May 2008.
The plan was simple…I was working in the outskirts of Barcelona, Spain for 2 weeks. John would fly to Spain, I would finagle a few days off and we’d ride together in the cycling heaven around Girona, Spain. If more than 30 professional cyclists made Girona their home, then it must be a great place to train, right? Lance Armstrong had owned a house in Girona. His lieutenant, George Hincapie, still lived in Girona.
The “plan” had started in November 2007, when I won a contract with Mylan Labs that would take me to Milan, Dublin, Darmstadt, Paris, Monte Carlo, and Barcelona. When I first heard that I would be working a week or two at a time in Barcelona, I used Google Maps to explore the area. That’s when I discovered that Girona was only 1 hour north of Barcelona. I distinctly remember sitting in the Waterfront Hotel in Morgantown, West Virginia in front of my laptop, thinking “wouldn’t it be cool to take my bike with me and ride in Girona?”
Fast forward to May 2008…I had spent the past 6 months working 2 weeks on/1 week off all over Europe. I had spent months in Lyon, France, and had spent 1-2 weeks in Milan, Dublin, and Paris. I was now quite a “hardened” international traveler…get up early on Monday…1hr drive to Pittsburgh airport, then 2 hour wait for flight to Newark…then 4 hour layover until 8 hour flight to Paris…then 1 hour wait until climbing on the TGV (bullet train) to Lyon…finally, arriving in the office before lunch and working until 8pm that night. Monday’s were always 30 hour days, and then in the excitement, I could never sleep.
It was the second straight week of my third trip to Barcelona, but it felt different. All of the professionalism was giving way to excitement. I had my bike with me, and my friend, John Coyle, was arriving from the States this morning. We were going to do our own Spring training camp in Catalonia! We had 4 days to do nothing but bike, soak up the Mediterranean sun and Spanish food and culture.
Last week, I had helped in bringing two global information technology systems online in Spain. It was a great success, but the hours had been extremely long, and the stress immense. It was touch-and-go whether my team would complete its assignment in time for Go-Live weekend. But, at the very last second, everything fell into place. The “Tour of Catalonia” was still on!
Last week, I had ridden my racing bike for the very first time in Europe. I had explored the area around my hotel in Sabadell, Spain. Although my rides were fairly short, and always started with a mad dash through crazy city traffic and round-abouts, I still made it out into the beautiful Spanish countryside. Even here, near major metropolitan areas, the roads were wonderful to ride. Thousand year old buildings dotted the fertile green countryside. Scents from a dozen different flowers filled my nostrils as I pedaled under the hot Spanish sun.
Again, using the marvel of technology called Google Maps, I had found a 10km mountain climb that was only 30 minutes from my hotel via bike. I had taken a long lunch hour (or two) last week and ridden out through Terrassa, and up this magnificent climb. As my friend Ray Russell says, “any day on a bike is a good day.” And, I was riding my bike in Spain!
Wednesday, May 14, 2008.
I was able to work from the hotel, and left early in the morning to go to the Barcelona Airport to pick up John. Since his cell phone didn’t work in Europe, we had developed a plan of where to meet; sometimes these plans do not work. However, as a good omen for the remainder of this week, everything worked perfectly, and I met John without incident. Minutes after meeting, around 9am Central European Time, we had both fired up Cuban cigars and our bike trip had officially begun!
After putting his bike together (whew! all the pieces were still in the bike box – nothing lost), we headed out together. The weather was decent (60s and overcast), and we survived the city madness to make it out through Terrassa. It was the first time that John and I had ever ridden a mountain together. I’m sure that neither of us was sure what the result would be – would John be stronger and leave me behind, or vice-versa? If you’ve never climbed a 5+ mile mountain climb with another person, then you don’t know that usually, someone is working too hard, and someone is riding too easy. However, we found that we were perfectly matched. Another great omen for the next 3 days of riding
Flashback…Houston Memorial Park, Year 2000.
Although I had once been a pretty good runner, I was relatively inexperienced on a bicycle. Yes, as a kid, I had ridden 100s of miles up and down Cleland Mill Road, but on a bike that had no gears and the only brakes were stomping down on the pedals. This is quite a bit different than riding a 15-pound racing bike made of aluminum, or carbon, or some other exotic space-age metal with ultra-thin tires around a course with 8 turns every 1.2 miles.
John and I were leading a project at Enron (yes, that Enron), and John managed to get me into cycling. I’m still not sure how he did it, but it happened. I bought two cheap road bikes ($400 each) and John started teaching me how to ride. Now, what was amazing to me in retrospect is that John never mentioned that he was a phenomenon on a bicycle. He had 20+ years of racing experience, starting when he was a pre-teen. Of course, I knew that he had an Olympic Silver Medal from Lillehammer, in short-track speed skating. He never mentioned (when we started biking together) that he been on the 7-11 Junior Team and spent time at the Olympic Training Center for cycling, too. I’m sure it was calculated on his part…I would’ve been too intimidated to ride with him had I know the depth of his experience.
As we rode endless laps around Memorial Park at 9pm in the hot, sticky air of a typical summer night in Houston, John teaches me how to turn. “Lean your body to the left, keep the bike upright, and steer around the turn.” John teaches me how to draft. John teaches me everything a track racer should know. I absorb these lessons like a sponge, but have horrible style (knees pointed outward)…John doesn’t criticize…he simply encourages me.
Back to Wednesday, May 14, 2008.
