Gran Canaria Diaries Day 7: December 9th

After all of the amazing rides this week I knew that whatever happened today could not put a dampener on my spirits, even if the forecast was predicting an 85% chance of rain. When I awoke, the sunny haven of Maspalomas looked just like every other day of the week (or maybe even year). Blue sky, sun slowly wiping the sleep from its eyes. I rushed to get my kit on knowing that it wasn’t meant to be like this, wanting to make the most of every minute.

I was soon out on the road and heading west on the GC500 although today, instead of heading to Mogan, I cut inland sooner to ride the climb to Soria on the GC505. I like this climb, it brings back fond memories of 2005 during our Synapse press launch as twenty-five ego inspired journalists tried continuously to rip each others legs off en route to the Mexican restaurant at the top. Hey, it’s a good restaurant so in hindsight maybe they were just racing to get the best seat for lunch. Either way, I know it well.

As I passed the sign at the bottom marking a 7.7% average gradient and 14.6% max there was barely a cloud in the sky or breath of wind. Naturally it was only a matter of minutes before I was away in my own little world again. I rolled my arm warmers down, jersey unzipped part way to stay cool. Much was my concentration on absolute nothingness that I didn’t realise two riders catching me. It was only when the first one passed that I had any inclination that they were there. It looked like they were doing something serious as breathing was heavy and not a word uttered between them. I could see the hard miles in their legs, sinews and calves like they’d been aged over many years and chiseled from teak. I acknowledged them with “hola”, but was in a good rhythm and didn’t want to break it so rode at my own pace.

It wasn’t long before I realised that I had most likely been acting as a carrot for them, dangling out front, as the gap between us remained constant. I stayed out of the saddle and ever so slightly upped my cadence to bring them back. I didn’t expect to be feeling quite so fresh after the week I’d had, so didn’t intend on instigating a race. I took a deep breath when I made contact again and eased back for a moment, but the rhythm I had felt effortless so after about 30 seconds I passed to take the wind for myself. Remember the rules of the road from day three? Glance back and it means you want some, keep your eyes on the road ahead if you’re happy to do your own thing. My vision was firmly fixed forward but I could sense their presence on my back wheel and I wanted to ride this climb on my own. Still out of the saddle I gently lifted the pace around each corner, nothing extreme, just enough to demand a little more attention from riders behind. I noticed that one had dropped off which sparked thoughts in my mind of epic battles in the mountains with the greats of past and present. Another bend and another gear down the block, the cadence remained constant, all the time out of the saddle. Riding into the yellow jersey must be an incredible feeling but today climbing ever closer to the heat of the golden sun was insurmountable. I was once again on my own, just the road ahead and my thoughts. It felt great.

The GC505 is a dead end, unless you’re going to the restaurant, or you’re on a mountain bike, so I turned left to track my way over to the GC605. This is a hard 5km climb on a narrow road with multiple switchbacks at over 15% gradient. The effort is more than worth it with an oil painting of mountains, sky and sea right before your eyes. The rough road of the GC605 was made all the harder by a cold headwind, clouds were starting to form around the centre of the island although to the coast it was still clear.

On the descent to Tejeda I stopped to put gloves and a cape on. With much of it being in the shade, and with the added wind chill, it meant I was just out of my comfort zone without them. I paused for a moment and looked at the angry clouds looming above the mountains ahead. In doing so I noticed one road in particular corkscrewing its way around like a helter-skelter. Perhaps I’d never noticed it before as I was normally going faster on the descent, but I’m glad on this day it caught my eye. The road? Of course, it was none other than the GC15. What an icon. You could almost hear the cars wheezing their way up its slopes.

As I passed through Tejeda I was faced with heading either straight up into the clouds or to bare left on the GC210 to Artenara, where conditions looked all the more favourable. I was trying to keep in the blue for as long as possible and in looking up at the sky spotted a buzzard gliding on the thermals. Immediately I was hypnotised watching its effortless motion, at full wingspan, as it circled high above. Amazing. I started to feel like I was having sensory overload as I could also see the GC 15 from another angle at this point. Double amazing. The scenery was superb so I wanted to absorb as much as I could and I’m happy I did because after Artenara to the north the island was shrouded in swirling cloud.

