Wednesday & Thursday 9-10 April - Llyn Celyn(ish)

Where was Erica? She spent the night in a parking area on the minor road that runs to the S of Llyn Celyn (W of Bala)

Weather: Daytime: Wall-to-wall sunshine, warm and (thankfully) the biting wind of last weekend had gone away. Night: A bit nippy. 0 degrees at 7am.

How do you get around the need to unpack at the end of a trip? You fail to pack for it in the first place!

Our failure to pack for this trip was definitely in the category of ‘pure comedy’.

In my defence: a) we’ve had a lot going on the last few weeks; and b) the main purpose of the trip was an overnight backpack for me, and had I gone by train, I wouldn’t have considered that I’d underpacked at all. With the benefit of hindsight, we should have delayed by another day, even though we’d already delayed by six, which would have given time to prepare properly.

As it was, such were the time pressures (admittedly some caused by my choice of what to do with the time I had available*), that it was gone 7pm on Tuesday before I even started packing my backpack. I figured everything else (including a couple of urgent unrelated admin tasks) could be sorted in the morning.

I woke yesterday morning and, 2.5 hours before our intended departure time, I impulsively decided not to proceed with the intended well-planned and researched trip to the W side of the Black Mountains, but instead to hastily plan something completely different. The revised plan took me about ten minutes, was entirely unresearched and was to take us to mid-Wales, W of Bala.

With admin tasks all done, I chucked a few things into a crate, failed to even glance at the Erica/Bertie packing checklist, and we were about ready to leave the house when I asked Mick if he was packing anything, suggesting that maybe he might want a pair of PJs and a pair of pants. That is literally what he picked up. This may sound scant, even for an overnight trip, but (if you ignore my backpack) it’s more than I thought about. On reflection, a change of clothes for the journey home would have been nice. As would have been a pair of PJs, as things worked out. Putting some water in Erica’s tank would have been good too. And a pillow: that would have added comfort for Mick.

A five minute detour to a Tesco to buy diesel turned into twenty-five, due to roadworks (we later passed a cheaper fuel station directly on our route). It was 1330 by the time we arrived in the layby from which I was going to be setting out.

After a spot of lunch, it was 1355 by the time I struck out up my first hill. Mick had, quite rightly, pointed out that I could do this one as an out-and-back without my pack, swinging back past Erica to pick it up before heading on to my second hill. Given the tinder-dry ground conditions, it was a comfort that in the next 1.5km I passed two streams that were running. It was false comfort, I didn’t pass another in the next 3.5 hours.

Water, water, definitely not everywhere.

On my way to my final hill of the day, I’d seen where there was water further down the valley, so having bagged that final hill, I made my way down to the river.

Getting there involved crossing some really rough ground, a barbed wire fence then some ridiculously rough ground. I finally reached the water to see that it was barely moving and looked plain nasty. Worse, there was clearly not going to be anywhere remotely campable, even by my ‘chuck the tent up wherever’ standards. Worse still, I was now faced with trying to retrace my steps, or taking a more direct line back to the track … and on the direct line route stood two rows of commercial pine plantation, each only about 10-20m deep, but still as impenetrable as these things always are. I headed to the nearest side stream, hoping there would be a way through the trees there. I suppose there was, but it was a bash and a crawl and certainly not a responsible or sensible route. 

Spot the water/pitch-seeking detour. Because I'd seen the water at that point and from afar it looked like I might find a pitch there, I hadn't even noticed that without any detour I would cross the same water further down just a few hundred metres later, although due to the farmhouse at Amnodd-bwll I wouldn't have expected a discreet pitch near there.

Predictably, within two minutes of rejoining my intended route, after the nugatory 500m/20 minute detour, I found a side stream that was trickling. I could also see what appeared to be some abandoned mine buildings further up the hill that I thought might net a pitch out of sight of the farm house just 200m away. First, though, water. Oh, the joys of a brand new water filter! Our ten year old ones were well overdue replacement!**

As I completed my water faff, I contemplated the sense of backtracking uphill in the hope of finding a pitch, and checked the map for likely spots on my onwards route. It was at this point that I noticed I was only a 7.5km walk from where Erica was parked. It was now 7pm. Being all good track, it would take me a maximum of 1.5hours to cover that distance, which would see me there in the last dregs of daylight. I could faff around looking for a good pitch or I could have a nice comfortable night with Mick. Obviously, I opted for the latter.

It turned out the farm house I’d been concerned about was derelict (but with a new roof, hence fooling me). It also turned out that there was plenty of campable ground beyond it. However, it was lowland sheep-grazing land, in lambing season, and thus a shepherd was sure to make rounds both late and early. I never want to be found pitched where I shouldn’t be … and Erica was calling.

On the walk out to the road (still on my intended route), I got enough of a phone signal to convey to Mick where I was and to expect company for the night, but not enough signal to receive news as to whether he was going to hold tight or would drive along the road to meet me.

At a fork, had I taken the lower vehicle track I would have been on the road when Mick drove by. As it was, I was on an old grassy track, up above and paralleling the road – but at least I saw him, even if he didn’t see me. I scrambled down the bank and over the fence, and thus was standing in his path when he came back.

It was a late tea, and early to bed, and a superbly quiet*** and comfortable night.

We were away from our overnight spot early, and I was on my way up my first hill, just a few miles along the road, by 7am. Down from my second hill by 1130 (carrying water off the hill with me, so we could make drinks for the journey: see earlier mention of failing to even pack enough water for this 24-hour trip), it wasn’t long before we were on our way to Montford Bridge Café (by Shrewsbury) for lunch. We’d stopped in there last July and found it to be a gem, with excellent and plentiful food for a ridiculously low price. The prices have now gone up and the quality of the food (or at least, the quality of the cooking of it) has plummeted. Disappointing!

