John & Mark´s Bogus Journey
"You bloody fool! Sierra Nevada is in America!!" "No, there´s one
in Spain
too! Trust me, I´m a mountain-biker"
Day 1: Our bogus journey started smoothly with bullshit about the
aims
and expectations for the holiday becoming more wild and radical
with each
Vodka consumed at the airport (8:45am!). At Malaga Airport,
however, we
were beginning to think that our bikes had been sent to the wrong
Sierra
Nevada after all. Once we found them, we stood like lost sheep
looking for
our guides, who had decided to let us sweat while they decided if
we
looked worthwhile taking to their MTB paradise. Personally, I
blame John´s
Think Pink trousers for scaring them but soon we were heading fir
Alpujarras! I thought it had gotten very misty but it turned out
to be my
Oakley´s steaming up due to the extreme natural female beauty
everywhere you looked. John, being the faithful type said he
hadn´t noticed
(oh, yes we believe you). Another hour in the van and the terrain
began to
take on a very steep, rocky mountain look. Oh yes, this was going
to be
fun and our wee village really did look like paradise.
Quickly and excitedly we slapped our bikes back together, had a
few
blasts down the driveway to make sure everything was working. All
this
was under the watchful eye of our guide who very quickly asked
"Do you
have E111 insurance guys or should I book the air ambulance?"
"Eh?
Neither, dude!" A few beers, more bullshitting and off to bed
praying we
would live up to our downhilling dreams.
Day 2: The first day was going to be a 'warm up day' to see what we were made of. The
first climb was granny spinning. The sun was hidden by clouds, but we were still sweating
rivers. At the top, helmet on, big ring engaged, brain switched off. 
The descent was 3 miles
long, wide tracks, fast sweeping corners on sand that definitely required caution due to
possible cars on blind corners and fearsome drops. Our guide proved to be a very
worthy guide, knowing every trail like the back of his hand. We could hardly stop grinning
at the end, our `warm-up day' had been 19 miles long, two 3 mile descents, a top speed of
44.6mph and our guide reckoned that we were definitely the fastest downhill nutters he's
had yet!
Day 3: Our morning's customary blast down to the village was over in a minute and we watched
our guide scream up the side of a mountain. Beating Jonno and I up the hill is no great
feat as you can imagine, butour guide really is blindingly fit. We crawled up the first climb
in his wake, and eventually reached the top. Looking down on the village, the sun was breaking
out and it was getting hot! The rest of the morning consisted of blasting down excellent
switchbacks and a monster climb up to a village, where Jonno had a very cool incident with
a fiesta. 
When I say fiesta, we are not talking Ford. The local square is used for the annual
festival and is surrounded by a maze of wires 2ft above our heads. Jonno decided to leap
off the square on to the pavement. Alas, it wasn't to be. He caught one of these wires square
across his face mid-air and landed nastily breaking his seat. Rushing over with my wee
medikit I patched up his face, while our guide did a good job of patching his seat, which
ironically was accomplished using the wire that left Jonno looking like a Neanderthal man!
Day 4: Jonno and our guide awoke feeling a tad "negative" about the impending ride.
"Negative" being hung over, of course. So due to that we got Jackie to give us a van ride
up the first 5 mile climbs. Even though our guide was feeling "negative" he middle ringed
his way up a 5 mile ascent quicker than we got up in the van. This man can climb like a
goat on psychedelic figs! The rest of the day consisted of much climbing and blasting
downhill through herds of goats. This fast and wild, and MTBiking at its most fun. We seemed
to be developing a grudge match for the lead. It was getting better all the time. Our guide
gave us a reality check and advised no passing on the next run. We saw why: huge drops
if we got it wrong!
Day 5: Too much loudmouth soup. Legs sore, and definitely feeling a tad "negative". Clear
blue sky though. It was going to be a scorcher. We had the choice of a "Jessie" run or
something more extreme. So we went extreme, of course. This valley had some fast,
eroded, duel slalom type downhills before the hardest climbs of the holiday. After a few poseing
jumps for the camera we headed down a gentle slow run to the pizza shop. Well, nearly,
30 seconds later Jonno pulled a bunny-hop that went very wrong. Down he went, right in
front of me! And I just missed ramming right into his head! Down to the Red Cross where 5 Spanish conscientious objectors doing national service hauled him in and gleefully
patched him up. Ready for Pizza! Later that day we got the pool cover off and the days of
talking about cycling into his pool were over. I cycled up to the edge and pulled a bunny-hop
straight into the centre. Yoha! Time for beers! Jonno was looking in pretty bad shape by now,
so we plied him with Vodka.
Day 6: Jonno's injuries proved to be too sore so he sat this day out. A 5 mile tar warm up
then down the very tight "funnel" run to the river, which we chased crossing through the
water several times. Mark P. executed two beautiful face plants (about time too) so now he
fitted in with the scabby scarred Ecurie Neep duo. Our last crossing of the river to get to our
Vanette pick-up point required roping the bikes together and wading into bollock deep fast water.
No worries and a small climb to the pickup. A pizza and a fair drive later we were ready for
a last blast down to the village using the "Kama Kaze" run. Loose & Steep sums it up.
We kept up a really fast pace trying to beat Mark P's previous best DH time, but it wasn't
to be coz I blew out both tyres and nearly plopped over the edge of the pista because of it.
Never mind, fixed them and back home. This run cost me a bent pedal, a dented rear rim and
another blown Judy cartridge. The extreme conditions were taking their toll on my poor Stumpy.
Last Day: Morning bash only. Only Mark P. and Mark A present. Gnarly single track descents of the extreme variety. This is known as the forearm Pumpup run. If you can ride over all the
rocks without putting a foot down, you're doing well. If you can get to the bottom without
your hands going into cramp, you're very fit! By the bottom, my front disk was hot enough to
fry an egg on. This was one of the tightest rocky descents of the holiday, Made more
tricky because of the lovely drops on your side. A short 30 mph. bash then up to home.
Holiday fini. Bike to pieces into box. Home again. Jiggidy Jig.
With thanks to the ECURIE NEEP (Racing Turnip) MB Club (Aberdeen, Scotland) Newsletter
Ciclo Montaña España
CALLE CORTIJO 2, MECINA - FONDALES, LA TAHA, 18414
GRANADA, SPAIN.
Tel. +34 958 765200
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