Tag: cycling

Girona, Spain: Cycling City to Coast

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9 July 2022

I got up early and had a life-shortening experience washing and de-knotting my sea-salty, matted, impossibly tangled hair. I returned to the bedroom two hours later, a broken woman, to find Ryan half awake and wondering if I’d died in the bathroom. I think part of me did. We left the apartment and headed through Old Town to Eat Sleep Cycle, a modern, reassuringly English-sounding bike shop, intending to hire bikes and spend the day pedalling away the trauma.

They didn’t have any standard mountain bikes to fit Ryan, which I suspect was to his relief as we ended up with a couple of gravel e-bikes. We nipped down the street to a Spar for food and drink while they prepared the bikes and set off on our ride about midday, pleased with the helpful, friendly service at the bike shop. They recommended taking the Via Verde (green path), a disused railway line turned into a cycle route, southeast towards the coast, and joked that they’d buy us a beer if we made it to the beach and back by the time the shop closed at 7pm. It was game on.

Girona to St Feliu de Guixols (25 miles)

We headed out of the city along cycle paths (the cycling infrastructure seemed much more comprehensive than in England) and followed the river south. We were so excited to get going that we hadn’t really listened to the directions and struggled to find the start of the route, so we carried on along the river until we found a Via Verde sign. We managed to go wrong again at a slight fork in the path and ended up heading towards a different part of Girona, so after cycling up a twisty hill we turned around, went back to actually look at the sign, and righted ourselves onto the route.

Finally back on track, we rode out of the city and through hot, dry, golden fields on a wide, flat dirt path. We passed through a residential outskirt of the village of Quart, which was very clean and eerily quiet given that it was midday on a Saturday – what we think of as prime time for people to be out enjoying their gardens, but the hot Spanish sun lacks the novelty of its English counterpart and seems to inspire indifference. We popped out at the other side of the village and rode south for several miles through more open fields.

The landscape was a patchwork mosaic of golden wheat, tall green corn, orderly vineyard and leafy woodland with the occasional farm or miscellaneous building scattered at random, separated by rows of thriving trees and hedges. The horizon was dominated ahead, behind and to the right of us by a long chain of rolling, hazy blue mountains, which must have been the Massis de les Cadiretes, Massis del Montseny and possibly the easternmost Pyrenees. It was stunning, tranquil, and very hot.

We loved the electric bikes. They had three power modes which we used conservatively, saving the battery for the way back, but we tested them a few times and the controlled acceleration of high power mode was a real buzz as I pushed down on the pedals. For the first time ever, I understood the appeal – it meant we could still have a long day of pedalling while being able to travel much further than on normal bikes, and I liked that I could turn the power off to make it harder.

We went slightly wrong at the town of Cassa de la Selva as “we” assumed directions instead of stopping to properly look for signs, and ended up cycling along a fairly busy road through the slightly shabby town. Luckily we spotted the flat, straight path across some fields after passing through, rode along a dusty drive past a memorably lovely house looking over fields and mountains that reminded me of something I might once have built on the Sims, and continued back on track through the agricultural patchwork.

About halfway along the trail we were tempted by a café at Llagostera, a pretty, quiet town with tree-lined streets and some impressive allotments, but decided to press on to get to the coast and back. After Llagostera the landscape changed from flat farmland to undulating forest. We cycled east parallel to the main C-65 road that cuts between the Gavarres and Cadiretes massifs through the Ridaura valley, then down a long, fast, curving hill into the thick trees. The forest was loud with the panoramic, cricket-like buzz of cicada insects and lush with vegetation, including bark-shedding eucalyptuses and partly stripped cork trees.

We emerged from the forest at a small town called Santa Cristina d’Aro, where we managed to get lost thanks to a poorly signposted section of the route. We rode through the quiet, dusty streets out to a large roundabout, turned around instead of joining the main road, explored all exits of another roundabout, cycled past the same bar four times – probably to the great amusement of the customers – and realised that if we’d gone straight on from the forest we’d soon have found the signs. Frustration turned to bemusement and we continued on the route, which now took us through a patchwork of residential streets, small industrial estates and little patches of farmland as we approached the coastal town of Sant Feliu de Guixols and the end of the Ruta del Carrilet. I was particularly taken by the view to our left, where an array of houses nestled sporadically in amongst trees high up on the thickly forested hillside.

We continued through this urban sprawl towards the town centre and decided that Sant Feliu looked too large and busy for our liking, so we took a left and cycled down a road to Platja de Sant Pol, a small beach that follows the curve of a pretty, C-shaped bay enclosed by land on three sides. The beach and all the little seafront restaurants were pretty but all very busy so we snapped a couple of photos, grabbed some cold Fantas from a shop and headed back the way we came.

Return to Girona

We made our escape from the peopley place and opened up the power on the bikes to get back to Girona for 7pm. It had taken us about three and a half hours to cycle the 26.5 miles there and the time was 4pm, so we had 3 hours to get back and were feeling the pressure a little – there was no room for error. Luckily we were flying, and now that we knew the route we were less likely to get lost. We went back through the forest, up the long hill to Llagostera, back through the fields (notably past an old farmer pootling along on an ancient red tractor – a postcard-worthy image) and towns and into Girona. The panoramic mountain views in the hazy afternoon light were stunning, and although we’d cycled past several other bikers on the way there was barely anyone coming back. It felt like a fairly substantial distance – I mistook a couple of urban areas a few miles out for the edge of the city and kept being surprised that we weren’t back yet. The additional power took the brunt out of the hills and allowed us to really open up on the flats, and by the end of the day we were enamoured with the electric bikes.

53 miles later, we made it back for 7pm. We dropped the bikes off and went back to the room to relax, listen to the Catalonian song we’d heard a couple of nights ago and wash the thick layer of dust off our skin. We headed out for dinner at 9ish, wandered around deciding where to go, and settled on the Indian restaurant recommended by a friendly man who’d chatted to us about Bournemouth in an ice cream queue. It was a tiny place in one of the narrow streets of Old Town, and we sat at a table out the front. The toilet was hilariously quirky – the smallest room in the world with a nail and a twisted paperclip for a lock – but the curry was amazing.

After dinner we walked through the bustling streets of Old Town, crossed the river and returned to Placa de la Indepencia  one last time. I decided that I couldn’t have an abroad holiday without a cocktail, so I indulged in a fruity, rum-based “Rastaman” from Fockviu, one of the many bars spilling along the edge of the large square. We sat, people watched and drank, feeling very satisfied. Full and tired, we left the square, crossed the river at the red cage bridge, paused halfway across to watch the lights of the pretty buildings dance and shimmer on the calm black water, walked back through the warmly lit little streets and collapsed into bed about midnight.

Lazy weekend (feat. a 20mile bike ride, a scrapbook and a climb)

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Deviating from my usual trip-away-type post, I thought I’d scribble a few words about a weekend spent making the most of a lack of plans, no van and a poorly man.

There were seven of us drinking at Hill HQ on Friday night, which was spent talking happy nonsense about nobody knows what. Ryan was due to play rugby on Saturday but he’d been ill the previous day and still wasn’t in great shape, so after cooking breakfast he spent the morning dying on the sofa while I cleaned up the night’s wreckage, painted a mountain and read a book.

By early afternoon I was twitching with restlessness, so I announced my plan to go out walking in the New Forest. Sicknote gallantly objected and insisted that he accompany me on a bike ride, so we cycled out into the drizzle. We stopped under a graffiti-covered concrete bridge over the wide river Avon, squawked and whistled like little kids in return for an echo, then rode past flooded fields, pretty villages, damp ponies and striking amber beeches, birches and oaks to the Red Shoot pub.

I realised the severity of his condition when he ordered a Coke instead of a beer, so although the pub was lovely we didn’t hang about long. On the way back we passed through (and nearly brought home) a herd of inquisitive pigs, and watched in amusement as they were shooed out of a garden by a boy with a broom. Ryan kept adding bits to the route, either to show me more of the area or to tire me out, and after flying down a long, muddy track we returned as the light dwindled.

The evening was unusually quiet and alcohol-free, but lovely and chilled. We de-mudded, he cooked and I made an adventure scrapbook, sprawled on the floor with a Pritt stick, a wodge of photos and Red Bull TV in the background.

Sunday threatened to be a quiet one and I couldn’t get to rugby because a) I’d made New Forest plans and b) was vanless, so after a morning of cooking, painting and last minute dashing to the shop for Cam’s birthday card, we headed down to Calshot indoor climbing centre to do the first bit of roped climbing I’d done in way too long.

I hadn’t been there for about 18 months, and since then they’ve added a “twiglet” feature, new bouldering cave and more autobelays. We did some toproping, leading and autobelaying, and I messily attempted the twiglet’s crack climb. Having borrowed a mixture of Tom, Adam and Millie’s climbing stuff, we were done fairly quickly due to too-tight shoes and Ryan’s lingering illness, but it was good to get down there and I promised myself I’ll go more often.

The weekend finished as it had started – around the table at Hill HQ, this time over a Sunday roast. To conclude – lovely, relaxing and over-too-soon.

MTB Whinlatter, Lake District

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I discovered Whinlatter Forest Park almost by accident. Bertie and I planned to hire bikes and spend the day exploring the Langdale Valley, but we didn’t pre-book (“we won’t need to”, he said…) and the hire place was closed when we got there. Cue arguing, sulking and a conciliatory drink at the lovely, remote Woolpack Inn.

I googled other hire places and the nearest ones were at Keswick or Whinlatter, which I’d never heard of. I was sold when I saw “mountain bike trails” at Whinlatter, so after an hour’s (silent) drive we were fed, helmetted and fixed up with a couple of neat Cube hardtail bikes. The centre is well thought out, with a good café, shop, loos, information centre and big car park, and there are three MTB trails – the blue Quercus trail (“moderate”), red Altura North loop and red Altura South loop (both “difficult”).

Altura North

We started with the Altura North trail, 10km of bliss (for me) / terror (Bertie). It’s a well-signposted, well-maintained singletrack route with 200m ascent, exhilarating downhill sections and breathtaking views over layer upon layer of green, brown and hazy blue mountains. There are some tough climbs, particularly “The Slog”, which require a decent level of fitness and determination. Equally, the downhill sections are challenging in places but SO worth the effort, with sweeping berms, technical rocky and rooty bits, small drop-offs, jumps, flowing switchbacks and optional features graded “black”; the “Grand National” section is particularly thrilling, as the forest opens out onto a steep, gravelly, long switchback. Somehow I avoided causing serious damage to myself, the bike and the densely wooded forest, and I grinned stupidly for the whole 10km.

Quercus

Running out of time, we skipped the Altura South loop to my absolute dismay. However, the 7.5km Quercus trail didn’t disappoint. While it was more family friendly than the Altura, it still had technical sections, a few boardwalks, some flowing downhill and stunning views. The terrain was smoother (less rocky/rooty) than the Altura trail and it felt slightly more artificial, possibly just because it was less rugged. Although less thrilling, it was definitely sufficiently fun – a great warm down XC trail with some really satisfying, flowing sections.

Despite being a glorious day, mid-heatwave (late June), the forest wasn’t too busy. There were a handful of other riders out; a mix of seasoned-looking bikers with bank-breaking kit, happy-go-lucky visitors (sadly our category…) and a couple of family groups on the Quercus trail. The forest is also popular with walkers, but fortunately the real singletrack didn’t cross any pedestrian paths so our human contact was limited to pointing a lost rambler in the right direction on one of the gravel tracks between the “fun bits”.

