Cycling along the Spanish Pyrenees from the Med to the Atlantic - A Travelogue
- Thread starter Idaho
- Start date
RubyToogood
RubyTwobikes
What bike are you riding?Don't confuse the percentage of power applied with the percentage of power used from storage
Idaho
blah blah blah
It's a Cube Katmandu. Very good all purpose, go anywhere kind of bike. Good for road and trail
AnnaKarpik
Queen of all she surveys
Me too! Well done Idaho
StoneRoad
heckling from the back!
Most Interesting ...
If you hadn't said that some of the route was old railways, I would have guessed it was, just from looking at the bridges and gradients.
Enjoy the rest of your trip.
The scenery has given me an earworm - the theme tune from the Sharpe series ...
If you hadn't said that some of the route was old railways, I would have guessed it was, just from looking at the bridges and gradients.
Enjoy the rest of your trip.
The scenery has given me an earworm - the theme tune from the Sharpe series ...
ice-is-forming
With dignified ease and grace..
Idaho
blah blah blah
Bus Honeygun
This week the score draws are plentiful
Picked this up a bit late, but thoroughly enjoyable read.
We have a family joke that one day of the holiday we always ends up in the local equivalent of Bovey Tracey (on paper a little town right next to a National Park - should be nice but it's dull as fuck), but I think I've been to a few Marsh Bartons on my travels too.
We have a family joke that one day of the holiday we always ends up in the local equivalent of Bovey Tracey (on paper a little town right next to a National Park - should be nice but it's dull as fuck), but I think I've been to a few Marsh Bartons on my travels too.
Idaho
blah blah blah
Day five
Orlot - Ripoll - Planoles
55km, 1120m ascent, 55% battery used, 49% human power
Three surprises this morning. Firstly that I slept well despite the wild pigs grunting and snuffling 10 metres away. Secondly that I woke up and felt the urge to get up at 8 after less than seven hours sleep. And thirdly, and most disappointingly that I pissed away this early start faffing about. 3 and a half exquisite hours of faff. Fiddling with bags, the order of bags, the further repair of bags. Yuri was dashing about getting ready for the weekend rush. The first two weeks of September used to be school holiday season, but Catalonia (all of Spain?) has changed to the usual European July-August pattern.
My punishment for such tardiness was to climb to the Collada de Capsacosta with the sun hot and high. I called home last night. It is amazing that this is possible. I know it's totally banal, but really. Sitting on a remote Spanish campsite, pressing a button and you are in your kitchen chatting to whoever is in. Ms Idaho was not impressed when I told her my mileage that day and my plans for the next few days. The last ride we did was st Ives to okehampton over two days. Over 95km each day. And each day a brutal and relentless series of hills. Watching the next rise ahead of you as you are descending. Both days finished with lithium and meat batteries fully exhausted.
I did the first climb on low power. The day's plan was for ascent rather than a distance. The road was typical European mountain road biking. It was an hour to the Collada and a couple of roadies past me with ease. The new road is a series of switchbacks which cross and recross an old Roman road which, in customary fashion, carves a severe straight line up the hill. Poor bastards. Detailed to drag rocks up a provincial hill with Iberians cursing slinging rocks at them and attacking them with those fiendish short wide swords. The effectiveness of which so impressed three Romans that they adopted it - hence the gladius.
Over the pass and into alpine villages. Cows with bells and open pastures surrounded by beech woods. Joined onto another delightful former train line. This time even better as it was a straight steady downhill past more villages, then later, past the industrial fringe typical of the river valleys leading to cities in northern Spain.
After a few days of hedonistic decadence I decided to have a day of sobriety. This caused a part of my mind to sulk. It was trying to convince me this was a terrible idea and I may as well make the most of the holiday and there's a lovely spot over there...
After a while that voice gave up. I think he was hatching plans to break my resolve this evening. At lunch in Ripoll, in the town square he had an unlooked for ally. As I was tucking into my chicken, chips and salad, a young couple sat at the next table, happily and unabashedly smoking beautiful smelling hash. Some people have no shame.
After this late lunch, the various navigation apps couldn't agree. Both have been playing up today. Google insisted I cycle through a tunnel restricted to automotive traffic, and bikemap, when it worked at all, kept randomly doubling the estimated distance. In the end it was a road ride. Ripoll to Ribes de Freser was a wide and open road with a good size margin to cycle on. Traffic was low and it even had some interesting river canyons and derelict industrial stuff to gawk at. From Ribes de Freser to Planoles it was narrower, busier and less pleasant. Spanish drivers are great with bikes, if they have space. When it gets cramped, and this isn't so common in a big and sparsely populated country, then they can be just as shit as British drivers. These sections are when the electric is the most useful. I'm happy to grind slowly up a pretty hill, but on fast, scary roads - I crank up the power and get through them as quickly as possible.
And finally to the campsite. One that me and Ms Idaho stayed at over 25 years ago after walking across the top from France. Youngsters with no clue. The first day of that trip almost killed us. We'd brought so much crap. The next day we posted about 8kg of books and god knows what, back to England. Later, when crossing the high border, we stepped in the deep snow footprints of the proper walkers ahead of us. They all had crampons and ice axes for safety against the over one-hundred metre steep snow field that dropped sharply to the rocky valley below.
Tent up and sitting in the restaurant writing this post, thoughts lightly turning to dinner. I used some Spanish. "Puedo cenar aqui esta noche -Can I dine here tonight?" After some negotiation, they are making a salad with some meat and cheese. Perfect. I declined the wine.
