Art of Travel: Paris to Madrid

Day Fourteen

Dreamt that the boys from next door were painting the air blue by shouting profanities ( that I better not print here) whilst taking turns to ride Art around the campsite. Girona is a beautiful city. The old city still retains its medieval origins in its architecture and street plans. I find the city so appealing that I have decided to spend two days here. It’s lifted my spirits.

The campsite owner told me about a cycle track along the route of a disused railway line, which can be picked up five minutes from the campsite, stretching all the way to Girona and beyond. It certainly beats the stress and hassle of riding Art alongside speeding traffic. The downside of it is not being able to ride as fast as I would do on the road since the cycle track’s surface is a wee bit irregular, but any drawback resulting from the additional journey time is superseded by the pleasure gained from meandering leisurely through the early Summer countryside.

I managed to buy some grease (graso) and twenty ball bearings (bolas) for Art in a shop which, the owner informed me, had been situated on the same spot in Girona for one hundred and twenty-six years. He told me a lot more besides, but I couldn’t understand what on earth he was saying. I was prepared to smile and nod my head politely while listening to him rabbit on because we had time on our hands. He had to wait for his wife to return because his eyesight was too bad to see where the appropriately sized ball bearings were kept, and where ever she went she had been gone an awfully long time (or so it seemed to me, stuck in a small, dark, one hundred and twenty six year old bicycle shop with an equally ancient owner whom I was unable to communicate with).

The sun has been shining for most of the day, with a light breeze blowing, which always helps to lift the spirits. I’ve been consulting what looks like an accurate map of the surrounding area on the wall of the camp toilet. It indicates the degree to which the roads twist and turn, hence suggesting the incline of the roads. Thinking both tactically and realistically about the final chapter of my ride to Barcelona, and considering Art s fragility and unknown life expectancy it would be prudent to avoid long hill decents as much as possible. Therefore I am not going to Tossa del Mar as originally planned since, according to the map, the road leading out there looks like a seismographic reading from a major earth tremor. Instead I’m going to take the cycle track to llagostera then head south-west along the C253 until it intersects the N11 heading south, allowing me to pick up the coast road to the fishing village of “Calella”. According to The Rough Guide that will place me approximately half way between Girona and Barcelona.

Today I began taking photographs around the streets of Girona almost out of a sense of obligation, but I pulled myself up after three or so. They were just your average tourist shots that had been adequately catered for in the various leaflets and booklets I had picked up or bought from the scattering of museums and other places of interest I had visited. I did, however, find some worthwhile graffiti to record.

 

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