From Tarragona to our final destination

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Leaving Tarragona was with a few unfulfilled visits (the archeological museum was closed for renovations), but definitely restorative for us by being in one place. It was fortunate to see the anfiteatro in it’s imposing position near the beach, it’s use being for a church, basilica, convent, venue for events, and even a prison in the 19th century.



Outside Tarragona there’s some gems, and I discovered one more by bike on the day we left, done in the modernist style of Gaudi, the Iglesia del Sagrat Cor. It was in a quiet village named Vistabella, shaped as a tall triangle with rocky shapes around the roof, and stands very distinctly in the grapevine landscape.



Weekday Tarragona was quiet on leaving, and we made good progress on the N road towards Altafulla and Torredembarra. Weaving into the beachside area required a bit of up and down, until meeting the coast again at The Roc de Sant Gaieta, along with many Constitución Day revellers. Like many public holidays, cafes and bars are the hang outs, or people are just promenading. Several more kilometres on was Pau Casal’s (a famous Catalan Cellist) beautiful beachside residence, which we missed entering the museum for, with public holiday timings. The glistening Med in front, and the low hills behind the residence, would have been quite an inspirational location to compose music.



A short dip in the ocean for me (getting changed from wet togs on a promenade on a public holiday ain’t easy, and its no go for ‘it’s hard for a guy’ P2), and we headed to El Vendrells, where we saw Pau Casals birthplace in the old town. The weather was lovely, we’d had a picnic on a bench at nearby Sant Oliva, and were riding though this lovely orchard landscape towards Parc del Foix. All was rosy, until we peeled off the N road to honour our the original route, going through Castellet. The sound of a metallic ping as P2 ground up the gentle hill, followed by a stop. We’d broken another spoke, and much was spoken, until we calmed down and found a way to attach it to an adjacent one. The kinesiotape was buried not too far from the top of my pannier, and worked well to secure the broken spoke to the next, lasting the 12km we had left to Vilafranca de Penedes. Watching P2s rear wheel from behind, the wobble was making me very anxious, as in my 30 years of riding a bike, this has never happened. Recent bike fórum consultation did very little to allay the anxiety of consequences, and once we’d arrived at Cal Negri, oh, the relief ….



P2 had scoped out a cool bike shop named La Biciclera, before all this happened, saying how we could get ideas for onwards bike sale, and maybe a panaderia or coffee (as it doubles as a cafe, bar and bike repair outlet). We’d be going for alternate reasons now.



Dropping off the bike at ten just after opening, we were met with a ‘hmm haaa….’ by the clearly busy bike mechanic, followed by an agreement to have it ready by 7.30 that evening. A preceding, and following, public holiday had squeezed the weeks workload, and we were fortunate to pick up P2s bike later on, all fixed for €25. Brake pads (due to wheel malalignment) and a spoke obviously were replaced, and tension adjustments for the whole wheel were reassuringly made. But, after this event, I knew I’d keep my eye on the wheel as P2 would newly accelerate up our final hill of the journey. The one to Barcelona.



In Vilafranca del Penedes, a long established wine region, the hills behind are full, naturally, of vines. From the western side of town the BV2127 road goes all the way, meanderingly around vineyards and villages, through Guardiola de Font Rubi and up to Font Rubi at its highest point. Autumn reds and yellow rivalled what we’d seen a month before in Andalucía, and the 3C temperature in the morning was lovely and crisp making for perfect cycling conditions.



The area is also known for the Castellers, who have made human towers, and several buildings in the historic centre are associated with this activity, Palau Balta being one. There’s some impressive modernist architecture from the early 20th Century in the walking routes to follow, monuments/ sculptures, quaint Placa de L’Oli, and of course, a Basilica (de Sant Maria). After a good stint in town seeing all this, we had an alternate promenade later in the afternoon, down a gravel road to an autovía over bridge. My mission was to catch sight of (and photograph) the jagged peaks of the Mutanya de Monserrat, which I think could rival (although at under 1300m, far lower) the profile of the Fitzroy Paine in Argentina. We got a distant view by a working farmer and his van. Every picture tells a story.



Deciding which route to take the following day depended on a few factors, like hill gradients, weather (wet conditions were in the forecast), how much of a shoulder there was on a public holiday traffic run, and our trust in our steeds when carrying panniers. The BV road to the east was shorter by 12km, but with little shoulder to slow or stop on the down, no matter how scenic it may have been, we selected our old friend, the N. Starting out at kilometre 1210 (it’s a long one..), we counted the 19km uphill grind through El Pago and Ordal where, just as we reached the summit of nearly 500 metres above sea level, two road cyclists came past, with thumbs up and encouraging words. They’d have seen us plodding along like snails in comparison. Rapidly followed by an 8% downhill gradient, it was hands and thumbs firmly on the brakes for a good 10km to Cervello, a large part without a shoulder. Imagine climbing that hill for your Barcelona to Lisbon tour.