Orlot - Ripoll - Planoles
55km, 1120m ascent, 55% battery used, 49% human power
Three surprises this morning. Firstly that I slept well despite the wild pigs grunting and snuffling 10 metres away. Secondly that I woke up and felt the urge to get up at 8 after less than seven hours sleep. And thirdly, and most disappointingly that I pissed away this early start faffing about. 3 and a half exquisite hours of faff. Fiddling with bags, the order of bags, the further repair of bags. Yuri was dashing about getting ready for the weekend rush. The first two weeks of September used to be school holiday season, but Catalonia (all of Spain?) has changed to the usual European July-August pattern.
My punishment for such tardiness was to climb to the Collada de Capsacosta with the sun hot and high. I called home last night. It is amazing that this is possible. I know it's totally banal, but really. Sitting on a remote Spanish campsite, pressing a button and you are in your kitchen chatting to whoever is in. Ms Idaho was not impressed when I told her my mileage that day and my plans for the next few days. The last ride we did was st Ives to okehampton over two days. Over 95km each day. And each day a brutal and relentless series of hills. Watching the next rise ahead of you as you are descending. Both days finished with lithium and meat batteries fully exhausted.
I did the first climb on low power. The day's plan was for ascent rather than a distance. The road was typical European mountain road biking. It was an hour to the Collada and a couple of roadies past me with ease. The new road is a series of switchbacks which cross and recross an old Roman road which, in customary fashion, carves a severe straight line up the hill. Poor bastards. Detailed to drag rocks up a provincial hill with Iberians cursing slinging rocks at them and attacking them with those fiendish short wide swords. The effectiveness of which so impressed three Romans that they adopted it - hence the gladius.
Over the pass and into alpine villages. Cows with bells and open pastures surrounded by beech woods. Joined onto another delightful former train line. This time even better as it was a straight steady downhill past more villages, then later, past the industrial fringe typical of the river valleys leading to cities in northern Spain.
After a few days of hedonistic decadence I decided to have a day of sobriety. This caused a part of my mind to sulk. It was trying to convince me this was a terrible idea and I may as well make the most of the holiday and there's a lovely spot over there...
After a while that voice gave up. I think he was hatching plans to break my resolve this evening. At lunch in Ripoll, in the town square he had an unlooked for ally. As I was tucking into my chicken, chips and salad, a young couple sat at the next table, happily and unabashedly smoking beautiful smelling hash. Some people have no shame.
After this late lunch, the various navigation apps couldn't agree. Both have been playing up today. Google insisted I cycle through a tunnel restricted to automotive traffic, and bikemap, when it worked at all, kept randomly doubling the estimated distance. In the end it was a road ride. Ripoll to Ribes de Freser was a wide and open road with a good size margin to cycle on. Traffic was low and it even had some interesting river canyons and derelict industrial stuff to gawk at. From Ribes de Freser to Planoles it was narrower, busier and less pleasant. Spanish drivers are great with bikes, if they have space. When it gets cramped, and this isn't so common in a big and sparsely populated country, then they can be just as shit as British drivers. These sections are when the electric is the most useful. I'm happy to grind slowly up a pretty hill, but on fast, scary roads - I crank up the power and get through them as quickly as possible.
And finally to the campsite. One that me and Ms Idaho stayed at over 25 years ago after walking across the top from France. Youngsters with no clue. The first day of that trip almost killed us. We'd brought so much crap. The next day we posted about 8kg of books and god knows what, back to England. Later, when crossing the high border, we stepped in the deep snow footprints of the proper walkers ahead of us. They all had crampons and ice axes for safety against the over one-hundred metre steep snow field that dropped sharply to the rocky valley below.
Tent up and sitting in the restaurant writing this post, thoughts lightly turning to dinner. I used some Spanish. "Puedo cenar aqui esta noche -Can I dine here tonight?" After some negotiation, they are making a salad with some meat and cheese. Perfect. I declined the wine.
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Idaho
blah blah blah
Thank you!
Idaho
blah blah blah
Day six
Planoles - Puigcerda - Llivia
51km, 1200m ascent, 55% battery used, 48% human power
A reasonable sleep and an early wake up. Ideal preconditions to what turned out to be a long and entertaining day. I had been feeling a little pang of road weariness before bed, and a little remained in the morning. All a part of the usual emotional ebb and flow. At 1200m it cooled down over night and was cool but not-quite-chilly getting out of the tent at 0720. I passed a Spanish hiker on my way to the latrines. He was sat at a picnic table in down jacket at hat, cooking up his breakfast. I felt duty bound to display British pluck by brewing up my morning tea in just a t shirt. The sun came up but was obscured by a mountain, reflecting a green gold light from the mountainside to our south.
Mirabile dictu! I actually got ready in two hours! Ready and on the road at 0920, giving me the chance to get over the Col de Toses pass in cool weather.
The exit from the campsite and getting onto the minor road over the pass meant a lot of cruel decent. Each metre would have to be ground back again. The road, when I got to it, must have been used, or have plans to be used, for one of the big bike races. The tarmac felt buttery smooth. Gliding through mountain forest at the base of the valley until the ascent began. It's a popular driving and motorbiking route too. They seemed to arrive in little packs and then leave me alone with the road for stretches.
The ascent was cool with plenty of tree shade. Passing across a stream on a bend I brushed through the cool of the forest which expanded out from the trees. Past the village of Toses the gradient increased and even with the power set to medium it was a tiring haul to get to the pass at 1800m. The view was a dramatic reward. The French Pyrenees Orientales with the deep Cerdanya valley below. The traffic on the intersecting road was busier. Packs of road bikers passed along with motorhomes cars and motorbikes. Then, nonchalantly, a cow wandered across to the tempting growth the other side of the crash barrier. Living her best life, as my daughters would say.
Then, coming towards me another touring cyclist. We stopped to exchange pleasantries. He had the exact same bike bags as me (another of which has just split... I'll be searching for epoxy tomorrow). The exact opposite from me, he was coming from Puigcerda and heading to the Med. He noticed I was on the electric and with a "not so similar eh?" gesture. I asked his age - 26! Young whippersnapper, I'd a mind to put him over my knee.
