The temperature was -3 degrees according to one sign, and within about half an hour, I was already starting to feel it in my hands and feet.
Damn fog!
There was no option but to push on though, with a breakfast stop in the next big town to look forward to. When we got there, it actually started snowing a little bit. I saw quite a few cars with skis/snowboards strapped to their roof racks, and started to worry slightly that we might be heading towards a blizzard!
The urgent drive to reach Barcelona was still there pushing us though, and after a filling breakfast of tostadas (little bits of toast in a packet) and palmeritas (puff pastry 'angel wings') we got back on the bikes. Both of us were feeling really fatigued already. The last few days had been a progressive overload and our legs were now lacking power. We stopped once because we were both convinced that our brakes were scraping – they were, but only a little bit. Most of the reason for the slow speed lay in the fact that we were just buggered!
At one point, I said to Luke “You know, the good thing about today is that we might start getting better weather as we get closer to Barcelona” Five kms later, the fog abruptly vanished and we had the sun again! Hoorah! Spurred on with a new enthusiasm, we completed an arduous climb to our lunch stop.
It would have to have been one of the best meals I've ever had. I bought some fabulous crusty bread, avocado, tomato and bananas, and the simple pleasure of those ingredients coupled with the glorious setting of a park bench drenched with sun (it was 16 degrees!) combined to deliver an indescribably perfect meal.
We couldn't lie around sunbathing all day though, there were still a good 60km to Barcelona... or so we thought. As we left the town, we saw a sign that delivered some crushing news: Barcelona was actually 95km away. With less than four hours of riding time to go and considering how slow we were going, it just wasn't possible. Oh well, such is life, we'd make it tomorrow at least and we could still set up a big total today if we kept moving.
Down we went then for the mandatory descent to compensate us for the climb we'd done before. I wasn't able to fully capitalise on it, because my front brake was really acting up. I'd just given up on trying to fix it by that stage. It gets harder each time and takes so much time that it's not worth it. Our legs were really feeling it by then, and the yo-yo terrain that followed – up and down several times – really tested us.
When we reached Igualada – a big city not too far out from Barcelona – it was 4pm and we'd racked up 80km. I proposed we make it to 100k and stop wherever we got to.
The speedo read 97k when we reached Capellades – looks like that was where we'd be spending the night.
View from Capellades
After a longish supermarket stop, we descended into the town, eyes keenly primed for the golden words “Pension”, “Alberg”, “Hostal” or “Habitacions”. Almost immediately, Luke saw a sign for the Municipal Alberg - “perfect!”. Unfortunately, it seemed to be closed, so we kept going into the town. There was a three star hotel – 75 euros a night: no thanks – but that seemed to be all there was. An internet search on a hijacked wireless network confirmed our sorry state. There was nothing at all in Capallades or in its surrounding towns.
The only option it seemed was to stealth camp. There was a spot in a park behind the Alberg, which looked perfect for it. Secluded with firm ground to put up the tent. It was a bit cold, but it'd be tolerable I thought. Luke really wasn't keen on the idea though, and said he'd rather just sit in the middle of the city and read all night. With the temperature approaching zero, that sounded like quite a foolish strategy, and he agreed, but he really did not want to camp. We ate dinner in silence, my attempts to pry a few words out of him were met by the grim expression of a condemned man about to meet the executor.
At eight, we went down to the city because I wanted to call my parents and wish them merry christmas. The pay phone was misbehaving and I cursed it as it swallowed a euro coin and refused to give it back. A man across the road noticed my struggle, and very kindly asked me if I'd like to try using his phone. I eagerly walked into the house and after failing to work out how to make the call, had a bit of a chat with him about the bike tour. He explained (in french) that he and his wife organise a bike tour every summer. Sensing an opportunity, I said subtly “Oh cool, where do you usually spend the night? Tonight we're going to camp in the park over there.”
“But you'll freeze!”
“Yeah but we don't have any other option. There are no hostels here that we could find”
“Hmm, yes you're right. The only one is far too expensive”
His wife interjected then and said she'd try calling the police to see if they could open the alberg for us. It was closed for the year, but there was a chance we might be able to stay there anyway.
