- Distance: 88,53 km
- Vertical Ascent: 1.089 m
- No. of Named Cols: <TBC>
- Start Date & Time: 2019-10-11, 12:26
- Start Location: El Port de la Selva
- End Date & Time: 2019-10-11, 20:15
- End Location: Amélie-les-Bains
- Time Moving: 5:04:23
- Moving Average: 17,5 km/h
- No. of Stops >3 Minutes: 11
Data: strava.com/activities/2780818292
Today was not good. It wasn’t catastrophic either. I’m OK. Physically could have continued right into the night. Yet, after dealing with drivetrain noises (again!), and losing time isolating and eventually locating the source, I needed an early break. Preferably somewhere I knew I’d be very welcome and treated like a friend.
But let’s start from the beginning. After a good-night’s sleep in my far too expensive hotel room in El Port de la Selva:
As most of these mornings I was alone in the breakfast room. Maybe some other guests had taken theirs really early: having promised photos of the sunrise in El Port de la Selva, and because breakfast was only served from 08:00, I missed the first 15 or 20 minutes.
But the light at dawn created the colors I expected, and while it was a bit cold for just walking around or kneeling with my iPhone, I found myself taking lots of stills of maritime details … being from close to the sea and with my early childhood memories often related to trips to fishing towns, the huge sea wall (“Deich”) and tiny islands in East Frisia (“Ostfriesland”) that certainly were big enough for me as a kid, these minutes were well-spent.
One thought with regard to a good but mostly unremarkable breakfast:
Why have two or three different machines for espresso-style coffee, and even design them so they appear as “the real thing”, when in fact all are either fully automated an/or capsule-based?! I am willing to pay (extra) for freshly brewed espresso or cappuccino and the artisan part of the coffee-making ceremony. — But the friendly barista immediately understood my pain and at least pointed me to the one machine that produced what he considered the best overall quality …
Having checked-out of the hotel I went directly back to the central market square that over the past hour and a half had turned really busy with booths of every kind. It wasn’t one of those noisy and bustling places one probably imagines when thinking about, like souks in the Middle East. But it was colorful and I would have enjoyed some exploring and haggling, weren’t my mesh bag still full of pastries and pizza.
I pushed my bike through some adjoining streets that made up the main shopping area of El Port de la Selva to find a pharmacy to purchase 50+ UPF sunscreen. The half-empty 50 ml bottle I had brought from home had carried me through half the TPR, thanks to my arm and leg sun protectors. Of course at the pharmacy they first showed me a 25+ € product. But, heck, i don’t spend 2,5 times what I had paid for a top-level branded product wit the same specifications back home. So, I convincingly played the part of the outraged/well-informed/disappointed/desperate/half-broke wannabe customer … and got a “generic” but also 50+ UPF hypoallergenic cream for half the price.
I also needed to isolate the (new) clicking sound from the drivetrain that had annoyed me most of yesterday. At first I had suspected the cleats, so double-checked them again. No issues. They looked good and the bolts were properly tightened. I checked the chainring bolts again, as well as the pedals — they too didn’t show any hint of failure or anything being loose. But, when I tested the cranks vs. the bottom bracket (again), I noticed an ever so minuscule play when exerting a lot of force along the crank arm. Apparently, the bolts fixing the crank arms to the BB30 axle needed to be tightened. But, of course, it could also be something else entirely.
Every time something is dis- and then re-assembled, there’s a chance of human error or simply bad luck: dirt may be introduced, parts may not be 100% correctly aligned or fastened properly and, eventually, fail. What I feared was to worsen the situation over the second half of the race (and to completely destroy my motivation along the way). Having noticed the play, presumably between crank arms and axle, meant I could point a mechanic in some direction. I needed a bike shop as I didn’t have the tools to tighten the bolts myself, and they could then probably also have a look at my front brake: on descents I had noticed a strange stuttering feeling when braking harder than just a little bit. And the tendency for this stuttering to occur seemed to have increased over the past week.
Of course, while at it, I also cleaned and lubed the chain and gave everything a quick check while enjoying a view of the harbor. Unfortunately, the fresh and salty breeze relented more and more, and towards late morning the air turned thick and humid. When I left El Port de la Selva, what initially had promised to be a nice ride along the Mediterranean coastline became one of the journeys I would like less of all the TPR.
From El Port de la Selva I first followed the GI-612 to Port where it linked up to the N-260 again. And as The-N260, the “Eje Pirenaico”, is the main “trans pyrenees” thoroughfare, traffic was awful. One RV followed another, plus trucks, buses, SUVs, “normal” cars and groups of motorcycles. I mean, there were times inbetween without any motor vehicle, but merely a very few minutes max.
