Week 8, Shot at by hunters, 7 days of solitude and breaking the 3000 km mark! Total 3048 km

Leaving Tarragona and battling the persistent headwind that has been keeping me company since I crossed into Spain was again making herself apparent, swirling up like clockwork at nine o’clock every morning and letting me know just who was boss in this neck of the woods.

I would become well acquainted with the N 340 heading south and its tributaries off to quaint little towns dotted along the Mediterranean coastline, my home for the next seven days would fluctuate between orange trees and olive bushes both of which made adequate shelter from the N 340 but unfortunately unable to block out the incessant hum of trucks as they moved up and down this busy thoroughfare.

Long windy days of cycling would end with me scouring the countryside for a decent spot to pitch my tent, I woke at sunrise to gun shots as a crazy Spaniard was missioning trigger happy through the fields of Peniscola in search of a trophy for the pot or mantel piece. I gestured to my head as if to say “loco”, a clear case of mistaken identity as my green tent looks absolutely nothing like a deer, he smiled and went on his way.

A week of few words and a huge amount of introspection which served me well as I’m completely convinced I’ve come up with the cure for cancer and at least three ways to eradicate poverty…grin. The countryside is thick with fruit and getting back to budget after Barcelona has been quite easy considering you can practically live off the land if you’re content with artichokes and citrus fruit, thankfully I’m rather partial to both.

Thinking out loud has become my new favourite thing to do as I pass the hours on the road with one sided conversations at this stage, dreading the day I start to answer back. I broke the 3000 km mark one which I vowed not to celebrate with a bottle of wine for each 1000 km cycled and one I’ve stayed true to up until this point, but at 1 euro for a bottle of Spanish plonk, they’re making it difficult to resist the temptation.

European soil is quickly coming to an end as I reach close to the halfway point of my fifth and final country in Europe, Morocco looms in the ever nearing horizon, I can feel Mamma Africa’s pull growing ever stronger with each week. Currently in Valencia, a city with two faces, one of historical beauty and one of surreal modernism as the existing river bed that runs from the old quarter down to the port is littered with some of the most abstract modern architecture I’ve seen to date but the first city I’ve walked through in Europe where you can pick oranges in the city center, again something I’ve become quite fond of.

Adios for now, see you in a week

Tags: 7 days of solitude and breaking the 3000 km mark! Total 3048 km, Shot at by hunters, Week 8

Week 7, Rest week, mechanical tweaks in Barcelona & gorging on Gaudi Total 2694 km.

Week 7 saw me rest my weary legs in Barcelona and attempt to tackle some mechanical glitches before continuing on the journey south. A week that I spent catching up on the journal, gorging on Gaudi and getting some creative footage on the camcorder. Not a huge amount of pavement crunching to write home about but I did manage to clock up 143 km, pick up 2 kg’s and track down an expatriate journalist that hails from the Capital Times in the land of the long white cloud (New Zealand) to do a piece for us on bicycle culture in Barcelona, “Possibly the most alluring city in Europe” according to the Barcelona top ten travel guide.

My one day of cycling that I couldn’t resist in my week off, was from Barcelona to Tarragona, fighting a constant headwind which I’m starting to think might be keeping me company more than I’d like on this coast along the Mediterranean shores of Spain. Battling the wind and some huge trucks as we vied for space on the major arteries leaving Barcelona, I found myself on a long stretch of urban sprawl along the freeway and was forced to pitch tent under a bridge on the highway, a sharp reminder that this trip is no vacation and although the route may be one of a desired nature for holiday makers from around the globe, travelling it by bike is another kettle of fish all together. 

GUEST BLOG: Words for the wayward wheeler

Kayden has been residing in my adopted home of Barcelona for a week, and this metropolis of 2.5 million is doing many good things Global Wheelers would applaud. However, to understand Barcelona you need to grasp what gives this ancient Mediterranean city its impetus. In the local Catalan tongue “Seny i Rauxa”, roughly translated as “common sense and wisdom”, give this city its momentum.

