French Revolutions pt 2 - The Spanish Defection

Riding in the Basque Country

***** This post has strong mt biking content and may not be suitable for all readers *****

San Sebastian in the Basque region of northern Spain was added to our destination list for its obvious beauty; a mix of Spanish sun, the beach, surf, passion for food, and its fusion of modern glamour with old European charm. 

Looking south on to Gros Beach from Ulia

Many a visitors/local will happily rant about their love affair of this special place. Lesser known, but no less appealing to, was the amazing riding that came to my attention via Doug at BasqueMTB.

So a shout out to Doug who made our trip and my off-road riding here possible - answering my questions and allowing me to forward post my freeriding gear to avoided needlessly lugging it round France. And then after a crazy time handling a big group from Mallorca he managed to fit me in for some rides.

http://www.pinkbike.com/u/dougbasquemtb/

http://www.basquemtb.com/

For my first serious off road ride in months however, I went solo, clean skin (sans camel-pack or water bottle), with no local knowledge. I hoped to find worthwhile riding in the Mount Ulia hills that dominate San Sebastian (SS) from the east. Eventually I figured out where the trails started and eventually made my way up to the top. Several of the trails I ventured down dissolved into nothing, choked out with thorns or ended up on tarmac. Still, I enjoyed 2-3 nice technical single track descents obviously popular with the local riders. Also it was a blast bombing back into to the Gros part of SS which ended with a long alleyway consisting of several stair sections and a sissy line off to the side. I found the trails here old-school “natural,” developed over time by walkers negotiating the sides of the hill, with little design and sculpting for bikes. It was mostly loose sand over hardpack or rich dark soil in the woods but always chunks of rocks to keep things exciting especially when gradients increased and things got wet. Combined with the heat it was very reminiscent of Australian conditions.

The next morning I took the train out of town to meet Doug and I joined the group he had for the week – a dozen old timers from the Spanish island of Mallorca. All close friends. All members of a cycle club. All sporting exotic top-end rides. All in exceptional physical condition. All decked out in XC Lycra and matching club jerseys. Today we would ride the coastal route from Hondarribia, on the boarder with France, all the way back to San Sebastian via the hills of Jaizkibel and Ulia with a quick ferry to link Pasai Donibane to Pasaia at the half way point.

 

We headed over to the grass covered north-east edge of Jaizkibel initially sharing the trail with walkers and dogs. Following the spectacular coast we dipped in and out of ridgelines shaped like fingers stretching out to meet the sea. Given the group this made for some fierce competition in the old school hill climb stakes as we tackled the short, technical and dusty ascents. Additionally, the terrain made for tricky descents with a myriad of line options for weaving down the random sand stone ledges and foot holes dug out by walkers. On one occasion coming into a blind corner I got a 4-5 foot roll-in all wrong. The front tyre hung up in the pit of what I though was a doable transition. It was not so. I had to bail over the bars. Fortunately, I managed to roll it out with no dramas, much to the amusement of everyone else, “Bueno?” “Si, si. Bueno. Bueno. Thanks.”

A snack stop over looking the cliffs then a brutal grind up to the 540 metre heights of Jaizkibel. An eternity and 3 blown lungs later, I’m last to the top up in the clouds. There are massive vultures flying about looking for road kill or out of condition mt bikers.

Not far off the peak we get stuck into some single track tracing a ridge across open grass land. Although not overly steep, it’s a tight trail and littered with chunks of sandstone in the form of baby heads, gnarly blocks, and rock gardens, plus the track is wide open and the hard pack is fast. The old boys have shown their roadie hill climbing pedigree but they give me priority on the descents. So with reckless abandon I do my best to keep up with Doug as we thread our way at an accelerating pace despite the sketchy traction in the dust. The trail flows on and as we eat up the meters, my confidence grows and it feels great to relentlessly push the bike harder, skipping in, out, around and over the rocks. The Granit Chef (my mt bike by Rose) was light and playfully responsive yet maintained its sure footed composure taking in its stride everything I throw at it. Despite the Fox 32 fork making it somewhat less brutish than other bikes I’ve ridden in anger, its predicable finesse easily makes up for this.

