Further Reading…

If you’ve enjoyed this blog then you might want to check out my home page which has stories of plenty of other rides I’ve done as well as links to other dedicated blogs I’ve created for my longer and more interesting journeys.

Epilogue

After arriving in Playa de las Americas I spent the next 3 days eating large amounts of calories (got to love the availability of the full English breakfast in places like Tenerife!), enjoying feeling clean, treating some nasty sunburn and sleeping in a real bed!

There was very little on the bike that I wanted to take home other than the rear light and the saddlebag. I emptied the Sports Direct pannier and cut it free from the rack. As proud as I was of how well it had performed, it was destined for the bin.

So, I was able to leave behind a complete bike for whoever fancied it and the bike rack outside my apartment was its final resting place as I got into the taxi for the airport. Given its weight, the skipping gears and wonky back wheel, I was not at all sad to get rid of it!

So, I returned home happy to have laid the budget challenge idea to rest at last, but certainly keen to keep on using old bikes for these sorts of trips.

A little bit of accounting now to finish off with: The total budget allowed for the trip had been £20 and this was spent as follows –

Bike – 99p final Ebay bid + 1p tip = £1.00

Subsistence – £19.00 converted to €21.00 of which I spent €18.37 giving me change from the overall budget of €2.63.

Applying the same exchange rate as I used on the £19.00 above, this means the total cost for the trip in Sterling was £17.62.

Finally, a quick word on the rest of the 99p bike haul. This wasn’t all cast aside. The red white and black Diamondback mountain bike was fixed up with a few new bits and I rode that coast to coast over the Easter weekend. Sadly, it was in such poor condition that keeping it long term wasn’t really very appealing and that was sent up to Recycle Bikes with the rest of the spare wheels and bits on my return home.

The black and orange Apollo mountain bike is now a work in progress and I’ll be riding that from Rome to Palermo in July of this year. You can follow my progress here if you’d like to see how it turns out!

Tenerife

My morning routine of packing up my bedding and quietly heading off was familiar by now and I rode the short distance down to the port without any locals even noticing me.

The ferry left at 8.30 and I spent the two hours onboard eating the last of the bread and jam for breakfast, having a bit of a wash in the toilets and trying to plan a route of out Santa Cruz onto the TF28. I’d decided against the final mountain climb as I doubted I’d make it even halfway up. In fact, even the “undulating” TF28 felt a little daunting as the line on the map bore the tell tale wiggling profile of a hilly ride.

Like most busy cities the roads in Santa Cruz channelled the traffic onto the major arterial routes and despite regularly consulting the maps on my phone I couldn’t avoid getting dragged onto motorways. It was at the moment of my greatest frustration at my lack of progress that both of the cleats on my shoes decided to snap!

The unwieldy plastic SPD-SLs are just not made for long trudges on tarmac or scrambling around on rough ground. Next time I’ll be touting SPDs instead.

So, I was hot, tired, lost and facing a possible ride ending mechanical. This wasn’t the day I’d been hoping for. Of course, a few minutes reflection always help and I found I was still able to turn the pedals, albeit only gently. I found my way onto a main shopping street and after googling the Spanish for “bicycle shop” I was beginning to get directions.

My luck turned when two guys on road bikes rode past. I flagged them down and luckily one spoke a little English. After a lot of gesticulating and googling we established what the problem was and what I was doing. David and Ivan, as they turned out to be called, were keen to help and a few phone calls by them revealed that the closest bike shop was closed for the holidays but there was another a mile or two away.

They guided me there (giving me plenty of time to catch up when my cleats slipped out of the pedals or I had to push instead of ride) and David did his best to chat to me about cycling and England. Sadly, the extremely hilly route and my fatigue left me a bit too short of breath to reply as best I might!

We made it to “Bike Centre” (previously “Freemotion” – an excellent chain of shops that those of you who have ever ridden in the Canaries might have used) and they had a new set of cleats added in just a few minutes. I thanked David and Ivan who were clearly very happy to have been able to help, and they resumed their mornings ride.

So, 20 Euros lighter I was off again too and wondering if this constituted a failure? I’d spent some cash but it was neither on the bike itself or on any food or drink. Where did my shoes fit into this picture? I metaphorically shrugged my shoulders and pressed on. Regardless of the rules, I still had 60 hilly miles ahead of me and just 8 biscuits and less than a litre of water for the day…

Altogether I’d lost an hour on this diversion but it was now downhill to the TF28 which by a happy coincidence was a stones throw from the shop.  I was out of the city by lunchtime and started to get into a rhythm.

