Chinchilla to The Coast

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The dry spell continued, to our good weather fortune, when leaving the heights of Chinchilla.



Atop a rocky hill, it has a history of building into the rock ‘Cuevas’ and habitaciones. Most of the older homes cling to the steep sides of the Monte-Aragon, and small rammed earth abodes with white chimneys (Torreon de la antigua muralla) can be seen from the east side. Taking in some of this before check out, we left down a steep descent beside the autovía which was a relief from the ups we’d had lately. Green trees on part of the road side gave way to plains of browns and oranges, being ploughed and planned for the winter ahead.



Bird spotting was put to the side for P2 at a few completely dry wetlands around Corral Rubio, with a brief stop at a damper wetland near Montealegre allowing us to see a young flamingo. White, evidently, when not mature, and getting bigger and maybe more colourful with maturity.



Red vines, colours changing with the autumn, were everywhere in a short and quite sculptural looking T shape. Turbines as the backdrop, and it made for some pretty scenery. We pushed on after a short lunch stop in the quiet town of Montealegre, reaching the outskirts of Almansa around 4:30. To our left was the grand El Mugrón rocky horizon, and to our right, as we were descending into a hidden town, a triangular shaped castle loomed into view.



San Marcos, our apartment for the night, was an exercise in a more technical way of accessing accommodation. In the end, with a few failed web links to reveal the secret to entering, we had some help from the travel agent next door. Worth waiting for too, as I don’t think I’ve ever stayed anywhere with a ‘salon’ room big enough, and furnished such (swivel chairs), for a delegates meeting.



Home sweet home for a night, and cosy at that. The hum of the city after 8 didn’t bug us and we restored ourselves well. A confitería beneath us was perfectly placed, so P2 got his tiramisu for dessert.



It was sunny days again as we headed eastwards. The sights of Almansa were close to us at San Marcos, including the imposing castle, cathedral, and a little ermita near the sports ground doubling as a wine promoter, which P2 lined up. Ceilings and old frescos always get him interested.



The shorter 38km day appealed like it should, and after bagging a bargain at the local dulces panaderia (what, only €1.60 for those three things?), we expended some energy climbing steadily 13km to the summit of a hill, to then reap the rewards of views into another province. For 8km, we entered Murcia, only to then turn off to desert like Caudete, and find a picnic spot in Albacete province again.



Ending the day coasting down a hill is always fantastic. Views across towards Yecla crossed dry (no longer is the soil red, but a dusty white) fields of olive and nut trees, and steep escarpments in the distance were a similar geography to Almansa. We found our apartment easily, collecting the keys from the local hairdresser and beauty parlour. Now, we both said at the same time, ‘what can you do with this?’ (gesturing to our faces).



Caudete has a remnant of a castle, a vista of the broad plains at the mirador, and was a nice stop where we were not that compelled to get out smartly and ‘see it all’. Hence, the new click in the bike(s), got investigated by me on the terrace, unsuccessfully. We’d done some bumpy sections, but waiting for the pros to examine it in Valencia was decided on. Clicks never stopped a bike rolling.



The move east beyond the scenery of Caudete was anticipated by P2 as bitsy. Thick mist had set in that morning, the sun trying to burst through and show at least the horizon of hills in the Alicante direction. I did a short ride to Villena, and coming back passed these two e-bikers, one who called out in Spanish. He accelerated to join me, declaring his age (77), duration of cycling (46 years), and completion of the Camino Santiago (25 times). We concurred all this exercise adds to “Bien Salud”, and off I went, strangely faster than an e-bike while he rejoined his slower mate.



So there you go Dad, I think you’d quote similarly.



Because the autovia passes straight up the centre of a broad valley, and there were few parallel quiet N roads, we started in a circuitous fashion on some caminos and eventually joined a local road towards Moixent, a cute little town beneath cliffs. Twists, turns, and small valleys of terraced olives and red leafed vines was the beautiful backdrop. We’d entered the Valencian community and the coast was near.



From our lunch stop at Moixent, it was a hillside camino path to Vallada, where we were surrounded by Valencia oranges. Then, what followed, was an absolute hodge podge of camis and caminos that maintenance crews forgot about for the past 20 odd years. Pot holes, road cave-ins, and extended unsealed sections were worse than our google map research, adding some more rattles to the bikes once we arrived in the Old Town of Xativa. Having done 40km in two hours, the final 28km took 2.5 hours. Much anticipated and now chalked up as experience; don’t always trust a cami.



