- Distance: 94,22 km
- Vertical Ascent: 2.419 m
- No. of Named Cols: <TBC>
- Start Date & Time: 2019-10-08, 13:06
- Start Location: La Massana (Andorra)
- End Date & Time: 2019-10-08, 23:30
- End Location: Font-Romeu-Odeillo-Via
- Time Moving: 6:30:00
- Moving Average: 14,5 km/h
- No. of Stops >3 Minutes: 10
Data: strava.com/activities/2773744068
“Definitely leaving earlier than yesterday ?”
… or so, I had hoped and enthusiastically put above line up on an early version of this post.
But, let’s reiterate:
Last night I almost crashed when my front tyre flatted on a fast downhill section of the CG-4. Just after crossing into Andorra after conquering the Carretera de Tor, where I had replaced that tyre’s tube only minutes before. I was lucky and brought the entire rig with all extra baggage and myself to a halt, half a meter before the next crash barrier.
At the hotel in La Massana, my Portuguese, the fact that most people in tourism are helpful by trade, and probably again my luck, got my bike an exclusive storage place and myself an impeccable room for the night. I shared the enormous breakfast with only a handful other guests (and packed some sandwiches, yoghurts and fruit for the road).
I was ready to leave the hotel early, sufficiently provisioned and motivated to quickly fetch the stamp at CP2, continue on to climb Port d’Envalira and then even try to possibly finish Parcours B. — But I knew I had to check, likely disassemble my front wheel, again.
On arrival in La Massana I had noticed several shops for sports equipment and remembered one dedicated bike store just around the corner. Today, all of them were closed for vacation. However, I found a good spot where I could work on my bike, in the shade, even with a bench to sit on, instead of the floor. Luxury.
Inspecting the front wheel clearly showed a number of cuts in the tyre wall, where the deflated rubber had been pinched between the rim and a veritable carpet of splintered rock covering the CG-4.
Time to get out another spare tube, and for the spare Panaracer tyre to save my day.
While at it, I also inspected the rim for damage, checked spoke tension and had a look a the front brake: For some reason, the centre bolt (the one attaching the brake to the fork) didn’t firmly hold the calipers in position, resulting in occasional brake shoe rub on the front wheel rim. While it didn’t feel dangerous, I wanted to have this looked at by a proper mechanic. Would have to find a bike shop somewhere else.
Cycling in Andorra felt strangely perfect.
The tiny country is basically a couple of small towns, villages and settlements, along a V-shaped valley, connected by pristine roads. Everything looks pristine. But it also appears like a pragmatic arrangement: The working class live mostly outside in (well-maintained) blocks and apartment buildings, while nicer homes are for tourists and the better-off part of the population — and even the latter prefer to rent-out their homes, as this is real good business. At least this is my impression.
I only “know” Andorra from the relative comfort of my bike, over the course of less than a day spent crossing the country from West to East. But these valleys should be absolutely terrific for all kinds of outdoor activities.
With the high-quality infrastructure and short distances from one town to another, everything is within reach. Yet the remoteness of the terrain further up from the main valleys promises demanding and rewarding itineraries for hikers and bikers alike, with stunning views and complete immersion in the surrounding wilderness. Andorra must be an absolute paradise for winter sports.
However, today, Andorra was full of cars! And motorbikes! And scooters! But with the country’s topology, it is clear why: Only the main thoroughfares are relatively flat. The moment you want to get from one place to another, or even just up a side street in one of the urban centers, gradients of more than 10% are common. And just traversing Andorra makes you climb Col after Col, with views to behold.
So, people get around in motor vehicles. Electric cars seem quite popular already, but as with the rest of (Western) Europe, combustion engines rule. I even saw a sign for a “Motor Bike Museum” somewhere. Altogether, there’s noticeably more traffic on Andorran roads than in the neighbouring regions. So much more, it actually made me uncomfortable, despite the very well-behaved, cycling-friendly motorists and even a bike lane right up to the Port d’Envalira!
On the upside, with much traffic come good roadside coffee stops. Beckoned-in by an unmistakably Portuguese “Delta Cafés” sign and an open door, sat down for a quick lunch plus some freshly extracted caffeine and found a suitable dessert too: “Leite Creme” (Portuguese), or “Crème Brulée” (French) is a treat I cannot say “Não” to.
Port d’Envalira has a nice and relatively steady ascent up to the summit. As usual for climbing in bright sunshine, I wore my lightest kit, including UV50+ protectors for the legs. BTW, those and their counterparts for the arms have proven their worth over the course of many thousand kms by now and saved their weight and cost in sunscreen many times over.
