The hotel we stayed in last night was on one of the main roads through town and the noise of the traffic, with every car / motor cycle insisting on blasting their horns, meant that I had a little difficulty getting to sleep last night.
The fact that I can sleep through typically anything, having lived under one of the main Heathrow flightpaths (albeit a few years ago now) without drama, gives you a bit of an idea how loud / hectic things were….
As a result I arose this morning, feeling a little tired and very eager to get going.
Once again we found ourselves with a police escort, still without a full appreciation as to why nor what they were trying to achieve. Having had them stop us on a number of occasions yesterday however, we weren’t quite as annoyed / distressed by their presence.
I also made sure not to be the lantern rouge, for it always seemed to be those at the back of the pack who were pulled up / questioned, and my Spanish is so poor I’d have no idea how I’d be able to communicate much more than my name, rank and serial number to them…
With the weather being slightly cooler than yesterday and the route profile (at least initially) being a lot tamer than normal, we ostensibly rode as a group…
What is funny though, is how few of the group, knew how to ride in a peleton. Yes, there is a bit of an art to it! Some of the “road” cyclists within the group failed to appreciate that in order to keep it together as a group, that meant not increasing the cadence and “racing” to the top of every hill making it difficult for others to keep up, whilst as for the mountain bike riders in the group – Well the idea of riding together in tight formation (close to the wheel of the rider in front & being side by side with a colleague) seemed impossible to orchestrate.
As a result by lunch time, the idea of riding as peleton fell apart something which would have eventuated anyhow, as the road changed from tarmac to dirt track….
We all ended up riding to Motupe at our own speeds and in our own styles, each I suspect coping little kids yelling “Gringo” as we rode past. Personally I just waved back in response
We did ride through some very small towns, with not a lot going on and on a route which is truly off the typical tourist track, so they’ve probably not seen a great number of white faces before… so I can’t say I blame them for having a bit of fun….
Having ridden some 153KM the Bike Dreams sign on the side of the road came into sight and it was time to take the turn off and head down the dusty road up to a football field where the trucks were located. Whilst there was nothing but rubbish waste littering the ground only a couple of metres away from the football field, where we erected our tents (hardly the way I’d envisaged spending my birthday, it was made up by the fact that a couple of cakes had been procured by the staff and offered around to the group once the formalities of blowing out the candles had been done, etc.
A very unique, very memorable day!
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