Late last year, Mike and Andy asked if I fancied a trail riding holiday “somewhere dry!” instead of our usual road trip across the channel. As they both work abroad, the timing and logistics were left to them, and I just wrote the date we were going in my diary. Another rider, Paul, whom I didn’t know was to be the fourth of the group. Mike is the least experienced at off-road riding, having only taken it up to see what Andy and I waffle on about so much. Up to press, his experiences had been mostly muddy, and generally wet, with the odd bout of shivering thrown in.
Having scoured TBM, and the internet, Mike booked us three days riding with “Solmoto” based near Lorca in Southern Spain. Average temperatures for the area in May are around 20 to 25 degrees, with very little rainfall. Equidistant from Almeria and Murcia airports at about 80 miles inland, a hire car was a must, and would give us some independence to explore when we weren’t riding. The website boasted of “several hundred kilometres of mountain tracks, Ramblas (dry river beds), Caminos (field and woodland trails) and Barrancos (dried out creeks)”, also “ the routes can be as challenging or as straightforward as necessary, from flat dirt tracks to world championship enduro stages.”
Sounds good doesn’t it?
First task was to empty all my usual gear out of my kit bag. Thermals, seal skins, waterproofs, etc were all dumped in a heap in the garage. Motocross shirt and jeans, hot weather undershirt and body armour went in the bag. I wore my enduro jacket (washed) to the airport, hopeful that I wouldn’t need it, but glad of the pockets. All my tools and spares were also dumped out of my rucksack, someone else had that covered this week. All I intended to carry was spare gloves, 3 litres of water, my camera and suncream! After packing my normal clothes I stepped onto the scales with the bag over my shoulder to calculate the weight. The problem was I could induce a 4 kg difference simply by breathing. This meant I was either 2 kg below the weight limit, or 2 kg above! Damn those cheap scales!
An uneventful flight saw us arriving at Almeria airport just before noon on Sunday. Realising that 4 blokes and their kit wasn’t going to fit into a hatchback, we paid a premium for a Focus estate. An inspired move, if not an inspiring car.
We weren’t in a rush, so we took the coast road to Carboneras and had lunch at a beach side café before heading back to the motorway. I had programmed the villa coordinates into my Zumo, but the last few kilometres had no roads on even the highest detail setting. We had the directions from the website though, and these guided us right to the door. After we had unpacked our gear in the very comfortable rooms, we introduced ourselves to the “honesty” bar downstairs and sat out in the late afternoon sunshine, chatting to our hosts.
Steve and his wife, Debbie, moved their family here 5 years ago. Their son, 18 year old Ben was to be our guide, with Steve as tail-ender. We were made to feel very welcome, and the comment in the sales blurb about the villa being your “home” for the duration of your stay is very true.
Monday morning dawned bright and sunny, as it is want to do over there. After breakfast we got kitted up and walked round to the workshop, where Ben had lined up our Yamaha WR450’s. He was on his KTM 530, and Steve on a KTM 450, both on incredibly slick rear tyres. Ours, by contrast, had fairly new looking knobblies on. Customer bikes get priority was the explanation.
The driveway is dirt track, and within 100 metres Ben had led us off to narrower jeep tracks and single track circling around the villa. I guessed, rightly I later found, that this was their “test track” to give them an indication of what they would be riding with. A couple of short, sharp climbs and descents tested us further, before Ben led off into the surrounding countryside. Now this is where the fun started! The riding was exactly as described in the brochure, only better! The temperature was nice and warm, without being too hot, and everywhere was DRY! No mud anywhere to be seen! We rode miles of single track, winding down gullies and canyons made by the water that flows off the mountains when it rains. Jeep tracks stretched over hills into the distance, an off road paradise. Some of the tracks were well used, but we hardly saw a soul.
A quick break in the shade of some trees was an opportunity to check that the pace suited us all, and that the level of difficulty was suitable. Andy and I commented to Mike how well he was going. Some of the hills had been harder than anything he had encountered before, and he had certainly not ridden in sand, but he was having a ball. “Don’t forget, we’ve got three days of this, don’t burn yourself out on the first day.” I said, not realising just how prophetic those words would be. A few minutes later, Mike lost the front wheel whilst braking downhill in some rain ruts. As it tucked into the side of the rut, Mike went over the bars and forward rolled down a bank. It happened so slowly that I was laughing and reaching for my camera. As I saw him clutch his shoulder I didn’t think for a second that such a simple fall would be problematic, but when he sat down and complained of feeling sick, it started to look as though it would. After a few minutes, Ben, Andy and Paul came hurtling back to where we were stopped. In this time I had helped Mike take off his shirt and armour, and he confirmed that his collarbone was broken. Three hours and fifteen minutes since we set off, we were a man down.
Ben and Steve worked out the easiest way to a road that the van could get to, then rang Debbie with instructions. After ferrying Mike’s bike to the road, Steve walked down with him, and Ben took Andy, Paul and I to the lunch stop. We had only been there for a few minutes when Mike, Steve and Debbie walked in. Mike was hungry, and with a sling supporting his arm had decided to forgo the A & E department in favour of food. And very fine food it was too, probably too much to ride on, but we were on holiday after all.