Following the same loop as on day three I began to realise how easy it is to take things for granted. Although it was a real adrenalin kick riding in the mist, the conditions were deteriorating all the time, zero visibility with the wind picking up as I was climbing higher. I was sure that it was just a matter of time before I’d be in for a royal beating from mother nature. The descent on the GC220 that winds its way through forests, and is so picturesque, was treacherous. Roads slick with moisture from a recent cloud burst it was frustrating having to ride with caution to stay upright when you could see this incredible road sweeping left and right in front. I have to say, I’m happy that there were no grandma’s out as I’m confident they would have out gunned me to the bottom on that occasion.

The climb to Fontanales and then on to Pinos de Galdar on the GC70 was as much mental as it was physical. Large droplets of water fell from the sky, but would then suddenly stop. I couldn’t work it out at first but then realised that it was the wind blowing water off of tree leaves that was making me wet. It was a strange feeling, as if the trees were crying as I passed. Despite being anxious at what I faced ahead, I couldn’t help but stop on the early part of the climb as I saw two old (but no doubt loved) sofa’s perched on the edge of the mountain overlooking the valley below. You could see they’d been there for a while and I’m sure played host to many an evening with folk putting the world to right as the sun went down.

At Cruz Tejeda I’d planned on taking the GC150/GC600 past Rogue Nublo back to the GC60 for my final descent to Maspalomas. However, my plans were scuppered as they’d shut the road (I’m not sure exactly why) and there was no way of out foxing the guy on the barrier to give it a go. I even tried the old “wow, look, hot air balloon” trick whilst pointing and staring but he was having none of it. Guess it was lost in translation, either that or he knew I was lying as we were shrouded in cloud.

I had an uneasy feeling now. Something wasn’t quite right. People working on the market stalls and in the bars had temporarily stopped what they were doing and had congregated to look out at the side of the mountain I was now going to descend, the GC15! For the first time of the week I broke out my mountain survival kit that I’d taped in a bag to my seat post. This consisted of leg warmers, ear warmers and over boots (although I didn’t use the boots). As I rolled my leg warmers up each leg and zipped the ankles down people were starting to look with a crazed stare in my direction. The road below was dark and grey, a storm looming. I put my best “what’s up? I descend into the eye of a storm all the time” look on, but inside I felt quite different.

There was no hugging the barriers on the right and left hand side of the road, carving a perfect line into each corner or pedaling frantically at any given opportunity. Today the descent was all about survival, staying upright and trying to judge what the wind would do next. I wasn’t happy that I could not ride this descent like I wanted to, but getting to the bottom alive was a consolation of sorts I guess. As I made my way closer to Maspalomas I was getting more and more excited. “I reckon I’m going to make this without getting chewed” I thought to myself “and if I do I’m going to be one lucky man”. To the left and right rain was falling but at the time it hadn’t caught me.

With many different types of cacti on the island the one that caught my attention most often had perfectly shaped ‘paddles’. Sometimes it looked like it was bearing its fruit to you as you rode past, almost like being handed up something to eat in a road race. By Cruz Grande, with it being practically all downhill from here, I knew I was going to be ok and that my week would go down as one to remember for all the right reasons. The roads, the scenery, the weather, I couldn’t fault it. But…and there’s always a but, as a final piece of advice. No matter how good your time on the island is and no matter how perfect those ‘paddles’ look for giving a monty high five to as you pass….DON’T! Trust me, you’ll wish you hadn’t…

Ride Stats: 4,175m elevation/103 miles

For Day 7 GPS info click here

If the thought of riding on beautiful roads in the sunshine is appealing then I’d recommend three simple steps...

1) Stay in Maspalomas. It’s the sunniest spot on the island and it’s always nice to return to blue sky at the end of a great ride.

2) Base yourself close to Free Motion Bike & Outdoor. Not only can you rent quality road and mountain bikes if needed but with full workshop facilities, spares, kit, nutrition, wireless internet access and a whole wealth of knowledge on tap from the Free Motion team, having this kind of support is invaluable.

3) Don’t dream it…DO IT!

Until the next time, peace out.

MC