The Camino Catalan, an attempt
You can live in Spain, but still - in November the rain beats against the windows here too. Just when I'm considering booking a ticket to the tropics, I get a text from Luke from Bristol. 'Hey, I'm tempted to do a bike trip from Girona. Want to join?'.
A few days later - on Saturday - Luke enters my house in Girona. It's pouring rain outside - the city's river is now at historic heights and runs like a roaring stream of peanut butter through the city. Luke doesn't care and has a plan. Earlier that year he cycled a Camino route from Pamplona and he now shows me that you can start a 'Camino' (pilgrim route) from almost anywhere in Spain.
We zoom in on the Camino Catalan which runs from the Mediterranean Sea via Girona to the west and ultimately Santiago de Compostela. I think it's a great plan and we decide to plan two routes. A first stage to Vic and a second stage to the famous monastery of Montserrat. From there you can pick up the 'Camino' and follow the famous shells.
The road bike is not an option if we want to follow the pilgrims route. We are going on an off-road bikepacking trip on two rented mountain bikes.
It's a wonderful feeling to set off from home with your bike. It is a grey Monday, but the autumn colours give everything a golden glow.
We finish the first stage in Vic. An elegant place with a beautiful central square. Sausages are important in Vic and the surrounding area - and you can buy them here in shops that display their wares from shops that look like jewellery stores.
On Tuesday morning we are out on our bikes early to make the most of the day before the weather gets worse. It's mushroom season in Catalonia. Old men cruise through the woods in minivans and follow their noses with a wicker basket. The roads in the forests have become red mudslides due to the rain and our bikes have almost no grip.
When we end up in front of an electric fence, it also starts to rain. Great. Earlier in the day we started with a beautiful climb from Vic and were surprised by some stunning light. Now, Luke decides to brave the fence and canonize the shells - you follow what you should follow. And I follow him.
It is a day of wet socks, multiple coffee stops and six hours in the saddle. Just before we decide that we are done with this day we receive a gift. The view of the Montserrat mountain range and the asphalted descent to the town of Monistrol de Montserrat. What a dream to finish after spending most of the day in the trenches of some Catalan forests.
Day three goes off with a bang. The climb to the Montserrat monastery starts directly from the hotel. Dense fog when we leave and start the climb. We rise slowly into a white world. And then, after a few kilometres, we see a mighty rock wall looming in front of us. Pointed rocks surrounded by white cotton wool clouds and deep blue sky. We are cycling towards a miracle.
The climb to Montserrat is the highlight of our Camino. The magnificent climb and then the contrast at the top where you are surrounded by selfie sticks and flag-following-Asians. It is at that moment that Luke mentions the opening sentence of The Rider, the famous book by Tim Krabbé. “I take my gear out of the car and put my bike together. Tourists and locals are watching from sidewalk cafés. Non-racers. The emptiness of those lives shocks me."
We continue cycling, enjoying and cursing wholeheartedly as we plough on, stuck in the mud. We pass the town of Cervera - the birthplace of MotoGP rider Marc Marquez. We drink coffee in the bar where a museum and fan shop about Marquez has been set up.
In Tarrega, we ring the bell at an apartment. Spacious and not expensive - well-found. Still, there is a bad smell of smoke and incense, the heating appears to be broken and the host enters our bedroom unannounced. When we return from the city, our drying cycling clothes have been removed from the room. They will be washed after payment of five euros. Right. The next day, when we get our clothes back from the man they smell like chorizo.
We don’t pay the five euros for our clothes and decide to spend money on breakfast before we leave Tarrega as quickly as possible. We are on our way to Lleida. We are making good speed because after Lleida the desert awaits and that prospect does not warm us up.
We reach Lleida just before twelve o'clock. One of the oldest Catalan cities - located at the beginning of a kind of sunken plateau. At the big old castle in the middle of the city, we drive into a sign - literally. It is an image of all Camino routes in this region.
Half an hour later everything is different and the desert is forgotten. Luke and I are going to Tarragona - to the sea. The prospect of the beach, sardines and a sunny rest day on Saturday is impossible to ignore. The emptiness after Lleida, flat land with a headwind, is not a prospect to long for.
Ultimately, we cycle 110 km this day and finish exhausted in the mountain village of Rocallaura. This is 17 km as the crow flies from our starting point Tarrega. You better laugh about that. At the edge of the village, we find an enormous spa hotel. Luxury in everything, but dirt cheap. We eat in the village in Rocallaura Cafe - a lot more atmospheric than the hotel restaurant. A girl from South America turns out to be running the cafe after Barcelona became too busy - somehow I understand that.
A day later we plough on our bikes through the rain and over muddy paths, looking for Camino signs. We finish with - only - 70 kilometres early in Tarragona. Our host Xavier is already standing in the doorway at the hotel. We, friends, should come in quickly. Bags on a rug, bicycles by the heater and 'listen boys, you enjoy Tarragona - my beautiful city'. Hotel Pigal, in any case, gives a warm welcome. Sardines and paella in the harbour complete it - after all, this is a holiday.
Saturday - exactly one week after we decided to follow the Camino route. We cruise through Tarragona on our Bianchi's. What a lovely city this is. Not too big, by the sea, with no tourists and with many old buildings in the centre. Tarragona only becomes more beautiful as we slalom through restless Barcelona in the evening. We took the train in the afternoon to the departure point of our last stage.
On Sunday we get up at 7:30 am. We follow a route from Cyclocat, which organises an annual tour for MTB and gravel riders between Barcelona and Girona. The route starts on the outskirts of Barcelona, but before we get there we have already cycled for 45 minutes through the city.
It will be the longest day of the week - and also the toughest. It is quite a mental battle to complete the last leg of this trip. Luke, with a limping knee, pedals himself into Girona on one leg.
After more than 115 km we stumble into the house. We are tired, very tired - after six days of battling against wind, rain and mud. We lost the pilgrim trail after Lleida and our sacred route slowly disappeared into the background. What remained was hunger, thirst, dirty bikes and yet... a memorable adventure.