During the entire climb, and until I arrived in France hours later, a fierce wind was blowing, and while that initially pushed me up the mountain, I didn’t dare stop much for the views. Wind chill is not only a factor on descents, but whenever not “working” on my bike. I must not catch a cold right now.
Sometimes though, there was a spot on one of the countless bends of the roads up the Envalira, and in relative protection from the cool breeze and with the warmth of the early October sun, I could comfortably take a picture of the ever present cows grazing or grab a snack from my musette.
At the summit, I immediately started changing into warm clothes again. Almost everything came out of my bags, except for the deep winter jacket and merino underpants. I knew that ahead was a long road down the now icy cold northern and eastern flanks of the mountains.
When I dropped into the descent, it was the first time I felt somehow terrified. The road was wide, there was little traffic, and the cars were carefully passing at a safe distance. But it must have been the combination of knowing I had just passed the highest paved road in the Pyrenees, as well as crossed a country border, and the fact that I was arriving at and riding through ski resorts coming from above and not from below.
Around Porté-Puymorens I narrowly avoided a thunderstorm brewing to my right. Without much experience in alpine regions, I had never seen weather turn that foul so quickly. But I made it out of the valley and continued my descent on the N20, roughly along the Querol or Aravó river (yes it has two different names in Catalan).
I had planned my route to sometimes trade the main roads for smaller, less travelled alternatives, just to shake things up a bit and offer relief from any monotony, boredom or frustration with car traffic that might threaten my mood. One such deliberate detour was supposed to take me to Latour-de-Carol and then to Enveitg. But the moment I took to the right, off the N20, I found myself face to face with two guard dogs I had just awaken from their late afternoon nap in the middle of the narrow country road.
Both dogs turned their attention towards me. I decided to feign indifference and change kit again. It also couldn’t hurt to eat something.
While I was busy packing away some of my winter kit and the GoreTex layer, the smaller dog approached, wagging its tail and with a friendly, curious look inspected me and my bike. No barking, no begging for food, happy to receive some attention with me ruffling its fur, this specimen disappeared through the hedge and fence right in front of me. His colleague also went back to sleep a few feet more to the roadside. I was allowed to pass.
The old road ahead, the Route Vieille d’Espagne, was lined by tall trees on both sides and first led to a picnic site on the river bank. But only a few hundred meters later it was blocked, barred in the true sense of the word, and I had to turn around. The dogs were nowhere to be seen, they had probably gone inside for a snack or just for warmth. With no other option I cycled the N20 to Latour-de-Carol and from there returned to my planned alternative itinerary and continued to Enveitg.
The train station of Latour-de-Carol-Enveitg is one endpoint (Villefranche-de-Conflent being the other) of “Le Train Jaune”, more correctly the “Ligne de Cerdagne”, a railway line connecting some remote mountain regions with the Mediterranean coast and along a breathtaking itinerary. Enveitg is built along a hillside, step-like, with the old roads and railway down low by the river and the modern N20 running high up on a supporting wall and cutting the village in two.
In Enveitg, I took the “Avenue de la Gare Internationale” — literally the “International Railway Station Street” — up to the N20, and practically bumped into a Frenchman who asked if I had passed by a pizzeria on my way up. I had chiefly spotted an international school just around the corner and suggested he ask there, as I really didn’t know. Just about two hundred meters further towards Llívia the pizzeria was indeed brightly lit to the left side of the road … I immediately turned around and raced to catch up with the person I had just sent the wrong way. We ended up sharing a couple of bike touring stories over a proper dinner.
After another day with mediocre performance at best, distance-wise, I needed to at least reach the start of Parcours B. That would, in theory, allow me to still finish within 10 to 11 days, if I avoided any further delays … and upshifted a gear or two. I had looked at some hotels and hostels in the region, and of those available, right in Font-Romeu, the Carlit Hotel was always among the cheapest. Recommendations were so-so, but as matching the standard of Casa Leonardo from two nights ago, was anyway not realistic, I called them and booked my bed for the night.
Upon leaving the pizzeria, the owner asked me where I intended to stay and I told him about the Carlit. Fun fact: he had worked there during his apprenticeship before opening his restaurant, not too long ago. I got a card and compliments to pass on to his former colleagues.
The Carlit turned out to be OK. Simple room, good breakfast buffet, helpful staff, and I was reminded of the early 80’s, when also our telephone looked similar.
