AAC Jaunt to Costa Blanca – February 2025

Was it a training camp, mulit-sport adventure holiday or all just a margherita fuelled dream? Although we claimed to be on a running holiday, the opportunities for climbing and cycling on the Costa Blanca were too good to miss. What follows is my personal account so I haven’t covered every adventure in totality – we split into sub-groups a few times and I know others got up to some exciting stuff. Our time in the sun (kind of) was certainly memorable and I’m keen to capture some of thatin writing here.

On the drive to Calpe from the airport, Robert, T. Watt and I were treated to a game of two
truths and a lie from Joey the Fish. Ever the chatty cabby, Joe told us about how he once
met Dua Lipa, half of the Costa Blanca has recently been rebuilt following an earthquake,
and we’d be able to get the subway into Benidorm later in the week. Did I say two truths and
a lie? In fact none of these turned out to be true.

It’s been said a good holiday should start and end with a memorable and fun activity. At
least, I read that somewhere once and the advice checks out. We remember the first and
last parts of any trip and a good first day sets a feeling of optimism for the week. Well, day
one of my holiday in Costa Blanca involved walking back from Lidl in heavy rain. Water
soaked through my tote bag and through the paper packaging of my cereal causing blue dye
to seep into the grains within. I breakfasted on indigo-tinged porridge for the following week.
Drizzle continued into the next morning all eyes were on the BBC weather app. Spirits were
nevertheless maintained with an exploratory run. We circled Calpe, surveying the coastline
and checking out the local birds. Flamingos were an easy spot wading in Les Salines, a
saltwater lake. T. Watt exclaimed in awe that there was even a blue flamingo, but the rest of
us assured him that this was in fact a heron. It was noted Spanish seagulls seemed a lot
more civilised compared to their English cousins.

On our first blue sky day, I joined most of the Ambleside contingent at Morro de Toix for
some rope stuff. Not the most experienced climber, I felt grateful to be in the company of
some fearless friends who didn’t mind taking me on as an apprentice. Climbing, I reflected,
is just about getting somewhere high up in a pretty strenuous way, and appreciating a
another view of your landscape – a bit like Fell Running! A small contingent of Amblesiders
did go for a run that day, although from my perspective Robert, Dan and T. Watt spent an
hour running followed by two to four hours sat on the rocks giggling like schoolgirls.
For all its highs (see what I did there), climbing involves a lot of sitting around for planning,
preparing and rope faff (technical term). The following day I way ready for some more
continuous endurance exercise. A long run out where I would reach a high mountain peak
and follow up with a speedy descent. You guessed it, it was time to go cycling.
The bike shop opened at 9:30 am and we got there at 9:30 am. At 9:31 am we were told we
could not rent bikes from them without pre-booking. ”Coooooool”, I thought. To be honest the
place had a pro-cyclist feel about it and I feel the proprietor may have been put off by our not
being entirely clad in Lycra. Not to be deterred, I skilfully navigated (fell running skills) to the
next bike-rental place. We managed to acquire four bikes but not without reluctance on the
part of the shop guy. Robert wisely informed me that “bike people are always bike people.
They are not people people”. Anyway, there were only two helmets left at the shop so Dan
and I wore climbing helmets for the entirety of the ride.

Bicycles acquired, Robert, Dan, T. Watt, Sabrina and I headed for the hills. Discounting that
one ‘crazy roundabout’, it was smoot tarmac and wide roads, not too much traffic. Blue skies
and mountain views. Just really great cycling territory. We regrouped at the bottom of Puerto
de Bernia, the rest of them having got quite a lead on me. There was a nice sign telling us it was 16km to the summit from here, and from there-on in signs displayed the gradient of
each kilometre as we approached. We started off with a 7 or 8% gradient, then the middle
Ks hovered around 2% or 3%, giving some respite. I saw only two cars on that climb but
many fellow cyclists. There were pro cyclists in their team kits bunched together in a peloton,
there were pairs of veteran cyclists coasting along. All overtook me with ease. It’s obvious
my climbing helmet was adding air resistance, affecting my velocity. Just before the summit,
where I was already quite tired and my bum hurt a bit, we were suddenly treated to 17%
gradients. I was out of the saddle and zig-zagging, but did not stop and push, so it felt like a
win. Without doubt I was the slowest cyclist to the top of Puerto de Bernia that day, a fact I
note with pride. The ride continued with a scary speedy descent followed by a disappointing
sandwich for Robert.

