"What was that?"
"Your door must be open."
"It isn't"
"Ping"
"Must be yours"
"S'not mine"
"You've left the handbrake on"
"No I haven't"
"Ping"
"What is it then?"
"Dunno"
"Ping"
Without reading glasses the dash of an unfamiliar car is a mysterious place of mostly obscure colours and shapes but on this occasion it was snowing. There was a snowflake bobbling about on the dash where the temperature was meant to be . The temperature had all gone and there was just this snowflake. And the intermittent "ping" of annoyance.
Broken bottles aside, the day had begun well, the decision had been jointly taken to head inland past the reservoir and through the mountains to the main road where we would turn right, visit el Castell de Gaudalest and then on to Voldemort to return the Polo.
Initially all was well until the "Ping" began. It didn't ping a lot after it's initial manifestation but it was annoying when it did. After the empty reservoir complete with ruined houses, roads and bridges that ought to have been submerged we carried on. Inexorably uphill, the corners ever tightening, the distance between them shortening, the camber at the apex being supported by rather deep ditches that looked infinitely preferable to what lay outside them, which generally wasn't much. But it was a left hand drive car.
My navigator was providing the usual detritus of navigation, don't go any closer to the edge, look out there's a frozen cyclist, mind the van and then it's snowing. Which it was. The dashboard snowflake had been replaced by a number with a minus sign in front of it and there was real snow outside although it was missing the wipers and loitering at the edges of the screen.
Now the iPad, not wishing to be left out, began it's own annoying diatribe, keep on this road for another 18kms..... Stupid thing. Having just raised the seat squab and made the seat back a touch more vertical all I wanted to hear was ..... HPR, don't cut ditch, 40 HPL stay out armco, 30 tight R into very tight L don't cut , steep uphill HPR into steeper 50 into tight L into open R 30 into adv camber HPR .......
Instead all I got was threats of homelessness, poverty, loneliness and solicitors unless we turned round and went back. Now just where do you turn on a narrow, ever ascending sinuous becoming tortuous mountain road in visibility in which even a radar would fail to be of any use?
Well, here. There seemed no where else and even turning here undertaken with obscene amounts of care as visions of being hung up a tree were not too far wide of the mark. I'd tried reasoning but had to give in.
It is a fact though, that going uphill in these conditions is much easier than going down but the task was undertaken with due diligence helped by the fact that until the Finestrat junction we saw no other traffic.
Finestrat. Another Spanish town, planning department run by five year olds, decoration by teenagers. Didn't stop.
Roundabouts and civilisation and then more uphillness and eventually el Castell de Guadalest. Google it. It is well worth a visit. Indeed, we were even verging on parting with €8 to enter the Castell itself but were made aware of the imminent arrival of a Benidorm busfull of geriatric Germans so we settled for a wall wander and wonder. I tried out the new cameras panoramic mode and then we became the sole objects of attention in a coffee shop which was nice for a while.
Having been quietly quiet, and not best disposed to having had to beat a retreat earlier in the face of a few snowflakes it was mooted that with the sun shining we could travel the same road from the other direction. It did look spectacular and so it was.
Eventually we turned off the main road to traverse the mountain range and it was great. Seat back a little more upright, a lightness of touch on the thickish VW wheel and off we went. Upwards, ever upwards and we'd already started quite a way up.
Geography is not a strange thing to me really, and had I been thinking geographically instead of like a Carlos I may have given a moment's thought to the fact that we were going north to south and even I know that there's some places the sun doesn't shine.
Initially, the exhilaration of a car that handled so much better than a Jazz with gears that could be selected and hung on to or downshifted as appropriate was just so much fun, the concentration was immense, so much so that the quietness which had taken on an unnatural quality was completely unnoticed as our ascent progressed in ever tightening lines.
This continued right up to the point at which the gentle acceleration out of a particularly tight hairpin resulted in the graceful sweep of both tachometer and speedometer. The scenery, however, was resolutely stationary. Progress was at right angles to the direction of travel. Straightening the wheel elicited a slightly forward movement followed by a bit of a lurch and the next corner was already halfway negotiated. Backing off was not really an option as one had to go somewhere so we slipped and slithered upwards at a rate that was shameful but the best I could do to maintain movement in part within the parameters of my choice. Just keeping going was my main desire as the white lines had gone, the edges were indistinct and there was that silence that you only get when on ice.
It was about now that the "Ping"was noticed by me although I think it may have been noticeable much earlier.
As soon as the opportunity presented itself we managed to end up facing downwards and the decision was made to carry on in that general direction. As we again approached the relative safety of the main road a voice told me that we were going to return the car by the mainest of main roads and as soon as we could. It wasn't the iPad talking.
Upon arrival the EuropCar man delighted us with the news that yesterday's little excitement was sorted, our deposit had already been refunded and that was that. Between us relief and hunger were somewhat characteristically felt but each was sorted by a meal out. MacBurger and chips with half a gallon of orange Fanta. I didn't want any ice but couldn't read the menu.
So, a kind of a grand day out. Beaten by both sides of a mountain pass and the tram ride home was so unspeakably boring but at least we arrived in time to get a bottle of San Miguel, now at it's normal price and the pan shop lady had a lonely looking nananothinginnitnothingonit cake also at it's normal price.
Getting back to the front door and the day was done but there was a package in the letterbox with me on it. I didn't believe it but the management assured me it was and carefully she undertook the opening of it, after assessing the quality of the very posh M&S jiffy bag, the bold black addressing all the time wondering who knew our address.
I can tell you that this blog has been written so much easier for having a proper pair of +2.0 glasses, just what I needed, sitting here, typing in complete silence on the laptop as the iPad is assiduously read just over there ...... and we haven't had tea either ....
I don't think that now would be a good time to mention it, though.
Who knows what wonders tomorrow will bring forth, eh?
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