Benicasim to Tarragona

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Almadraba is a section of the Benicasim beach coastline, near the northern end and before the Via Verde begins as part of the EV8. Typically Mediterranean, with a blue sea and promenade, the view out to the Mar Baleárico, in this case, was pretty clear. Ships sat off the port at Castello visible 15km away, dogs were being walked, and cyclists could move in separated paths to joggers, runners and promenaders.



Disability access beaches and toilets, playgrounds for the 3-7 year olds, cafes / restaurants, and beachside showers and foot taps /washes at 100m intervals indicate it’s definitely been well thought out. And well populated, judging by the average age or hair colour of the cyclists, walkers, promenaders etc. The time of year (it’s off season), unoccupied summer accommodation (there’s a lot of places for sale/ rent), or a retirement location, it was hard to tell how many actually were permanently there.



Installed in Iberflat Los Pinos, next to an old blue and white finca of the same name (that would host parties over the next few days), we had a relative time off the bike, to the appreciation of P2. We could hike the hills, or we could just walk the beach like many others. Via verdes, from the north end, took us on a flat path to Platja de la Renega, an orange coloured rocky coastline with steep drop offs to coves, meaning it wasn’t safe for swimming. The cycle path is impressive, as it cuts into rock and has short tunnel sections (that once had the rail route passing through). Circling back to the head of the beach, I took a dip in the cool Med, although, once the surf got up the next day (and the sun came out even more), I went from being a spectacle for locals (who’d dare not swim at this time of year) to one of more than several going in. To catch a wave, or just swim. Even P2.



Desert de les Palmes is a 16km road in the steep terrain behind Benicasim, and a key cycle route for those who like hills. And, the reward of views. At the bottom on the northern entry/ Benicasim side, it states the gradient (from 4.5-7.3%), the altitude gain (just under 500m), and how far to go (about 7.5km) which I find reassuring when things get sore. At 9am on a weekend morning, I was regularly saying any one of the Catalan or Spanish greetings to about 100 riders on the up and down sections. As you climb, views open up quickly to the high rises below, Castello to the south, ridge lines to the north towards Oropresa, and ruins of an old monastery in the middle of the forest. It’s serenely quiet otherwise.

Surprisingly, on a fast part of the downhill, I caught sight of two playful squirrels crossing back and fourth on the road. Too fast for photos, regrettably I told P2, who is slightly jealous of my luck in seeing wildlife on-the-hoof.



Three days on, we left on a mild autumn day (mid to late teens Celsius) bound for Playa de Orpesa, which had one longish tunnel before meeting the coast again, and winding along and around towards Orpesa. We stopped briefly at Torre de Sal, to see an old seaside tower that was near a huge camping enclave in the settlement of La Torre de la Sal. Hybrid and ordinary cyclists were pedaling all around this spot, and judging from the camp ground ‘roofs’, still a high occupancy at this time of the year.



After Torreblanca, eleven kilometres on again, the newly dicky right knee joined the old dicky right thumb as a source of aggravation in slowing me down. P2 need not much impairment of mine to accelerate past, these days (he’s gotten more bike fit), and the moral support that comes with traveling as a unit always pulls one through. Whoever that one is, on any given day. Luckily the lunch stop was only 15km of gentle downhill from Peñíscola. To save the usual late supermarket hassle, we pulled into Mercadona on the way in, cramming supplies into panniers in time for a perfectly rosy pink sunset on arrival. The effort of an uphill drag of the laden bikes into the old town was worth it.



Mediterranean blue and white describes this place. A castle sits imposingly high on the rocky peak, and from the picturesque northern side, it makes a striking photograph in the morning. Grey to start with, and dicky knee somewhat relived by ice, I did a flat ride along the promenade and gently (gradient) inland to Calig, on one of the dedicated ‘ruta ciclistas’ that are all over Spain. Mid-morning, a rosy glow still hovered over the east facing coast, and contrary to the forecast, the sun came out that afternoon, inviting a swim. “Is it cold?” a Spanish speaker asked me, as common as in any other place when you’ve just gotten out. I never regret a swim, but it was refreshing (15C apparently) and I’d call it knee therapy too.



The sunset was almost equally brilliant as the night before, save for the fact we had camera (not a heavy bike) in hand, before it fell at 5.30pm. We kept the theme up when we left by turning it into both a sunrise and a sunset day, something I’ve rarely done. Just before 8am, rising from our dark windowless upper level room (Spanish are good at blocking light out!), we stepped out all of 15 metres and caught it rising over the Med from below the castle. There was not a soul around, except for the cats. Ending the day watching the sunset over the Deltebre, there was not a soul around, except for the dogs. And somewhere behind, an owner.



