We really did have the most perfect day off in Zaragoza, a beautiful city and a great place to explore the sites, sit at cafes and generally just relax a little after the first 4 days of riding.
Yesterday afternoon, the weather closed in and we spent the evening watching sheets of water fall from the sky, the drops like diamonds glinting in the lights around the Basilica’s towers.
We had looked at the weather forecast, which showed the rain would clear by about 2am, but we imagined we would be having a chilly, damp and unsettled cycle out of the city this morning. We fell asleep listening to the rain drumming on the shutters, not especially hopeful that the forecast was right.
We both woke in the early hours (about 2.30) to a different sound. The agitated banging and rattling of shutters and the moan of the wind, not just a breeze but seriously strong gusts that seemed to have come out of nowhere.
We couldn’t hear the rain any more, which was a positive, but we both started wondering about the wind. Which direction was it blowing in? Would it be in our faces on today’s ride? That was a real worry, as we knew that today was on long, very straight roads, through open (almost barren) countryside, which would give us no respite from either a headwind or a crosswind and that would make the 109km a bit of a drag, to say the least.
We’re used to riding when the Mistral is blowing; in Provence it’s hard not to be. But with loaded bikes and what sounded like viciously strong gusts, this was sounding very different indeed. As we lay awake stressing, we heard bangs from the street below, as things were dislodged and rolled along the street. This really wasn’t good.
When we woke again, just before 6 the wind was still howling, so an interesting day’s ride lay ahead. Happily, the rain had cleared and as we opened the shutters we had another beautiful sunrise with the sky tones of peach, apricot and gold behind the Basilica.
We loaded the bikes, took them down in the lift and set off on our planned route, out of the city towards Caspe. Crossing the bridge, our bikes were whipped sidewards by a particularly strong gust of wind, but it actually was a good gust, in that we could tell the direction it was blowing and that for us, it would be mainly in our backs for the first part of the ride (at least).
With a little grin on our faces, we followed the well-protected and smooth cycle lanes out of the city, almost to the motorway junction. It was lovely to ride in a city that has invested in good cycling infrastructure, not simply a shared pavement space, or a bit of paint on a road. The lanes are well segregated, with their own junctions and traffic lights too and we realised that we were moving much more quickly than the rest of the rush hour traffic. As a nervous city cyclist (because I don’t really do it) this was a joy.
Although the road away from the city was quite busy, we made good headway, pushed gently on our left shoulder as we climbed the hills, towards the quieter road we had chosen for today’s ride.
As soon as we turned onto that road, it was as if we had picked up electric bikes, as the wind was straight into our backs, pushing us along at a rate of knots. It felt as if we were hardly having to turn the pedals. Perhaps the overnight storm had some real benefits?
The road stretched ahead, a grey ribbon of tarmac with nothing interrupting the view in every direction.
As with the roads we had ridden, on our way into Zaragoza, it felt as if we were cycling through The Badlands. Vast open views to the right, looking back towards Daroca and even beyond…
And on the left, dramatic hills, their bare rock and earth slopes sculpted by nature, looking rather beautiful in the low, early morning sun.
We were swept along by the wind, turning the pedals to keep.ine step ahead of it, just having the time to enjoy the views and the absolute peace, as we really were the only people for as far as the eye could see (and that was an incredibly long way)
Not even the wildlife seemed fussed by our appearance, a huge dog fox lazily watching us from its vantage point on a rock at the side of the road. And the birds of prey following our path, somehow effortlessly dealing with the increasingly strong gusts…
The further we went, the more barren the landscape became, with just the occasional large agricultural shed, which we assumed was for large-scale chicken farming. The area is called Los Monegros, an arid area that suffers extreme drought in the summer and high temperatures in the autumn. It’s a dramatic, empty area, but with the wind in our backs, on an absolutely empty road, it really was rather beautiful.
After bowling along and making good time, we stopped in the small village of Monegrillo, finding a bar for a break from the wind and a very welcome coffee.
We did wonder if the wind may be dying down a bit, but we couldn’t have been more wrong. As we left the bar, we had to cycle into the headwind, bent double over the handlebars and struggling to make much significant progress. We realised how different this ride would have been if we had to ride into it for the whole way across this open area. The cycling wind Gods were definitely smiling on us this morning.
After 60km pedalling we turned into a more major road, where all of a sudden we were hit by severe crosswinds that buffeted our wheels. But the drivers gave us plenty of room again, which made the experience a little less stressful.
We stopped for lunch in Bujaraloz, finding a bench tucked out of the wind, in the sun. Our faces were already glowing from the few kilometres we had done with the crosswind, so we made the most of the stop, before heading on again.
From here, we found ourselves on another major road (again with the considerate drivers we have experienced since arriving in Spain), but again there was no shelter from the wind. We cycled through vast open fields, which we assumed must be used to grow crops for animal food, due to the numerous large producers near the village.
Again, there were huge poultry sheds, but very little else, and we ploughed on, heads down, every gust of wind setting my nerves jangling.
Eventually, we had Caspe in our sights and turned onto the side road into the town, taking a breather at finally being off the main road and a little more protected from the wind
We had made it to Caspe in amazing time, pulling up at 2.30, rather than the 4pm, we had anticipated, after 109 km.
So we popped into the old town, had a wander around it’s church and castle complex
and sat in the sun with a beer, hoping for a less windy day tomorrow, when we move on to Lleida.
As with last year’s ride, we’re having a great time and using it as an opportunity to raise some funds for our local Restos Du Coeur in Apt. So if you’re enjoying following our journey and would like to support this much-needed and well-used organisation then you can Donate via this link
Vaucluse Dreamer 