Exciting descent into the valley through wealthy ski chalet villages. This time it was bikemap's turn to balls things up and direct me to a long set of steps and a footbridge to get over a train track. No big deal. A 1km detour.
Down at the valley floor, still over 1000m, the warmth of the day was in full force. I came off the main road and followed tracks and minor roads into Puigcerda, briefly distracted by some kind of political memorial event. There was a large concrete cross and another small metal object, yet to be unveiled of its black cloak. I stayed and listened to some Catalan accordion tune, then patiently waited as someone delivered a speech that those who could understand obviously thought was going on too long. I gave up and never saw the reveal.
Puigcerda's strategic historical role was clear from the approach. A great wide valley surrounded by Spanish peaks on one side and French on the other with the city commanding the top of a small hill in between. I found the old town and picked the first place with a shady table. The other tables were all taken up with French tourists who were each baffling the waitress with their dogged French. I ordered in Catalan - reading off chalkboard written in Catalan on the street next to us. This also baffled her. We got there in the end with broken Spanish and English. Puigcerda seems a wealthy place. Lots of fine houses, but otherwise not so interesting in my brief gawking. I headed out of Spain on my way to Spain.
Llivia is an exclave of Spain, a few kilometres into France that came about through an oversight in a treaty. France and Spain came to an arrangement whereby there would be a "neutral road" to connect them. After WW2 the role was that only Spanish registered cars could use it to come and go from Llivia. The only problem being was that there were a few local, French roads that crossed the neutral road. The local French authority decided that as this was French territory, cars on the neutral road should give way to them. There ensued one of the least known and least bloody European wars ever - the Stop Sign War. An on-and-off shin kicking contest with one or other side putting up stop signs and one or other side ripping them down.
Llivia is much smaller and more quaint than Puigcerda. The staff in the museum were very friendly and patient with my Spanish. The main display is the oldest and best preserved contents of a middle ages apothecary. The town was also one of the last remaining outposts of the republican forces in the civil war. There was a photo from 1939 of the last troops crossing the border into France and surrendering to gendarmes.
All the hard riding done, there was nothing left but a 30 minute ride up the hill to the Airbnb. The host messaged me to say they were running late but that there was an outdoor Roman baths near the house that I could while away some time. I crossed back into France via a gravel track and sat under a large oak looking back towards the Spanish mountains. A beautiful view, a pipe, and a litre of water - and then it was Google maps turn to have a laugh. it directed me up steep path of loose gravel and shingle. Fine at first, but as the incline increased I had no choice but to get off and push. Twenty minutes of tough, sweaty shoving and I made it onto something rideable. As I ascended, the view expanded and the light warmed and softened.
I wasn't sure if I was going to be up for a hot bath. I love a hot spring, and back when we lived in Japan, we were regulars. But once cooled down in the cold shower I was ready. It turned out to be just what the achy old cycling geezer doctor ordered.
The Airbnb is nice and very rustic. The host is horseback photographer. Some amazing pictures of central Asian horse competitions. A very clever and interesting woman - and a nice break from only speaking to blokes over the last week. Haven't yet decided where I'm going tomorrow. Although I think I've ruled out Andorra.
Planoles - Puigcerda - Llivia
51km, 1200m ascent, 55% battery used, 48% human power
A reasonable sleep and an early wake up. Ideal preconditions to what turned out to be a long and entertaining day. I had been feeling a little pang of road weariness before bed, and a little remained in the morning. All a part of the usual emotional ebb and flow. At 1200m it cooled down over night and was cool but not-quite-chilly getting out of the tent at 0720. I passed a Spanish hiker on my way to the latrines. He was sat at a picnic table in down jacket at hat, cooking up his breakfast. I felt duty bound to display British pluck by brewing up my morning tea in just a t shirt. The sun came up but was obscured by a mountain, reflecting a green gold light from the mountainside to our south.
Mirabile dictu! I actually got ready in two hours! Ready and on the road at 0920, giving me the chance to get over the Col de Toses pass in cool weather.
The exit from the campsite and getting onto the minor road over the pass meant a lot of cruel decent. Each metre would have to be ground back again. The road, when I got to it, must have been used, or have plans to be used, for one of the big bike races. The tarmac felt buttery smooth. Gliding through mountain forest at the base of the valley until the ascent began. It's a popular driving and motorbiking route too. They seemed to arrive in little packs and then leave me alone with the road for stretches.
The ascent was cool with plenty of tree shade. Passing across a stream on a bend I brushed through the cool of the forest which expanded out from the trees. Past the village of Toses the gradient increased and even with the power set to medium it was a tiring haul to get to the pass at 1800m. The view was a dramatic reward. The French Pyrenees Orientales with the deep Cerdanya valley below. The traffic on the intersecting road was busier. Packs of road bikers passed along with motorhomes cars and motorbikes. Then, nonchalantly, a cow wandered across to the tempting growth the other side of the crash barrier. Living her best life, as my daughters would say.
Then, coming towards me another touring cyclist. We stopped to exchange pleasantries. He had the exact same bike bags as me (another of which has just split... I'll be searching for epoxy tomorrow). The exact opposite from me, he was coming from Puigcerda and heading to the Med. He noticed I was on the electric and with a "not so similar eh?" gesture. I asked his age - 26! Young whippersnapper, I'd a mind to put him over my knee.
Exciting descent into the valley through wealthy ski chalet villages. This time it was bikemap's turn to balls things up and direct me to a long set of steps and a footbridge to get over a train track. No big deal. A 1km detour.
Down at the valley floor, still over 1000m, the warmth of the day was in full force. I came off the main road and followed tracks and minor roads into Puigcerda, briefly distracted by some kind of political memorial event. There was a large concrete cross and another small metal object, yet to be unveiled of its black cloak. I stayed and listened to some Catalan accordion tune, then patiently waited as someone delivered a speech that those who could understand obviously thought was going on too long. I gave up and never saw the reveal.