Unless you’ve ridden a cami once. We’d two days in Xativa, and I headed out in the morning over the hills yonder, unofficially accompanied by a lot of other riders, to La Pobla Del Duc. Getting on to google maps street view was reassuring for confirming a route back, such that multiple camis were visible, and luckily what I took was sealed and viable. Rolling up and down, and around agricultural lands (more olives, pomegranates, citrus and persimmons), I only once dismounted across what appeared to be burned sugar cane plants.



We chose the old town and (a steep) walk up to the castle as the main event for the afternoon. The track passes several caves, a fridge (nevera) for storing the ice, and a grand hilltop location for a castle if ever there was. From the south side, the view was equally impressive from the CV620 road that heads to Bellus.



It was a dark and not so stormy night watching the mist roll in, the particles wafting with the breeze above the old street light by our balcony. And the air quality index probably would confirm this. Agricultural burn offs are common at this time of year, and are not the best for breathing disorders.



Leaving Xativa was relaxed in that our generous hosts had no defined check out time that day. Nonetheless, once the thick mist rose, and with 75km of gradual down and flat to do, we’d guessed it’d take around five hours. Sunny at 12pm, we took the main CV road to Alzira, which got busier with trucks on the approach so much that we’d figured it was the wrong route. Well only part was wrong, up to a village named Manuel. Those rushing home for the 2pm siesta / break moved quickly beside us along the narrow camis, and we got squeezed on a few occasions at 4-way intersections with four cars all turning. While trying to ensure we never missed a turnoff.



Once past Corbera, we took a fairly straight line to Sueca tracking across the start of the L’Albufera wetlands, with wading birds and small iron shacks sitting prettily in the patchwork of rice paddies. Valencia had a major flood in 1957 and the current irrigation system ensured equal access or equal amounts of water to growers with what they’d done since with river diversion. Perhaps that’s why the artichokes at all the vege markets are the biggest I’ve seen!



We skirted to the west of Sueca and decided to shoot for the coast, which had been absent on the horizon for six weeks, for a late lunch. It was incredibly quiet for people traffic, with only a few fisherman, walkers and the dulcet sounds of workman operating a drill on a construction site. Which is unusual, as there are a lot of unfinished construction projects we’ve seen in Spain.



With 27km left, and some deviations because we hadn’t quite got to grips with the start point of the Albufera wetland cycle way, it was a fast ride on smooth roads with the dimming light of near sunset. Even 4pm feels late, when it sets at 5.45pm. Puesta del Sol cruises left the Mirador del Pujol at 4.45 when we passed, at only 12km to go.



Joining the red cycle lanes made easy work of coming into Valencia, versus tackling it with fast traffic beside you. Separated and smooth, with your own traffic signals (that mostly are triggered by riders), we rolled in at 5.45pm to a sky-blue casa in the Grau district, and it did not feel like a city of 1.8 million. The rattles of both bikes would hopefully be seen to in the next few days, with our second attempt (of a possible three shops) being able to offer servicing within 24 hours. We always cross fingers in such situations.



Chebici was staffed a few minutes before 8pm closing by a helpful man with a friendly dog (that’s always a good sign). A younger fellow with apt cycle tattoos was present at their ten o’clock opening time the next day, and immediately went for the spokes, wheel spin and chain in a brief hands-on assessment. So, it transpired, one in particular was well worn. Mine for a change.



Port Grau was our ‘hood for the stay, and for one day without bicis, we’d make slow work of seeing Valencia. So getting them back that night was a godsend. The beach, Platge Arenas, was a kilometre away along the waterfront, cross crossed by multiple tram lines, bike paths, mixed use areas for pedestrians and bikes, and narrow lanes for cars. Foilers, stand up paddle borders (some being towed) and the odd swimmer were in or on the water at midday. Confirmation that I could go in later (which I chillingly did).



Aside from a lot of masts and some fancy looking vessels, the port is the base for many ‘tinglados’ (large sheds) which are being restored, originally built in the early 1900s. The original decoration and metalwork are very ornate and attractive, so it’s good to see them being saved. Running beside the cycle lane, its a beautiful introduction to Valencia, known for its role in trade in times past.