Finally we pull up and everyone files in all smiles. Doug leads us into some lesser known paths in the area, a few he’s cut himself for bike use. They’re steeper and heavily wooded and with limited use the shrubs crowd in on you. Plus things start getting wet. This made spotting a line through the increasingly technical rumble and keeping the speed up that bit more interesting. The group was split so Doug could secure a lunch seating by racing ahead. Again, trying to stay on Doug’s rear tyre, it was a blast ripping down the old school, wild and woolly single tracks. The bike kept its cool as and my lines became more creative even in the face of some seriously step sections that pushed the limits of my abilities.

We make our way down the tracks and pop out near Lezo for a great lunch at a local café-bar before taking the ferry across to the western edge of the Mount Ulia ridge. The ascent was wooded with sticky rich soil and similar to the coast route, had steep sections littered with chunks of sandstone for added difficultly. And as before I was on the redline in the humidity and heat dragging my sorry self up.

Doug takes us through the better trails for bikes that area has on offer. No jumps, drops, north shore shinnies or manicured berms just rugged and raw single track weaving up and down the mountain side. The day ends as my day before, bombing down the alleyway onto the beach at Gros.

The second day we headed inland with the promise of more challenging and gravity flavoured riding. Given the size of the group however, shuttle lifts in the van weren’t an option. We started off in a thick ancient forest with rich soil and a steady root infested trail. After a bit we popped out on to an exposed ridgeline and proceeded to blast down this at wrap 7. Like the day before the single track was perfect for aggressive trail bikes; no twisting groomed turns or kickers but a flat out, high speed, dusty trail laced with enticing clusters of rock and gravel to test reflexes, line choice, and commitment. If you can use such a verb, we “Jedied” down that trail.

5 minutes to go time

We were well in the Basque back country and Doug led us down trails maintained and known to only a few riders. Heading back into the think forest we followed an old jeep track cut wide and deep into the shale and rock laden terrain. Similar to a water slide, but for bikes, this made for an ongoing bowled ditch carpeted in decaying material and loose blocky rocks. Turn after walled turn we zigzagged down the wild and ungroomed track, the bike skipping and skidding all over the place while I played with the moss covered lip. The speed and ruggedness of the slope really tested the bike and I’d have to say combined with its unique flow and challenging turns, this trail was the highlight of my Basque riding trip.

Pimped out SC Nomad as a mechanical is dealt with

We had to ride back up to where the van dropped us and this involved a good 40 minute uphill slog on the hot tarmac. Again, I found myself abandoned by the peloton with a one way ticket to struggle town. My long sleeve jersey, heavy shorts, knee guards, back pack, and the high-twenty degree heat didn’t help. Finally I made it up and after a wise-man’s lecture in broken Spainglish on the merits of Lycra for extended hill climbing I treat myself to a liberal dose of fresh mountain water from a cool spring. A quick re-fuel and we pushed on. We dipped and climbed the tarmac across the mountain range, a few times pushing the far side of 60km/h.

Doug took us to the start of a trail he personally cut from the hills. The thin red ribbon of fresh loose soil zipped down through the lightly wooded forest. We negotiated tight, off the back of the seat switchbacks and also wide accelerating bends pitched down the face of the slope. A few times the front tyre threatened to wash out in the soft underdeveloped turns. As we descended the thickening vegetation started to get up close and personal so that several additional degree of commitment were needed to swiftly thread the tree trunks and deal with log crossings – the off-camber kind you approach a little too fast and hope you pull off a clean bunny-hop.

Eventually we linked up to an established walking trail to follow a small rift in the mountain down out of the woods. This consisted of greasy clay and wet slick rocks for some tricky drops and oblique rock gardens. Plus a few foaming creek crossings for good measure. The treacherous conditions sorted the brave and skilled from group and I think Doug was the only rider not to walk down the most aggressive sections.

As the group emerged into the late afternoon sun there was a fair amount of mud and blood to show for moments of poor judgement. Fortunately it was nothing more than superficial damage and everyone one was grinning. We wrapped up the day, the last for the group’s trip, with a late lunch and cold drinks at a local café familiar with Doug and his riding tours.

I took the train back to SS utterly exhausted but buzzing from that magic combination pushing man and machine to their limits. Now I was fully pumped for our next riding adventure – big mountain riding down the ski fields of the French Alps!