. . . or, the Englishman who went out to Almería for a half marathon but came down a mountain.
Following a reasonably modest post-race celebration, involving several pints of Guinness and one or two bottles of an excellent, if youthful, Rioja, team RC came together once more to break fast and chew the fat over the morning papers.
Niguel and Suzie were all for a late morning seafront plod, a sort of Phoenix-from-the-flames homage to the Great Plodder who had partaken of this recovery lope back in ’05. I’d already agreed to run in the afternoon with Antonio but decided a couple of lazy miles followed by coffee and some form of sticky pastry would do no harm. Andy declined the offer of a run but accompanied us for the stroll down the Avenida de Mediterraneo.
Sadly no more than a few tentative paces into our promenade plod Suzie pulled up with a painful twinge in her knee, joining Andy on a sunlit oceanside bench. Niguel and I loped eastwards for a mile or so, chatting about this and that as we passed the occasional dog-walker and fellow runner. We turned to westward, the great escarpment of the Castell del Ray lit up beyond the Puerto de Almería, passing Suzie and Andy with a cheery wave. We turned again at the Club del Mar, host of our inaugural post Medio Maraton luncheon in 2005, racing back to thrash the lactic acid out of our leg muscles before stretching modestly outside Café de Paris.
The promised provisions consumed, including some excellent
racciones of chorizo and tortilla, we ambled back to the Trip Indalo where Antonio, fresh out of school, waited. I’d been fascinated with
Antonio’s account of II subida a los Baños de Sierra Alhamilla, a wonderful tale about a local mountain race organised by some friends and the Mayor of nearby Pechina. Antonio had agreed to take me up to the Spa some eight kilometres above Pechina in the Sierra Almahila. We were to run the second leg of the Baños race, eight klicks down the mountain to the finish outside the Town Hall. Nigel kindly agreed to accompany us and to drive Antoinio’s car back.
As we drove up the winding road I marvelled at the rate of climb, the complexity of the turns and the breathtaking vastness of the terrain to our right and below us. Great desert plains fanned out like pleats in a dancer's skirts from the foothills of the mountains, the long folds of desert decorated with plants and trees. America's
Horse With No Name sprang to mind (Nigel and I are both fans, it turns out) 'There were plants and trees and rocks and things' - the place was made for such a soundtrack. This would be some race to take part in, I thought. I really must come back for this – I’m not sure precisely when the race will be held this year but its going on my calendar ASAP. We arrived at the Spa at the same time as the first few spots of rain. The sun, friendly and inviting earlier, had scarpered sharpish and I started to regret my choice of a singlet and half-leggings for the run. The Spa itself was closed so after a brief inspection of the surrounding buildings and the obligatory in-line posing for photos we set off, bidding Niguel a hearty farewell and God's speed in Antonio's charrabang.
I realised I still had my road-running shoes on. I originally took my Brookes off-roaders to Almería for precisely this run. Now they were needed they were languishing at the bottom of my suitcase, out of sight, out of mind. Oh well. The terrain was, as Antonio had promised, most excellent. Loose scree, boulders, rutted pathways, plenty of scrub and the occasional tree looking desperately in need of a good meal. I confess I whooped and hollered as we careered down the first of many steep drops, hopping and bounding across miniature chasms, quick-stepping through wide, sandy river beds strewn with rocks and discarded branches. This was a desert – amazing really, only a few kilometres from Almería yet light-years away from the nodding palms of the Avenida Maritimo. I half expected to see bleached longhorn skulls and the occasional rattlesnake as we yee-ha'd our way down.
After a short while we rounded a bluff to find that the pathway, such as it was, had disappeared.
‘Which way Antonio?’
‘Well, mainly in that direction’ – a general wave toward the distant town.
This was fabulous! No discernable trail, just a vast open space with a variety of climbs and drops, gullies and outcrops, all to be navigated at as fast a pace as one could manage. At one point I rolled my right ankle (again cursing my stupidity at not changing footwear), yelping as much in surprise as pain. There was an audible collection of clicks, but everything seemed to pop back into place and it didn’t swell up so we carried on.
By this time the cold was no longer a factor; in fact I was working up a decent sweat. I felt like a kid, thrilled at the adventure, amazed at Antonio’s stories of cyclists trying to navigate this crazy landscape. We crashed through some brush and hurtled down a small cliff-face, across another riverbed and into the approaches to what appeared to be a deserted town sitting under a vast spindly viaduct. We pushed on, skirting the run-down buildings to locate the cinder track that would lead us back to Pechina. The houses we passed improved in décor and construction as we ran, and we attracted the attention of a number of apparently hungry guard dogs, luckily (for us) restrained behind chain-link fences.
The rain fell steadily. In fact it might have been raining for some time, I just hadn’t noticed, I was having so much fun on this wild ride down the mountain. A few muddy tracks later we entered the outskirts of Pechina, the town’s narrow cobbled streets glistening wet, windows hidden behind reflective shutters. Our route weaved towards the town centre where Niguel loitered in a shop doorway. I couldn’t get the grin off my face as we hailed first Nigel then the Mayor himself and a person who appeared to be the Chief of Police. Antonio explained the copper had been a shepherd and knew the mountain routes like the back of his hand. A useful man to know, and, if I have the strength in my legs when we return for the race proper later this year, to follow.
I’m so grateful to Antonio for giving up yet more of his time during our visit to share this unique experience. It was an unexpected highlight, a run to compare with any of my off-road excursions back home.