We were home by mid-afternoon.   

(There will be more detail about the hills themselves at gayleybird.blogspot.com)

(*On the day before departure I cooked and dehydrated six meals. I hadn’t been able to find the bag of dehydrated lentils that I thought was left over from last autumn, and if I was going to have the dehydrator running, then it made sense to cook two different meals and put them all in at the same time, thus getting a head start on preparing food for the TGO Challenge next month. I then found the missing bag of dried lentils, so didn't need any of those meals after all.

**The cheapest Sawyer Mini that I’ve seen on sale in the UK are £25 each, and from a source that I would trust not to be fake goods, they’re £35 each. I imported a pack of four from the USA for £54 delivered.

***Quiet except for the incident where I woke up to the sound of voices. No idea why my phone had decided to randomly start playing an audiobook, and my earphones were right next to me.)

 

A Running Event: Part 2

Race Day

As the Race Director counted down the “3-2-1-Go” on the strike of 10am, the competitors scattered. However, there are only so many routes out of a small village and I wasn’t the only person heading north. Half way across the first field, I looked back to see how many people were behind me. None was the answer. I was already firmly bringing up the rear. Even so, I stuck to my intended pace, feeling sure that I would later pass (in distance, even if not on the same route) some of the whippets rapidly pulling away ahead of me.

Actual routes, captured after the event had finished. The green circle marks the finish line.

My confidence that my pace was right lasted until the second field, when I suddenly realised what I’d not considered. On the map snippet below, on the left, in red, is my original route from the original start point; on the right, in blue, is my actual route from the revised start point:

I knew I could cover 80km in 12 hours and my original route had been pretty straight. What I'd not considered was that all of the westerly sections at the start of my new route would allow the expanding circle to gain on me, and I hadn’t calculated whether that would require me to start faster. Would the half-hour head start be enough, or would my wiggly start see me out of the race embarrassingly early?

My heart rate had been fine until that panic set in. It then rocketed and stayed disconcertingly high for a disconcertingly long time.

As it went, I didn’t get caught by the expanding circle. I can’t remember how close it got to me, but for much of the time it was between 4 and 6km behind, and once my route straightened out and I was happy that I was safe from being caught (barring disaster!), I had a nice relaxed day.

Mick, on the other hand, had a relatively stressful day. He was meeting me on average every 7.5 kilometres, which was pleasantly often for me (most times I just grabbed food and drink and was gone again) but meant that Mick didn’t have much time to spare between getting stuff out, putting it back away, and driving to the next location.

My route proved to be a good sight-seeing tour too. The Thames Path and Oxford were particular highlights.

Disappointingly, my feet started disintegrating from about 15km in. This is mind-boggling. I cover a lot of miles on foot*, my feet are pretty tough, and except for my left little toe, I wouldn’t say that I’m prone to blisters. My longest training run (before structured training went out the window when we unexpectedly moved to Halifax a month ago) was 36km, I wore my race shoes, and didn’t get a single blister. I’d worn the same shoes in Spain in temperatures pretty similar to race day. I was wearing the same socks as usual too. So, I’ve no idea what caused not just a couple of blisters but TEN of them! (*I did 19 outings of 15k or more in training, without my feet disintegrating.)

More disappointing than the blisters was the pain that developed on the outside of my right knee from 27km in. I could walk pain-free, but as I ran the cramp-like discomfort would get progressively worse until I had to walk again. When I say ‘progressively’ it got to the point that I could manage 30 paces before it got too much. Fortunately, walking reset it, so I could walk a while then run 30 paces, and repeat. I later twigged that if I entered the Ministry of Silly Walks after 30 paces, I could up the running to 50 paces. Later still, with the assistance of paracetamol I even managed 100 paces. But, at least I could keep up a brisk walk.

This format isn’t a sociable one. I caught up with one pair and one solo in the entirety of my route (none of whom reached the finish line), which amounted to around three minutes of conversation. It turned out not to bother me in the slightest and I was perfectly happy being in a physical yet virtual real-time race.

Remember me mentioning all that time spent researching and honing my route to make it as efficient as possible? Nugatory effort! When I left the dreadful excuse for a tow path on the Oxford Canal and saw the speed of cars on the B-road I was then meant to be taking, I quickly decided to revert to the canal route, even though it was going to add a couple of kilometres. Time was then lost replanning the next support point.

By the time I got to that next support point, it had been raining for a while. The weather forecast had been for showers throughout the day, but the reality was that it was dry and warm until quarter to seven, after which it rained continuously and, for much of the final three hours, heavily. Once it was fully dark, it was irrelevant which brightness I used on the headtorch – all I could see was the light bouncing back off the rain.

Fortunately, I’d changed my shoes when Mick met me for the penultimate time before the finish line, because the rain very quickly turned the nice firm not-rained-on-for-weeks towpath into a mass of puddles with sections of slippery mud, and road shoes had gone from perfectly fine to performing like ice-skates.

Constant lightning over to the west was a cause for mild concern, but it didn’t get any nearer to me.

I took to the road for my final 4km to the finish. Turns out that my chosen finish point sits atop a tiny hill. My plotted 76km route (which became 78km with my route switch to the canal) had a mere 350m of ascent and 50m of it was in the final 3.5km.

By the time I reached the finish line I was pretty wet, with the water resistant zip on my jacket having been overwhelmed. I was also cooling down. My feet were a mass of blisters. My knee was poorly. Surely the sensible thing was to stop and not go for ‘last woman standing’. I knew I might regret stopping; I knew (due to the feet and knee) that I might regret continuing, so it wasn't an easy decision.

As I climbed into Erica and checked that my dot on the map had turned green (confirming that I had crossed the virtual finish line), I knew that I needed to make a quick decision, before I got too cold.

