Beyond the finish line, I found a world of relaxation and indulgence which fully occupied me until the end of our week in Nerja. I did however take one more ride.

I unhooked the panniers, pointed El Burro inland and headed straight up to the highest point of road I could find, in the surrounding mountains.

I found the agility of the bike nerve-racking. I had become so accustomed to the extra weight on the back that I had to reacquaint myself with the freedom of movement a light road bike affords.

Also quite disconcerting was that I appeared to be using somebody else's legs. The points which were so steep they may have had me hyperventilating a month before, were tackled by simply standing up on the pedals and kicking through with ease.

Apart from the experiences, the wonderful people I met along the way, the delicious Spanish foods and the sense of achievement, I have the legacy of the legs. I am intent on keeping these for as long as possible. Whomever they belong to, I´m afraid will have to do without.

The flight back was with Ryanair. They charged a 50 euro large sports equipment luggage fee. I removed the front wheel and taped it to the side of the frame, turned the handlebars sideways on, hooked them under the frame and released some pressure in the tyres.

At Malaga airport I found a luggage-wrapping service in the departures area. They wrapped it with 20-metres worth, end to end, and charged 13 euros. It came out at Stansted Airport with damage to the grip tape on the corner of the handlebars, but nothing more.

Looking out of the aeroplane window at the roads below, I wondered if I would have any recommendations to my pre-tour self.

I would probably have spent more time on the coast and tried to avoid too much of the interior. With more time, I would say a run along the north coast and along the southern side of the Pyrenees, then down via the Costa Brava to the coastal route south would be ideal.

I would take an iPod for the evenings and for imprinting a chosen song on my brain in the mornings, pre-ride. I didn't take mine as I became obsessed with minimizing weight, which meant I was sourcing the songs deeply embedded within.

This led to a lot of Neil Young, REM and Paul Weller running around my brain on a loop. This was fine until, one evening, drifting through the hostal window I heard Living Next Door To Alice by Smokie, which proceeded to torment me for three days in the saddle – ALICE? WHO THE…. AAAAAGH.

I was very happy using the Garmin Edge 800 GPS. Particularly on the long climbs, I was glued to the elevation screen, showing me what was looming around the corner. If there was a vertical wall approaching on the graph, having advance warning gave me the chance to take on water or food while I still had the breath.

I was also very happy using a road bike rather than a tourer, with the proviso that you are carrying a good supply of chamois cream. I have nothing more to say on that matter.

Above all, the mode of transport itself. I love the work and reward aspect of cycling. No matter how long or hard a climb is it can't keep going up forever and, likewise, no matter how long and exhilarating a descent is, you know you're going to have to regain some altitude sooner or later.

Something the hotelier in Garrucha said stuck with me. He claimed that since the economic crisis, there were a lot more sport cyclists out on the roads at the weekends.

He showed me his two road bikes, which he'd bought for 30 and 70 euros respectively, both in good working order. There is no membership fee, no licence required and no hourly rate. The roads are there for everybody.