A Denia Diary 

The annual Club trip was to take us one of Peter's old haunts, the northern Costa Blanca and the inland Sierras, scene of major mountain stages in the Vuelta. The flight out from a rainy Newcastle passed pleasantly, and soon we were being met at Alicante by a wall of heat, and by Terry , the Patron of Ciclo Costa Blanca in Denia. After arriving at the villa , the inevitable battle for rooms broke out. I drew a top bunk short straw, but the accommodation had all the necessary mod cons, although we were struggling to get the Giro on Eurosport without the assistance of mein host.

Now it was time to build up the bikes. Oh dear - Matt's transmission was not looking good . Nothing to do with the baggage handlers mind - he'd snapped his chain and totalled the rear mech and hanger in Tuesday's Aussie Pursuit. Peter was not impressed. 'Who built this up?' The ghastly truth was out - Matt had gone DIY. The workstand became a blur of allen keys as Peter worked his magic. Matt was mobile again, which was just as well , as the LBS was not going to be open on a Sunday.

The evening came down to the essentials - where could we get a beer and some grub? The answer proved to be Juanita's, a local hostelry run by the eponymous senora, whose appearance started the first of many evening discussions which I can only describe as somewhat risqué. The news from home was of storms, hail, sleet and low temperatures -causing a pleasant schadenfreude outbreak.

Culinary indecision was finally overcome when Ty chose seafood for the evenings menu, and jolly good it was too.

Mark was hors de combat , the first victim of a plague of flatulence that was to beset the team for the rest of the week, Unfortunately, he was following through, and as Matt was in medical support mode(!), a reduced group set off for the Alta de Bernia. This is a 12.5 Km climb used in regional races, and for most of us was an introduction to the ritual of the km countdown sign. Opinion was divided as to whether this was motivational or not - it was certainly a bit different from the Twisties. The climb led up into beautiful pine forests amidst near alpine mountain scenery, and Simon said it was like the Pyrenees. The two German old codgers whom we had passed with varying degrees of alacrity on the ascent were even more stunned as we blasted down the steep and technical descent, Peter as always in the vanguard..

And so to home. 'Turn right to Xabia and begin the climb of Montgo' said the route card. I led the group up a sharp rise towards a blind bend as the road sign said 'Denia 8 km'. What the xxxx? Necks craned upwards. Peter's voice from behind 'Bloody hell - look at the climb!' (This remark also included a word beginning with c that bears no repetition on a family website). A miniature Alpe D'Huez confronted us. Vehicles seemed to be suspended in impossible positions on the craggy slopes above - there was a road up there somewhere, and we had to ride it. There was only one option - charge! It was a bit like the Gibbet really, except the bit it was like was the steep part at the bottom, repeated ten times round a succession of hairpins. A peloton passed going the other way - hmmm! As always though, the descent from the top was ace, all the way down to the seafront in Denia. Many beers helped to wash away the pain. Many beers were followed by port , and for some brandies the size of a modest Lake District Tarn. Later this was to lead to a disturbed night , as Peter practised throwing his voice, but most were too soporific to notice

The guys who'd missed out on Alta Bernia decided that was the route for them today, whilst the rest of us had our first easy day ,riding out to Pegos classic town square for the now compulsory Café con leche and a gentle trundle back along the coastal cycle track, where I kept people bemused with one legged pedalling drills.

Peter had been plotting the big one for some time, but even though he promised a delightful first section down the coast to Benidorm and unfettered hedonism, the loop back through the mountains reduced the party to four. For some unknown reason, the Café con Lechery group wanted to go back to Gandia , and the hitherto indestructible Matt fancied a day on the beach. I reckon this was due to the unhealthy fascination he had developed for the local Burger King finally catching up with him.

The 50 miles out to Benidorm passed uneventfully , save for frequent attempts to wind up the Saturday run back home with the weather report. We rolled onto the Levante beach, and the world's smallness was demonstrated as unmistakable Geordie tones rang out 'You've come a long way from Gosforth !' Peter finally raised Graeme as we sat in the Café on the Levante beach, and was delighted to tell him it was the hottest day of the week - mid 30's in the shade.

The final day dawned, and we all set off for an easy ride to clear the lactic acid. Yes , got it in one , a right tear-up. We didn't let up even when those of who needed a few junk miles to notch up the 500 for the week had passed that milestone. The Pego square cafés delivered the goods again ,and the run back to pack the bikes brought the inevitable final puncture , for Steve this time, finally using his frame pump for his own benefit after saving everybody else's bacon for a week.

It was all over, bar the shouting, the packing , the drive to the airport, the in flight beverages, and the fight for cabs back home. For those who'd not been on the Club trip before , it was a great way to start , for those who done it all before , it was one of the best. Even in Newcastle , the sun was shining.