My sicky-hungry feeling was present for most of the day and to avoid it getting too bad or running into any serious problems I created a structure to work to. With sixty miles to go I broke this down into 10 mile sections, at the end one I would eat 2 biscuits and have a drink. The fifth stop would be in the nearest town where I’d use as much of my remaining €3.48 as I needed to.

The TF28 shadows the motorway down to the south coast and the sea was off to my left for most of its length. The surface wasn’t the best as it was clearly neglected in favour of the modern highway and rather than ploughing through the landscape it followed the contours of the low hills it ran around the edge of. Mt Teide was off to my right but (perhaps to the relief of my conscience) it was never in view.

The contouring nature of the road meant I was frequently suffering deja vu as the route repeatedly turned right, went downhill for a short stretch, then left across a bridge over a dried up river bed or shallow gorge, then left again, up a short hill to a sharp right around the headland. This was repeated a least a dozen or more times. Luckily the climbs were mild and it was only my condition and the heat that added any extra challenge to the distance.

The chocolate biscuits took some swallowing as they weren’t the most moist snack imaginable and the water was very low in the bottle towards late afternoon. But I kept taking my “medicine” until my final stop in a nicely shaded picnic spot where a Spaniard was sat having a rest of his own. We conversed as best we could and he was impressed by the weight of the bike when he hefted it briefly. He was pushing on in the opposite direction to get home for dinner and I was getting ever closer to Playa de las Americas so we said our goodbyes and I started the last few miles to Granadilla.

My map had given me a clue as to what to expect on the TF28 in terms of terrain and incline, and something about the route after Granadilla told me it was going to get easier from there. It was around ten miles to the coast and at some point I was going to have to descend back to sea level…

From my remaining funds I treated myself to a cold can of Coke (€0.85) and as soon as I left the town centre the road started the long downhill to the sea. The relief was enormous and the caffeine and sugar boost added to my soaring spirits. The next half an hour or so was the easiest of the whole ride and a fabulous sea view was never out of sight for long. A quick check of the map on my phone showed me that the TF28 would actually pass outside the apartment block I would be staying in – what a finish!

The brakes did the last of their work keeping my speed reasonably sane but it was very  tempting to just let the bike roll and cool down properly. Inevitably my elation and loss of focus meant I took a wrong turn on the edge of town and I ended up half a mile or so off course but it was just a couple of minutes effort to correct and I emerged back out on the route, by happy coincidence right next a kebab shop. I pulled up and took a seat on the patio outside to finally enjoy some (albeit questionable) nourishment.

Gran Canaria

I awoke on the waste ground feeling much better than expected. A few sharp stones had annoyed me in the night but otherwise all was well. I packed up quickly and wheeled the bike back out onto the road to get going.

I had some trouble finding my way out of Las Palmas and stopped at a petrol station for a bit of breakfast (bread and jam with water) to prevent my navigational frustration getting too bad. Eventually I was on the road for Teror, which seemed an apt destination given the heights I was due to climb today.

This would be the first time I’d attempted any serious inclines with the bike fully loaded and as long as I stayed in the saddle all was well. Standing up on the pedals brought on some side to side swaying by the pannier, which made the bike feel a bit unstable. So it was a more cautious approach I adopted.

As long as I was heading upwards I was happy with the, er, modest speed I was making, but I managed to make my life much harder than I had to when faced with a particular junction. The main road started to descend whereas a smaller local road off to the right continued to climb. I was reluctant to have to try and regain my precious won altitude  so I turned off onto smaller track, which proved to be mistake. The gradient quickly increased to a completely unmanageable degree and I was soon off the bike and pushing.

This went on for some time and only short sections were ride-able. I realised I should have sacrificed the slight loss of height for a more sympathetic gradient on the main road. Luckily it was only a handful of miles to the next junction where things returned to normal again. My legs were getting a little jaded by now though and either the lack of calories or maybe the altitude meant I was struggling with the weight of the bike.

I made Cruz de Tejeda where the first signs for the summit at Pico de las Nieves started. It was around 9 kilometres from there and I probably rode only about 50% of that distance and, most disappointingly of all, the final kilometre was covered on foot.

The summit was a fantastic arena of views across the island, out to the sea and the other islands in the archipelago (apparently Mt Teide on Tenerife could be seen but I struggled to make it out). The sun was strong and I was feeling quite rough (slightly sick due to lack of energy and with a bit of a pain in my chest) so I laid out a whole €1.50 on a Coke which I drank in the shade of the drinks van while sat on the floor. I had run out of water somewhere on the climb and I hadn’t eaten since my jam sandwich breakfast.

