Background information
With the fixie to Morocco #7: Land in sight!
by Jonathan Perraudin und Christoph Zuidema
With the fixie to Morocco #6: By go-kart to Tarifa?
20.9.2018
Translation: machine translated
After their final university exams, Jonathan and Christoph head out into the world. Not on an all-inclusive holiday to the Canary Islands, but to Morocco pretty much without anything - just with fixies and light luggage. Here they report on their experiences. This time: angels, go-karts and Austrians in the "BlaBlaCar".
Ten breakdowns, 2100 kilometres and one and a half cans of Chamois Creme (recommended by us) later, we are lying in a deckchair on the beach in Tarifa. After letting our gaze wander over the horizon, we look at each other in bewilderment. For the last 15 kilometres, we can't find a cycle path, motorway, one-way road or gravel track.
But one thing at a time. Shortly after Almeria a few days ago, we didn't dare to think that far ahead. We sit at our table in cycling jerseys, with a good crust of salt in our hair and a mountain of food on our plates. This is the picture that presents itself to the old men who have just come out of the only pub in this small village. But they barely pay any attention to us, preferring to scrutinise our bikes.
1000 kilometres to Barcelona? Philistines!
After a long search for the electric motor, we point out to them that we had forgotten it when we set off. They have a lot to say in response, but are disappointed to realise that we don't speak Spanish. Nevertheless, they try to explain to us that the Vuelta had passed through here somewhere. And as we always say we only speak English, they immediately think we are English and tell us the good news that an Englishman is leading the Vuelta. Unfortunately, this doesn't interest us at all - but we pretend to be and everyone enjoys it.
They then realise with astonishment that we are from Switzerland and want to know how many kilometres it is to Barcelona (for whatever reason?). Christoph replies in Spanish (!!!) that it's about 1000 kilometres. The group of men react as if we had just insulted the Spanish royal family, called Father Christmas an illusion and declared Catalonia independent. They don't believe a word we say and are absolutely certain that it's 900 kilometres and not 1000 kilometres. What philistines we are!
Fixies here, "BlaBlaCar" there
Unperturbed, we continue southwards, enjoying the tapas, the red wine and the sociable people. As our Spanish improves day by day, but decreases with every beer, we are not unhappy to meet a group of Austrians in Alicante. Not on a fixie, but on the "BlaBlaCar" they are travelling through Spain - original, we think.
When it turns out that they are travelling the same route as us, we are already dreaming of Vuelta-like conditions with support vehicles, spare bikes, snacks and number girls. But this illusion is quickly shattered. At least we are promised a beer in Malaga. We are keen to take advantage of this, but their bag has been stolen during their beach adventure. We're glad we didn't put ourselves in such danger.
Our angel from nowhere
From time to time, cycling angels appear out of nowhere and save us from the aforementioned sources of danger. Luis, for example. At first, we try - as always - to compete with the strange athlete. But it's hopeless against him. He masters every little hill with too much ease and weaves his way through the traffic jams on his carbon frame. At least we catch up with him at a set of traffic lights and strike up a conversation. Perfect French, Spanish and English are on offer. What a blessing.
When Luis hears about our plans to cycle all the way to Tarifa that day, he can only laugh at our equipment. He recommends that we take the motorway for a bit, as there would otherwise be quite a climb not far from here. Obviously he doesn't think we're in very good shape. Well, that's fine with us. The day before, our sightseeing in Malaga lasted well into the night. He offers to ride with us for a while and show us the way. We pant in agreement and Luis shifts up a gear with satisfaction.
Go-karting to happiness
Luckily, a go-kart track appears on our left and we manage to convince Luis to take a break here. Just for the go-karts, of course. We could easily have ridden with him for hours, but we were probably hoping that the ranking could be decided once and for all on the track. For our own protection and in view of the risk that this blog might otherwise soon be run by Luis, we decided not to publish the results. Our paths part a few kilometres before Tarifa and we have to rely on our next angel. An angel who even knows how to master 15 kilometres of waterway. I wonder what you can find here? We'll find out in the next few days.
What else happened:
