Drying out, recuperating, and more two wheeled exploring in Catalonia

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We’d struck a dry week, on several levels.



Not only has P2 been off his appetite for beer and panaderías, with a bad dose of the man-cold, but the weather had that consistently good clean quality.



Temperatures are now sitting higher overall, pollen counts are definitely higher (there’s lots of yellow - green residues about town adding to sinus sufferers woes), and spring activity is popping up everywhere, with lots of little vege planter boxes in the old town apartments looking tended to.



Sunday was the best choice for what I’d been meaning to do for so long. No trucks on the N road, and the Costa Brava rally drivers had shipped out, with tyres marks in their wake to the west of town.



Leaving P2 and his ill state, I took off up the Vall de Sant Llemana. A gentle climb the entire way to Llora for the first 12km, it is another 18km thereabouts following the Reira de Llémena on the right side riding easily up the valley



At a junction after Sant Esteve that forks left, it’s another 8km to Les planes D’hostoles of which only 4-5km is slightly steeper uphill.



These ‘hostile plains’ I’d past joked of to were anything but. The cycling society were out on this gorgeous day, one Italian triathlete riding with me on the steepest part, as expected on their high spec bike, moving promptly ahead.



A ‘drinks stop’, it gets me every time. On they go.



La Garrotxa is a district west of Girona endowed with volcanoes. At this time of year it’s looking very lush.

Once atop Hostoles, beside the old church of Les Encies, the view extends to Rocacorba, the famed near-1000 metre climb in these parts, and also east towards Amer and Angles.



Tracking mostly down or flat on the C63 road, the river keeps you company, ending after Amer with a large hydro catchment/ station at Palou. That’d be one of the magic viewpoints, looking northeast, as I spotted several churches atop cliffs, or on precipices, and the escarpments of these volcanic valleys in the background. Very photogenic.



Fortunately a decent tailwind took me rapidly home in under 3 hours, not too bad for the 74km.



P2s recovery continued a few days more. I’ve bought him Vitamin C, then vitamin B (from a very matronly pharmacist in the old town whom you access with a special security button) at his suggestion, have made healthy soup in copious quantities, and provided services-of-the-chef at all mealtimes for an unclear head. Fingers crossed, he’s now getting better



So we decided to go back to Monells vía Cassà de la Selva in his semi-well state, including a climb over the hill. It was a later start than planned, but this is meant to be a holiday!



This little village (in the same region of Cruïlles and Sant Sadurní de L’Heura) is very cute and picture perfect. Its known for the many arches in the square, and its age (like many, being medieval) usually attracts a crowd. Quiet mid week, and very attractive, only the increased breeze made it a little challenging to reach. That’s when P2s Windy app, and my assurances (having ridden the hill the day before) helped.



If it weren’t for the ‘time police’ (me) wanting to get us home to do inconveniently four days of dirty washing, including our only set of sheets, I’m sure P2 would have lingered much longer seeking what every photographer wants. Light.



Coffee supplies at home were diminishing, and as time here is fast disappearing, we chose option one out, and more should follow. Casa Moner on Calle Santa Clara had a resident pigeon when we visited its panadería - café set up. Declining a cabinet pastry, the waitress shepherded the pigeon customer out when I’d seen it. With a grateful smile that they didn’t steal any cakes, I sensed this wasn’t the first time.



The old town had been humming a bit more into the wee hours of the night lately, and as disruptive as it was to have any tradies visit at our hosts request, it couldn’t be better timed to tend to the poorly sealing doors.



Tradies being typically hard to pin down, if they do come, Albert Tancaments (door fittings experts) turned up a few hours overdue but got straight to work, dismantling, fixing and rehanging two large sets of double glazed doors and shutters. In Spanish, the head guy Pablo explained the issue, and how to now treat them. I learned lots of new words that by late afternoon they were off to fix the apartment beneath us, leaving unusually little mess.



Purely working in the old town, three floors up, with no nearby parking for bringing in their kit, demands respect and is a skill in itself!



The cycling bug continues to bite me hard, and as we have bought these simple sets of wheels, I feel compelled

to use them. It feels positive and exhilarating to be in a society that embraces bike transport, to explore new places unhindered with any work appointments, the only standing arrangement being a coffee break at some stage, which is basically mandatory between us.



With P2 off the saddle mostly, it’ll take some coaxing and negotiation to resume, especially before our dedicated three big rides in April and May. Suffice, there’s mileage and panaderías under his belt. The cycling mojo will have to be located!



“Where are you off to tomorrow?”, he asks, the usual planning on the map apps continuing for me.



Besalú was my goal for Saturday. A minimum 35km to get there, I knew some climbing would be involved but not in the steady manner of a valley climb. In the process of leaving town by Sarria de Ter, I thought I’d try what maps.me had suggested, until I hit a short industrial area road that became a dirt track aside the C66.



Forced to backtrack to the C66 Highway on ramp, I caught sight of several cyclists. It was the reassurance I needed that this double carriageway was OK to ride, surprisingly quiet for 9am at the weekend. Happy days and potentially future short cuts.



Through the outskirts of Camós, I scooted into Banyoles shortly after 10, with far less rowing activity and general melee than our last weekend there. At the top of the lake where the 7km to Besalu marker was, I was feeling smug. Until a basic, old racing bike, ridden by a helmet less man, passed me. Unfortunately he baled out one big hill later with a flat tyre, and some very loud, rickety noises from the crank.



The 7km marker made another appearance after Serinyà. What! That’s when knowing what’s ahead is ideal, so on I went. I may have set a 12.45pm return time to P2 in Girona, but I wasn’t giving up.



One more hill ticked off and I coasted down into riverside Besalu, off the main road heading west. Instantly you can tell why it’s on so many tourism ‘must sees’, starting with a large and picturesque medieval bridge, now emblazoned with current Catalán political messages. For 10.30, only a small gathering of weekend visitors were on the bridge, the café open and trading well. Again, I’m glad it’s off peak.



Onwards the day went, weaving back to Serinyà, Sant Martis, Esponella, Les Anglades, Ollers, Vilademut, and from where I knew my hills onwards, Cornella de Terri, 16km from Girona. There were so many rivers crossed and all were roads ridden (The C, N, G, any my personal favourite, a goat track called Camí de Quatre Soques, which could possibly not mean ‘the path of four socks’). Trust maps.me!



I committed the ultimate sin though. If only I could recall this magnificent sundial I’d seen, and having not taken a photo, I’d please P2. Trawling google maps, we eventually found it in Martis.



Now that’s a case of sunstroke perhaps? 24C and rising, roll on the summer weather.

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