Don’t get me wrong: The landscape was what I had expected. Yes, I did have the Mediterranean to my right for a while. The views down and out to the sea were a welcome change from the high mountains that lay behind and before me. To take pictures I always waited for a moment without cars: I really wanted to enjoy the views of the landscape without the permanent roar of engines and noise of wide wheels on tarmac.
On one occasion, just before entering the tunnel under Coll Del Frare towards Portbou, I came across an 80’s VW Transporter turned camper van with a registration plate from Mannheim (“MA-(…)”), i.e. the same city I live in. I chatted for a short while with the owner, an elderly lady who had just been chased out of Banyuls-sur-Mer by police for wild parking/camping close to a beach. And in all the confusion, a water tank she had forgotten to secure had overturned and now the inside of the van was dripping wet.
She countered my comment on the plywood needing to dry properly, totally relaxed: “Ah, with all the wine spilled over the past 35 years that wood is fine!” We shook hands and on I went. If there was to be any chance to complete Parcours D today, especially with my plan to see a bike mechanic, I should stop stopping so much.
Ah, one detail I forgot to mention: In many places in Catalunya and also in Pays catalan, on the French side, yellow ribbons (or graffiti thereof) decorate public places, road structures, buildings, etc. Those yellow ribbons symbolize solidarity with incarcerated members of the Catalán independence movement. And I am still a bit perplexed about finding them so frequently over so wide an area: from early on when I first entered Catalunya, around day three or four in Senterada, then again when passing through Ur and close by Llívia towards Font-Romeu-Odeillo-Via, and so on.
Crossing from Spain into France was totally unspectacular. From Portbou to Cerbères the N-260 morphs into D914 at the border. I forgot to snap a picture of the former border posts on the Coll Dels Belitres. Anyway, imagine tiny houses of stone and concrete, a bit resembling miniature castles. But I was quietly counting down the kilometres until I would have this totally nerve-wracking “click, click, click” from my cranks resolved.
And I could really use a quiet mountain road into the solitude of the Pyrenees again.
Pity, for the weather seemed to improve slightly. While there still were heavy clouds inland, the sun had forced its way through on the coast and the air was drying up a bit, yet still too humid for my taste.
Like the two border towns Le Perthus (France) and La Jonqueira (Spain) for cars, Cerbères and Portbou are crucial parts of the railway infrastructure: Viewed from above, they seem to be made up in large part of railway lines.
Cerbères is also one of the two endpoints of the official Raid Pyrénéen, with Hendaye on the Atlantic coast being the other. For the inaugural edition of the Trans Pyrenees Race most of the return route was based on this long distance cycling route, created in 1950 by the Cyclo Club Béarnais.
For anyone interested: Every year hundreds of Cyclists of all ages register for the original Raid Pyrénéen to complete it in two distinct variants:
- Randonneur: 720 km, 18 cols, 11.000 meters of vertical ascent — all in a maximum of 100 hours
- Touriste: 800 km, 28 cols, 28.000 meters of vertical ascent — in 10 days (10x 24 hours)
I changed from the D914 onto the D114 shortly before Port-Vendres and continued to Collioure, where I spent a small fortune on pastries and pizza at La Guyoche. The Google reviews (from 1 to 5 points/stars) paint an accurate picture of this boulangerie-patisserie, located right across from the old harbour, royal castle and the “Torre d’Avall”.
This medieval watchtower in the past served additional purposes, that of a lighthouse and maybe also of a toll station. Collioure has quite a long history as a strategically important fortified settlement, and it shows, with remnants of fortifications in the hills all around.
Although, way back in January, I had planned this route along the coast to be a deliberate detour, now my journey took me further off-track, into an industrial zone at Argelès-sur-Mer, to a bike shop that (on the Internet) seemed equipped to deal with my troubles. And I really needed to get there — if only for some peace of mind …
Finding the bike shop was pretty straightforward, and my hopes were up to potentially resolve not only one but two issues in one fell swoop. But the shop was busy. Less than ideal.
When I demonstrated how to reproduce the “click”, the mechanic removed the left crank bolt and was about to remove the crank itself. Being more familiar with bikes and parts from the brands they sold, after a few moments he resigned stating that he would need some special tools: “Ah, Cannondale, no I will not touch that.” — He retightened the bolt and, in a somewhat frustrated manner, signalled me to move on as the issue was not life threatening or in any other way critical. From the way he and his boss were observing each other (and as I obviously did not have an appointment) I concluded that asking for more help was out of the question. I should try to find another bike shop to take care of my front brake.