I dithered. I dithered some more - for twenty minutes in the end, with the expanding circle ever creeping up on me. Finally, I declared that Carole (the only other woman still going) could have it, and I was done. I typed my resignation text message to the Race Director, got my tracker out and had my finger on the power off button. Then it occurred to me that I was tied with the only other woman who had reached the finish line (all other solo women had DNFd). If I just continued a little further, I would leapfrog her. So, I told Mick to give me a ten minute head start, then come and pick me up.

Peeling off my wet waterproof, I put on two dry ones (no more rain getting through a front zip for me tonight!) and shivered off up the road. Five minutes later Mick phoned me: “Carole has stopped and turned off her tracker”.

“Oh ****! I’m going to have to continue now, aren’t I?” I said.

I wasn’t far off her crow-flies distance when I came upon a road closure (not the sort that I could ignore and nip through anyway, but major HS2 works). My phone was not enjoying the heavy rain on its screen, but between me and Mick (who was now parked just beyond the road closure) we came up with a plan. The best option we could see was to start heading ENE, which isn’t ideal when only northerly movement counts.

Stopping with only 100m more on the score board than Carole, I felt a little guilty at not making the effort to beat her more resoundingly, but equally there was no value in continuing when I knew that all other women had stopped and that I had achieved 'last woman standing'. I happily climbed into Erica, turned off my tracker and finally sent that resignation text message I'd typed a few kilometres earlier.

My final stats were 67.5km as the crow flies, and 81.5km actually covered.

The overall winner covered 107km as the crow flies and 119km real distance – outstanding route efficiency (but no way would you ever catch me on the roads he used).

(I feel that I should declare the fact that there was a disappointingly small field in the solo women category. However, I can only compete against those who turn up, so I'll happily take the win regardless!)

A Running Event: Part 1

At the end of November last year, I entered a running event. The concept:

Everyone gathers at a start point. Everyone is issued with a tracker. At 10am the Race Director counts down “3-2-1-Go” and everyone runs off in whatever direction they chose, on whatever route they’ve designed. After a half-hour head start, a circle (centred on the start point) starts expanding on the tracking map. All competitors need to stay ahead of that circle. If it overtakes them, they are out of the race. To be classed as a finisher, you have to reach 40 miles as the crow flies within 12 hours. There is then a decision: stop and be happy with just being a finisher, or carry on, still staying ahead of the ever-expanding circle, to compete for ‘last (wo)man standing’.

When I entered I had my eye on the last woman standing as my objective.

I didn’t even enter until I’d spent a couple of days plotting a route, researching it in minute detail, replanning, and honing it to make it as efficient as I could (because when being chased by an expanding circle, you want to be going in as close to a straight line as possible).

I then sat down to write myself a training plan and realised that March wasn’t as far distant as I’d thought. I set to training with gusto and even went out on New Year’s Eve to recce the canal section of my route (which in turn caused more replanning, because the Oxford canal has the worst excuse for a tow path that I’ve ever seen).

Two and a half weeks before the event, news came through that the start point had been moved. After much replanning, I concluded that there wasn’t a route from the new start point that I was happy with – I wasn’t prepared to go on busy pavementless roads, and I didn’t want to do too many field paths for fear of mud season and being slowed by navigation. Clearly, by then I didn’t have the opportunity recce any revised route. My disgruntledness was then overtaken by events and it became clear that I wouldn’t be taking part anyway.

Then Ma-in-Law died more suddenly than expected, and then there was no reason not to go along. The last month had been far from ideal from training, sleep and food points of view, but I followed my own advice: if you don’t start then it’s definite that you won’t finish, thus you may as well start. And given that I’d resigned myself to not taking part at all, my competitive ambitions had gone out the window, and thus my sub-optimal revised route didn’t seem such an issue.

Another two afternoons were lost to planning, with the end result of the first section of my route going from 13.5km to 15km. However, with some more efficiencies gained elsewhere my total distance to the notional finish line (at 64.4km as the crow flies) was still 76km (other people had far more efficient routes, but I wasn’t willing to dice with death on busy roads).

I then spent another evening producing support notes for Mick:

There were five pages like this. Did I mention that my reputation for meticulous planning is sometimes justified?

That brought us to the eve of race day. We’d only just got home from Halifax, I’d hastily thrown kit into bags, bought a bit of food and we had a Travelodge booked two-thirds of the way between home and the race start.

That reputation for organisation and planning? It’s not always justified, as evidenced by our departure from home.

As Mick released Erica’s handbrake at the start of the journey, I thought I’d best just look through the suggested kit list to check that I had everything. I was sure that I would, but no harm in checking. But by then I’d lost wifi, and there’s no mobile signal, so it was a mile and half later that I finally opened the kit list … and realised that I’d forgotten some quite important items. Erica was turned around and back home we went.

After something of a comedy of kit gathering (the first item I’d grabbed was missing by the time I closed the front door again and it took me a frustrating amount of time to relocate it), we were off again.

Except for the false start*, the journey was smooth and our Travelodge worked out fine for the night – a huge room and surprisingly quiet for the location – and I slept well.

(*In the interests of full disclosure of quite how badly organised I was for this event, I also realised half way down the motorway that the notes I’d painstakingly written to describe my route through housing estates, so I wouldn’t find myself searching around for alleyways, were still at home. I also realised on race day that I’d printed Mick’s support instructions, but failed to email it to myself, so Mick had the only copy.)

 

Sunday 23 February - to Halifax

Sunday 23 February

It was an early alarm and early on the road. A necessity with an 0706 Chunnel crossing. Our exit from the Aire wasn't entirely smooth as it turned out that the QR code reader wasn't working. Fortunately, they have a fall-back of being able to enter your code manually, and that got us out in a timely manner. Phew!