The flat cycle path north passed Benicarló, Vinares, and soon enough, some coastal settlements tucked away off the N-road, south of La Rápita. One spot begged a stop, with the well known name of Montecarlo, where we had our own pebbly beach. And a refreshing dip at my insistence. 29th November and still swimming in the Med. Crazy.



Rice paddies and flooded agricultural lands with an (at times narrow) flat road took us east to Sant Jaime, then crossing the delta steeply over Lo Passador (bridge), ending in the town of Deltebre. Welcomed in so generously by Juan, it was apparent this was a 9.8 Booking.com host. We got to know him a little more later on when we blew the electrics four times in half an hour, with only the lavadora and a small light on. We waited out the end of a wash cycle in dimly lit calm. Using our recently acquired electrical skills from the last two months qualified us to reset the powerboard, but nothing could surmount the power of your neighbours upping their consumption from 7.30-8.30. We ate, in the end.



Deltebre is the largest wetland area in Cataluña, is flat, and attracts a lot of bird life. White and grey herons were everywhere, literally, with large populations of seagulls wading or flying beside them in the wetlands as well. The Ebro river meets salty water near the river mouth, and from Deltebre downstream, for the most part, the water looks very clean and clear.



It follows that fishing rods are perhaps the next most populous sight around there. Discovering (a little too late) the delta high tide times as being middle of the day, the fisherman had packed up their belongings by 1pm, once fishing the incoming tide. This also meant some of the trails (from the lookout to hides) were impassable with inundation, although because the rise and fall of the water is in the decimal points, waiting two or three hours after the high might have made little difference.



Sun yielded to cloud and the forecast 50:50 chance of rain ended on the drier side of showers, so that we filled a good 4 hours out at the delta and Riumar beach.



Then we found a broken spoke. I’d seen a slightly wobbly rear wheel, certainly not much to speak of, in P2s bike as he moved ahead that morning. Moving on to my ‘must oil and must check’ schedule when we got back, my insistence to do it paid off when, cleaning the rear wheel, a spoke came out in my hand. Still attached by the join with the rim, it wiggled about a bit too much for my liking, and was probably about to cause more hassle, depending on what I believed from online bike forums (as I’ve never ‘done’ a spoke!). After deliberating about bike shops some kilometres away in nearby towns, and urgency of it, the hosts son, also named Juan, came to the rescue in taking me to Taller Miro in Deltebre. It was a general mechanical workshop not even 2km away. A young and greasy handed man took it and promised a fifteen minute fix, which it was, had I not thought he’d need the through-axle to test / true it. We were so very lucky.



We did get to the recommended panaderia (Forn de Pa, artesa la flor) in the end, and I just had to push one of their products on Juan, the son, as a thank you for his efforts. We had been talking bike nutrition, marmalade and toast, hydration after a ride, and energy foods. Marmalade and toast was an exact match for P2.



We set off from Deltebre to Miami Platja on a day when yellow warnings were expected for wind, and more than the 50:50 chance of rain of the previous day. Tarragona, as Juan had told me, was known for wind (wind turbines cover the hills behind) although it seemed benign enough that morning in Deltebre. Trying to clock up some more bird sightings was not in P2s favour, and once in L’Ampolla, the delta receded from view. Another artisan flor de pan down (for Christmas themed almond biscuit, this time) and we donned jackets for the large drops of rain starting. El Perello was in the original route plan, climbing gently for 7km in a wide road, and we nearly continued that way, but for the strengthening wind and worries about being up higher, and therefore more exposed. The weather began to whip up the occasional gusts, as we left the orange cliff coast. So, we chose the alternate route, one of olive trees, a meandering sealed road, and a steep 15% gradient middle section, that came as a heck of a surprise (in a drag-your-bike up, or down, way). Once alongside the autovía on a sealed cami, it was fairly similar, until one of the urbanisations (les Tres Cales) forced a turn towards the original plan of using the N road. It would have been a gravel walking track, otherwise.



We were ‘home and hosed’, until P2 mentioned how concerned he was, more than I thought at the time, for the odd severe gusts. It didn’t feel as bad to me as Olivenza to La Garovilla. We took it steadily for another few kilometres or so, until I got swept two metres sideways to the gravel, unable to correct against the wind, and falling with the bike into full left knee flexion. The worry on P2s face when he thought I’d broken something was priceless, but it was not very comfortable for the rest of the ride. A deep wound was patched up roadside, and a defrosted large clump of ice that I’d carried since Deltebre (it’s a long story) came in serendipitously handy once we arrived later that day. We started to think we could have walked to Miami, and in fact, were beginning to say we were fully ready to if we needed to. Then we walked. What did the motorists think!