The one lesson I took from this episode is that proprietary standards, and especially proprietary tools are bad. Most of the time. Even more so if they concern crucial parts of the bike. I mean: it should be a no-brainer that essential components and pieces that are subject to wear (chains, chainrings, cassettes and their supporting parts like cranksets, hubs and axles) must not require brand-specific tools to service. Innovation is obviously a good thing, but it appears that in a time where all big bike companies design their own line of components, brand-specific, tighter integration wins over maximum compatibility. With the result that bike shops have a hard time supporting a wide range of brands. That cannot be good.
Outside the weather was making a u-turn: rain clouds creeping in from all sides, I actually felt a few first drops on my hands. This certainly didn’t help, and I decided it was a good idea to (a) eat some pastries and (b) facetime Florian in an effort to brighten my mood. Maybe the rain would also lose interest in ruining my day altogether.
Silly as it sounds, whenever there was a situation where I could have imagined just quitting, this was it:
The history of my bike is all centered around drivetrain noise, especially the one originating at the all-important bottom bracket.
Around 2014, after close to two decades without long-distance rides, actually mostly without using bikes at all, I felt cycling could be an ideal counterpart to snowboarding in the warmer months. And training with a road bike, outside, looked like an ideal complement to year-round full-body workouts I had taken up a few years prior. Also, bike touring might serve as a replacement for weekends on horseback which I could no longer keep up for various reasons. In 2015, and as a happy customer of Cannondale since 1987, I got myself a road bike, “The Perfect 10”. And I was happy again.
Unfortunately after a short while the CAAD10 started to develop a creaking noise which turned out to be from the BB30 shell not perfectly matching the bearings. My LBS and Cannondale tried to remedy this reoccurring nuisance in many ways over the next 12 months (of which the bike spent much of the best time of 2015 and 2016 in the workshop) until I reached a deal with the manufacturer and received a new CAAD12 frameset (and kept the CAAD10). I decided to build the CAAD12 into a long-distance bike, and from this the “FrankenBike” evolved over the following two years.
Eager to fix the creaking CAAD10 for good and turn it into a spare and winter training bike (to not lose training time when the other bike needed service), I got a BB30-to-GXP conversion module from BBinfinite in the U.S. and replaced the Cannondale Hollowgram SI BB30 crankset with the GXP version of a SRAM Force 22. And it worked. Flawless shifting. Completely silent BB since. And the only noises from the drivetrain on The Perfect 10 are from lack of cleaning, lubing or adjustment of front and/or rear derailleur. These I can control.
But on the CAAD12 we were back to BB30, BB30a to be precise. By spring 2018, it had taken around 18 months and thousands of kilometres for the BB bearings to become undone and to start creaking. I was annoyed, didn’t want to stumble along the warranty route again and turned to BBinfinite instead: They had developed a new module, specifically for the BB30 and BB30a, where the bearings would be internal, thus maintaining Q-factor and the 30 mm spindle diameter of the axle. Thus I could keep the Hollogram SI crankset which I really like for its modularity, stiffness, weight and looks. And, again, it worked.
Another year later, in early 2019, I had collected my first experiences with the high mountains of the French, Swiss and Italian Alps, all on the CAAD12 — and signed up for the TPR.
By now, I had already modified the CAAD12 drivetrain to more climbing-friendly chainrings (48/33) and an 11-34 Ultegra cassette that worked flawlessly with my SRAM Force 22 rear derailleur. Only front shifting sucked, which I attributed to a less than perfect chain line and the slightly too narrow distance between the front chainrings. I also still wanted to maintain a higher cadence for longer in the mountains — a lesson from the 37 km climb up from Moûtiers to Val Thorens. A complete redesign of the drivetrain was in order:
Combining a late generation 10-speed SRAM X0 rear derailleur with WolfTooth Road Link and a custom 14-40 11-speed cassette should do the trick. And then, Cannondale released their “Sub-Compact” road crankset and I found a dealer with some of the parts on discount. A perfect excuse to also reduce the crank arm length to 165 mm (I have short legs), and the resulting 46/30 chainring combination has so far proven ideal. Shifting is good if not great, front and rear.
Yet, in the summer of 2019, some two or three thousand kms after this latest drivetrain conversion the creaking noises cropped-up again. On the CAAD12 that had altogether behaved so well. My LBS worked the BB, another bike shop got involved when mine was on vacation, and I cross-tested and thoroughly serviced everything except the BB myself too until we found the culprit to be specks of dirt in the freehub. Shortly before the start of the TPR I had cleaned and carefully greased the freehub myself again. And for the first roughly 650 kms of the race everything had run smoothly. The noise had to come from elsewhere.