That driving force gave birth to Barcelona’s public biking service, BICING, and the wisdom of locals has helped to maintain and respect it. Barcelona has always been a city of distinct communities, and by using their common sense these communities are helping to serve their residents’ needs. The freedom of travel is one of the foundations of building any community.

In Barcelona BICING is an optional service that you join for 30 Euro per year. With your BICING Card you can check out bikes from Stands all over town. You need to return the bike to another Stand within 30 minutes otherwise 50 cents is charged to the credit card you signed up with. And it’s not just commuters who utilise the service. You will see groups of people taking the bikes out for exercise, and in place of the classic Spanish Paseo (evening walk); many people go for a BICING.

BICING is a pillar of strength in this city: it not only allows communities to travel, but it gives people a sense of community, a sense that they are valued in this city, and that they have a stake it making this city a good place to live. Providing a public bike service makes sense economically, socially and philosophically – especially in these times.

Jamie Melbourne-Hayward

www.byacereporter.blogspot.com

Tags: mechanical tweaks in Barcelona & gauging on Gaudi Total 2694 km., Rest week, Week 7

Week 6, Au revoir France, first sighting of the Mediterranean, flirting with the Pyrenees & Ola Espanya Total 2551 km

Week six comprised of the most beautiful and challenging riding to date; Montpellier to Barcelona. Leaving Montpellier on the Tuesday morning bound for the Mediterranean coastline and affirmation of warmer climes, my last French flutter on this journey and a stretch that would see me contemplate my time spent on French soil and all the highs and lows it brought. I made my way down to Se’te in some rather windy conditions, giddy like a child as I first laid eyes on the Med, a major milestone and definite psychological landmark, I had officially reached warmer conditions and the residents of Se’te were well aware of it as I celebrated in a rather loud fashion screaming at the top of lungs YEAH BABY!!!!

I set up camp that night on the verge of the Canal du Midi just outside Beziers, I had been convinced to follow the canal inland by an enthusiastic retiree that knew the region well and travelled the canals regularly in his houseboat. I had cycled a little too close to the town of Beziers to find a secluded spot to pitch my tent that night and struggled to find a hidden patch of grass to lay my head as most spots around the town centre that showed promise were taken by gypsies and they didn’t seem too keen on my late arrival. I searched well into dark for a patch before finding what seemed a suitable enough spot under the conditions, not too convinced by its vulnerable location I slept with the bike in the tent that night and rose early before sunrise to ensure a swift and friction free exit out of Beziers a town I didn’t even  bother to visit.

Towards Narbonne where I was determined to pop into one last decent Boulangerie (French bakery) before my crossing into Spanish territory, a pleasant surprise as I cycled into a beautiful town with canals and stunning old architecture, had my lust for the salted sea air of the Mediterranean not been so strong I might have hung around long enough to scoff my French baguette that was now stuffed into my pannier accompanied by a wedge of cheese en route to the beach. I followed another canal out of Narbonne towards Port-la-Nouvelle and onward to Canet-Plage on the coast. I was now back on the coastline and flanked by kitsch newly built beach villas, a far cry from the jaw dropping French architecture I had grown accustom to further north. My last night on French soil was nothing less than a fairytale, I had traversed roughly 1300 km’s in France, the sun was setting over the Pyrenees mountains  I could hear the Med crashing on the shore and I was wolfing down my final baguette and block of French cheese as I crawled into my tent for the night.

From Collioure south, the Med and the Pyrenees merge in a breathtaking, leg breaking stretch, a rollercoaster of long climbs and equally long descends, snaking along the coastline as you seem to spend more time going up and down than actually moving forward, not too fased by my lack of progress and completely awed by my surroundings I was given a little kiss goodbye as I broke a spoke on the very last climb out of France, she wasn’t content without a parting embrace as she forced me to take a little time out to replace a spoke on my back wheel and have one last gaze over her majestic coastline.

