For Fox Sake

A slightly monotonous ride on Spain's roads was livened up after a return to the dish of spaghetti that is the CO-5101. At only 22 miles long it's a bit special. Picturesque, deserted and with a perfect surface it's pretty much second gear most of the way which helps to prevent it becoming spaghetti bolognaise. I've stolen the picture from an online German cyclist as my pictures are a bit dark and I was too busy actually believing I was a Moto GP rider with my knees down, which I'm sure the boy's GoPro footage will show... So then 22 miles of smiles done it was destination El Chorro on the GPS and here I am.

I love it here. Childhood memories and an opportunity to finally camp. But planning these trips in a pub at home it's always like "yeah let's camp most of the way" but in practice, after a long day on the road all you want is a nice clean bed (in a room) and a shower. A hotel is not actually much more cost than camping and you don't need to spend all night and morning unpacking/packing your gear. El Chorro is different though and even camping in such a safe place rather than a posh hotel down the road, it makes you more Ray Mears than that bell end 'Bear Grills.' We ate pizzas and drank beers accompanied by a tame fox at the little shop/reception close by. Done for the day, off we trotted back to our little cosy dens. En route Charlie points out only things that a hunter can see, namely the reflections of eyes in the forest. Some excitement later "oh yes I can see the fox, wow" etc. We then get to our tents where the 10 year olds in us start to piss off the few other campers within hearing distance.

This is made easy by Dev seemingly having suffered either a burglary or an uninvited visit by the very fox we'd all just spotted. A quick check confirmed nothing stolen, just a hungry fox sniffing around no doubt. "Silly boy, shouldn't have left your tent open!" As I helpfully offered between laughter to Dev. "Oh well it could be worse" (pointing torch at Charlie now under a tarpaulin) "at least you won't be eaten alive while you sleep..." Oh the laughter. It didn't last long. With my tent 20m or so away it was just out of range for my torch. Except for the reflective stuff next to my tent that wasn't there earlier. "Oh FFS." That little bastard fox had ripped open my tent and dragged out my helmet, fly sheet and sleeping bag. That's not all, to make matters even worse it pissed on my sleeping bag (look closely) and DIDN'T run off with my helmet. Fox, if you're reading this I sincerely hope that you are hanging up in a Russian coat shop before the end of the month. Today is the 21st.