Puigcerda's strategic historical role was clear from the approach. A great wide valley surrounded by Spanish peaks on one side and French on the other with the city commanding the top of a small hill in between. I found the old town and picked the first place with a shady table. The other tables were all taken up with French tourists who were each baffling the waitress with their dogged French. I ordered in Catalan - reading off chalkboard written in Catalan on the street next to us. This also baffled her. We got there in the end with broken Spanish and English. Puigcerda seems a wealthy place. Lots of fine houses, but otherwise not so interesting in my brief gawking. I headed out of Spain on my way to Spain.
Llivia is an exclave of Spain, a few kilometres into France that came about through an oversight in a treaty. France and Spain came to an arrangement whereby there would be a "neutral road" to connect them. After WW2 the role was that only Spanish registered cars could use it to come and go from Llivia. The only problem being was that there were a few local, French roads that crossed the neutral road. The local French authority decided that as this was French territory, cars on the neutral road should give way to them. There ensued one of the least known and least bloody European wars ever - the Stop Sign War. An on-and-off shin kicking contest with one or other side putting up stop signs and one or other side ripping them down.
Llivia is much smaller and more quaint than Puigcerda. The staff in the museum were very friendly and patient with my Spanish. The main display is the oldest and best preserved contents of a middle ages apothecary. The town was also one of the last remaining outposts of the republican forces in the civil war. There was a photo from 1939 of the last troops crossing the border into France and surrendering to gendarmes.
All the hard riding done, there was nothing left but a 30 minute ride up the hill to the Airbnb. The host messaged me to say they were running late but that there was an outdoor Roman baths near the house that I could while away some time. I crossed back into France via a gravel track and sat under a large oak looking back towards the Spanish mountains. A beautiful view, a pipe, and a litre of water - and then it was Google maps turn to have a laugh. it directed me up steep path of loose gravel and shingle. Fine at first, but as the incline increased I had no choice but to get off and push. Twenty minutes of tough, sweaty shoving and I made it onto something rideable. As I ascended, the view expanded and the light warmed and softened.
I wasn't sure if I was going to be up for a hot bath. I love a hot spring, and back when we lived in Japan, we were regulars. But once cooled down in the cold shower I was ready. It turned out to be just what the achy old cycling geezer doctor ordered.
The Airbnb is nice and very rustic. The host is horseback photographer. Some amazing pictures of central Asian horse competitions. A very clever and interesting woman - and a nice break from only speaking to blokes over the last week. Haven't yet decided where I'm going tomorrow. Although I think I've ruled out Andorra.
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Idaho
blah blah blah
Day seven
Dorres - La Seu d'Urgell
62km, 340m ascent, 26% battery used, 58% human power
Woken by the village church bells at 7, I cat napped until the next round at 8. Still without a clear plan, I started to sort the kit out. Got a full set of fresh laundry off the line and put all the various recharged objects back in their respective clasps, cradles and pouches.
Audrey, the host appeared and we had a chat while I repaired the pannier. Further to a conversation the previous night about terriers, I tried to list for her all the specific English names for animal homes: dens, dreys, setts, burrows, etc. There were two Spanish women and two terriers staying in the other room. Faffing, chatting and repairing made for a slow start. I set off down a winding road, back to Spain.
10kms of villages and busy recreational tracks I passed through retail/industrial fringe to a roundabout with French road signs on one side and Spanish on the other. Just beyond, in the scrub, a Catalan flag was fluttering against the backdrop of the French Pyrenees. i love flags. I'm not patriotic or nationalist. I just think fluttering coloured banners look great. I aspire to have a flag pole, and 365 days worth of national, regional and historical flags for the waving.
First stop was the supermarket. I had a direction in mind now. But was contemplating getting to La Seu d'Urgell and seeing what the options were for pressing on. I picked up lunch and snacks and I also picked breakfast bits which I ate outside on the bench next to a group of young people. When I first sat down there was just one. Gradually as I was assembling my yoghurt, nuts and fruit, more and more arrived. By the time I was halfway through shovelling it into my face they had waxed to about ten. This key population concentration caused a sporing event, with excited chattering leading to all bring lifted by the wind and drifting across the car park in clumps.
The route to La Seu was a mixed bag. The majority was on the main road that runs East to West along the northern border of Spain with Andorra. I'd do a few kilometres on the road and then rough gravel trails would pop up and I could have a few kilometres traffic free, scenic, but more tiring riding. I don't understand specifically what bike people mean when they talk about different geometry being better for different terrain. What I do understand is that my bike is fine on gravel, but when the rocks get bigger and the ground very uneven, it does skate about. Ground that a proper mountain bike just rolls comfortably over. There were sections today which were quite tricky. Controlled sliding and skidding down gravel slopes.
More of a mixed bag was a poor decision to have a toke before lunch. It was an enjoyable gentle downhill trail for a few kilometres and a little voice suggested that it would be like this the whole way. The same little voice also suggested that I may as well have decent pipe full. As soon as I did, I instantly regretted it. Dopamine reward of smoking was what the little voice wanted. it didn't really want to be high. Regret doubled when the trail subsequently turfed me back out onto the road. I turned off into the next village and found a shady bench. Much needed hour of rehydration, lunch and cool shade.
The roads and paths for the next hour were quiet and scenic. The valley narrowed and the steady descent continued. The crags of Vulturo high on my left side in Spain, and the peaks of Andorra on my right.
Back on the road for another 20km stretch. It's a popular road biking route and there is a good margin to ride on. Signage employing drivers to be nice is frequent. Again, generally good space is given. Every 1 car in 4 was Andorran, and almost all of them were brand new, white or black, high end SUVs. I've added Andorra to the same list as Dubai and Singapore. Risking some Churchill in a post where I've already promoted flag waving - All the virtues I despise with none of the vices I admire.