The port was a quiet place to stay versus central Valencia the next day. Of the three main places we were planning on going to, first up was the Belle Artes museum which rejected entry on the basis of us wanting to hold on to our passports and cameras in our bags. With that feeling, we moved on to the central old town on foot, and over an incredibly long street side park. Placa de la Mare de Deu and Placa Reina were heaving, groups gathering near the cathedral and fountains. Heading to the the silk museum, after a lifetime looking for places to lock our bikes (either stands were in use or prohibited to lock up against rails etc), we coincided with a multi-group primary school trip. Enthusiastic and rowdy voices moved through the museum in short-attention-span fashion that eventually allowed (except for a few tour groups equally moving rapidly), a few minutes to ourself. The ceilings are incredible, and according the Spanish explanation, symbolic and a celebration of life, music, and the abundance of what was traded.



Sant Nicholas was on P2s list, a massive cathedral with plenty of impressive roof art. The queue was not so bad here oddly, and it was easier to admire it in relative peace.



Once back at the beach for another late afternoon dunk, the reason for the sudden increase in crowds revealed itself. Behind the wet suited learn-to-surf crowds, the Costa Cruceros was in town, and had discharged nearly 4000 folks for a day trip. I guess this is Valencia, and it’s popular all year round.



Packing up from our home-sweet-turquoise-home (with a colourful bougainvillaea patio!) came around soon enough after three nights. Staying here was a great plan in hindsight to escape some of the busyness of a major Spanish city. Nonetheless, once you get the hang of the extensive bike lane network, and etiquette of double crossings of 6 lanes of traffic, cycling was a very efficient way to move about this Auckland-sized city.



Headed north required a short stint on Valencia’s Grau waterfront, turning inland to the north of Valencia (near the University) to welcomingly join one of the major Eurovelo routes, EV8. This mostly red paved path (there’s several parts of this 3000km plus trail that are under more development) traverses Cadiz in Andalucía to the Pyrenees in Catalunya, and our section of it would cover this day, and some days ahead also.



Fortunately, the EV8 was very well placed for us in the journey, as the roads alongside the paths definitely had far more traffic on them. On the odd occasion, there’d be an abiding motorist keeping their legal 2m distance to pass if the shoulder wasn’t generous enough, and one ‘honker’ in that queue, frustrated with whoever (pick your cyclist, there are plenty) was riding a short distance, legally, on the 30kph maximum road. Mostly, using some quiet roads is part of the Eurovelo’s routes instruction, and giving way to riders is very common in in motorists. However, this is never guaranteed at multiple crossing intersections; my traffic wariness from home has been useful here too, with some cars speeding past, when others patiently wait for you to cross. You get this behaviour everywhere I suspect, but it is proportionately less in Spain than in our home country.



Once clear of the city limits, we tracked to the western side of Port Sagunt, in view of a mighty hilltop castle that stretched impressively along a ridge. Down to the coastline of Sagunt, I spotted a pasteleria (Chocómel) just before the beach, that turned out to make small cakes and desserts with great care to look like fresh fruit etc. I chose a manzana (apple) with a crumble base, which only lightly smudged its top as it got carried all the way in a box to El Grao de Mancofa.



The short roads (camis) were great with P2s ‘left here right there’ navigation, until on two occasions both google maps and offline maps failed, that we ended up in an undeveloped housing estate where the weeds were rising high. Closures for additional roadworks added unexpected time and distance, but once met with a glowing sunset off the Med, waves crashing on the pebble beach, everything then was OK.



For the first time in a while, we slept to waves crashing on the shore.



Inland of Mancofa is more plantings for citrus and horticulture, the occasional flock of goats led by a shepherd, moderately sized industry, and some low mountain villages. I did wonder why a few cyclists have covered their mouths with buffs when cycling so far, and perhaps I’m not clued up on the air quality (or bug to mouth risk) as they are. Once beyond the smoking plumes of industry, pretty towns like Alfondeguilla appear tucked away in valleys on the CV230 road. Yes, we have done a lot of moderate hills on this trip but I felt the need to see another!



Leaving around midday, the sun was well up and warm for the month before Christmas (20C). The coastal section passed about 15km through quiet settlements, all the way to more road works in El Grau de Borriana, which was our peel off point to do more of the EV8 from Borriana (which is inland) itself. Alongside the busy roads north, we had a dedicated path, some of it made from a disused service road, all the way to Benicassim. Stopping at El Grau de Castello for lunch was our first sight of other tourists, with more appearing on the path to our accommodation in Almadraba.



Flat riding, passing frequent services like supermarkets and toilets (where have you been, WC, like the service man in Nules said to me, ‘use the WC de bosque’….), is so different to being totally sufficient for a day. Strategy tells us, as does rewarding ourselves at this stage in the journey, to do shorter days as the daylight shortens.

Is Christmas really four weeks away?

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