After a few pictures, and when the fizzy pop had settled my stomach, I was ready to crack on and hoped that the descent into denser air might pep me up a little. The brakes so far had worked well and I felt confident on the faster stretches that I wouldn’t plough straight on at the bends into oblivion, so I was able to enjoy some free speed.

An hour or so later I was feeling rough again and stopped at a petrol station for some water and more bread and jam and a few biscuits. It was mid afternoon and the sun was at its worst. I got my guts stabilised and set off feeling vaguely normal, hoping to enjoy some easy downhills to Agaete, the port on the north west corner of the island.

My map proved to be deceptive though and I ended up in a series of small valleys with more pushing required on a few of the uphills. This was a very rural and quiet part of the island and none of the large group of cycling tourists were present around here. I’d have enjoyed it more had my bike been lighter or my legs fresher.

Just as it couldn’t have got much worse I had a rather bizarre encounter with some bees. Rounding a sharp bend I was puzzled to see a car approaching being driven by two men in full bee keeping outfits. They waved and beeped the horn but before what I later assumed to be their warning sank in I was surrounded by half a dozen bees. I was left trying to pedal as fast as I could while swatting at them with one hand. I got away with just the one sting but sods law meant it was on the worst patch of sunburn on my arm!

It couldn’t get much worse and luckily it didn’t. Soon after I was out of the last valley and I finally got the downhill I’d been waiting for. A couple of hours later I was at the port with a couple of bottles of water (€0.70) and my ferry ticket booked for the next morning.

I did my sums and found I had €8.08 left in my budget. I knew I wasn’t going to be capable of getting up Mt Teide so tomorrow would just be a straightforward ride to Playa de las Americas on the south coast of Tenerife. I still had bread, jam and biscuits spare and reckoned they would last me for the day and water was sorted too. I did a quick circuit of the port and found a cheap burger place where (for €4.60) I indulged myself with my first proper meal in three days – chicken and chips never tasted better!

I immediately felt much better and ten minutes later I was pushing the bike onto another patch of waste ground to bed down. It was quiet and the sun was going down. I slept easy feeling like I was a bit of a veteran of such places by now.

Fuerteventura

After a decent nights sleep under the road and the last of the bread and chocolate spread for breakfast, I was up and on my way just after 8.00am. A grey sky and a light rain shower left me less than happy, but neither lasted too long.

I was in Playa Blanca for 8.45 and on the boat by 9.30. The crossing was smooth but somewhat laboured as I’d opted for the slower foot passenger ferry not the more efficient catamaran carrying the vehicle traffic. So an hour of admiring the two coastlines passed pleasantly and I was raring to go once we docked.

Corralejo was not particularly noteworthy as a town, but it did have a cheap supermarket that sold me some more sliced white bread, a pot of strawberry jam, a packet of chocolate biscuits and some more water (€3.87).

Other than stopping occasionally for some calories or a drink, the day was fairly dull. Fuerteventura isn’t especially hilly, or that interesting to look at, but there were enough ups and down to make it less than simple to make progress. The heat got up in the afternoon which made it worse and the wind was less prevalent here than on Lanzarote.

By the time I landed on the main coast road running down to Morro Jable, at the southern tip of the island, I was feeling a distinct lack of energy and a real need for more water.

Stupidly, I pressed on along some extremely boring miles on that fast A road. In fact, it often felt more like a motorway. My morale, along with my hydration level, was rock bottom. I cursed my failure to stop for more water, especially as the road now seemed completely isolated from the rest of civilisation.

Finally Morro Jable arrived and it proved to be a very green and pleasant resort town. I rode straight down to the port to see if there were any sailings to Gran Canaria available.

It was 4.30 and the next was at 6.00, with only tickets in “Gold Class” available. I was very disappointed to hear that the Gold Class lounge provided passengers with free food and drink…

My more immediate concern though was water. I wasn’t feeling too great and after warning me against drinking from the taps in the toilets, the ticket counter assistant gave me a drink from the staff’s supply of bottled water. It was enough to see me through to boarding time and in the meantime I relaxed in the passenger lounge trying to eat some of my uninspiring rations.

My second ferry ride of the day was altogether more civilised than the first. The Fred Olsen catamaran felt like a cross channel ferry in miniature and the Gold Class lounge provided a very welcome (but very small) sandwich and a bag of crisps.

Much more importantly though, free drinks were on offer. I drank a gallon of cold sparkling water and felt immediately more human for it. I managed a change of cycling gear and a wash (of sorts) in the toilets, then laid down for a bit of sleep before docking.