The three of us were somewhat detuned that afternoon, riding back to the villa for a welcome cold beer and wash the dust of the day off. Mike was in good spirits, considering, so we drove into Puerto Lambreras to have a look at the nightlife.
The plan for the next day was for Steve to stay back with Mike, to keep him company and ferry him around, while Ben took the rest of us out. Andy claimed Steve’s KTM, as he wasn’t using it, and we set off. The three of us are of a similar standard, and Ben started to stretch us a little. The hills got bigger, the trails got more technical, and our smiles got even wider. That’s not to say that we wouldn’t have had as much fun if Mike had been with us, because we would. The dynamic of the group had altered, that was all. Ben can certainly handle a bike, he’s young, fit, strong and talented. In fact, I could hate him. We took it in turns to run second, as each bike threw up a dust cloud meaning that the last bike had to hang back a good 100 metres or choke.
That night, Steve cooked a huge meal for us, and just as we thought we couldn’t eat any more, Debbie’s mum brought out homemade sticky toffee pudding. You certainly don’t come here if you want to lose weight!
For our last day of riding, Ben put us through the mill once more. We could have told him to ease up, but none of us wanted to. Andy claimed it was the best few hours of riding he had ever had. My enjoyment of it was tempered by a sore wrist, which was making it difficult to hold on, and a tweaked shoulder. The wrist was a mystery, I don’t recall doing anything particular to it, but it was seizing up badly. My shoulder was from pivot-turning the Yamaha out of a ditch when I had failed a climb. I hit the deck six times that day, much to Andy’s amusement.
All too soon we realised that we were on the road back to the villa, and the end of our riding. It had been a fantastic three days, had Mike not crashed I’m sure his skill on a bike would have improved greatly. I’m not sure of the distances we covered, but if we did ten miles of tarmac in the whole time I would be surprised. All this, and not one single gate!
After breakfast we loaded up the car and said our goodbyes. It really did feel as though we were leaving friends we had known for years, and their hospitality cannot be faulted. A quick blat down the motorway was required to get Paul to the airport for his flight home. He had an important birthday party to get back for.
Mike, Andy and myself had decided that, under the circumstances, we should find somewhere to chill out for the remaining day and a half. So that is exactly what we did, pitching up in Agua Dulce, just west of Almeria. Beer and Tapas, on a lazy beach-bar crawl, finishing off at a sports bar with classic bike racing on the TV.
The problem I have now is raising any enthusiasm for trail riding in the rain and mud of the UK, and having to stop every half a mile to open a gate. Ho hum.
Mark
Having scoured TBM, and the internet, Mike booked us three days riding with “Solmoto” based near Lorca in Southern Spain. Average temperatures for the area in May are around 20 to 25 degrees, with very little rainfall. Equidistant from Almeria and Murcia airports at about 80 miles inland, a hire car was a must, and would give us some independence to explore when we weren’t riding. The website boasted of “several hundred kilometres of mountain tracks, Ramblas (dry river beds), Caminos (field and woodland trails) and Barrancos (dried out creeks)”, also “ the routes can be as challenging or as straightforward as necessary, from flat dirt tracks to world championship enduro stages.”
Sounds good doesn’t it?
First task was to empty all my usual gear out of my kit bag. Thermals, seal skins, waterproofs, etc were all dumped in a heap in the garage. Motocross shirt and jeans, hot weather undershirt and body armour went in the bag. I wore my enduro jacket (washed) to the airport, hopeful that I wouldn’t need it, but glad of the pockets. All my tools and spares were also dumped out of my rucksack, someone else had that covered this week. All I intended to carry was spare gloves, 3 litres of water, my camera and suncream! After packing my normal clothes I stepped onto the scales with the bag over my shoulder to calculate the weight. The problem was I could induce a 4 kg difference simply by breathing. This meant I was either 2 kg below the weight limit, or 2 kg above! Damn those cheap scales!
An uneventful flight saw us arriving at Almeria airport just before noon on Sunday. Realising that 4 blokes and their kit wasn’t going to fit into a hatchback, we paid a premium for a Focus estate. An inspired move, if not an inspiring car.
We weren’t in a rush, so we took the coast road to Carboneras and had lunch at a beach side café before heading back to the motorway. I had programmed the villa coordinates into my Zumo, but the last few kilometres had no roads on even the highest detail setting. We had the directions from the website though, and these guided us right to the door. After we had unpacked our gear in the very comfortable rooms, we introduced ourselves to the “honesty” bar downstairs and sat out in the late afternoon sunshine, chatting to our hosts.
Steve and his wife, Debbie, moved their family here 5 years ago. Their son, 18 year old Ben was to be our guide, with Steve as tail-ender. We were made to feel very welcome, and the comment in the sales blurb about the villa being your “home” for the duration of your stay is very true.
