic is to be seen. Not even another cyclist.

With the summit of Aitana, the highest peak (1500m) in the area, ahead of us we branched off to Relleu. Already the clear mountain air was ringing out to the sound of “come on Eric!” It went quieter on the particularly tough climb nearer to Torremanzanas as Tim’s chain was slipping and he could not use bottom gear. That made his legs burn a bit.

Tim (not short for timid, honestly) blocking the view of the mountain valley by Torremanzanas. Can you see the small Xmas. tree?

Ladies unloading wood for the fire in Torremanzanas

Torremanzanas itself is a delightful little place. It is very friendly for one thing. (A meaning for Macanes is said to be “the kind people”). But there always seems to be a rhythm of life there, not just the quiet moving around of old folk  in a village that has lost its purpose. The little bar by what passes as the plaza served us tostadas and coffees outside where the warmth of the sun made us reluctant to move on again.

But Tim had to get back for a 10km run so off we went, climbing up again to the Puerto de Benifallim (Benifallim pass) at 1030m. Now the next photo was taken on the descent with Aitana to the right and Alcoy over to the left. It does not do justice to the view but it might have saved our lives. As we continued down through steep, tight bends – in single file, I might add – a taxi came steaming up the hill cutting the bend completely. If we had been just a little further ahead he would have wiped us out.

Me

Just when you think you have reached the bottom a short steep climb of 20% rears up before you, but then you reach the main road where you would turn left to Alcoy but we turned right to head for the Tudons pass. There was a risk we would be back a little too late so we then took the left turn towards Gorga. This way we were able to reach Castel de Castels where we filled our water bottles from the fountain. As Tim remarked that we were nearly home I replied that there was a time, not that long ago, that a ride to Castels was a day out!

The windcheater had to go back on for the fast ride to Benigembla through valleys to where the late winter sun does not always reach. I had to laugh at Tim as he surged past and shouted “tuck in behind me” as he sped off. “I would if I could catch you”, I shouted back.

From Jalon back home I was running on the reserve tank, feeling quite depleted though also somewhat delighted that I did not have to accompany Tim on his 10km  run.

Distance  151kms    Time cycling  6hrs29mins    Average speed  23.3kph

News about Thamsanqa.

As I have previously related, the Dutch charity BeMore, who have been so supportive of Thamsanqa in recent years, have pulled out of South Africa completely due to the rising costs there. However, they have liaised with a group of Dutch supporters of Thamsanqa who have now formed a foundation, “Stichting Thamsanqa.nl”. From January they will have their own website, dtails of which I hope to post. The foundation will raise money for Thamsanqa by holding events and regular subsriptions as well as sourcing volunteers to help out at the orphanage.

As the clouds thickened and rain seemed imminent, there was some trepidation when Santi then got a puncture. Incidentally, Santi and Chimo recently took me along to watch a match of Trinquet at Pedreguer. This uniquely Valencian variant of  the Europe-wide game of pelota,with its many forms, is played in a long, high hall. The hard ball is hit with the hand by players (1-3) on either side of a net. Scoring is very similar to tennis but there are so many idiosyncracies relating to the scoring, the rules and the betting that continues throughout each game, that it makes for fascinating viewing. Fifty years ago, all the streets would have been filled by locals playing the game – without nets, just lines drawn across the dirt – each Sunday in every Valencian village. (You will not find the Trinquete in Benissa unless you go to the Bar Trinquet; you pass through the back and the hall is situated at the rear, surrounded by houses and shops).

This ride was unique in that the half way point, at which we take a break for our almuerzo (early morning meal), was back in Benissa at the Casa de Cultura. Entering from the rear, off the beautiful street where so many senorial houses, or palaces, continue to coyly hint of magnificent interiors, we parked our bikes near the stone statue of the rice-planter kneeling by a rock. Long gone are the days that the men of Benissa make two trips a year to the rice fields near Valencia, one to plant and the other to harvest. A local told me that the rock for this statue came from Sueca, the center of the rice area.

Twice during the week I have enjoyed rides with the English group of Pedreguer. You never know who is going to turn up but you do know that every Thursday it is the same route, covered at a rattling pace. Unusally, there were only four of us this week that stayed together for the whole circuit. Climbing up the Pillarets, near Pego, Jim all but snatched victory from Sandy in the traditional sprint to the top. I was not far behind as I improve slowly while nearing my best riding weight of about 72 kilos.