With the sun setting at 8.40 I knew docking in Las Palmas any time after 8.00 would give me very little time to find a bed. Disappointingly, I wasn’t riding off the ferry until 8.30.

Feeling grateful for having bothered to fit the lights on the bike, I made slow progress through the town using my phone to plot a route to the suburbs. This took me past a golf course, but my hopes of a nap in a bunker or in some shrubbery off the fairway were dashed by high fencing around the whole course.

Things weren’t looking too good (although exactly how they looked was hard to tell now it was pitch black) and it felt a little desperate turning down a dirt track just to see what there was down there. I ended up finding a patch of waste ground behind a high wall shielding me from the road.

It was strewn with rubble and the remains of a demolished building but I found a patch clear enough to lay down on and no one seemed to be using the footpath that ran across the site. It was windy but the air was warm and I had a view down onto Las Palmas and its lights. I lay awake long enough to be sure it was safe and then drifted off.

Lanzarote

Arriving in Arrecife I was on edge. I was either going to open that box and find my trip was still on, or be sat in an airport car park with a collection of useless metal and no real plan B.

Things got off to a good start in the baggage reclaim area when my box was the first bit of luggage to emerge, leaving me feeling slightly less foolish standing around in my cycling gear. I had a bike to justify the costume now.

I found the craft knife still tucked in the fold of cardboard I’d wedged it in, so at least I wouldn’t have to fight my way in there.

Dragging the box along the smooth tiled floor, I left the rest of the passengers waiting for their stuff and headed outside. A large unused car park awaited and I hid behind a rust coloured shipping container, out of sight of any officious airport staff, to unpack the bike/scrap metal.

Amazingly, it was exactly the same as when I boxed it up. As each bit was extracted my mood improved and I could hardly believe my luck when an hour later I had a fully built up bike with a functioning pannier on the rack.

A few test laps of the car park revealed the gears were slipping slightly and despite some fiddling with the barrel adjuster, I never got them functioning as smoothly as when I’d been back at home. The pannier caught on the back of my shoe and a stray corner of the bag caught harmlessly (but irritatingly) against the spokes as I rode. Otherwise, all good.

I dumped the box by some bins, cleaned the oil off my hands and went back in the terminal to fill my water bottle but was told tap water on the islands was not drinkable. That meant a little more strain on the budget.

First stop then was a garage to get some water and after a cautious meandering ride through Arrecife town centre (gradually tweaking the saddle height to fit me properly again) I called at a supermarket for some food. A loaf of sliced white and some generic chocolate spread. Plenty of calories there and so far only €3.30 spent.

I headed north wanting to do a circuit of the island before crossing to Fuerteventura. It was cloudy and windy and occasionally there was the odd spot of rain. Not too inspiring, and neither was the scenery. Some hills came and went as I eventually looped south and the sun came out after a bit. The wind never let up though. I stopped and had some bread and chocolate spread in a petrol station and that was about the only highlight of those first few hours.

By late afternoon I had a dilemma. Should I hole up for the night now or try and get through the volcanic Timanfaya national park tonight? I’d stopped again for water at a petrol station (€1.20) and had sufficient food supplies, but nowhere really suitable presented itself.

The decision was in fact made for me. I was riding through the lava fields with the sun low in the sky and by the time I got there the barrier across the more spectacular road around the volcanos was down for the night. I didn’t fancy trying to sleep on volcanic rock, or being caught illegally camping in a national park, or waiting until 9.00am to enter legitimately, so I carried on.

Out of the park and back onto normal roads the bleakness of the lava fields was replaced by the best views so far. I also started to notice the prevalence of culverts under the raised roadbed.

With just 5 miles to go to Playa Blanca I stopped, climbed down off the road and crawled into one of them. It was dry, warm from the heat of the day and completely private. I rolled out the sleeping bag and my bivvy and bedded down for the night. More comfortable than Manchester Airport at least!

Box box box

With months of preparation and thought having gone into the trip, the fear of a careless baggage handler destroying the bike in transit was reaching fever pitch as I started the laborious process of packing it up for the flight.

After around three hours work and using enough packing material to keep me safely padded for a ride in the plane’s hold, nevermind the bike, I was ready to head to the airport.

Packed in with the bike were the bike tools and camping gear and wedged under one of the box’s flaps was a small craft knife to help me open it up at the other end.

