Almaden to Jara

11/3/2012

Rain all night had me thinking of just how trying the trip would be the following morning. However at around 10 or so the rain ceased and made for a very enjoyable ride to jara. Dirt roads  Through forests with plenty of hills and gates in between. The mist provided for that oh how mystic and medevil Ora.  I thought I was a knight for about 2 hours. After the ride throat the river, there's a big steep climb, not cyclable if your not lance.  So far the best riding.   On to Montessori!  10 ks are good fun pretty dirt road riding through the country side, and 10 aren't.   I take that back, there is a section of sort o single track that runs parrarel to the road for a while and that actually is a good time. I pass under a bridge, his the trail and then it stars pouring. Ain't that just how it goes. Oh here's a little puddle I'll just roll right over. I'm rolled over something alright, my handle bars. That was a little deep puddle.   The city didn't captivate me much but I have to say that the part  immediately after is probably one of the most beautiful sections of any camino I have encountered. Its the scenery tolkien based his books on. Rolling green hills, stone fences, scattered rugged trees and of course cows. A sort of perfect fantasy land. After that came one of the most epic bike journeys I have taken. Now we're rolling through Spanish farm land all the while getting a crash course on flash flooding.  Don't even think about trying to skirt the wetness. Not happening. I seriously have never seen so much water pouring over land before save Biafra falls. It was like class five rapids everywhere. I'm sure half of Spain right now is flowing into the meditereanian. I kept fording rivers thinking that that particular one had to be the biggest, widest and fastest. Of course till I ran into the next one. The whole scene couldn't be well documented as my fingers didn't work properly, cold was taking over and my camera doesn't like water (as I thought but now I well know. Ya, it's now broke). Finally I came to one that just couldn't be passed so I tried to skirt it. Nope. After walking it's bank for about 30 minutes I noticed the water noise intencity had diminished. Aha!  It's draining.  15 minutes later with bike on shoulder, one more rapid crossed.  And onward. Finally, town in sight and a few more measly crossings where one comes to learn that narrow fast water may very well mean deep fast water. To my dismay the river of all rivers is met and all hope of advancement vanishes. But what's this!? A local Shepard calling my way?  Oh yes, an older fella speaking a language, which Might be some distant Spanish relative beckons me.  Appear toughs river is to dangerous to cross and he knows my intention. Instead he helps me back to his Shepard shack where there a fire fueled by plastic bags that burn pretty well I might add and a surprising amount of girls mags and posters and a not so surprising vast amount of alcohol. Of everything he saying I'll really only understanding that the river is too dangerous to cross and the amount of water is surprising even to him. So I guess I should consider myself lucky to witness such a spectacul. A fello coworker of his shows up who appears fly knows the same language and 20 minutes later we take off in search of a way out. Drudgin through mud and water, he helps me with my bike and handles it in a surprisingly I've done this for years sort of ease. I'm impressed.  Finally the road and after two ks, finally the town. My plan was oringally to go to the next but hey what the heck. That night I made the bestest spagettgie i hunk I've ever had.   Noodles. Fried tomatoe. Corn. Tuna in sunflower oil. Black pepper.