We finally got onto some proper running with an expedition up to Puig Campana. This very
pointy hill is a prominent part of the skyline and even featured in my Costa Blanca hiking
guide, purchased specifically for this trip, so I was keen to take on the challenge. On arrival
at the start of our route, it seemed some of the group were running late. Apparently, Hoka
Matt’s car had been towed and they needed to go to the police station to retrieve it. Further
details included that Matt had been told he could park his car in a certain spot, but when he
came to retrieve the car, he found instead a pop-up market. All this communicated by
whatsapp to SophO, who quickly dismissed the story as another tall tale. We thus set off
without them.
Our route can be described as split into three distinct sections, a fairly runnable trail leading
to a steep and rocky climb out and back to the summit, then continuing on our nice runnable
trail to circle back to our start point. The climb was scramble heavy, and tough going on tired
legs, but very rewarding as stunning views of the valley and blue skies appeared. From the
peaceful summit we could see the high rises of Benidorm and an expanse of deep blue
ocean.

As we scrambled back down, we bumped into Matt, Dan and Tom, on their way up. They
seemed to be sticking to that car being towed narrative. I was almost convinced by their
sincerity but concluded I would need to see a receipt from the police station.
Descending back on the trail was running heaven. Just enough obstacles to make it
interesting but not enough to be called ankle-breaking territory. I felt I was running in the sky.
Nick had an excellent near-miss fall here.

A real highlight of my Costa Blanca trip was, and I admit it, a second occasion where I
cheated on running by going climbing! With J.Ro and JoeytheFish mentoring me, we did
some spooky (technical term) climbing on what was J.Ro’s last day of the holiday. J.Ro
planned to return to his lodgings post-climbing, go for a run and pack. However, after a little
cajoling he agreed to reconvene with some other Amblesiders down at the beach. We found
our friends at an interesting venue which was half cocktail bar, half Indian restaurant. With
no further cajoling required, J.Ro drank 3 pints (and a mojito?), his sensible running/packing
ambitions put to bed. Sometime later, Soph got the bill, and returned to our table just to
check the amount. “Did we have 23 pints?”, she asked. We did indeed have 23 pints.
I hate to revert to the stereotypical English trait of talking about the weather, but we were due
to a race on the Saturday and the forecast was for heavy rain. On the eve of the race, the
whole team got together for a BBQ at Casa Kids. Us that were running stayed (mostly) off
the wine, apart from Nick who not only had a few, but was also responsible for two full-glass
spillages. Thoughts were shared about how we were all hardy fell runners, we’ve ran in worse conditions and if it was heavy rain we might as well go to the race anyway as otherwise we’d just be stuck inside doing nothing.

The race started from Campbell, a village in the hills inland from Calpe. Joy of joys it was not
raining as we arrived, and Campbell seemed every bit the charming Spanish hamlet. With
narrow streets and flat rooves, there was not an Indian-restaurant-come-cocktail-bar in sight.
It was all so quaint and peaceful. As soon as I opened the car door I heard thumping bass
and a clubland remix of ‘the Sound of Silence’ booming out from some unseen speakers. Off
we went to collect our numbers and do other pre-race faff.

Atzavares Trail Orba was a 14km race with 537m of ascent. Most of the climb was in the first
5km, followed by a fairly even 3km before the descent. Unusually, the route was net
downhill, finishing in Orba, a larger town in the valley. Unlike fell races, the route was fully
marked with liberally placed pink ribbons, so there was no navigation element.
The start line was a high energy environment, with tunes continuing at high volume and
runners bouncing around. As standard, some of the locals were way overdressed. Hats, long
sleeves, coats, I was getting a sweat on just looking at them. A very enthusiastic man was
on the mic singing and rallying us all up with a shout-out to “the English runners from
Ambleside” and even a pre-race interview for Nick! I felt fortunate to be there with an
amazing gang and all sporting our Ambleside vests. As a crowd gathered behind the
inflatable archway I tentatively placed myself towards the back. I was excited to take on this
race, my first ever on foreign soil.

