We wish a silent farewell to the carnies, who are all still asleep at this hour, and speed off in the direction of Alicante. Roughly 10 km in, it is Valkyrie's turn to blow a tube; this means another stop, half an hour of repairs, and an unfortunate postponement of breakfast...to add the proverbial insult, the tire has suffered wall damage from having the inner tube under-inflated for so long, and has begun to sprout menacing cracks. It is now imperative that we find a shop for replacement tires and tubes; and the Marathon tire served her so well...
The land outside of Alicante is flat, very flat; the highway dips down to sea level, its thin grey line of asphalt surrounded by marsh and salt pools and dykes. We wonder how long this will last, how long before it is permanently flooded with water washed off the polar ice caps. It does, however, make for fast riding, especially with the tailwind whipped up; fortunately, the until-now-ever-present heat is tempered by a veil of clouds, and we even sense a tentative but ultimately abortive spattering of rain. One and a half months now without rain, without even the slightest indication that it might rain; six weeks of solid blue sky only occasionally punctuated by a lone misguided cloud, of unmitigated sunlight, of sinister and sinuous convection swirls rising from the freshly paved road. So this is refreshing indeed, a sign that we are finally escaping the drought-stricken south and heading into less deadly climes.
We reach Alicante in good time, and decide that sating our hunger is the first priority; one flan cake, some peaches, and a load of tuna-avocado salad later, we set out through the city in search of a bike shop. We find one, but are disappointed to learn that like most bike shops in this area they specialize in mountain bikes and BMX. The owner does point us in the direction of two more stores - one a newer sports chain, which sadly turns out to be merely a massive sports clothing store, and the other a Decathlon way out on the periphery of town. We make it to the Decathlon, buy new tires, and sit outside in the employee break area swapping our damaged and worn tires for them - or at least we try to; for we are shortly moved by a security guard who judges our presence unacceptable, even though the space is not currently being used. This is a mixed blessing; we had been on the point of forgetting our hatred of Decathlon, which in the absence of further dealings with them had begun to seem irrational...
...and we finally get the tires fixed, this time setting up out in the parking lots beside the store. With that task finally completed, we can search for a place to stay - but alas! Here, too, our arrival coincides with local festivities. Rooms are full, prices are high, the nearest campground is 15 km out of the city, and the tourist bureau is - out of principle, you understand? - unable to recommend or even contact particular places for us; instead, we must sit outside their office and fritter away pay-as-you-go minutes calling up random pensions and hostels in the book until we find one by the name of La Milagrosa, which still has a triple room available for 55€. This is steeper than we're used to, but perhaps justifiable given the amount we've saved stealth camping over the last few days...
Yes, it is justified; for we have showers to wash away the collected grime and make use of their kitchen to concoct some delicious scrambled eggs and connect to their Internet for email and blog uploading and photo syncing. We feel much better after all this, refreshed in a way that is simply not possible in the absence of freely running water. Our evening meal is enjoyed up on the patio, the citadel looming over us from its cliffside perch, and we toast to Venus' journey with us which is now drawing to a close.