Catalan Capers
/Els Angels, Dali & the US Postal team, from Girona before it was famous.
Following on from an afternoon spent prowling around the enthralling Salvador Dali museum and an evening of extra heavy red wine consumption I hit the road and headed through the mist for the city of Girona. I was bound for a mid morning coffee meeting and a ride out with the local road gang, a bunch of the cities celebrated local pro’s – who were about to show me around the areas back roads, and open the window to a honeycomb of great Catalan riding. Many of these roads are the very same strips that have been honing Lance Armstrong’s tour preparations in recent years. You couldn’t really ask for a better panel of guides than these guys.
That morning the coffee shop ride meet ritual was more like a scene from MASH than a meeting of some of the worlds top bike racers. George Hincapie was sidelined completely with a virus, Michael Barry was coughing like diesel loco, and the rest of the gang were either recovering from or just starting with spring colds – yours truly included.
Girona is one of northern Spain’s most impressive medieval cities, and is also home to a huge migratory band of expat pro bike racers. Luckily, for the rest of us, Lance was out of town on some insane high mileage training camp, stacking up on pre-tour miles. That at least meant that everybody could recover some at a slightly more dignified pace!
A chilly night had left a spook mist over the surrounding hills, so a late coffee charged start was called for, and there were no objections offered! Many years before I’d pedaled through the lanes and back roads where the guys now train, and where they were suggesting we head for on our great ride. From memory there were some long and grueling climbs out there, and poring over the maps confirmed my fears, though thankfully the hills to the east of town don’t reach too far into the sky.
Our loose itinerary was to head south out of town then hit the hilly back roads towards the coast and then loop back in. Everyone was in a different state of repair that day, so this was going to fragment along the road, but either way it was set to be a great introduction to this superb cycling area.
Leaving the traffic behind isn’t hard in these parts; within a few minutes of leaving the city behind we turned left on to the climb of Els Angels, a 12-km gentle climb out above Girona. This road is often used in the Setmana Catalan and the Catalan Rally, and is a regular fixture on local training rides. It’s quite amazing how the traffic just dries up, and we were going to see more cyclists than cars for the rest of the ride.
Passing through the emerging spring blossom the road rises through the forest before weaving its way back down towards the hill top town of La Bisbal. A long straight road draws you in towards this town, and it’s quite some sight. The scenery and landscape here is a real contrast to that expected of Spain; Sweeping green fields, and spring leaf bare trees line the route while the road flattens out for a while. Thankfully it’s well out of tourist season, so the coastal road is relatively traffic free, which is a real treat. The section along to Tossa is fantastic, and has some great rugged Costa Brava views, though mid summer this section is a definite no bike zone!
Turning right in Tossa we head back towards Girona, along a gently climbing valley, which I’d suffered up many a time in the past. The final section of the ride can often be a real grovel. With several hours in your legs by the time you get there you often find that you have a head wind for company, but I guess you always do when you’re stuffed, it’s a kind of unwritten law of bike riding.
At this time of year this and it’s variants are a regular fixture on the local pro’s training schedules, and it makes for a great big day out for us mere mortals. Whichever way you choose to ride out around here you’re guaranteed a great riding and fantastic countryside, and it’s all so easy to find too.
Me? Just time for one last glass of wine and slap up meal before leaving the boys in blue and the sun behind as the big white bird takes me home to the wet and wild spring of Wales. Life just ain’t fair sometimes, bummer…