The early morning Chunnel crossings were the only ones that weren't sold out until late night, and whilst it wasn't anywhere near as quiet as we've previously experienced at that time on a Sunday morning, it also wasn't the busiest we've seen it. 

We departed and arrived in the UK on time, before 7am.

The plan had been to nip via home to pick up the car (but not to drop off Bertie), but after surveying the stats for the journey both with and without that detour, and considering that the roads were quiet now, but would be busier later, and further considering the urgency of arriving in Halifax, we went straight there. I did, however, book myself a train ticket a few days hence to nip home (£6.50 for the leg I needed to prebook to get a good price - so no great loss if I ended up not using it; the ticket for the other leg I could buy on the day for £5.50). 

We arrived in Halifax just after noon - 3.5 days after leaving the E coast of Spain.

Monday 24 February

Both of Mick's brothers were present on Monday, so I was able to clear off for my slightly delayed long run. Given the lumpiness around Halifax (and the flatness of what I'm training for), I opted to go for a set time rather than a set distance. 'Run' is also a generous description of what I did. It went well. Not only was the weather superb...

...but I was only 7 minutes slower over the distance than my target. Considering: a) the hills; b) that I'd got a load of washing out of the machine on one of my pitstops; c) that I'd made two visits to Morrisons for platters of sushi that I'd then eaten outside the store; and d) I had to do all my own admin in between laps, I was pretty pleased with that. 

Wednesday 25 February

A day of public transport and running. 

Run - train - run - Wetherspoons for a cup of tea - run - train - run - bus - run - home - car  

It all went remarkably smoothly, I was back in Halifax at just gone 6pm, and I hadn't been rained on once. Considering the weather when we first got up, this was surprising. 

Update - 24 March:

We stayed in Halifax, providing full-time care for Ma-in-Law, until she died on 11 March, less than a month shy of her 100th birthday. She'd been quite clear for a very long time that she didn't want to spend time in hospital, didn't want to go into a home, didn't want external carers (yes, she lived independently to 99.9 years old) and didn't want to make it to 100. She achieved all of her wishes and we were glad to be in a position to facilitate the first three. 

Saturday 22 February - to Wissant

DELAYED POSTING - A QUICK NIP BACK TO 22 FEB:

Where was Bertie? He spent another night, to add to his many, at the Aire at Wissant (€11).

Weather: mainly overcast, some periods of rain, then dry but foggy towards the end. High of 10 degrees.

Having made such good progress north, I would have moved our Channel crossing forward to Saturday evening except, being the end of half term holidays in the UK, every single crossing was sold out. So, we stuck with the plan, got on the road just a few minutes after 8 heading to our usual stop at Wissant. 

 

A stop for LPG at Rouen morphed into a quick run into Lidl and a stop for LPG, and it was only as we were completed the detour necessary to get back northbound on the dual carriageway that we realised that buying diesel would have been a good call too. We'd been trying to avoid needing to divert into Boulogne, but that's exactly what we found ourselves doing, and a bigger diversion than intended when the first fuel station was found to be closed. 

 

It was still only 1330 when we arrived in Wissant, at the almost empty Aire, and I would have been straight out the door for a run, but I needed some lunch. I was then struck by a severe case of procrastination, and it was over an hour later when I finally stepped out into the murk. 

 

Not a day for views

 

The clay of the coast path was awfully slippery. Not the most fun I've ever had on this bit of coast!

 

Clearing a bit (I passed the chap ahead of me in this snap, then on the next set of wooden steps, inset into the clay, a foot shot out from under me. Somehow I managed to land on my feet. I passed another chap a little further on, and again a foot slid out from under me. I gently hit the ground, smothering myself in clay mud. I must have looked a bit of a sight as I passed lots of promenading families on the prom further on). 

 

I had been unsure as to whether I would go along the beach, or simply turn around and retrace my steps after 8km. I opted to continue onwards, and it was a good call, as the beach was firm. It was also relatively heaving with people out walking (probably a similar circuit to the one I was doing). I can't think that there would be many places in the UK where there would be so many people on a cliff path and a beach in such cool, dank weather. The prom was also busy, although the next beach was less so - probably because there's no onward route (I did a 1km out-and-back on it, just to make up my total distance to 16km).

 

The only other point of note for the day was our slight concern that motorhomes leaving the Aire were having trouble getting the barrier to open. As we needed to leave early in the morning, and wouldn't have time to be delayed, fingers were crossed that we wouldn't have the same problem. 

 

There were only a handful of motorhomes at Wissant. On such a busy weekend for the Chunnel (and likely the ferries too), before they imposed charges, the place would have been much busier. We concluded that if it hadn't been for the fact that I already knew a good running route at Wissant, we likely would have opted to go to the Aire at Calais ourselves - a couple of euro more expensive, but with electricity and nearer to the Eurotunnel terminal.    

 

 

 

 

Thursday & Friday 20-21 February - Castets & Bonneval

Where was Bertie? He spent the night at a Camping Car Park Aire in the village of Castets, at a cost of €13.72, including electricity and wifi.

Weather: Overcast on departure, lots of fog through the middle of Spain, eventually reaching sunshine and, surprisingly, 23 degrees towards the end of the day.

Leaving the campsite at just before 0830, I convinced Mick to use the road he'd rejected on the way in. I'd been along the length of that road on foot and thought Bertie could manage it - which he did, although he could have done without the truck coming the other way on a road barely big enough for one of us!

The morning involved cloud, sunshine then a couple of hours of fog which stayed with us (or us with it) until we stopped in Tudela for fuel (132.9/litre at a full service station) and supplies. When I say 'supplies' I mainly mean wine and alcohol-free beer, although naturally, a whole host of other things fell into the trolley too. In the interests of efficiency, Mick prepared lunch whilst I shopped.