I have all sorts of ideas of rides I would like to do in the future. Writing these blogs and reading your comments has given me great pleasure. I feel very grateful to those of you who have followed me. But I am now thinking of activating the Facebook account I have without ever having used it. (So if you have invited me to be a friend and I have not answered, please understand that I will not have seen the message!)

So thank you once more, and hopefully we will meet on Facebook – once I can get my head around it!

Very best wishes,

Eric.

First we hurtled along the coast to Altea before climbing up to Callosa. The rollercoaster through the Bolulla valley is good preparation for the 10km climb to Tarbena. Already the group had fractured. But this is not a race and the ascent is so beautiful that one could be excused for taking one’s time.

Part of the ascent to Tarbena.

Nevertheless, we regrouped before the very top so that we rode together to the Bar Pinet in Tarbena, well-known for its owner, who lost most of one arm in the Civil War. This of course was not the reason that the service was so slow on the day, but we lost far more time there than ever we would have liked. So much so that when we had rode over the Col de Rates to Parcent, all the Spanish riders understandably decided, unanimously, to head straight for home. That left just Pete and Jim, Nino (Dutch) and Jurgen (German) and myself  to finish the scheduled route through Orba and Gata. I taunted the Spanish lads that we were the “autenticos”; I just hope that they understood I was joking. We are their guests, and very grateful to be included.

Distance   110kms    Time cycling  4.5hrs    Average speed  24.4

(For a host of photos and videos of this, and other rides, I recommend you visit www.ciclistasbenissa.blogspot.com)

Yesterday I plucked up courage to join the Pedreguer cycling group. Thursday is the day when the fastest follow a route that does not vary from one week to the next but is always at a good speed. The last time I had joined in, when I was not in good form, I struggled badly. So I was a little apprehensive. Jurgen, Jim and I rode together to the Tasca bar near Pedreguer where the group meets for a pre-ride coffee. (On Tuesday, riders bought 6 copies of my book “A Home to Head For”, available also through Amazon). Amazingly, only seven of us turned up. It was not because they were at home reading my book but because there had been some talk of a gota fria (exceptionally heavy rain).

Two hours later we had passed through Oliva and then Font d’en Caros, managed the loop around Ador, Villalonga and Podries, passed round Gandia and arrived at Miramar on the coast, where the barman was busy extending the awning to allow us shade while we ate our tostadas. By now we were only five as Ken had had to stop at the bike shop in Gata and Gary had got lost in a village before Ador. We had waited for him but to no avail; he turned up however as we were halfway through our food.

Then back through Oliva and off to Pego from where we took the Pillaret ascent. Invariably this climb causes a few muscles to flex and ends in a sprint. The route back through Sagra, Orba and the Jalon valley is taken more leisurely.

The whole trip was delightful. It is so much more enjoyable when you do not feel you are on the edge of your ability and can arrive home and still get stuck into some work instead of retiring to the couch for a doze!

Distance  135kms  Time cycling  5hrs    Average speed  27.1kph

My thoughts are never very far from the Thamsanqa orphanage in Port Elizabeth and Tia and Loise who manage it. Despite constant setbacks, Tia’s recent health issues being particularly difficult, they continue with a never-say-die attitude. In Tia’s most recent blog, she has kindly made great reference to myself, which I thank her for. But please look at the new group that has been formed in Holland by people who have helped at Thamsanqa and realise the tremendous work being done and the vulnerability in the wake of the charity Be-More pulling out of South Africa. Volunteers can now organise time at Thamsanqa through this group if they so choose.

Tia’s blogsite is www.tiathamsanqa.blogspot.com

I particularly find interesting what she writes on parenting, although we have brought up three of our own. To read this, click on the the right of her blog, where it says “on parenting et al”.

The rains have now come with a vengeance.

Best wishes,

Eric.

Sat in a small cafe in Machynlleth, dripping wet over a strong coffee and a fruit bun with no other customer in sight, does not offer the image of a destination to seek out. To their detriment,  indeed people do not.

My eldest son, Damien was driving down to St.David’s on the southern tip of  Wales to check on the cabbage he is growing there, returning the same day. The plan was to drop me off south of Wrexham from where I could cycle in a wide loop to meet back up with him on his return journey, at Llanidloes in mid Wales.

