- Distance: 112,69 km
- Vertical Ascent: 1.369 m
- No. of Named Cols: <TBC>
- Start Date & Time: 2019-10-10, 10:16
- Start Location: Amélie-les-Bains
- End Date & Time: 2019-10-10, 21:35
- End Location: El Port de la Selva
- Time Moving: 6:11:34
- Moving Average: 18,2 km/h
- No. of Stops >3 Minutes: 11
Data: strava.com/activities/2778694165
Pâtisserie française, c’est obligatoire! — after a typically French but definitely not sufficiently rich breakfast I had to provision somehow. So I went to the local Boulanger-Pâtissier in Amélie-les-Bains and packed an enormous assortment of freshly baked goods ?
My left eyelid is swollen, probably an infection, and certainly not improved by the strong headwinds over the past days. — Bought a liquid from the pharmacy to rinse my both eyes in the morning and before going to bed.
The “Véloroute” built on top of the old railway is a thing of beauty. It runs over several steel bridges crossing the river Tec (Catalán) or Tech (French) and its tributaries at various places. But be careful not to ride too close to the edges, since there the concrete bridge surface is tapered 45°.
A (new) clicking sound from somewhere in the drivetrain is increasingly bothering me. It may be the cleats, or something I haven’t thought of. Anyway, stopped several times, lost more than 1,5 hours checking, but still one click per turn of pedal/crankarm — might replace the cleats, as I luckily packed a set of spares.
Another annoyance — more time lost: had to deal with some buerocracy back at home. Smartphones are an awesome invention (and have come a long way!), even better with appropriately designed apps or responsive web pages. They made solving that issue possible, remotely that is. OK, one more hour spent off the bike.
I literally flew through the French-Spanish border area via Le Perthus and La Jonquera, respectively. Le Perthus looked kind of funny, but the brutality of the automobile-centric, gigantic architecture, with warehouses, parking lots and other infrastructure for long-haul transportation made me feel out of place as a cyclist — especially on the Spanish side.
The stark contrast between the green, mountainous region around the La Bastide parcours and now the monotonous plains from Figueres to the coast is mind-numbing — had to take an extra break before CP3. In Cabanes, at the Les Voltes bar, I found a nice spot. The locals, gambling at card games, loudly voiced either support or disdain for one another, at all but one of the other tables under brick and mortar arcades. The Catalán language is much closer to my beloved Portuguese — maybe that familiarity made me feel so warm and fuzzy, that I practically fell asleep over two coffees.
My ride passed through Castelló d’Empúries where I lost myself in a maze of one-way streets but found a public fountain to top-up my water bottles. The small town was in a way the moment I realized that I was in what showed more North-African or Arabian influence than the granite and slate architecture of the Basque mountains.
Only a few kilometres later, having just cycled past Empuriabrava and Roses, came another change in topology and the road wound into the mountains towards Cadaqués. The bustling Catalan littoral along the Costa Brava contrasted so heavily with what I had seen in the Pyrenees, it made my head hurt. It was also the first time I could properly enjoy a view of the Mediterranean from the roadside.
Approaching CP3 I noticed the temperatures drop dramatically. It had been warm to hot further inland, but now, I knew I’d have to be careful to not catch a cold should the control point offer any amenities to rest and (hopefully) eat something else than pastries.
The last miles on the extreme end of the Cap de Creus peninsula, with constant ups and downs over the narrow, pot hole-ridden tarmac road built up to massive relief when I eventually dismounted beneath the lighthouse. I took in the beautiful views around me — and composed a note to myself:
Next time invest some extra hours in preparation and meticulously analyze every village and town on the route for how traffic is routed! One-way streets, 25+ percent ascents, pedestrian zones … those are the surprises that really slow you down.
With the sun about to set, it became clear that I would not continue much further. Also, the clicking sound from the drivetrain had become more prevalent. All-in-all I felt mentally exhausted. Maybe it was also related to the bureaucratic nonsense from earlier today that had clearly brought real life trouble back to the top of my concerns.
But now I was here, time to celebrate! Although the two girl and two guys at the bar were quick to tell me that the restaurant was about to close, I convinced them to prepare a salad after their own gusto, out of what they still had available.
The team was great. We chatted a little, and it turned out they were all from Latin America. Brazil, Bolivia or Colombia and Ecuador. I don’t properly remember now who was from where. But we could speak a mixture of Portuguese, English and I would try to improvise some Spanish. Later, when I returned to the route via Cadaqués, the girl and I crossed paths again, which made both of us laugh, probably because we were mutually surprised to recognize one another.
With my head growing tired, I resolved to spend the night at El Port de la Selva. The cost of the hotel is only offset by the luxurious bathroom and stupendously soft and large towels. Hope I don’t fall asleep again, before making it underneath the blankets of the nice king-size bed.
Tomorrow, the northbound detour with bonus miles of coastal roads with a view of the Mediterranean sea should also allow for a different approach to parcours D than on the way here. I prefer to not ride the same route again in both directions.
I’m now ever so slightly beyond half-way through the TPR, while the race officially ends in a few hours, and the fastes riders have already finished more than a day ago. What an incredible accomplishment! Chapeau!
More here: The Transpyrenees Race — #TPRNo1
