Beyond the finish line, I found a world of relaxation and indulgence, which fully occupied me until the end of our week in Nerja. I did however take one more ride. I unhooked the panniers, pointed El Burro inland and headed straight up to the highest point of road I could find, in the surrounding mountains.
Following the coast south from Valencia towards Gandia, is a perfectly flat strip of land through L Albufera nature reserve, with the Mediterranean on one side and a huge inland lake on the other.
As the roads had become straight, flat and baked into Tauste, I expected more of the same, on the way south to Cariñena.
As the ferry ploughed on towards Spain and I watched the churning froth roll out from under the stern, the excited buzz of travel settled in me, as always tinged with melancholy for so much left behind.
At 37, I am feeling increasingly destructible each year. Football injuries no longer take a week to heal and physical symmetry seems to be leaving me by the week. I have been living in Brighton for 12 years, working as an accountant at various companies, but an upcoming period between jobs, due to temporary relocation to Cambridge, has given me the chance to take on a physical challenge, while I still can.