To have the or “a” drivetrain noise return now, to this well maintained bike, where especially everything drivetrain-related had always received so much attention, was frustrating to say the least.
With dark clouds all around my motivation was at an all-time low. But the FaceTime call to Florian helped, as did the pastries. And I set out again to rejoin my planned route to Saint-Génis-des-Fontaines where I wanted to then cut northwards via Brouilla and Banyuls-dels-Aspres in direction of La Bastide.
To my surprise, the clicking from the BB or crankset now only occurred at about half the frequency. Re-tightening of the left crank bolt had obviously fixed half of the problem. As the issue also seemed to have a thermal component I hoped things might altogether become more quiet, especially over late night rides at lower temperatures.
The old Rue Nationale and then the Route du Boulou, as well as other current and former main roads across the French countryside often lead straight for many kilometres until taking a slight turn before the next long linear section. They cross small streams on stone bridges of identical architectural style and are often lined by tall trees. As they lead right through villages and towns, you find the occasional bar or restaurant, and during hours of less intense traffic these roads and surroundings are actually pretty in all their monotony.
Rolling slowly through Saint-Génis-des-Fontaines I found an inviting place for a long-desired coffee break: La Tramontane. And they had a really tasty blend from the French “Malongo” brand … brought back wonderful memories of my 2018 combined snowboarding and cycling vacation in Haute-Savoie. My only regret is that I forgot to ask for a branded coffee cup and saucer for my collection — would have carried the extra weight “avec plaisir”.
A few hundred meters down the road, I stopped again, this time to purchase some produce and yoghurt: I had just about made up my mind to return to Amélie-les-Bains and try to spend the night at the same place I had stayed two nights earlier. But this had not yet been confirmed, and in case it didn’t work, I was somewhat willing to take on Parcours D from La Bastide to Finestret by night, again. That in turn would likely forfeit any chance of a decent dinner. To keep my gut happy and healthy, I therefor needed to complement today’s pastry-heavy diet (and what was likely to come) with something leaner and prebiotic.
The D115 from Le Boulou onwards was so busy, when I called ahead to check for a room at the Grand Café de Paris, I had to turn into a side road to muffle the noise around me and properly communicate. But they remembered and assured me that I’d just come and a room for the night would be ready, as well as something for dinner, “pas de problème”.
After another kilometre or so, I literally fled the rush hour traffic and followed signs for a bike path from Saint-Jean-Pla-de-Corts to La Porte du Vallespir. A few moments in new-found silence and I decided to have an audio chat with Anjin-san … I still needed to get my frustration about the continuing and recurring mechanical issues (and the bike industrial madness as the root cause) off my chest (as well as the news about having found a 50% solution). So, time flew by quickly, and my mood improved significantly.
For anyone interested in riding that same bike path that runs through an altogether quite idyllic strip of land: if I remember correctly, there are two fords, where the path itself becomes very steep leading directly into and out of the riverbeds (and there are signs for cyclists to dismount, which I didn’t). Those fords are rideable, but I feel they should be approached with caution and only attempted with proper mountain gearing to not risk crashing or toppling over.
Only later I learned that I had just missed crossing the Tech/Tec river on the local “Devil’s Bridge”, the Pont du Diable de Céret which had been built between 1321 and 1341. For a while it had the largest arch of any bridge in the world.
From Céret to Palalda and then Amélie-Les-Bains, I returned to take the D115. Sun was setting in the Tech valley, but the surroundings were familiar as I had just passed here yesterday morning, albeit on a different itinerary: I had taken the excellent Véloroute which is built upon the old railway. Now I had to to share a still busy road with cars taking people home from work. Always the most dangerous time of day for a cyclist, I feel.
I stopped in front of the “The Grand Café de Paris” around 8 pm, took a few moments to take in the situation. The staff had already noticed me, and I was welcomed in with friendly smiles. And they gave me “my” room #27, again ?
Again, I carried my bike up the very narrow flight of stairs, took a shower, quickly washed some of the kit and organized all my stuff. I am becoming very efficient at this. If I only slept less and left the breakfast tables earlier …
Then I went downstairs and had a simple but very good dinner. I even ordered Escargots, a typically French starter I first had on a bike tour in the Vosges mountains in 2016 … Escargots, or simply snails, have since become a staple for my bike trips around our western neighbour. (OK, it was not that simple a dinner, but I didn’t suff myself!) BTW, there’s a photo of the snails below. Due to my less-than-favorable mood during most of the afternoon, it’s actually the only picture I took since the start of my descent into Port-Vendres, still before reaching Argelès-sur-Mer.
As Amélies-les-Bains is an ideal staging area to attack Parcours D, there’s not too much time lost because of the detour.