Leaving Campbell behind we zig zagged upwards following a lane. As fell runners we are
accustomed to steep and relentless climbs, a hands on knees march until begging for the
summit. This was comparatively easy and for myself runnable. I took short quick steps on
the steeper sections thinking about how the Tuesday night struggle sessions were paying
off. Some competitors dropped to a walk as the gradient increased, which was good for my
ego as I fairy-stepped past. Overtaking a pair of runners in identikit strips, I noted a certain
commitment to teamwear which doesn’t exist in English clubs. These two were in matching
gear from socks to buffs.

After 5k of climbing the gradient levelled out as expected, but in no way did that mean easy-
going from this point. We reached an exposed ridge which spanned the landscape like a
giant bridge. I could manage a few steps across fairly level ground before another scramble,
all the time dodging prickly shrubs. This was fun stuff and very cool, with just enough danger
to get the adrenaline pumping without evoking fear for life. The competitor behind me called
out “tranquilas, tranquilas”, meaning be calm or careful. If I had been in less of a rush I would
have stopped to take in the scenery. A few glances side to side revealed neighbouring hills,
towns and beyond that the ocean. I learnt another Spanish keyword, “pasas” meaning “go
past”, as I was overtook by numerous runners more daring than myself. I consoled myself
thinking how I would get them on the downhill, not that I’m competitive or anything.
After 3km on the ridge we at last reached the descent. This had a few twists and turns
crossing roads and following gravelly trails through woodland. On one particular twist I
spotted Nick out of the corner of my eye. She was covered in blood but apart from that
seemed to be having a nice time. I called out to Nick that there was just a parkrun to go and
felt like I had found some competitive spirit at last as we chased downhill. The latter part of
the race was perfect for the ex road-runner, with a good 1.5km of tarmac leading to the
finish. I was in a small group who all upped the pace and for a moment I thought I would
drop back, but that is where the cheer squad came in. T. Watt shouted encouragement as
we passed and my competitors and I sort of giggled at his enthusiasm. I pushed on, further spurred on by cheers from Chris H and JoeytheFish. The hammer was down and I was
going full gas knowing there must only by 500m to go. At the finish line I was greeted straight
away by the enthusiastic Señor with the mic, who delighted in telling me I was 3rd English
home.

It was job well done by the whole Ambleside team on what was a tricky race, especially after
an action packed week including a few wines. We even took home a descent share of the
prizes, with Kate Ayres and Nick each winning their age categories. Hoka Matt came home
first Amblesider, 8 th overall and 3 rd Senior. And yes my humble self collected an unexpected
trophy for 1 st Senior (4 th female overall, meaning three oldies got round quicker).
All finishers received a T shirt and 3 tokens which could be traded for drinks and pizza.
Certain members of the AAC support crew quickly made sport of scouring the floor looking
for errant tokens and were seen tucking into unearned pizza slices.

After the race I arrived back in Calpe to find Robert and Soph in a café, where I managed to
recuperate somewhat with an excellent sandwich. I was in sore need of a shower and a
good lie down. Instead, I had a quick dip in the sea to get rid of the smell (mostly) and then
found myself involved in a fierce game of beach football. Beach football is like normal
football, but played on a beach and thus requiring a higher skill level than the average
professional player. Our esteemed Chairman Chris was awarded man of the match for his
mad skills and Leeds United football top with “el mago” written on the back.
Messing about on the beach was the perfect way to spend our final afternoon in Calpe.
There had been thrills, hills, spills and yes minor ills – notably I had a large bruise on the
underside of my thigh from climbing on a table. It was time to go home for a good rest.
Hopefully this blog serves to spread the word on the joy of being Ambleside AC on tour, and
helps us remember some truly good times had.