Finally the sun came out and we could enjoy our surroundings as we drove through some magnificently mountainous areas beyond Pamplona and into the Basque country.

The intention was to simply reverse our outbound itinerary, staying at Capbreton tonight. However, the road into the town is still closed, necessitating a detour on some slow roads. So, I had a little look for another Aire nearby, and came up with one immediately adjacent to the motorway 40km further north. The journey time was the same, so it was a no-brainer.

I've long resisted joining the Camping Car Park scheme (more and more Aires in France have started coming under the Camping Car Park banner), but this was the shove needed to bite the bullet. It didn't take many minutes at the machine at the entrance to set up an account, obtain a CCP card, and pre-load it with enough funds to pay for our one-night stay.

With that all done, Bertie was all settled onto a pitch and plugged into the mains by 1645, and by 1700 I was changed into running gear and on my way out the door. Conveniently, the Aire isn't just right next to the motorway, but a Voie Verte also runs straight past it, so promising Mick I would be back within the hour, I tootled off into the forest. I didn't quite judge my turn around point right (as is often the case with me and Voie Verte type tracks, I was convinced the outward leg was all downhill, so I turned a couple of minutes early to allow for a slower return leg, only then to find it was all downhill on the way back), but I did judge right the extra little repeat I needed to add in, and I stepped back through Bertie's door at 17:59:20.

Before we drove into the fog. Must visit this striking town some time.

Not the most illustrative snap, but stunning scenery in Basque country.

Voie Verte - not a patch on the Spanish hills, but always good to have such a convenient traffic-free route available.

Friday

Where was Bertie? At a free Aire in Bonneval. We'd been there before, but Bertie hadn't.

Weather: Sunny and warm until late afternoon when it started clouding over. Rain by bedtime.

I woke up at 5am, but managed to lie quietly until the alarm went off at 7, whereupon I leapt out of bed, chopped an onion and some garlic and put the stove on. I'd just started frying some chicken when Mick finally asked what I was doing. "Cooking tea", I said.

Organisation is key on these long driving days. We set out each morning with two flasks of hot water, so we can make drinks throughout the day without having to wait for the kettle to boil, then for the stove to cool down (so we can lower its glass cover before travelling again). I also try to have some snacks to hand, and it's a bonus if tea is already prepared, or semi-prepared when we arrive at our destination. Stops during the day can then be kept to one or two micro-pauses to swap drivers, a fuel stop and half an hour for a lunch break (we managed to combine the three of those today, stopping at a SuperU in Vivonne, about a 200m detour from the motorway, for cheap fuel before availing ourselves of the car park for a lunch break, and swapping to Mick driving before we went on). It was nearly an unsuccessful stop for fuel when both of us had our preferred spending cards declined - a little concerning until the third card worked, and we subsequently realised that neither of us had enough funds in our 'foreign spending' accounts (this petrol station wanted a hold of €150 before we could fill up; most only want €100 or €120, both of which would have been fine).

The initial intention had been to end the day in Villedômer, but having driven further yesterday I figured we may as well push on further today. Marboué was our chosen destination, but when we got there Google Maps tried to instruct us to make an illegal turn, and the TomTom gave us an instruction that didn't make sense. I knew that Bonneval wasn't much further up the road, so the snap decision was made to go there instead. I remembered having stayed at Bonneval before, but I was surprised to find that it was 9 years ago.

With Bertie settled into a spot, I took myself off for a brisk march around the streets (nowt to write home about), whilst Mick went on a mission to find a patisserie. His mission was not a success. Who has ever heard of a French town without a patisserie?!

There is, of course, such an establishment. We found it the following morning as we left town.

By the time the rain started, we were all tucked up for the night.

The attractive feature of Bonneval

Monday 17th to Wednesday 19th - Cervera del Maestre

Where was Bertie? He spent 3 nights at Camping Ciudad del Ciclismo ('cycling city') just outside of the hilltop village of Cervera del Maestre, at a cost of €19 per night.

Weather: Sunny on Monday then mainly overcast but with some sun on Tuesday and Wednesday. Mid-teens.

Monday

We escaped the campsite vortex! Only 16 nights later than intended when we booked in for 7 nights.

Slightly inland from Peñíscola I'd seen that there were six or seven free Aires. On the plus side, almost all of them offer electricity (either for free, but you have to go and get a token from a local business) or for reasonable rates (again, via token). On the downside, they offer electricity. Our observations over the years have told us that free Aires with free or cheap electricity tend to attract people who stay for longer than is permitted. Given the token system, and without lots of negative reviews saying it was hard to get a spot (plus our experience inland in the Sierra Morena last year where we got a spot at every with-free-electric Aire we tried), I was optimistic. 

My optimism was misplaced! Bertie toiled up the hills to Cervera del Maestre to find all 5 places taken. I didn't have an immediate plan B and after contemplating the map I was concerned that we could spend the whole day driving Aire to Aire, not find a spot, and end the day further S than we wanted to be (having started with the northernmost of the options).

It was Mick who finally asked the obvious question: 'Is there a campsite nearby?'

It turned out there was, and less than 2km away, albeit we drove the best part of 8km when Mick declined to attempt the road involved in the short route. 

I don't think I've mentioned thus far that we have barely seen any other British vans since arriving in Spain. We may have seen one every couple or three days when out and about (amongst a sea of vans of other nationalities), but there had only been one other on the campsite and we never did see anyone home, so we've not spoken to another Brit since leaving the UK. So how funny that as we left the main road to approach the campsite (which probably only sees three or four arrivals a day), we found ourselves in a convoy of three vans, all British. 

From the campsite entrance looking across almond trees in blossom (lots of those in these parts at the moment) to the castle-topped village

Looking the other way down to the massive dry river bed (in the first snap you can see the causeway we'd driven across to reach the campsite)

From the castle 

I'm not sure you get the depth on the photo but there were six layers of hills visible.

