The Pain in Spain
by harvey tyson
930 words plus 100-word ‘Travel Tips’ panel.
Cycling from the snowy Pyrenees in the north, to the snows of the Sierra Nevadas in southern Spain, is about the coolest thing a traveller can do these days. Much cooler than riding a camel in Araby. But to survive as a gentle cyclist in Iberia, you need to know three secrets.
This applies especially for those like the six veteran (now somewhat vintage) riders of the notorious Tour de Farce. One of the team, a two-metre-plus lumberjack in his youth who was felled by a giant redwood in the previous century, suffered an old back-pain that became an unbearable agony on high climbs. Another rider felt crucifying pain in his hips when he pedalled, but worse pain in his ankles when he pushed. A third complained that his ‘flu was failing to kill him fast enough as he gasped his way up a seeming cliff.
And this occurred when we had hardly left the famous Benedictine Monastery at Ripoll on the opening “downhill” run!
Regrettably we took a wrong turn, as usual, and climbed a long hill which we had to descend. Starting again, we soon bumped into a little tavern where we tarried for a small beer. Two large beers later we found ourselves climbing a hill that curled upwards for six-and-a-half kilometres without a single flat foot of respite.
The reward – almost too late to enjoy – was to free-wheel for miles down a mountain ridge with serried peaks to left and right and the Pyrenean snows on the near horizon. By the time we reached the bottom we were so cold we ordered hot coffee at the local inn. The innkeeper laced it heavily with brandy, “to stop shivers”. Horrors! We lingered awhile to protest, then rode on to spend our first cycling night in Spain in the picturesque village of Olot.
The first secret of survival was discovered next morning. It lay in carefully selected rutas. We had sampled the Ruta del Ferro momentarily the day before. Now we had the Ruta del Carrilet – both routes being derelict mountain railway lines engineered with inclines of no more than 3deg., and transformed into sandy flower-lined cycle-paths with countless causeways leaping the deep, narrow ravines. Our 65km ride was almost all gently downhill to Girona, through beech forests; oak and pine forests; along hedgerows in the sun with birdsong so loud it drowned our obsessive conversations about personal ills and aches.
Girona is a medieval city in the hills above Barcelona, surprisingly modish and full of style where old folks are almost invisible and the crowds consist of laughing young men and pretty girls. It is relatively off the tourist track and well worth a detour. You should be there at market time, when the stalls outside the boutiques are selling everything from 16th century paintings to miniature flying-saucers.
Fear not the future ride, for it meanders mainly through the hills on the level old rail-path, bridging gorges, hugging shady forests and freewheeling between fields of wheat, barley, fruit and vegetables. . . with yellow broom, red poppies and multicoloured flora marking your way until you finally reach the Costa Brava.
Our L*E*A*D*E*R managed to avoid falling into the Mediterranean by crashing into a brick wall and jamming his pedal deep into his leg. “Doesn’t hurt a bit” he said bravely to the comely doctor who stitched him up. He didn’t even mention his other old pains.
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The second secret to riding is to make use of the Iberian express trains. Dump your bikes and travel at over 250km\h across the plains of Spain via Madrid to Cordoba. You will miss cycling where the land is beautifully flat forever, and raging bulls speed you on your way. But you can’t have everything.
Cordoba is much more Moorish. From here you can chose a number of scenic cycle routes.
But remember our third secret. We happened upon a cycling company that provides unimaginable extras – including a bus!
Our ride to Granada also included a badly needed Ruta – the Via Verde, a level track beneath the cliffs, winding past Spanish castles and above vast Olive groves. It was one of the most enjoyable journeys in all our rides across Europe.
The fourth day – still in the natural park of Sierras Subbeticas - took us over wild hills, then dropped us down, down into a deep valley with no visible exit. . . until one removed one’s helmet and sun-peak to peer up at a road disappearing into the sky. It seemed to us we were now trapped in the heat of the day, in a below-sea-level, god-forsaken sinkhole.
God knew better, for it was a religious feast-day in Algarinejo, and the locals were celebrating. The cathedral was packed. Outside, caballeros in full costume clattered their horses across the cobblestones, pointing at favourite senoritas in bum-clinging, flaring flamenco dresses. Mules, tractors and cars were linked to carts carrying everything from statues of Jesus to crates of wine, flowers and myriad children. It was a genuine celebration of Spring and we alien cyclists were the only witnesses. We were plied with sherry and invited to join in.
Only because we had a bike-carrying bus did we ever get out of there . . . Once on the skyline above the rim of the valley, we freewheeled towards Granada on the longest constant down-hill we have ever experienced. Nearly 12 kms, speeding down flower-bedecked curves with no traffic in sight.
The best was still to come at the end of our journey: hot springs and gentle massages in the Hammam, Granada’s famous old Moorish baths.
PANEL OF ‘TRAVEL TIPS’
- Travel light, without bike. Take BA to London and Madrid, and take time to vist (1) Restavrante Botin, “Earliest restaurant in the world” or (2) Le Broche “one of the best in the world” or (3) La Favorita with its singing waiters.
- Bikes and reservations around the world. In South Africa, contact:
Serena Cartwright, Tel / Fax 021 790 2207. - She advised using
- Sherpa Expeditions, UK, Fax 020-8572-9788 for Pyrenees, and we also chose
- Cycling through the Centuries: www.cycling-centuries.com for brilliant service in Andalucia.
- For a visit to the Alhambra in Granada, phone-book a day in advance to avoid queuing fruitlessly from dawn |
