Sunrise on the beach
A nice breakfast was had, the tents were packed up (still wet unfortunately), and off we went for another day on the roads. We were planning on following the N-340 today, our experience of the 'quieter' (in reality not much better) roads inland having convinced us that it would be better to ride along the coast. We made our way back through Tarragona, and after a false start, got on the right road. Ten kilometres later, we somehow lost it. The signage was really quite bad and we had absolutely no idea where to go. After asking a few people and still not having any luck, Luke decided that the road to Salou, which was not really where we wanted to go, would be worth going down. He admitted to basing it on guesswork though, and having seen a sign for the N-340 as we went around a roundabout, I led us back, followed the signs, asked a guy on a mountain bike where to go, and went down the road he pointed, which turned out to lead to Salou (and on an autovia too, so I think we might not have followed the guy's instructions properly). Luke got really furious with me, calling me “abrasively uncompromising” (nice turn of phrase I have to admit).
I apologised (though I felt justified in rejecting his original suggestion because one of the people we'd asked had said to follow the signs for the N-340) and we managed to patch things up before things got too far. In general though, it is a very true comment, and it is a testament to Luke's tolerence that he hasn't had a go at me for doing the same thing before. I've been acting like a control freak the whole trip, being hyper-possessive of the map, and always wanting to be in charge. It's really not a good way to be, and there have been many comments that I've regretted saying later. We agreed to make navigation decisions by consensus in the future and the rift between us that had emerged last night closed up again.
The friendship repaired, I started to really enjoy the day. Salau was a really pretty town on the coast and with the sun shining down on us, the whole scene was just idyllic. We followed the beach around the coast for the next fifteen km or so, encountering heaps of other cyclists, who all waved and smiled as much as we were. It was really lovely and it was a shame we couldn't stay on those kind of roads for the rest of the day instead of having to get back on the N-340.
For a while, the route stayed close to the coast before eventually moving out into the hills, giving us a bit of work to do. I was down to my thermal top pretty quickly, the fourteen odd centigrade and the climbs causing me to work up a bit of a sweat. It always feels so tough at the start of a climb because the gradient isn't really that obvious, but you slow down massively. We were both struggling, and were very glad we'd already clocked up enough kms that we'd be done for the day relatively soon. A look at our map in the morning had revealed that there was a campsite in the town we were about to enter, and after a whoop-worthy downhill, we made our way through yet another gorgeous little seaside village to where the signs indicated the campsite would be.
Hmm, that gate appears to be locked.. Bugger! It was closed. At the time, we didn't realise that quite a few Spanish campsites are only open in the peak periods from around May to September and had just assumed that the camping sign on the map would indicate a place to spend the night. With the time already past five o'clock, the lack of proper planning was coming back to bite us in the bum!
Our only option was to make it to Amposta, the nearest biggish town, fourteen km away. There were only about forty minutes of daylight left, so it was a tough ask on our fully loaded bikes, considering we'd only averaged 17kph the rest of the day. I managed to find another gear though, and with the N-340 providing a mercifully flat path to follow, we were really flying along at close to 30kph. Luke kept up with me the whole time, even when I got up en danser (on the pedals) going up a few small hills. I was really impressed, his fitness has improved out of sight in a short time. His bike is a lot faster than mine (significantly less weight on the frame and in the panniers plus thin road tyres instead of my knobby mountain bike ones), but it's still a far cry from the days when I'd have to wait ten minutes for him at the top of long climbs (though he tells me know that it was all mental, and all he needed was the right stimulus – the alternative: having to stealth camp, definitely provided that).
So in the end, we got to Amposta with plenty of time, and after spending up big at the Supermercado, we booked in to a two-star hotel for New Year's Eve. The price wasn't actually that bad at 54 euros per night, and considering we were now ahead of budget thanks to the stealth camping, it fitted the bill perfectly. Plus, there was a buffet breakfast included in the price, which could be worth a lot to two hungry cyclists the next morning.
After going for a run, eating a stupidly large dinner and doing a bit of washing, I ended up pulling an all-nighter, taking advantage of the free internet on offer. There was a point at about three AM, when the young people from around town had stopped hooting their horns, blowing noise makers and generally celebrating the start of the new year, when I did want to go to sleep, but Luke makes quite a racket when he sleeps. Not only does he snore, but he makes horrible sucking and swallowing noises, and often talks out loud. It made it impossible to get to sleep, so I just kept on reading bike touring blogs until it was time to get up and go for a run:P
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