Monday morning dawned bright and sunny, as it is want to do over there. After breakfast we got kitted up and walked round to the workshop, where Ben had lined up our Yamaha WR450’s. He was on his KTM 530, and Steve on a KTM 450, both on incredibly slick rear tyres. Ours, by contrast, had fairly new looking knobblies on. Customer bikes get priority was the explanation.
The driveway is dirt track, and within 100 metres Ben had led us off to narrower jeep tracks and single track circling around the villa. I guessed, rightly I later found, that this was their “test track” to give them an indication of what they would be riding with. A couple of short, sharp climbs and descents tested us further, before Ben led off into the surrounding countryside. Now this is where the fun started! The riding was exactly as described in the brochure, only better! The temperature was nice and warm, without being too hot, and everywhere was DRY! No mud anywhere to be seen! We rode miles of single track, winding down gullies and canyons made by the water that flows off the mountains when it rains. Jeep tracks stretched over hills into the distance, an off road paradise. Some of the tracks were well used, but we hardly saw a soul.
A quick break in the shade of some trees was an opportunity to check that the pace suited us all, and that the level of difficulty was suitable. Andy and I commented to Mike how well he was going. Some of the hills had been harder than anything he had encountered before, and he had certainly not ridden in sand, but he was having a ball. “Don’t forget, we’ve got three days of this, don’t burn yourself out on the first day.” I said, not realising just how prophetic those words would be. A few minutes later, Mike lost the front wheel whilst braking downhill in some rain ruts. As it tucked into the side of the rut, Mike went over the bars and forward rolled down a bank. It happened so slowly that I was laughing and reaching for my camera. As I saw him clutch his shoulder I didn’t think for a second that such a simple fall would be problematic, but when he sat down and complained of feeling sick, it started to look as though it would. After a few minutes, Ben, Andy and Paul came hurtling back to where we were stopped. In this time I had helped Mike take off his shirt and armour, and he confirmed that his collarbone was broken. Three hours and fifteen minutes since we set off, we were a man down.
Ben and Steve worked out the easiest way to a road that the van could get to, then rang Debbie with instructions. After ferrying Mike’s bike to the road, Steve walked down with him, and Ben took Andy, Paul and I to the lunch stop. We had only been there for a few minutes when Mike, Steve and Debbie walked in. Mike was hungry, and with a sling supporting his arm had decided to forgo the A & E department in favour of food. And very fine food it was too, probably too much to ride on, but we were on holiday after all.
The three of us were somewhat detuned that afternoon, riding back to the villa for a welcome cold beer and wash the dust of the day off. Mike was in good spirits, considering, so we drove into Puerto Lambreras to have a look at the nightlife.
The plan for the next day was for Steve to stay back with Mike, to keep him company and ferry him around, while Ben took the rest of us out. Andy claimed Steve’s KTM, as he wasn’t using it, and we set off. The three of us are of a similar standard, and Ben started to stretch us a little. The hills got bigger, the trails got more technical, and our smiles got even wider. That’s not to say that we wouldn’t have had as much fun if Mike had been with us, because we would. The dynamic of the group had altered, that was all. Ben can certainly handle a bike, he’s young, fit, strong and talented. In fact, I could hate him. We took it in turns to run second, as each bike threw up a dust cloud meaning that the last bike had to hang back a good 100 metres or choke.
That night, Steve cooked a huge meal for us, and just as we thought we couldn’t eat any more, Debbie’s mum brought out homemade sticky toffee pudding. You certainly don’t come here if you want to lose weight!
For our last day of riding, Ben put us through the mill once more. We could have told him to ease up, but none of us wanted to. Andy claimed it was the best few hours of riding he had ever had. My enjoyment of it was tempered by a sore wrist, which was making it difficult to hold on, and a tweaked shoulder. The wrist was a mystery, I don’t recall doing anything particular to it, but it was seizing up badly. My shoulder was from pivot-turning the Yamaha out of a ditch when I had failed a climb. I hit the deck six times that day, much to Andy’s amusement.
All too soon we realised that we were on the road back to the villa, and the end of our riding. It had been a fantastic three days, had Mike not crashed I’m sure his skill on a bike would have improved greatly. I’m not sure of the distances we covered, but if we did ten miles of tarmac in the whole time I would be surprised. All this, and not one single gate!
After breakfast we loaded up the car and said our goodbyes. It really did feel as though we were leaving friends we had known for years, and their hospitality cannot be faulted. A quick blat down the motorway was required to get Paul to the airport for his flight home. He had an important birthday party to get back for.
Mike, Andy and myself had decided that, under the circumstances, we should find somewhere to chill out for the remaining day and a half. So that is exactly what we did, pitching up in Agua Dulce, just west of Almeria. Beer and Tapas, on a lazy beach-bar crawl, finishing off at a sports bar with classic bike racing on the TV.
The problem I have now is raising any enthusiasm for trail riding in the rain and mud of the UK, and having to stop every half a mile to open a gate. Ho hum.
Mark
She'd left when we got back but Sarah said she had a good time and did really well.