I came off road along the river side for the last 5km into town. I stopped to see if there was any accommodation another 20-30km on. I still had energy and power left, but not that much light due to the slow morning start. Nothing came up less than 60km away, and that was just out of range. There was an ideal campsite 15km further, but I'd phoned them in the morning and they had said they were full. Turns out it's the Catalan national holiday weekend. I gave up ambitions of getting beyond La Seu and booked a single en suite room with breakfast for €55. Traditional cheap roadside hotel. They were happy to store my bike inside and we understood each others' Spanish. I think the older couple running it might be Eastern European. Small, brown and drab bedroom with a jarringly new and large en suite. Larger slightly than the bedroom. And shuttered and blocked by a chair, a great little balcony with a view over Vulturo and a random chipped marble slab.
I've come out to get food and hardly anywhere is open. Had a wander through the old town and came back to a Colombian bar restaurant. Fizzy water, red wine, goat cheese salad and patatas bravas. I think I know where I'm going tomorrow. It's not clear if it's going to be a lovely passable track over a high pass, or some kind of brutal bike dragging across rocks and rubble.
Dorres - La Seu d'Urgell
62km, 340m ascent, 26% battery used, 58% human power
Woken by the village church bells at 7, I cat napped until the next round at 8. Still without a clear plan, I started to sort the kit out. Got a full set of fresh laundry off the line and put all the various recharged objects back in their respective clasps, cradles and pouches.
Audrey, the host appeared and we had a chat while I repaired the pannier. Further to a conversation the previous night about terriers, I tried to list for her all the specific English names for animal homes: dens, dreys, setts, burrows, etc. There were two Spanish women and two terriers staying in the other room. Faffing, chatting and repairing made for a slow start. I set off down a winding road, back to Spain.
10kms of villages and busy recreational tracks I passed through retail/industrial fringe to a roundabout with French road signs on one side and Spanish on the other. Just beyond, in the scrub, a Catalan flag was fluttering against the backdrop of the French Pyrenees. i love flags. I'm not patriotic or nationalist. I just think fluttering coloured banners look great. I aspire to have a flag pole, and 365 days worth of national, regional and historical flags for the waving.
First stop was the supermarket. I had a direction in mind now. But was contemplating getting to La Seu d'Urgell and seeing what the options were for pressing on. I picked up lunch and snacks and I also picked breakfast bits which I ate outside on the bench next to a group of young people. When I first sat down there was just one. Gradually as I was assembling my yoghurt, nuts and fruit, more and more arrived. By the time I was halfway through shovelling it into my face they had waxed to about ten. This key population concentration caused a sporing event, with excited chattering leading to all bring lifted by the wind and drifting across the car park in clumps.
The route to La Seu was a mixed bag. The majority was on the main road that runs East to West along the northern border of Spain with Andorra. I'd do a few kilometres on the road and then rough gravel trails would pop up and I could have a few kilometres traffic free, scenic, but more tiring riding. I don't understand specifically what bike people mean when they talk about different geometry being better for different terrain. What I do understand is that my bike is fine on gravel, but when the rocks get bigger and the ground very uneven, it does skate about. Ground that a proper mountain bike just rolls comfortably over. There were sections today which were quite tricky. Controlled sliding and skidding down gravel slopes.
More of a mixed bag was a poor decision to have a toke before lunch. It was an enjoyable gentle downhill trail for a few kilometres and a little voice suggested that it would be like this the whole way. The same little voice also suggested that I may as well have decent pipe full. As soon as I did, I instantly regretted it. Dopamine reward of smoking was what the little voice wanted. it didn't really want to be high. Regret doubled when the trail subsequently turfed me back out onto the road. I turned off into the next village and found a shady bench. Much needed hour of rehydration, lunch and cool shade.
The roads and paths for the next hour were quiet and scenic. The valley narrowed and the steady descent continued. The crags of Vulturo high on my left side in Spain, and the peaks of Andorra on my right.
Back on the road for another 20km stretch. It's a popular road biking route and there is a good margin to ride on. Signage employing drivers to be nice is frequent. Again, generally good space is given. Every 1 car in 4 was Andorran, and almost all of them were brand new, white or black, high end SUVs. I've added Andorra to the same list as Dubai and Singapore. Risking some Churchill in a post where I've already promoted flag waving - All the virtues I despise with none of the vices I admire.
I came off road along the river side for the last 5km into town. I stopped to see if there was any accommodation another 20-30km on. I still had energy and power left, but not that much light due to the slow morning start. Nothing came up less than 60km away, and that was just out of range. There was an ideal campsite 15km further, but I'd phoned them in the morning and they had said they were full. Turns out it's the Catalan national holiday weekend. I gave up ambitions of getting beyond La Seu and booked a single en suite room with breakfast for €55. Traditional cheap roadside hotel. They were happy to store my bike inside and we understood each others' Spanish. I think the older couple running it might be Eastern European. Small, brown and drab bedroom with a jarringly new and large en suite. Larger slightly than the bedroom. And shuttered and blocked by a chair, a great little balcony with a view over Vulturo and a random chipped marble slab.
I've come out to get food and hardly anywhere is open. Had a wander through the old town and came back to a Colombian bar restaurant. Fizzy water, red wine, goat cheese salad and patatas bravas. I think I know where I'm going tomorrow. It's not clear if it's going to be a lovely passable track over a high pass, or some kind of brutal bike dragging across rocks and rubble.