Nowhere in the UK draws me more than Wales. I have driven through it on numerous occasions, for various reasons, but never cycled it. So the promise of wind and rain did little to dull my excitement as I set off at 9am from Ruabon towards Llangollen in the Dee Valley. Crossing the bridge over the gushing river in Llangollen, folk were already scurrying around with umbrellas. There was a time when to ask a local in North Wales for directions risked finding oneself  deliberately misdirected back to England. With no such worry I asked my way to Corwen.

Llangollen river crossing

Corwen

My cycling legs, little used in recent weeks, were starting to find a rhythm, the sky brightened up a little and the beautiful unspoilt nature of the pastoral landscape drew me on in the direction of Bala Lake. Cars, optimistically carrying canoes and water boards on their roof  racks, were now becoming a regular sight. But by the time I reached there, the headwind had picked up and the rain was slanting across the lake. The pretty town of Bala was bustling, but the action was in the many little cafes as people waited for the rain to disperse. As I stood in the shelter of the Activities Centre to eat  my cheese buttie, I looked across the choppy lake and the little canoes and sailing boats waltzing on the water below me. On a fine day, the setting is very beautiful.

With an estimated meeting time of 3pm at Llandiloes,there was no time to lose. But as I cycled along the Mawddach Estuary I could not resist turning off at a sign indicating a miniature railway. Just down the road I came to Fairbourne village, from where a 15″ narrow gauge railway, built in 1895, runs along the edge of the sea to the ferry which crosses the estuary to Barmouth on the northern side. The village had its heyday in the 1960s/70s, now being a backwater of the Great British Getaway; the few amusements appear quite incongruous on a wet and windy day. the true beauty being in the setting.

Ticket office at toll bridge, Mawdacch estuary

Fairbourne station on miniature railway

View towards Barmouth and Mawdacch estuary

Now I was feeling the full force of the wind, winding along the coast, houses perched defiantly on the cliff edge. Cycling into Towyn, a family were walking along the pavement in shorts, carrying their shoes and fishing nets in their hands, clearly having a great time. Now I was nearing one of my all-time favourite places – Aberdovey. I fell in love with the place when we took our kids there, some 30 years ago. It appears not to have changed in all that time. I would dearly have loved to post photos of the town and the Dovey Estuary, but the mist and rain reduced visibility so much I would do no favours to this magnificent spot.

Ongoing problem in rural Wales

So it was that as I was able to pick up speed with some shelter from the wind, I arrived in Machynlleth at the head of the estuary. I rang Damien and he was only just leaving Fishguard so I had about 2 hours to get to Llanidloes, only 15 miles away over the mountain. I took the opportunity to slip into the cafe for my coffee and listen to the owner’s description of their worst year’s trading in their 6 years of tenure, cheerfully enough delivered.

Taking the mountain road I was delighted by the totally unspoilt landscape, with ever-wider vistas as the road took me up. As I gained height the wind held me back from the front or tried to blow me over from the side. The combination of a dangerously strong wind and some surprisingly steep climbs forced me to walk a little on three separate occasions, something I pride myself on never doing.

At the start of the climb

Reservoirs on descent from the top

By the time I met Damien and my grandson Cole in Llanidloes, it was nearly 6 o’clock and I was very tired though utterly content with the wonderful journey.

The cabbage are growing very well too!

Distance  123 miles

I have received the following report from Tia and Louise at Thamsanqa on how the money raised at the Gala in the Garden concert has been spent:

31 August 2011

Eric Olverson

Dearest Eric

FEEDBACK AND THANK YOU REPORT!! 

Buying casual clothes – the first time ever for some teenagers to buy clothes in a shop.

Eric, your donation from The Concert arrived at a time when we were in dire straits for money. I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to receive your donation.The money has been used as follows:

1. School and recreational clothing. .R3,000.00
2. A great deal of the money was spent on food for the four houses. (We currently spend  R3000 per week on food.). R12,000.00
3. We have this wonderful girl-child empowerment programme. The programme is presented to the girls in our homes and to girls in the surrounding community.  We  train the girls  to have more self-confidence and empower them to be resilient and self-sufficient. The programme covers rights and vulnerabilities, education and many other issues that affect the girl-child in society today. Some of the money was spent to partly fund this programme.  R4,000.00
4. The electricity of the four houses was paid for two months. R3,000.00
5. Stipends for the foster mothers were paid for two months  R4,000.00.
6. R2,500 was used for taxi fare for the children, once-off pocket money for the boys and school fees for two children, Thandiwe and Ntombizanelle, so that they could enrol for high school.

Eric, the money was not used exactly as we had planned but  where the most need was at that moment.