Village street

We took a stroll up to the castle in the afternoon, where an information sign told us it had been 'purposely built to stop the unstoppable advance of the Christian troops'. I assume there has been a retrospective view applied to that information!

Tuesday

Having reached the peak weeks of training, I had a big week of running on the agenda this week, starting with 16k on Tuesday. Being in such a hilly area 'running' is a very loose description of what I did, but I had a whale of a time in the local hills. So much more runnable than the Sierra d'Irta, with lots of dirt tracks, housing a whole network of biking & walking routes. I did opt for one 1.4km section of technical single track, but being steeply uphill, I was never going to be running that bit anyway. 

Into the hills 

Lots of routes

A trig point, and with a path to it!

View on the way back down

Getting back to Bertie I opined that I could happily spend a few weeks in this area, exploring lots of local paths. 

As for the campsite, it makes the one in Peñíscola look like outstanding value (€13 there vs €19 here). The facilities in Peñíscola were always clean, tidy and well maintained (with a constantly tinkering Maintenance chap) - and there were two facilities blocks, so nobody had to walk more than a minute to the nearest. In Cervera the toilets/showers, which are slightly grubby and wanting of maintenance, are in the restaurant building, which is about 250m from the camping area. Not the end of the world, but you certainly don't want to get there and find you've forgotten your towel! The plus sides of Cervera are water taps on each pitch, WiFi that works all day long (probably because at the moment occupancy is really low, with only around 20 or so vans each night), and hot water at the washing up sinks (at the last place everyone just went into the toilets to fill up their washing up bowls).

We had initially booked in for 2 nights, but before I embarked on cooking tea this evening, I strolled up to Reception to extend our stay for another 2 nights, telling them that in reality we would probably stay through the weekend. 

 

As for tea, it was chicken and chorizo tonight - a Spanish inspired dish with plentiful garlic and served with crispy cubes of fried potato. Finishing my plateful, I observed that it just wasn't as tasty as it usually is, but I had no idea why not. The moment Mick said "I know why", it struck me too. I'd forgotten the chorizo bit of the chicken & chorizo! (I've also been known to serve Chick Pea Stewy Thing without any chick peas, so I have form in missing out the headline ingredient). 

 

Wednesday

As I ran down the hill yesterday, amounting to around 400m of almost continuous descent, I knew it was probably ill-advised. It's been a while since I ran such a continuous and steep downhill. I woke this morning with sore quads, glutes and hamstrings. Fortunately for my current purposes a fast march is as useful to me as a run, and I only had 5km to cover today so a late afternoon 5k march it was to be. 

First though, I was going to loosen up my body by taking Mick for breakfast at Mati's - one of three eateries in the village and the one with the best reviews. 

We could hear the hubbub as we approached and inside was full. There was, however an outside table, so we went in to place an order, whereupon a table immediately became free inside. 

Elevenses, with obligatory table of old geezers beyond. Unusually, there was also a table of women in this place. 

We timed our visit well - just as everyone else was finishing up their sandwiches/toast/glasses of spirits, so we got the atmosphere of the rush, followed by the peace after everyone else left.

I never did get my afternoon walk. I got tied up doing some work, then our plans underwent a swift change. 

Mick's mum was taken poorly last week and on Wednesday afternoon we decided it was time to head home. I did offer to chuck Mick on a plane then drive Bertie back myself, but the decision was to drive, so an itinerary was planned, our Chunnel booking moved*, and our bill at the campsite paid so we could make an early exit on the morrow.

(*insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but we are now crossing the Channel on the Sunday at the end of half term which is eyewateringly expensive when booking at this proximity at almost £400 (vs £145 if we'd had the leisure to wait until Monday). We will count our blessings at securing a crossing as most of the day was sold out.)

Peniscola - Monday 10th to Sunday 16th

Monday 10th

Neither of us was running; neither of us was working – we had a whole day free to do stuff together!

“Let’s go to the castle” Mick said. Once my first reaction (“It’s Monday, so it won’t be open.”) was disproved, off we went down the hill.

It’s hungry and thirsty work walking to a castle that’s 3km away. We had to stop for coffee and toast on the way. Then we came upon the weekly market, so we took a wander around that (unsuccessful in terms of finding the item I was after). By the time we’d done that we’d decided it was a bit too cool to enjoy a walk around a castle, and even though the forecast said it was only going to be overcast, not wet, it was looking ominously like rain. So, we fell into another bar for more coffee/tea. By then it was lunchtime, and a ten minute walk took us to our favoured eatery.

A single course plus drinks came in at only €10 less than three courses, including drinks and bread, followed by coffee.

Tuesday

Having now sampled so many of the paths through the Sierra d'Irta, I’d convinced myself that the first route I did, a couple of weeks ago, wasn’t as overgrown and scratchy on the legs as I remembered, so was worthy of repetition. I also decided it was more runnable than I remembered. Turns out I was wrong on both counts. My legs were smarting by the time I got back to Bertie!

With the weather having returned to sunshine, I noted that my legs are getting their usual ‘shorts and ankle socks’ tan. Such a good look…

Wednesday

There was a birthday to be celebrated and we’d thought we’d do a repeat of Monday, but this time (in the absence of the market) we would be successful in our mission to see the castle, in between morning coffee and a big lunch.

We woke up to rain. When rain is very much the exception, we felt no inclination to walk around in it.

So, we pottered until lunchtime, before walking down to town for lunch.

Failed to take a photo of the starter, failed to ask for birthday candles in the pudding, so here’s the main course.

By then the day was brightening up and it turned out to be much warmer (and more humid) than I’d expected. So sunny was it over lunch that we probably would have gone to the castle this afternoon, had we not been so stuffed full of food.