So by late afternoon, the grumpy Naomi of that morning had transformed into a gleeful, buzzing idiot with sparkly eyes and an uncontrollable grin. Whinlatter exceeded my expectations and I’ve sworn to return to take on the Altura South loop. I’d also like to do the trails at Grizedale (west of Lake Windermere, also exhilarating) again, which – back in 2014 – I crashed on, horribly twisting an ankle and ending up at Keswick minor injuries unit (but not before I bandaged it up and completed the trail). Looks like another Lake District trip may be in the pipeline…

https://youtu.be/mI0SFrkyv_w – GoPro clips of the trails, unfortunately I adjusted the chest strap badly so it’s angled down!

New Forest Bike Ride, September 2018

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When my outdoorsey friend from North Wales visited my humble little corner of England last month, I promised to show him the New Forest (National Park – absolutely not an innuendo). I figured the best way to do this was on bikes, so I fixed Rocky’s puncture and chain-lubed him up.

We met at Stoney Cross Car Park and headed West. I hadn’t planned a route, I just thought we’d go with the flow; naturally, after riding along roads, through trees and across grassy openings, we managed to end up in what is probably the least suitable part of the Forest for mountain biking and/or showing friends around: the Netley Marsh/Totton urban sprawl.

I have nothing against the area, but I’d wanted to show Mike  the New Forest in all its glory: heather-covered moors grazed by rugged ponies and edged by dark treelines. Purple-brown heaths, rippling golden grasses, trees every shade of green and open skies bathed in the translucent lilac-blue-gold of late summer sun. Netley Marsh/Totton was strikingly grey. And it rained.

Apologetically, I attempted to lead us back into the Forest and was unsuccessful for a while. However, we stumbled across a pump track at Totton which (in my opinion) made the detour worthwhile. I’d never been to one before but it was lots of fun – a couple of loops around and my heart rate was up, my arms were burning and I was grinning stupidly. It was sketchy at times, when I misjudged when to pedal and scraped the tarmac “humps”, but fortunately Rocky and I left in two complete pieces.  It turns out the track cost £43k and only opened a couple of months before. [See the GoPro footage from the pump track]

Playtime complete, we rode out of the urban sprawl back towards the Forest via Ashurst, travelling south through woods and across open heathland. This was more what I’d hoped for; I couldn’t call it mountain biking (especially not to Mike, hailing from Snowdonia) as the terrain was quite easy-going and there was nothing particularly steep. The most difficult part was the narrow section where the high, tufty “kerbs” on either side of the track meant I could only pedal in half-rotations, but at least I’d shown my friend some of the “actual” New Forest.

We went through Denny Lodge and stopped for a drink at the Mailmans Arms in Lyndhurst, then rode back towards the car park via Emery Down. The roads seemed long, and it was hard work having cycled a fair way on mountain bikes and empty stomachs. We cycled 40km in total; back at the van, I apologised for being such a terrible tour guide and promised I’d do a better job of showcasing the New Forest next time.

In the future I think I’ll show my “guests” the north west of the Forest, rather than the central east. I went for a lovely ride out Linwood/Mockbeggar/Fritham way  back in April, so maybe that’ll be my destination of choice… I’ve heard tell of a mountain bike centre in the south west, around Avon, so that’s on the cards for a future day out. In the mean time, I’ll work on my tour guide skills, and maybe I’ll prepare an actual route next time…

Endnote: Mike didn’t seem too disappointed  – we explored Corfe Castle afterwards and went climbing at Dancing Ledge in Dorset the next morning, so I think I made up for it!

The Norfolk Broads for Adventure-Seekers: 10-point summary

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This year’s family holiday took us to the Norfolk Broads for a week. I didn’t know what to expect  as I’ve never explored that part of England before; family holidays usually took us West to Wales or Devon/Cornwall, and I was a bit apprehensive at the lack of sea, hills and mountains.

Despite this we managed to fit in plenty of activities and do a fair bit of exploring. We travelled around on a boat and moored at a different place each night, so saw plenty of the National Park – I’ll write a brief journal in a separate post.

Here are some highlights and key observations from my Broads trip:

1. Flatness

It’s SO flat. I knew this before we left but didn’t appreciate just how un-flat everywhere else must be – previously I considered the New Forest the flattest place in the UK. It probably didn’t help that I was in the Lake District a few weeks ago.