Will you please again thank everybody who contributed in any way to such a very successful evening.

Warmest regards

Tia and Louise.

.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ShbC5yVqOdI

you will see something quite extraordinary.

In case you do not already know, please pardon my persistence if you do, the book I wrote about the trip through Africa is now on sale with the title “A Home to Head for”. It is available through bookstores, Amazon or Authorsonline.com

“Where are you coming from?” the man asked.

“From Spain, though we have driven through France,” I replied.

“Now there’s a musical lot,” he said. “They are naturally horny, they know their trumpet from their crumpet and they never miss the chance for a good fiddle.”

I was about to drive off when I suddenly had a thought. “Which side of the road do you drive on in Ireland?”

“Ahhh! We tend to keep more to the middle.”

More because of the torrential showers of the next few days than this man’s referral to Irish driving habits, my bike stayed in the car. Meanwhile……

Carole and Phil outside House of Storytelling

Our friends Peter and Phil took us one night to a little thatched cottage lost in the back roads of rural Wicklow.Passing through the  red door a log fire welcomed  us and took the chill off the small, beamed room. The room was quickly filling with young and old alike. Indeed anyone was welcome. Squeezed in together near us was a lady with a violin, a man with a banjo, another with a piano accordion and opposite them a man with a guitar. At 8pm we were welcomed with some sobriety by the caller and reminded of the importance of the practice of friendship. A well worn walking stick was passed round. When you held the stick you had the right to sing, recite or tell jokes, whatever you wanted, or you could just pass the stick on. Jokes there were many of, children played their flutes, an old farmer stood up and recited a long evocative poem from memory and with feeling. For two hours, broken only by a short interval when tea and cakes were passed round, the little cottage wrapped us in its warm embrace as we became part of an Irish tradition going back centuries. As the embers died down, a young boy of about seven came to the front, sat on a chair by the fire and sang to us, his eyes unblinking, the rest of us joining in the chorus.

Children playing outside during the interval.

A welome fire

Finally I got the bike out yesterday. We are now on the Northern Ireland coast, by the famous Glens of Antrim. From the little fishing village of  Clanlough, with the sea so quiet that you could imagine walking across it to the clearly visible Scottish Islands, I cycled along the coastal road which has to be one of the most scenic drives in the world. Opting to take the Torr Head minor road, I found some steep climbs as the road followed the hilly edge. Cows defied gravity on their steep pastures while whole hedges of wild red fuschia brightened the field margins.

View of Cullendun from Torr Head

View over to Scotland from near Ballycastle.

Arriving at Ballycastle I stopped for a coffee and home-made scone. This pretty village has a small passenger ferry to the Scottish mainland, while another offers passage to Rathlin Island nearby, where Robert Bruce, the defeated Scottish rebel, is said to have watched a spider finally reach its goal after repeated attempts and felt encouraged to try again himself.

Passing through picturesque but not spectacular countryside, I legged it towards Ballymoney along the quiet road before veering west again towards  Cloughmills and Broughshane. This led me in the direction of Glencoy, one of the nine Glens, and a pleasant descent into Clancough.

Time cycling: 5hrs 17mins

Distance: 125km

Average speed: 23.7kph

In all, 210 tickets were sold, on top of which we had 34 performers and many helpers. Over 80 cars were squeezed into the narrow roads around us.

The Costa Blanca Male Voice Choir enchanted us with the harmonies of their 30 voices, beautifully accompanied on the piano by their highly talented musical director, Heather Butcher. Jane Betsworth delighted the eye and the ear as she treated us to the full range of her soprano voice after having flown over especially from the UK to perform for us. John Butson, accompanied by his wife Rosemarie on the piano, stilled the audience with the haunting sound of his trumpet as the sun left us with a beautiful balmy evening, and then roused us all with a folk medley. To round off the evening, what better way than everyone joining in to sing “You”ll Never Walk Alone” even if I did sing out of key as I held the leading microphone!

Thank you to all of you who were able to attend, to those of you who helped make the evening take place and make it such an enjoyable success. All told, you helped to raise a total of 2706 euros for Thamsanqa orphanage in Port Elizabeth, Souith Africa. As they struggle to cover running costs, I cannot say at this moment whether the money will be used to purchase the 2 cooking stoves that need replacing or the winter clothing the children could do with. What I do know is that Tia Wessels will receive the money within the week and will put it to the very best use.

Thank you to everyone ho contributed!

Best wishes,

Eric.