MrSki
Who am I to say you're wrong
Idaho
blah blah blah
Day eight
La Seu d'Urgell - Saint Joan de l'erm - Vall d'Aneu
80km, 1500m ascent, 77% battery used, 58% human power
Best night sleep so far. Solid 8 hours. I put my audiobook on a 15 minute timer, turned off the light and was out for the count. I've been getting nagging back pain for the last 6 months - which I've only just realised is from driving. I got a new job in social care - all driving based - 6 months ago
Previously I was in front of a screen, or at least in the vicinity of one. 9 days without doing any driving and it's completely fine. It's annoying that they insist you drive. I could definitely bike to half.
Walking back to the hotel last night I was asked for a light by someone painting, specifically priming, a shop shutter. In the while it took me to fish my lighter out of a bag on my pocket, we exchanged chat. Again I was amazed and humbled by how good people in this area are with languages. He helpfully advised me that everything was going to be closed on Monday for the national day. This morning, duly warned, I got up, faffed efficiently and walked into town.
There is a clutch of mini markets all within a couple of blocks. I'm guessing they are owned, or at least, run by Moroccans. They were decidedly unimpressed by my pronunciation of "yogur" (yoghurt). My linguist daughter would inform me that the problem is my Standard Southern British accent is non-rhotic. I diminish the R. Motor becomes mo-tuh. Arm becomes aam. A few centuries ago Britain was entirely rhotic, but slowly starting in London, Rs were trimmed, chopped and curtailed. Now English rhotics are an endangered species. Even the rhotic heartlands of Wales have cracked and Scotland has areas of the central belt that are becoming only partially rhotic.
I picked up lunch stuff plus some back up snacks. The day's ride was going to be an up-and-over, but the mapping was inconsistent and it wasn't clear if it was 15km of good track, ok track, or dragging a bike across crags. And it wasn't clear how many of the camp sites in the next valley were open. I wanted to make sure that if I had to change plans, or plot up for the night, I'd have a meal and something for the morning.
On the road at 1005. it would have been 10 on the dot but I found and glued another hole in a pannier. A couple of kilometres on the main drag and I turned off onto a much quieter road. The morning was still cool after some early morning rain. That had soon cleared and the sun was warming up the road. As well as being prudent with food supplies, I wanted to be parsimonious with battery power, using the lowest power.
I got into the zone and just ground through the miles. As I climbed the road got quieter. The ash and oak of the lower valley gave way to pine and juniper. Little lizards darted off the road ahead and butterflies circled me. After an hour I caught up with a male cyclist riding next to two women... road skiers? Like long inline skates. Maybe they were cross country ski athletes. They all looked very athletic. I passed them and continued on to the next village.
They caught up with me while I was filling up my water at the font. Again he quickly shifted to good English. I asked him what the track I was heading for was like, and he reassured me that it was fine. he said that he'd done it on his road bike. This was heartening news.
I ground on for another couple of hours finally stopping for lunch at the church. It had taken 3 hours to go 29km and 1200m in ascent. The area at this first summit was surprisingly busy after only seeing a dozen or so cars going either way. It's a ski resort turned mountain biking place in the summer. There were families with BBQs , and some kind of wheeled dog sled team. The trail across the peaks was very good. Not even that gravelly. Similar to the forest tracks I cycle on in Devon. Passing through thick forest, a break in the trees gave the first sight of the next valleys and ranges ahead.
I made a swift descent down steep, sweeping curved roads. In the planning, I was thinking in terms of getting to, then through, the rough unknown zone of the peaks, on my way to civilised roads. But the reality was that this was the highlight, and ahead was just main road. I stopped briefly at Llavorsi and phoned the next campsite ahead - but they were closed to all but vans. I checked the map and it was 20km to the next cluster of possible places, promisingly next to a lake.
I pulled into the campsite after 5. The very friendly woman showed me to a spot and said the restaurant was open for dinner. I got pitched up, checked in and walked over to them lake to cool off. I had a nice small pipe and floated in the water.
Just finished a fine dinner sitting outside in my warm coat. I'll post this, have another glass of wine, then plan tomorrow. I might even have one of the many herbal teas I was so thoughtful to bring.
La Seu d'Urgell - Saint Joan de l'erm - Vall d'Aneu
80km, 1500m ascent, 77% battery used, 58% human power
Best night sleep so far. Solid 8 hours. I put my audiobook on a 15 minute timer, turned off the light and was out for the count. I've been getting nagging back pain for the last 6 months - which I've only just realised is from driving. I got a new job in social care - all driving based - 6 months ago
Previously I was in front of a screen, or at least in the vicinity of one. 9 days without doing any driving and it's completely fine. It's annoying that they insist you drive. I could definitely bike to half.Walking back to the hotel last night I was asked for a light by someone painting, specifically priming, a shop shutter. In the while it took me to fish my lighter out of a bag on my pocket, we exchanged chat. Again I was amazed and humbled by how good people in this area are with languages. He helpfully advised me that everything was going to be closed on Monday for the national day. This morning, duly warned, I got up, faffed efficiently and walked into town.
There is a clutch of mini markets all within a couple of blocks. I'm guessing they are owned, or at least, run by Moroccans. They were decidedly unimpressed by my pronunciation of "yogur" (yoghurt). My linguist daughter would inform me that the problem is my Standard Southern British accent is non-rhotic. I diminish the R. Motor becomes mo-tuh. Arm becomes aam. A few centuries ago Britain was entirely rhotic, but slowly starting in London, Rs were trimmed, chopped and curtailed. Now English rhotics are an endangered species. Even the rhotic heartlands of Wales have cracked and Scotland has areas of the central belt that are becoming only partially rhotic.
I picked up lunch stuff plus some back up snacks. The day's ride was going to be an up-and-over, but the mapping was inconsistent and it wasn't clear if it was 15km of good track, ok track, or dragging a bike across crags. And it wasn't clear how many of the camp sites in the next valley were open. I wanted to make sure that if I had to change plans, or plot up for the night, I'd have a meal and something for the morning.