Thursday

I managed to find a couple of nearby paths in the Sierra d’Irta hills, on the N side of the range, that I’d not yet trodden, so I went off to tread them. Absolutely lovely it was – nice paths (not too scratchy, except through a few sections of stunted holly bushes) under a clear sky.

Gorgeous! You can see my onwards path over the next lump.

The only fly in the ointment was the realisation that I had in fact been on the path involved in the return leg of the loop, and it was the steep/slow/plates of ball bearings path that I used last weekend. Realising that before I made the turn allowed a quick replan on the hoof – the longer distance of my revised route was certainly much quicker than the steep/slow/ball-bearings path would have been.

Friday

Valentines day, and being the romantic couple we are, we decided to celebrate by going out for coffee, tostada & a crossword … exactly as we do most weeks of the year. This time we beelined for the same bar as we’d found on Monday – it’s our usual sort of a tostada location, being full of old men and workmen (we must have spent 2.5 hours in there this week and the only other women present have been the serving staff).

Our elevenses, but also a surreptitious snap (actually taken on Monday) of old geezers, having spirits with their breakfasts and putting the world to rights

A small indication of how busy it was on Friday

The bar was full to the gunwales when we arrived. By the time we left they were sweeping up around us – by then the only customers - in the lull between breakfasts and lunch, which we took as our cue to leave.

Saturday

We’ve had more than our fair share of cloud this week, and today was another overcast one, although reasonably warm.

Leaving the campsite together at around 9am, I soon left Mick behind as he set out for a 5k run and I set out for a differently-paced 20k. Out of Peniscola, into Benicarlo and out the other side before I ran out of coastal pavement and turned back.

Murky weather with poor air quality

As I sit and type this on Saturday afternoon, it’s raining. I might have to put in a complaint about this weather!

Current plan: we are leaving the campsite tomorrow. We’ve had that plan quite a few times before. Let’s see if we can extract ourselves from the vortex this time!

Sunday

As I failed to post this in a timely manner, I may as well retrospectively add a note about Sunday. Goodness, once you get sucked into the vortex of a campsite in Peniscola, the pull is strong! That is to say, that once again we failed to leave as planned.

I had a need to use the campsite wifi to do a particular task before it ground to a halt (which generally happened at around 8am, as too many other people came online), so we got up at 0630. I used the wifi for as long as possible, then continued offline until lunchtime. With more computer work to do in the afternoon, it didn’t make sense to leave, but we resolved that we absolutely, definitely, without any doubt, were going to leave on Monday...

Saturday 8 February - Still Peñíscola

Where's Bertie? Is it surprising or entirely predictable that he's still not moved?

Weather: There's been a bit of cloud around over the sea the last couple of days, but it's soon cleared up to give gloriously sunny days. 16 degrees today.

The sight that greeted me when I arose this morning. This is what happens when, in a warm climate, you forget to put your (sourdough) bread dough, that has been proving all day, in the fridge overnight.

Against expectations, we still ended up with a good loaf.

We had good intentions to move on yesterday morning. As I'd done quite a few times before, I started the day by considering where we may go next, but I came upon the perennial problem: I want to go slightly inland, into the hills, but I also want the good weather and warmth of the coast.

A particular consideration this time was that I was down for a long run this morning, so wherever we went, it needed to be a location where I would have a decent, relatively flat route. One option was somewhere near Valencia, so I could jump on the Via Verde. Another option was half an hour north, where there's another Via Verde - but I'm hesitating to go north for fear of losing a degree or two of temperature.

My final, considered opinion was that we could stay here and I could run laps from the campsite.

That wouldn't just put our departure back by one day, but by two, as with Mick working Sunday, it makes sense to stay so he can use the big screen and have unlimited power.

Then came the slight curve ball: Mick saw that a couple of pitches had come up in the middle of the main section of the campsite and we decided that if we could move onto one of them, then we would stay another couple of weeks (thus getting the 'one month stay' special rate).

We haven't moved. Why? Because even though all the pitches cost exactly the same, apparently Bertie can't have one of those pitches because he's too small. Hmmm. So, we've been on a concrete car park for two weeks, paying the same as everyone on proper pitches, but he now can't have a proper pitch because someone in a bigger motorhome may come along (even in our area, 8m vans comfortably fit). We walked back through later and there were small vans on those pitches - the only difference between them and us being that they are new arrivals. (I'm making it sound like I'm disgruntled about being in the concrete car park area whereas actually there are some benefits to being here, like catching the morning sun and not treading grit into Bertie. The only real downsides of being where we are is the slope that even the ramps can't quite iron out, and occasionally annoying neighbours, although none of them has stayed long.)

So, we are still here and don't currently know whether we'll be staying until Monday or for another two weeks.

I can think of worse places to be at this time of year!

Back to this morning, I went and ran three laps of 11-12k each, in glorious sunshine, but my goodness, it was windy. I got blown sideways at times on the prom, and was stopped in my tracks coming back up the hill, but even in the wind I was plenty warm enough in shorts and t-shirt. Locals were, of course, wrapped up warm, and lots of locals there were. It being Saturday, the prom was positively bustling, making me curious as to what it's like here in summer when the hotels, flats and holiday homes are full - most are sitting empty at this time of year. 

Thursday 6 February - Campsite Occurrences

Weather: Still wall-to-wall sunshine with mid-teens highs.

With the intention to leave the campsite tomorrow, I thought I'd take the opportunity to do a final load of laundry before we left.

As is the norm, once I'd put my load on, I left my bag on top of the machine for use when it had ended. I duly returned 33 minutes* later to find that someone had nicked off with my carrier bag! Why would you do that? The value is inconsequential (I replaced it this afternoon for 65c), which perhaps makes it even more annoying. I am, of course, now watching out for someone walking around the site with a heavy-duty Morrison's bag! (*As an aside, why do washing machines lie as to time remaining? It told me 33 minutes when I left and I set an alarm on my phone accordingly; when I returned it still had 7 minutes to go.)