Thanking them for their kindness, I went back outside and waited, and waited, and waited. Just when I was about to give up and go and ask if they'd received any updates, I heard a whistle and turned around to see father and son waving at us. The police had called to say it wasn't possible, so we could stay the night at their place instead.
I was blown over by their generosity, and tried my best to communicate that, but Martin (the father) said simply “But it's christmas time, it's only natural that we help.” Very impressed by their christmas spirit, we put our things away and made ourselves at home. Marc, the son, spoke a bit of english, so we were able to have a good chat with him and Martin. I was about ready to go to bed (it was nearing 10), when Marc told me it was dinner time. “oh yeah” I'd forgotten about how Spanish days work, with lunch at 3pm and dinner at 10.
They put on a sumptuous spread of food including racks of lamb barbequed in the fireplace, which I thought was a pretty cool idea. After explaining our deviant vegetarian ways and that we had already eaten, we sat down and had a coke and some tomato coated bread (Luke ate some of a rice dish that they'd heated up when they heard we weren't going to partake of the lamb – I'm glad I asked because it turned out to have fish in it). We told a few of our stories (the 'we got pulled over by the police for riding on the autopista' always goes down well:P) and watched a bit of TV and generally had a good time. After dinner, the mother (I didn't learn her name) pulled out Catalan specialty after specialty. It started out with Cava (catalan sparkling wine), then there was an apple pastry with cream (that I didn't try but which Luke said was very nice) and then all these little treats made from sesame seeds and hazelnuts, which were really, really nice. It felt like a very authentic christmas experience – a hell of a lot better than going to sleep early in a tent.
Two of their friends came over at 11ish and when they heard that we were planning to go to France, Belgium, Holland, Germany etc. they asked us if we were crazy:P “Sevilla, Sevilla!” was the catch-cry. After having had so many people give us that kind of advice, I'm happy to say that they convinced me. They pulled out some road maps and pointed out what would be a good route to take, and as fellow cycle tourists, I trust their opinion.
Over the last week or so, where we've had a few days in freezing cold Central Spain, I've come to realise that while it would be possible to do the route we had planned through France, over to Belgium, Holland and around Germany, it wouldn't be enjoyable. Every day would be a struggle against the cold. I'd be going against the slogan I painted onto my back pannier: “The journey is the destination” - it would be all about getting to the next Pension. Maybe with slightly better equipment (though I think I'm pretty well kitted out – Luke could use better gloves and some overshoes), it would be slightly more tolerable, but I just don't think riding in sub-zero temperatures would ever be comfortable. The nature of the activity means that most of the time, you're not exerting yourself too much and thus blood-flow is largely restricted to the parts of your body that are really critical. The result is that your hands and feet will always get cold, and there's a limit to how well that can be combated with gloves and extra pairs of socks.
So instead, the plan (which we're still developing) is to ride down the coast of the Mediterranean to Andalucia and then go back up again on the other edge of the continent. We've been advised to avoid Portugal (“not a nice place”) and after reading a touring diary where the drivers are described as being quite inconsiderate to the point of recklessness, I'm thinking that might be a good idea. The alternative would be to go a fair way inland, and to avoid the cold and reduce the distance a little bit, I think we'll take the train from somewhere in the south to Madrid. Luke and I might part ways there. He's pretty keen to spend a lot of time in Germany, so he'll probably just take a long and complicated train trip across the border to France and then back to Frankfurt.
I, on the other hand, am keen on spending a bit more time in France, so I'll either ride or take the train into France and then find somewhere I can stay put for two weeks or so, possibly somewhere where there is snow and cross country skis for hire:) Then hopefully the last two weeks or so will be in Baiersbronn, Germany, where I stayed last year. It's a really great place and I'm looking forward to getting there and catching up with friends.
The route I've got planned for Spain is about 3000km, so with the close to 1000km we've done already, I think that'll be a really good amount of cycling to do. It'll also give us a chance to start learning Spanish properly, because we've both decided we'd really like to be able to speak it proficiently. I bought myself a Phrase book in Zaragoza and have been reading it every night, so I can now string a few sentences together instead of just throwing words at the other person (“Una notche. Dos persones. Dos Bicicletas. Por favor”).
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