On the road at 1005. it would have been 10 on the dot but I found and glued another hole in a pannier. A couple of kilometres on the main drag and I turned off onto a much quieter road. The morning was still cool after some early morning rain. That had soon cleared and the sun was warming up the road. As well as being prudent with food supplies, I wanted to be parsimonious with battery power, using the lowest power.
I got into the zone and just ground through the miles. As I climbed the road got quieter. The ash and oak of the lower valley gave way to pine and juniper. Little lizards darted off the road ahead and butterflies circled me. After an hour I caught up with a male cyclist riding next to two women... road skiers? Like long inline skates. Maybe they were cross country ski athletes. They all looked very athletic. I passed them and continued on to the next village.
They caught up with me while I was filling up my water at the font. Again he quickly shifted to good English. I asked him what the track I was heading for was like, and he reassured me that it was fine. he said that he'd done it on his road bike. This was heartening news.
I ground on for another couple of hours finally stopping for lunch at the church. It had taken 3 hours to go 29km and 1200m in ascent. The area at this first summit was surprisingly busy after only seeing a dozen or so cars going either way. It's a ski resort turned mountain biking place in the summer. There were families with BBQs , and some kind of wheeled dog sled team. The trail across the peaks was very good. Not even that gravelly. Similar to the forest tracks I cycle on in Devon. Passing through thick forest, a break in the trees gave the first sight of the next valleys and ranges ahead.
I made a swift descent down steep, sweeping curved roads. In the planning, I was thinking in terms of getting to, then through, the rough unknown zone of the peaks, on my way to civilised roads. But the reality was that this was the highlight, and ahead was just main road. I stopped briefly at Llavorsi and phoned the next campsite ahead - but they were closed to all but vans. I checked the map and it was 20km to the next cluster of possible places, promisingly next to a lake.
I pulled into the campsite after 5. The very friendly woman showed me to a spot and said the restaurant was open for dinner. I got pitched up, checked in and walked over to them lake to cool off. I had a nice small pipe and floated in the water.
Just finished a fine dinner sitting outside in my warm coat. I'll post this, have another glass of wine, then plan tomorrow. I might even have one of the many herbal teas I was so thoughtful to bring.
DJWrongspeed
radio eros
Very jealous, i'd planned to go through there on my way to Santander last year but the heatwave curtailed my Grand Tour. Another time anyway, looks idyllic cycling.
Idaho
blah blah blah
Day nine
Vall d'Aneu - Vall d'Aran - Vielha
69km, 1200m ascent, 86% battery used, 46% human power
A tough day today. Last night there were flickers and flashes of distant lightning, but the rain didn't arrive until this morning. Ideally I would have got the tent packed away dry, and the bike loaded before the heavens opened. Instead I spent an hour sorting stuff out in the tent to the sound of rain drumming on the fly. Then dashing to the site cafe to eat my breakfast and get a coffee.
The woman running the site is so kind. I asked her where the nearest post office was so I could post back the room key I'd stupidly forgotten to hand in. She said that her son lived near that hotel and was visiting for the day, and he could take it back. What a legend!
I got the bike all packed. Everything went into its respective stuff sack dry - except the tent, which was sopping. I stuffed it in the handle bar bag and hoped the Airbnb later would be roomy enough to dry it out. It was 1130 by the time cycled into the village to pick up lunch items. It wasn't a big day, on paper. A steady climb for 2/3rds then a descent into Vielha. The distance wasn't extreme, and the trail promised to be quiet and scenic.
It was raining. Fatigue has caught up with me and my knee was aching a little on each pedal. All of which wouldn't have played on my mind if I hadn't done the first long term assessment of the full journey the night before. So far, other than two nights in Girona, I have been making it up as I go along. I had deliberately not planned or mapped out where I needed to be by when. Footloose and fancy free. However a reckoning needed to occur. One of the difficulties of traveling across this terrain is that you have limited options about how far you can go. Getting up and over a mountain pass and to the accommodation in the next valley is my limit for the day. There is no way I can do two passes in a day, and in order to refuel body and battery, it's not feasible to do an extra few hours and get halfway up up the middle of nowhere. If the route to the next valley and village is 80km or 50km, then that's what I'm going to do. Perhaps I've underestimated the task a little too.
So I mapped out the days, and is technically possible for me to get to the Atlantic in the time available - but grinding my way slowly up a mountain road in the drizzle, knee twinging and mind whinging - I felt overfaced by the prospect. After over a week of cycling in the heat in shorts and sandals I was suited and booted for the cold and damp. Come on. Get i on with it. To the next stop, regroup and press on.
The road up the high Vall d'Aneu was quiet and pretty. The geology is this rough, flakey orange rock that only seems to support scrubby plants. Yesterday the sun made it seem harsh, barren and arid. In the rain it felt autumnal and confined. I continued past small villages made of the same stone. Further on, a group of cows ran down the road towards me. Many decades of hiking have given me a reasonable feel for the mood of a group of cows. These clearly just wanted to go somewhere down the road. I pulled to the side and they duly merged into single file and trotted past.
I broke open the emergency morale kit. The latest Alan Partridge podcasts. The road faded into mountain track and signs notified you that this is bear territory. The geology changed with haphazard and claustrophobic orange rock giving way to a wider, valley of grey...granite? I'm guessing... I didn't want to repeat the word rock. Would've ruined the flow. The ridge up to right is the French border and the confluence of a few major Pyrenees walking routes. The GR10 running across the French side, the GR11 running across the Spanish, and the HRP - the high altitude route, which shows only loyalty to height and wanders across the three nations seeking it out.
I stopped for lunch and the cowherd and dig appeared. The dog was keen to get on with his job but the herdsman was distracted by a friend pulling up in a 4x4. The dog ran around the car a few times, presumably to feel like some kind of herding was going on.