Given how seldom we have historically stayed on campsites outside of the UK, this is not making for a good track record. In Silves, in Portugal, someone nicked my sports bra off the communal washing line.

With laundry hung out to dry, off I went to take a look at the coast to the S of Peniscola. As soon as I turned right at the bottom of the road, rather than left along the prom, I was out of the resort and the coast was rugged. However, there was also no pavement alongside the wiggly, undulating road, and whilst it wasn't overly trafficked, there were enough cars to make me think it wasn't the best choice for a running route.

Today's other campsite peeve came late this afternoon, when someone came and took the final pitch available today, right next to us. It seems they were confounded by the pitch markings and thought they needed to squeeze between the red and blue lines on the ground - failing to notice the really big hint of the pitch number being marked adjacent to each of the red lines, tellling them that they can ignore the blue line. That means that their door almost reaches to Bertie's flank when it is open. They've just nipped out and it would be quite amusing if we were to move over whilst they were gone, right to the edge of our pitch (most people position themselves thus; not sure why we didn't), which would mean they wouldn't be able to open their door. Of course, I'm neither petty nor cruel enough to do that (as much as it would amuse me).

So, tomorrow morning we are due to be away from here. To where, though, that's the question?

A procession of processionary caterpillars. Seen loads of nests in various places, but don't think I've seen any in motion before.

Tuesday 4 February - Sierra d'Irta & Lunch

Where's Bertie? He's still at Camping Los Pinos in Peniscola. We booked in for 7 nights the Saturday before last, then in the middle of last week said we wanted to extend until today. The campsite said to stay as long as we like, and just pay when we want to leave ... and here we still are. Current plan is to leave on Friday.

Weather: Still wall-to-wall sunshine. 16 degree max today, which feels pleasantly warm when out of the wind.

We were minutes away from setting out for lunch today when I heard Bertie's fridge fire up on gas. That shouldn't happen, as he's plugged into the mains, and a quick glance at his control panel confirmed that he no longer had electricity. It was soon confirmed that our neighbours also had no power, and after a bit of faffing with the control panel in the hook up cabinet, Mick went off to reception to report the issue. 

It turned out that one of our neighbours was not just tripping the local cabinet, but blowing the power for the whole site*. All of the faffing delayed our departure by about half an hour.

Even so, we stuck with the plan and rather than walking 3km down the road, we walked 8.5km with 325m of ascent through the hills. Quite an appetite had been built up by the time we got to our lunch establishment (the same one as last Friday), and thus my plan to only have a main course morphed into having the Menu del Dia.

Snaps from our walk to lunch

We went sharsies on the first courses - so fried anchovy & salad

Not sure this snap does justice to how big these portions were. I was defeated, although...

I still managed to find room for a flan for pudding (I would say 'washed down' with a coffee, but as I went for an espresso, that may be something of an exaggeration).

We returned to Bertie via a more direct route than the outward leg, but not the most direct. Only the final stretch was on a road, where we passed a number of other people. The standard greeting hereabouts seems to be 'bonjour' mainly because most people you pass are French, and seem to assume that everyone else is. One couple must have been somewhat amused by Mick's response today when he got a bit confused within the right language (it's pretty standard for one of us to just get the wrong language) and responded to 'bonjour' with 'au revoir'. (I don't know quite why I found it quite so hilarious, but I was crying with laughter and am still tittering as I write this). 

  

(*That neighbour had, curiously, moved pitch this morning from opposite us to next to us - I wonder if they did that because they'd started to have an electrical problem over there and thought it was the hook up point, rather than their equipment? They also, curiously, opted to park with their door right on the demarcation line between their pitch and the next, leaving all the spare room on the pitch on the non-door side. Fortunately, when I say they were our neighbour, there was at the time, a spare space between us and them (since taken), so it wasn't going to be our pitch that they stepped onto every time they exited/entered their van.)

Sunday 2 February - Sierra d'Irta & Castell de Polpis

Weather: wall-to-wall sunshine and pleasantly warm when out of the breeze (or when moving through the hills)

What a thoroughly enjoyable outing I had today, in superb conditions - as the photos show. Not easy, taking me an hour longer than anticipated (the slowest bits were downhill; there were some incredibly steep sections on the descent with plates of ballbearings underfoot).

Here are some snaps:

I took the track the whole way up to the hillside Ermita today, rather than the shorter footpath, as the route I'd plotted was coming up a bit short and this seemed like a good way of adding a little on.

An unspoilt landscape and a seaview

First view of Castell de Polpis. This was the out-and-back spur off the circuit part of my route and involved a steep descent and associated reascent.

Closer to. The dirt track I'd walked in on is a public road. I'd not thought anything of meeting a group of four walking down to the castle, but it turned out they'd driven in; their car was just over the rise.

A tiny extra detour - I'd spotted what looked like a trig point as I'd passed on my way to the castle and as it was atop a summit, and there was a track leading to it, I visited it on my way back.

Plenty of signposts.

This was the start of the slowest going section, hemmed in by pokey bushes, but I'd not yet hit the steep stuff.

I think it was about here that I sent Mick a message saying I only had 5km to go. Thirty-three minutes later I sent another message saying it was the longest 5k of my life; I still had 2.5km to go! Yep, as descents go, it was a slow one. It did, however, push me to run everything even vaguely runnable once it got back to a more acceptable gradient. Incidentally, I'm sure this circuit involved three times more descent than ascent.

So many abandoned terraces. All that work to build them, and now they sit unused

I'll be revisiting parts of this route again in a couple of days time, this time taking Mick with me. 

22.5km, 750m