Sea-breezy, and whitecaps, were an understatement for the weather once at our ‘Picasso studio’. Strong whistling continued all night, especially so in a 1970s coastal high rise building at about 60-70kph gusts. The palms stood strong though. On leaving at midday, the gusts persisted such that we started walking the bikes on the N road, in between some anxious spells of riding with strong crosswinds. The path we’d chosen made a right hand turn towards Cambrils, which worked in our favour, a gentle tailwind down towards the more built up coast. Fortunately, for twelve kilometres we were shielded moving along a coastal bike path, passing unoccupied tourist apartment block after tourist apartment block. Shutters were down, and the promenade was low on volumes of people, making perfect riding as we nudged the 10kph limit.



Stopping at Salou, windsurfers and yachts were out and about being a Saturday, and the gentle surf felt as refreshing as it was down the coast. Onwards to Tarragona involved mostly outskirts and industrial ‘poligono’ sections when it became noticeably calmer that the severe gusts of leaving Miami. It was a good day to delay cycling, and rolling into the old town by 4.30pm felt incredibly relieving. Gripping brakes and handlebars, constant concentrating, and bracing for gusts takes more energy I think than a physical slog up a hill.



Juan, our host name again, cruised up the quiet alleyway on his moto to welcome us. We’d arranged something bike friendly, and once over a single step, we entered a terraced duplex, with a part of the Roman wall in the sleeping quarters. If we were of taller stature we might be challenged at the edges, but it had all we needed for a longer layover this time. One host recommendation quickly got my attention, having a massage. P2 busied himself planning something more appropriate to Tarragona like the Roman Forum, anfiteatro or maybe the Museu de Archeology, which we’d planned to explore in days ahead.



Wind well settled on our first of three full days, and a lovely sunny Sunday, I headed to Nulles and Vilabella, with a lot of hikers and cyclists out doing the same. Rolling hills of vineyards, small villages, steep far away hills, and a low and steady gradient made for easy riding. Back in town, Sunday markets were in full swing by the cathedral, and it became modestly busy as revellers gathered for long looking lunches, or serial drinks and tapas. We had to pass up and down the same route twice in half an hour (with the anfiteatro not accepting cash payment, we needed instead to use a credit card), and one plaza BBQ with a reggae music theme going on, cranked up a bigger, and smokier, notch. The meat there would make an Argentinian BBQ very proud (there’s lots of Latino restaurants).



After trying Nayaran massage studio once on the Sunday, only a two minute walk from Carrer Vidre, I was hooked to book a longer one a few days with a guy named Mana, who turned out to be an exceptionally skilled therapist. A physiotherapist knows good work when she receives it.



So, with Monday closures of some tourist sights and museums, I decided to waste time navigating by bike to a most appallingly unhelpful location for a Decathlon sports store to replace my torn kickers from the fall. Four lane urban highways, and minimal cycle ways, just cannot compete to other places we’ve passed through on this journey (Valencia and Seville definitely stand out as having great cycle infrastructure, as do Albacete, Cordoba and Mérida). Arriving at the super mall, frustrated with the journey, two pairs of either wrong sized or see through long bike pants later, and I left empty handed for the stop-start ride home. I’ll keep using my Bellweather ones, even if they cost twice the price in NZ!



The coastal area of Tarragona intrigued, as we were keen to get off the bike and explore. Monday also meant for some pasteleria closures (La Brioche, also recommended by our host, was closed), so a substitute cafe nearby, Lanttonia, proved a great proxy, serving up chilled chocolate cake and coffees as a treat. Beyond Platja Arrabassada, we walked the rocky coast to Platja Savinosa to the start of Platja Llarga, before turning back for a snack stop at the end of Savinosa (and a quick dunk for me). The temperature was getting on the refreshing side, but with mid-teens (Celsius) and the sun out, I planned to keep persisting until hopefully Barcelona.



In the old town, we scoped out a few antique shops as the light fell that night, the Christmas street decorations giving a lovely festive feel. In alleyways, dogs were walked, and cats roamed, evidence of the animal loving residents in this part of Tarragona. And with the nights being long, we slept long, which is definitely what we need when nine hours later you finally rise.



When Tuesday opened up a few more options, I first returned by bike to Vilabella in sunnier conditions, seeing more of the retired cyclist set, or rural walkers. It did seem most were fair weather exercisers, unless you’ve a dog on a leash (and dog owner always say ‘hello!’). After a bit of go-slow, and returning to some trinket shops, we went to La Brioche in the afternoon successfully this time, taking five sweet things for today, later, and however long they last on our journey. I give them two days, max.



The coast was quieter mid week when we walked one of the cakes off, circling the headland at Punta Grossa and up to the upper old town walls. A timely end to our four days here was my second massage. If only I was staying on in Tarragona, I’d be returning to Narayan for another proper sports/ deep tissue workout. No disrespect to P2s elbow techniques, but seeing a professional was well worth it. Goodness knows we are slimmer and fitter, but tighter for this adventure.

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