Jupiter aligned with Mars and the conditions were right for the duo to ride once more. Windmills were prepared, loins were girded, Catalonia was the backdrop; the bikes were flown into Barcelona.
We had decided to take advantage of the Spanish bus system to transfer us straight into the mountains, Barcelona to Berga, as opposed to taking a couple of days to ride there across the countryside. Made for a full day of travel, broken by a short but very enjoyable ride through Barcelona central but, there we were.
Of course that could be left at face value, but that would ignore the full value of the comedy off roading inspired by my GTGB ("Gadget that goes beep") which routed us through the port of Barcelona in direct conflict with a mustachioed - but more significantly, armed - servant of Spanish law and order who said summat like "they shall not pass". After a couple of instances of Going Where No Bikes Should Go, we found the bus station and a local bar a couple of hours before the scheduled 18:30 departure.
We were both feeling pretty pleased with ourselves for bringing bin liners to cover our bikes in (this was a stipulation of carriage). These bags would have generously covered the bikes, as opposed to the official cover which we found out 5 minutes before departure was ABSOLUTELY needed involving a €12 charge for each and wasn’t anywhere near large enough to cover any bike larger than a folder. Cue a little intemperate rushing up several stories through the terminus building to acquire and return in time for departure. 30 seconds is a time, after all.
Berga was our first destination, an old rambling town at the gateway to the Pyrenees. We found our hotel and the morning dawned for the first day.
We had planned a round tour as a shakedown ride to see how we were rolling, all we needed to do was find the start of it. Again, my GTGB proved its value with suitable comic off roading and a little warm up loop taking us in a circle involving more up and down than you might have thought possible in such a short distance. Second time around, having found the lie of the land (we continued to suspect it would never tell the truth) we set out on a pleasant rolling road, meeting numbers of cyclists along the way. Apparently there is a rift between roadies and MTBers that results in the one not greeting the other. Don Filipe made it his week’s challenge to become more and more cheerful with greeting MTBers to provoke a response.
There was a point, some 20k out, when it became evident that we were going around this route in “reverse”, at least, in the opposite direction to that originally intended - as it happens, I think we chose the better direction by accident (getting confused between “Track up” and “north up” on a GTGB is an accident, isn’t it?). Unfortunately, Don Filipe was not in the best form with knee issues becoming more evident. By this time, we were approaching the half way point of the c100k track and combined with a 10k downhill, meant that - the immortal words of Yaz (
she of the cycling shorts) - the only way WAS up.
Somewhat fortuitously this point was also marked by a restaurant serving a 3 course lunch with drink and coffee. For €10.
Following this excellent refreshment we set off again. But given the knee issues previously experienced, the outlook was not that rosy. Now, I’m not a good climber - I can only climb at my own speed, which is faster than that of an injured Tiermat. This meant that I would ride on and wait at the top of the climb (or when I needed a rest) and it was evident that the time gap and therefore suffering was increasing. Mountains aren’t known for their sympathy, and this stretch wasn’t letting up. Having got to the tunnel before the dam, it became evident that Not All Was Well. Indeed, When we talked, I discovered that Tiermat had to throw in the towel about 1k from where I was. Given that it was downhill, it took no time at all to get back down, and then a little more to the nearest hostelry. There, after coffee and discussion we decided to cab it back to Berga. Trouble was, all there were two options: 1) One person, one bike in a taxi now-ish 2) Two persons, two bikes in about 3 hours. So, I decided to continue riding the loop and rode up over the dam.
Around the lakes
Then up and over the col. It was at this point that Tiermat overtook me in his cab, and apparently took a photo that got turned into a piece of graffiti in
Barcelona Girona
I made it back, after about 110k and 2.5k of climbing, and we re-planned our week. Hills were not practical, so another day of travel on the coach to Barcelona then train to Girona made sense.
The first day in Girona saw us riding to Sant Feliu de Guíxols, almost all offroad to the coast. Early on in the day, we thought to swap bikes (we are of similar build) and it was clear that Tiermat’s Shiny Steed Saddle was just too low In Teh Saddle Department (inspired by the dimensions of an earlier bike, I beleive), so in the science of experimentation, it were lifted. As were Tiermat’s pace and strength. As simple as that, we were back to being normal.
However, this moment here
Shows the most likely slice of time when Tiermat contracted food poisoning with suspect fishy canneloni…. rendering him out of action for the next day’s ride.
So the next morning dawned along with a text to the effect “I’ve just about stopped dying, have a good day” appeared on my phone.
I planned myself a 60k loop, along roads that looked to be cycling heaven, and headed out. It was at the point where I took this photo
That I had a chat with a Swiss guy who stopped to ask if I needed help, and said “We have a GOOD life”. Fuck, yeah.
Lunch was added
For a princely €3 and I spun back into Girona for an afternoon sightseeing. Fortunately Tiermat was recovering and the next day we moved to Malgrat del Mar for some riding fun
Unfortunately, the next day was time for me to ride away into the horizon, OK folks, have you EVER seen a better bike path?
I rode through to Barcelona (helped by the train through a naff bit) and flew out.
Way to go.