Pleasant riding, easy track and beautiful alpine scenery. I reached a manned refuge attached to an old church. I bought a coffee and had a rest. The church was not how I expected. Had an arabesque feel. The sun came out as I was leaving and I stopped half a kilometre further on for a performance well known to anyone who's done long distance hiking - laying out a went tent to dry on the fly.
I decided to have a pipe in the hope that added to the sun and coffee, it might kick me into a thinking more positive. It can do that for me. It can also send me down the rabbit hole of my own anxiety, but you pays your money and you takes your chance. I was sensible. Very small taster. Perfect. Aches and worries eased a little and I looked around. The place was beautiful and I was lucky to be there.
Downhill through a huge ski resort. I've never been skiing. The only interaction I have with the sport is wandering past them on summer mountainsides. All incongruous wiring and empty buildings that look like miniature airport terminals. The views as I descended just kept getting better. I couldn't get any momentum as I kept stopping to take pictures.
Eventually the road led to a lovely riverside path into town. Staying in a very traditional pension. Lots of cats and dogs. I know the direction I'm going tomorrow, but need to book a place in the morning and head for it. Going to be another soggy day, potentially. I'm going to break out the Ibuprofen for the first time this trip. Fucking drug friend.
Vall d'Aneu - Vall d'Aran - Vielha
69km, 1200m ascent, 86% battery used, 46% human power
A tough day today. Last night there were flickers and flashes of distant lightning, but the rain didn't arrive until this morning. Ideally I would have got the tent packed away dry, and the bike loaded before the heavens opened. Instead I spent an hour sorting stuff out in the tent to the sound of rain drumming on the fly. Then dashing to the site cafe to eat my breakfast and get a coffee.
The woman running the site is so kind. I asked her where the nearest post office was so I could post back the room key I'd stupidly forgotten to hand in. She said that her son lived near that hotel and was visiting for the day, and he could take it back. What a legend!
I got the bike all packed. Everything went into its respective stuff sack dry - except the tent, which was sopping. I stuffed it in the handle bar bag and hoped the Airbnb later would be roomy enough to dry it out. It was 1130 by the time cycled into the village to pick up lunch items. It wasn't a big day, on paper. A steady climb for 2/3rds then a descent into Vielha. The distance wasn't extreme, and the trail promised to be quiet and scenic.
It was raining. Fatigue has caught up with me and my knee was aching a little on each pedal. All of which wouldn't have played on my mind if I hadn't done the first long term assessment of the full journey the night before. So far, other than two nights in Girona, I have been making it up as I go along. I had deliberately not planned or mapped out where I needed to be by when. Footloose and fancy free. However a reckoning needed to occur. One of the difficulties of traveling across this terrain is that you have limited options about how far you can go. Getting up and over a mountain pass and to the accommodation in the next valley is my limit for the day. There is no way I can do two passes in a day, and in order to refuel body and battery, it's not feasible to do an extra few hours and get halfway up up the middle of nowhere. If the route to the next valley and village is 80km or 50km, then that's what I'm going to do. Perhaps I've underestimated the task a little too.
So I mapped out the days, and is technically possible for me to get to the Atlantic in the time available - but grinding my way slowly up a mountain road in the drizzle, knee twinging and mind whinging - I felt overfaced by the prospect. After over a week of cycling in the heat in shorts and sandals I was suited and booted for the cold and damp. Come on. Get i on with it. To the next stop, regroup and press on.
The road up the high Vall d'Aneu was quiet and pretty. The geology is this rough, flakey orange rock that only seems to support scrubby plants. Yesterday the sun made it seem harsh, barren and arid. In the rain it felt autumnal and confined. I continued past small villages made of the same stone. Further on, a group of cows ran down the road towards me. Many decades of hiking have given me a reasonable feel for the mood of a group of cows. These clearly just wanted to go somewhere down the road. I pulled to the side and they duly merged into single file and trotted past.
I broke open the emergency morale kit. The latest Alan Partridge podcasts. The road faded into mountain track and signs notified you that this is bear territory. The geology changed with haphazard and claustrophobic orange rock giving way to a wider, valley of grey...granite? I'm guessing... I didn't want to repeat the word rock. Would've ruined the flow. The ridge up to right is the French border and the confluence of a few major Pyrenees walking routes. The GR10 running across the French side, the GR11 running across the Spanish, and the HRP - the high altitude route, which shows only loyalty to height and wanders across the three nations seeking it out.
I stopped for lunch and the cowherd and dig appeared. The dog was keen to get on with his job but the herdsman was distracted by a friend pulling up in a 4x4. The dog ran around the car a few times, presumably to feel like some kind of herding was going on.
Pleasant riding, easy track and beautiful alpine scenery. I reached a manned refuge attached to an old church. I bought a coffee and had a rest. The church was not how I expected. Had an arabesque feel. The sun came out as I was leaving and I stopped half a kilometre further on for a performance well known to anyone who's done long distance hiking - laying out a went tent to dry on the fly.
I decided to have a pipe in the hope that added to the sun and coffee, it might kick me into a thinking more positive. It can do that for me. It can also send me down the rabbit hole of my own anxiety, but you pays your money and you takes your chance. I was sensible. Very small taster. Perfect. Aches and worries eased a little and I looked around. The place was beautiful and I was lucky to be there.
Downhill through a huge ski resort. I've never been skiing. The only interaction I have with the sport is wandering past them on summer mountainsides. All incongruous wiring and empty buildings that look like miniature airport terminals. The views as I descended just kept getting better. I couldn't get any momentum as I kept stopping to take pictures.
Eventually the road led to a lovely riverside path into town. Staying in a very traditional pension. Lots of cats and dogs. I know the direction I'm going tomorrow, but need to book a place in the morning and head for it. Going to be another soggy day, potentially. I'm going to break out the Ibuprofen for the first time this trip. Fucking drug friend.
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