Wheel mended, I climbed up and over the pass to cross into Spain my second burst of jubilation for the week as I ticked another box and crossed into new territory, my fifth country on this trip with 2331 km’s on the clock. Quickly reminded by the slower pace of life in this neck of the woods as I meandered down into Portbou to find everything closed and the streets empty as people took their afternoon siesta. A huge climb into the mountains to sleep under wild olive trees just outside Cadoques that night. Sweeping down a 6km descent out the Pyrenees into the valley near Roses to cut across the peninsular and back to the coast near Palamos, I was now hugging the Spanish Med which was littered with a combination of tacky caravan parks and gorgeous secluded stretches of coastline running the Tossa De Mar, probably the most challenging but beautiful stretch of the ride so far. I rolled into Barcelona on Saturday afternoon a very tired and hungry man after an extremely beautiful but testing 470 km slog for the week and a little closer to understanding the real meaning of hunger.

Tags: Au revoir France, first sighting of the Mediterranean, flirting with the Pyrenees & Ola Espanya Total 2551 km, Week 6

Week 5, Lyon to Montpellier, mixed emotions, detours and couch surfing. Total 2081 km’s

Week 5, Lyon to Montpellier, mixed emotions, detours and couch surfing. Total 2081 km’s, a mixed bag of emotions bringing highs and lows in many forms. I woke early on Monday morning, a public holiday in France and the streets of Lyon were eerily quiet, excited by the fact that the Global Wheeling Foundation was planting 100 trees in an RDP development outside Hermanus in the Western Cape that day. One last scan over the emails before I would be unplugged again for a while, I opened my inbox to be confronted by the worst kind of email, a friend had passed away before his time. His family was based in Grenoble, 140 km’s east of Lyon so I decided to head in that direction instead of my original and planned route south to Valence. A fairly late arrival in Grenoble after a long 140 km day in windy conditions to try track down his parents whom I’d never met before to pay my respects, I was greeted by snowcapped Alps and chilly conditions.

Leaving Grenoble on the Tuesday took some time but I was blessed with a gorgeous cycle path hugging the Isere river snaking back towards Valence where I had arranged accommodation with a young family for the evening through an online platform that puts hosts and long distance cyclists in touch, a bit like couch surfing but for cyclists. I arrived in Valence after dark that evening, 110 km in the saddle through some rather serious climbs on the edge of the Alps to be met by a bubbling young household of enthusiastic cyclists. We rambled about bike travel and all it’s in and outs, they had clocked up a few km’s through Europe themselves and we discussed different routes and options heading south.

Valence was short lived on my quest for the sun which was now becoming a bit more of a reality. I finally made it south of the frost which was met with jubilation as I woke just outside Bourg Saint Andeol, expecting the worst as I crawled out my tent to slightly more livable conditions, dew instead of frost. I had crossed over the Rhone river and was meandering through the Ardeche mountain range, heading south at a rather slow but steady pace.

Hugging the Rhone down through Pont Saint Esprit, I set up camp about 3 km’s out of Nimes. I was celebrating reaching the 2000 km mark and had picked up not one but two bottles of red wine, one for each thousand kilometers travelled a tradition I started in Rocroi in the north of France when I broke the 1000 km mark with one bottle, but a tradition I doubt will be carried over to the 3000 mark.

I spent a sunny day in Nimes, a gorgeous little city in the south, and one with the only fully functional matador arena in France. The Mediterranean was getting close, I could almost smell it in the air. The vegetation had changed to a much hardier type of lower lying bush appose to the taller wooded areas I had become accustom to in the north, camping was different in these conditions and finding suitable hiding places was becoming a bit trickier.

From Nimes I made the short journey south to Montpellier, my last of the french cities I would pass through on this journey, I was south of the frost but not out of the cold just yet, camping about 5km outside the city under a bridge to avoid paying for accommodation and travelling into the city during the days before retreating back to my secluded and less built up spot in the night.My final blog on French soil next one due from sunny Spain

Week 5, dedicated to Fabien, may your journey to the next place be a sound one, bon voyage brother.

Tags: detours and couch surfing. Total 2081 km's, Lyon to Montpellier, mixed emotions, Week 5