We stopped by some rowdy chooks for an entertaining time in Cervello, had a short roadside pasteleria and instant coffee at a nondescript concrete road barrier by recycling bins, then pushed on to Molins de Reí. Turning southwards alongside the train line, we were then within 20km of Castelldefels. A series of intersections began after Sant Boi de Llobregat, headed towards the increasingly urban seaside settlements. A lovely section of riding without stopping after Viladecans made the last 5km faster, pulling into Aparthotel Palmeras just after 4pm. Swiftly to the beach after check in was a good move, so we could get some laundry help from the kind receptionist before she finished. One of the only places without a washing machine, getting contingencies seen to by 5.30pm was an outright record for us. The recommendation made of visiting the medieval night market a few kilometres away was appreciated, as milling around the town square after 8pm, we chanced on some Castellers creating a human tower. With the assistance of a building for ascension of the climbers to a terrace, melodic old sounding music, cheering, and some gross pulling or pushing (depending on the climbers age or size) ensured it was done safely. And in the spirit of the Catalan people. Festivities were due to continue until midnight, well after we’d retired and had our Carrefour dinner.



The final day of riding was here. Unbelievably, two months to the day (9th), we were setting off to El Prat airport terminal two. Well, beyond in fact, to El Masnou where we’d been with the same apartment host twice before. Part of the EV8 traverses the airport right beside the terminal, and in order to get there required a short beachside path section, some rural camis crossing low lying horticultural plots, and just so we knew we were not in the city, yet, some gravel road beside a wetland area. Once on the smooth path on the airport outskirts, groups of riders whizzed past on the road section. We wondered collectively, would we see this outside Auckland airport?



One mistaken (an apparent forced right hand turn) took us to a five lane entry to another terminal, which saw us backtracking by foot on the grass verge, to reach a pedestrian and cycle crossing, to then rejoin the correct EV8 route. Past the airport, we continued for a good 5km beneath an overhead train line, then turned inland towards Montjuic, to get around the messy port section. Seen only ever before from an airport shuttle, it was our first climb of this prominent feature in the Barcelona landscape. Saturday meant a bit of car action in general, and having been provincial or rural for much of our journey, the city just seemed a lot more hectic. Our pace per hour had definitely slowed by now, P2 exclaiming this was ‘the slowest 25km’ we’d ever done. Possibly challenged only by us leaving Seville.



We lunched atop the Mont, in view of the vast city below, and the mighty Sagrada Familia standing out clearly within the mass of buildings. With some stop start navigating ahead, we controlled a steep descent very carefully to get back to sea level, and use the broad network of cycle lanes to get northwards. Once past the main marina area, it was virtually a straight line run of 10-12km more to our accommodation. Only one little incident, unrelated to moving, occurred. I fell sideways, stationary at a bike traffic light stop, not being able to control my loaded pannier when turning and discussing something route related. Unfortunately, it was with the audience of a cafe-bar, but fortunately with only a grazed back and bent handlebar hoods, that we manhandled back into shape. No more mechanical problems, please.



Alex, the marido of Esther at our ‘terraza’ this time, greeted us as planned and quickly we became settled into a familiar neighbourhood. Beach and Varadero marina in front, and the rest of El Masnou (and hillside villages) to the back. The autopista runs about two kilometres behind the coast, fortunately, and we were reminded of the sunsets that night as pinks and purples to the south, over masts, emerged.



Sunday, day of rest in many towns, doesn’t fully apply in the city, so we found. Pastelerias, panaderías, small mercats or fruterías remained open for a majority of the day. On our way walking up to an ancient (with ruins of) Roman cellar, Vallmora, I spotted one for the return down. ‘Forn de..’ are everywhere, literally ‘the oven of’, and this señora was dishing up the usual croissant with (Catalán) xocolata, plus some lovely mini sacher (chocolate torte) of different types, which she steered us to. Luckily, the sugar factor doesn’t seem too high, which is more agreeable to my stomach. We left with one for now, and one for later.



The Med called, thanks to me, and a quick and bracing dip was followed by some unexpected observations, depending on your direction of gaze. Some how, El Masnou had become a clothing optional beach since we were there the day before. I could have sworn, when we were returning from seeing the Christmas lights and town tree that night, we said ‘hola’ to the couple that were nearest (but fairly distant from) us at the beach. Who correctly recognises people with clothes on, though.



Monday dawns, and also the realisation of there only being one week left. Mission one was to figure out what to do with bikes, sooner not later. We’d looked at all options before this trip, and figured the hassle of returning them half way around the world outweighed the convenience of moving them on, after all they’ve endured in their eventful, but still youthful, life. On my morning ride to Roca de la Valle (still lovely riding for a Monday compared to Sunday, but not beyond the autopista interchange!), I decided to try and ride back via Teia, above El Masnou, to save us a later hill climb when scoping bike shops out. The traverse included more gravel roads (the ‘best route’ according to online maps), but eventually, I met with the shop mechanic to see if he was interested in two identical bikes. A bit of chat later, and my low expectations of price was met with possible interest.



We headed into Badalona about 7km from us next, with one well rated shop in mind, Catalonia Cicles. The owner engaged with us quickly, and our journey ‘story’ generated interest with the fact we’d done all this planning from NZ, agreeing the onwards sale was sensible (we explained typical NZ customs rules, and lengthy transportation there was a given). A deal was struck, with a Friday curfew for drop off, which gives plenty of time for other stuff. This called for coffees and a slice of almond cake, served up by a nice fellow at a local pastelería, as one less hassle to worry about is always worth celebrating.

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Photos

Vines and peaks
From the autovia overbridge