My cunning plan to avoid missing my 4.00am Sunday check in time was to head to Manchester around 9.00pm Saturday and sleep in the departures hall. This didn’t go brilliantly as airport benches seem designed to prevent even the slightest degree of comfort remaining after approximately 20 minutes use. Somehow I managed 3 broken hours huddled under a foil blanket avoiding the blast of the (entirely necessary) air conditioning. I heaved a sigh of relief when the check in desks finally opened.

The guy manning the large luggage counter was entirely disinterested in my anxiety over the bike’s safety (“Look mate, we ship hundreds of bikes every day without any problem. Anyone can see it’s a bike so they’ll know to treat it carefully…”). He sent me on to the security gates with the sort of flea in my ear that only a surly British worker could manage at that time of day. I left him to spread further joy amongst other passengers.

Not to be outdone, his colleagues on the x-ray machine had their turn next. A 140ml pot of chamois cream, despite being half empty, *technically* breaches regulations on what liquids can be taken onto a plane. I explained I wasn’t actually taking more than 100ml of liquid onto the plane. No good.

I had to level with them.

I explained the trip I had ahead of me, “…and if I can’t take that cream with me then my arse is going to be on fire by the time I get to the end”.

We compromised: I went to Boots, bought a 100ml tub of face cream, emptied the face cream down the toilet then scooped the chamois cream into the empty pot. Serious threat to airline security apparently now averted. They tested the chamois cream for explosive properties though, just in case.

Carrying the Sports Direct pannier (whose rather sharp metal brackets screwed to a length of wood hadn’t worried security at all) I went through to the restaurants for some breakfast and then the flight.

The Test Ride

Before boxing the bike up for the flight I thought I should at least check that everything works ok out on the road! As suspected, the brakes are not too sharp, but I can at least fine tune them using the barrel adjusters as I go, so they may get a bit better.

One thing that is clear is that the bike is too small for me. I’m not too worried about this as I’ll be doing plenty of climbing that will get me out of the seat, but if I’m sat down for long periods this could get annoying. The seat is hard and quite slippery but I managed to get a relatively comfy position on it so fingers crossed its good enough for 4 days.

I can feel the rear wheel’s lack of smooth running but there isn’t too much lateral movement so it may well last the distance. Once its carrying a little more weight we’ll see.

The Sports Direct Pannier

I’d first thought of this before I’d even acquired the bike and to be honest I could easily have taken one of the panniers that came with the Marin MTB instead. But it fits with the budget nature of the trip and it was a fun exercise to see how easily it could be done.

Looking at any pannier you can see that the main structure is the part that suspends it from the top of the rack and a stiff panel on the side that abuts the vertical rack supports preventing it catching against the wheel.

So, a length of MDF was cut to about the width of most panniers as well as a duplicate piece to match. These would clamp one side of the bag between them and hang off the rack. Also included in that sandwich was a piece of plywood that would provide structure to the bag as it rested against the rack.

A hole-punch made a couple of holes in the top seam of the bag and some eyelets were added to reinforce them. I then drilled holes through the entire sandwich of MDF, ply, bag and MDF, put some bolts through them and then added some metal brackets and bolted it all together. A pair of pliers bent the brackets over to form hooks that gave a snug fit on the rack and I’ll run zip ties through the holes in them to hold the whole thing on more securely when I get there.

I then added a couple of small brackets to the inside of the bag and more holes in the top seam and ran some old paracord through them to make a drawstring closure mechanism. I’ll use a bin bag inside the pannier and roll the top down to keep everything watertight and held in place, so I wont need the bag itself to close too securely.

The last touch was a zip tie through he lower part of the bag to which I tied some more paracord so I can secure the bottom of it to the rack and prevent it from swinging outwards when the bike leans to the left.

One niggle was the proximity of the front panel to my left heel so more holes were punched in that side of the bag and a couple of zip ties used to pinch it inwards making the whole thing a little lopsided but giving me enough clearance to pedal cleanly.

And there we have it – a pannier out of an old carrier bag!

Indexation’s What You Need!

I’d messed around with the gears on a few occasions and could see that the rear mech was functional. But getting it to function correctly was one of those mysteries that I struggled to tackle head on.

Youtube came to the rescue though, with a ton of videos on how to set gears up correctly and my copious note taking and repeated viewing meant I (amazingly) got it right first time. Followed by a loud cheer from inside my garage! The last piece of the jigsaw was now in place.

It only took a minimum of tweaking to get a nice clean shift across the whole range of the freewheel but one flaw is the non-functioning front mech which can’t be tweaked to avoid chain rub at the extreme ends of the gear range. So I’ll be listening to a slight scraping sound any time I’m climbing in 1st or trying to get some speed up in 7th.