The landscape and the skies are vast and open, which makes you feel really small in a similar-but-different way to hills and mountain ranges. The nights are dark (not much light pollution), quiet and still.

2. City, towns and villages

Norwich is great – it has a lively buzz, a cathedral, a castle, a nice bit of river, plenty of history and a good indoor climbing/bouldering place called Highball.

Wroxham is apparently seen as “the capital of the Broads” by some, but I wasn’t that impressed. Too many big shops, more zimmerframes and dentures than I’ve ever seen in one place before and a bit tired and scruffy.

Other towns and villages were okay but I wouldn’t say they were picture-postcard, although apparently Beccles in the South Broads is lovely. Ludham and Coltishall were probably the prettiest we stopped at.

The thing I didn’t expect was the “water streets” on the outskirts of towns and villages. Pretty houses of all shapes, sizes and styles were fronted by boats instead of cars, boathouses instead of garages and water instead of tarmac.

3. Wildlife

There are loads of birds – the more “exotic” (coming from a Hampshire girl) ones I saw include the great crested grebe, curlew and marsh harrier. Masses of reeds and foliage of every shade of green line the waterways, so it’s not surprising that it’s such a haven. I wish I’d looked out for more wildlife but I spent lots of time reading, painting and planning.

There are also lots of insects – dragonflies, damselflies, thunderbugs and funny little red things. Oh and midges and mosquitos, expect to be bitten – particularly around stagnant water. Luckily I don’t seem to taste as good as the rest of my family.

4. Wild swimming

90% of my research told me not to swim in the Broads because of a) toxic blue-green algae, b) human waste and c) 42lb pike (big teeth, bitey). I took heed of the other 10%.

Swimming probably won’t kill you, although I’d judge it on how the water looks. The blue-green algae can be irritant and toxic if ingested; it’s really thick in some places, particularly up creeks where the water is stagnant – there were parts of Barton Broad I definitely wouldn’t swim in. I wouldn’t worry about pike as it’s pretty unlikely you’ll get bitten, and re: human waste – avoid swimming where there are loads of boats and don’t swallow anything (particularly solids…). Around Salhouse Broad was a nice spot for a dip.

The thing you should be really aware of is boats, as it’s easy to miss swimmers. Bright colours, paying attention and avoiding busy areas should help you stay safe. A support boat is ideal.

5. Cycling

Don’t expect to go mountain biking – Rocky (my lovely old hardtail) had the gentlest ride of his life on the cycle path between Wroxham and Aylsham. The Broads offers easy, relaxing cycling which will give you a different perspective of the National Park.

6. Kayaking

As a National Park by virtue of its waterways, the Broads is perfect to explore by paddle. You can access creeks beyond the reach of boats, see loads of wildlife and get some exercise – see On Kayaking. I was surprised by how few other kayaks there were and couldn’t believe that I couldn’t hire a SUP anywhere!

I should probably say be careful of blue-green algae, which can be irritating to skin if flicked onto it by a paddle. However, I’ve been in contact with it several times and never suffered any ill-effects, so it’s your call.

7. On foot: running/walking

Plenty of footpaths allowed me to run or walk alongside the water when I got restless. I particularly enjoyed a 12k run between Stokesby and the edge of Great Yarmouth along the Weaver’s Way (and only passed one person), although it was a difficult surface to run on as it was soft, thick, dry grass. I also enjoyed a 5k at Norwich and Coltishall on more forgiving ground.

The terrain is so easy underfoot that it’s more gentle rambler’s territory than thrill seeker’s, and it doesn’t offer breathtaking views in the same way as hiking up mountains. However, I think it’s worth seeing for the novelty. The landscape is attractive, with pretty windmills dotted among swathes of reedbeds and golden fields. I enjoyed the bizarre sight of boat sails gliding across the fields, hulls just out of sight!

8. Fishing

I enjoy fishing but my catch rate is abysmal and wasn’t improved upon here. Apparently there’s plenty of freshwater species such as bream, perch, roach, tench, dace, rudd, trout and pike, but our maggots and sweetcorn failed to entice anything during the evenings. We saw other people haul in decent sized fish (annoyingly!).

