Algodonales to Rhonda

The final stretch is from Algodonales to Ronda cuts through abrupt hills and contains a fair few tough climbs. This is also the first time on the route that other cyclists of the weekender type are sharing the route with me. Instead of taking the main route I decide to go via Zahara de la Sierra with a hope of cutting into Garganta Verde. Again, Zahara is a village perched on a steep hill system.

I cut into Zahara and try to find a camino that will bring me into the nature reserve, taking my chances about 1km into Olive country. Its not work about, the path is disintegrating, my supplies are low and I realise its a probably asking a little too much of the bike and the body to continue. A few minutes are spent in a bus stop evaluating, eating, redressing wounds. As much as Garganta Verde is drawing me in, days and days of straight cycling are making me more aware of the remaining distance to Ronda, and possibly to Malaga tomorrow.

I plan a route through to Ronda and set out again. Along the way, Venta Del Tio Paco. Uncle paco hasn't been doing great business of late. The modern roads in the valley below probably sucked up all his passing trade. It has the air of a welcoming place even in its current condition. It probably isn't too safe and i wonder if I pass here ever again will it have fully split and gone all the way to rubble.

Uncle Paco left here a long time ago. This backroad I've picked really is providing me with an endless serious of climbs. I've gone from being a little tired to being pretty wary of water supplies, food supplies and how much more cycling I can do before my legs give out. Cycling up is always harder than cycling forward and my level of anticipation for not climbing hills is ever increasing. A few tough kilometres after Uncle Paco's I rejoin the main roads, traffic reemerges, there is more bustle and a long winding downhill section among busy but patient traffic brings Ronda onto the horizon. The times I've spent mingling with with traffic has been very low, using service roads, trails and generally staying away from the main drags has made that possible. 

It deposits me in the plains beneath Ronda from where a curving final stretch of climbing which gently curls into Ronda, and finally, i'm in the centre facing the famous arches. The views are wonderful. Its a crowded place, people flock from all over the world to see it and after I eat I'm happy to retreat to the hotel.

By night the arches are drenched in floodlights. The streets fill up with tourists and there is a wide choice of bars and places to eat near the centre. The hotel staff are welcoming and accommodating, again I'm given a safe lockup for my bike and I opt to get an early night, hoping to catch sunrise at the arches. 

The sun floods into the valley bringing purple and gold. Myself and 3 or 4 other tourists have the same idea and we hike down the path that leads to the bottom of the arches. 

And for maybe ten minutes, as the city creaks into life in the background Peunto Neuvo is an isolated and uninhabited feature. The few of us down here are in hushed tones, as if attending to some religious dealings. 

All that remains is train ride to Malaga airport, packing a bike for the flight and re-emerging in Belfast. The hotel staff help me get my bearings to find the railway station, I've no recollection of the train journey so I expect it was trouble free. I salvage cardboard from bins in the streets of Malaga to ready my bike for flying, drink coffee and leave Andalucia. 

Next: Conclusions