You’ll need a rod licence to fish in the Broads (I paid £12 for an 8-day one, which covered two rods) and in a few areas you need extra permission.

9. History

The waterways were made by peat digging between the 12th and 14th centuries, until the ditches flooded and became used for commerce and communication. The landscape is dotted with pretty windmills, which were used to grind corn and drain excess water from the fields into the river system.

There are also lots of lovely churches, thatched rooves, the remote ruin of St Benet’s Abbey and a cute little museum at How Hill.

I could get geekier but basically the history is interesting, not least because this apparently natural landscape is actually man-made.

10. Pubs

Last but never, ever least, there are loads of pubs along the Broads. Most have free mooring and I found that (in comparison with Hampshire) drinks were cheap and portions were generous. Need I say more?

Norfolk Broads trip map

Green line shows our route, with each number corresponding to our overnight spots

Ultra Training Update: Week 4.5

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Anyone who read Too Much Too Soon will know that I was (predictably) too enthusiastic about having signed up to an ultramarathon as I managed to injure myself within a week. Having seen the lovely Hampshire rugby physiotherapist, I have suspected tib post tendinopathy. I won’t bore you with the details but it kind of falls under the umbrella term shin splints. This means that, since week 1 of training, I haven’t been running – not the best start.

 

Unfortunately I’m the most impatient, gung-ho person on Earth so this has been mega frustrating. However, it has encouraged me to diversify my training. I’m still yet to develop a consistent exercise programme as I’m more of a “wing it” person than a person capable of sticking to rules and schedules, but (like my uni work) I know this is something I should really do.

 

It turns out there’s more to cardio than running. In the gym I’ve spent a lot more time on the cross trainer, ventured onto the exercise bike and dabbled with the rowing machine, as well as trying to maintain my weights routine. The cross trainer was particularly good as I managed to get some uni reading done and watch a few things on iplayer, but I had to limit my time on it after it started to make my shin ache. Cycling also got my heart rate up and rowing is surprisingly tiring but, like anything, seems to get easier once you’ve pushed through the initial tough 15 minutes or so.

 

I also dipped my toes into the pool, as you may have read in Swimming Rediscovered. I’ve only gone three times, for which I blame my pain-in-the-backside knot-forming, slow-drying hair (a rubbish excuse I know) but each time I’ve done at least a mile and it’s felt really good. I also swam in the river at Shawford (very cold) and the quay at Bosham (almost balmy), which were both invigorating experiences that I’d only recommend if you’re okay with unseen things touching your feet.

 

Over the early May bank holiday a miracle happened: the sun got lost and ended up in England. I dug my beloved and too-long-neglected Specialized Rockhopper out the shed and treated it to a beautiful ride in the New Forest. I’ve always considered myself a through-and-through mountain biker, but this 20-ish mile route around the North West of the Forest showed me the light of road cycling (but that’ll be another post).

 

Two days later I cycled the short (16 mile round) distance from Winchester to Alresford and back and was reminded of the simple formula that prevented me ever achieving regular cyclist status: saddle + bottom = ouch.

 

Between these bike days I braved the sunny Sunday traffic down towards West Wittering beach – big mistake. Over an hour’s worth of traffic later we launched the kayak at West Itchenor and spent a glorious afternoon paddling 6-ish miles around the creeks – the good, steady workout which inspired On Kayaking.

 

I went to rugby training last week to try a gentle jog on grass, and I was delighted that it felt okay – barely a twinge. I plan to start running again this week, and this time I really do intend to take it uncharacteristically gently and slowly.

 

All in all, I’m equal parts furious and exasperated at myself for causing this first hurdle, but also a little bit pleased to have had so much fun with other forms of exercise. I’ll definitely be incorporating cross trainers, rowing machines, bikes, kayaks, pools, rivers, seas and anything else I can get my hands on into my cardio regime, and fingers crossed I’ll be running around like a clueless, grinning idiot again soon.