After climbing this gentle 4% climb outside of Sabadell, Spain; John and I explore a beautiful residential area built on top of this mountain. The views are fantastic – look down one side and see Terrassa and Sabadell spread out beyond the verdant green of the Spanish fields. Look down the other side, and one could see the sharp, stark slopes of the Pyrenees. This was the border between Spain and France…that legendary place where the Tour de France visits every year. The homes were beautiful – white stucco with red tiled roofs – built on sharp ledges with incredible panoramic views.
As we contemplate how fast we’re going to attempt to descend back into Sabadell, John turns a small corner and almost goes down. His rear tire flats! We fix it, and then proceed to speed down the mountain together. Uncharacteristically, John is lagging behind me. Typically, John is much more of a daredevil than I am. However, flatting on a descent is almost sure death here.
As the road flattens out, and our 35+mph mountain descent ends, John suddenly swears and announces that he has another flat. How lucky was he that this didn’t flat on the way down. It would’ve been disaster on the tight curves – either straight into a guardrail or over a small cliff. On the other hand, how unlucky to get 2 flats in one ride. We quickly determined that the rim tape was at fault, and ended up at a bike shop I had happened to find during a ride outside of Santa Coloma de Farners. John’s bike was fixed and we are ready for our first “real” day of riding tomorrow outside Girona…well, almost ready.
Because the car was too small, we had to make two trips to move all our stuff (bikes, bike boxes, luggage) from Sabadell to Santa Coloma de Farners, a small town just outside Girona. Trip #1 took our bikes to the new hotel. Then, back to Barcelona where we ate topas at 1230am and wandered up and down Le Rambla in the warm Spanish air. Finally, another trip took us back to our new hotel at 330am.
May 15, 2008. Girona, Spain.
John had spent hours and hours with Google Earth, analyzing the terrain surrounding Girona. I had also spent hours reading cyclists diaries and studying MapMyRide.com for ideas of where to ride. We drove to the base of a climb called Els Angeles about 10km outside Girona, and parked our car. Our plan was to tackle a 10km 1,200 vertical foot climb, survive the wicked mountain descent on the other side, and then try to make it to the Costa Brava (the Mediterranean coast), all the while zigzagging between 2,000 year old walled cities. Believe it or not, the plan worked!
As we started the climb together, we reveled in the hot Spanish sun. As we went around switchback after switchback, climbing through the evergreen and arid rocks, our spirits began to soar. Although neither of us is a climber, or could ever be accused of having a climber’s build, our legs felt strong, and our pace was steady. With each turn, we could see further and further over the amazing Catalonian countryside. As we approached the top, the views of Girona were breath-taking. However, nothing can prepare you for that first glimpse of the Costa Brava from the top of mountain.
View of Costa Brava from Els Angeles
The azure Mediterranean, contrasted with the browns of the sharp mountains and islands, and the dark greens of the fertile Spanish fields, took my breath away. However, this was just a warmup for what was coming. After a rather brutal descent (the road was very steep and extremely rough), we began my favorite part of every day’s ride in Catalonia…exploring 2,000 year old Catalonian castles, cities, walled-cities, and verdant farmlands.
It’s impossible to describe the excitement as we rode from village to village across empty, rolling roads. John points to the left…an incredible castle. I point to the left, a 500-year old estate. I began to wish that I had a camera implanted in my eyes.
Jeff and John in L'Estartit - Mediterranean Village in Spain
If you could only see what my eyes have seen. This is a thought that echoes countless times through my mind this week. I don’t have the words to describe the views or the emotions playing through me. This is “living”!
John and I both snapped pics from our tiny cameras, but it’s impossible to capture the beauty.
We enter the outskirts of a small town called Monelles. It is one of the most beautiful villages in the world (only perhaps surpassed by Peratellada, which we visited later in the week). It is a 1,000 year old walled city. The streets are paved with stones, which as we ride on with our carbon racing bikes, makes us wonder how Hincapie and the others race on the “pave” of the spring classics in Belgium. We ride silently through this village; John leading. The walls are steep on either side of us. The alleys are so narrow that sometimes both of our shoulders brush the sides as we pedal.
Monelles - 2,000 year old walled city
The heat from the Spanish sun beats down on these stones. It seems as if I am drawing energy from the very stones of this magnificent village. My skin warms, my legs forget their fatigue from the earlier climbs, and my heart races with excitement. All the while, I keep thinking, I need to bring my family here. I want Laurie and the kids to ride and walk up and down these roads, and taste the hard breads and cheeses sold here.
As we reluctantly leave Monelles behind, we pedal strongly across the relatively flat spaces between villages. We skim the edge of L’Isabel, a rather large city, and head past another ancient castle. We then begin following a dirt road (which will become a commonplace occurrence the next couple of days). Neither of us are sure that we’re still on the route we planned, but we kept pedaling, avoiding rocks and kicking up a light dust in the arid soil. We find ourselves in the middle of amazing farmland, surrounded on all sides by green. It is apparent that although it’s relatively dry here, the land is very fertile. We glide through crops of all kinds, still following this beautiful dirt road.
Finally, we find pavement again, and we are still on track! Now, as we approach the Costa Brava, we begin to experience what I had experienced in Mallorca. The Mediterranean coastline is unpredictable. The sun is bright beyond anything I’ve ever experienced in the USA, but strong winds blow in off the Med and swirl around the mountains dotting the Costa Brava coastline. The ride starts to become hard…pedaling becomes more deliberate. We take turns taking pulls, and the draft becomes something that we cherish.
It seems to take several hours, but in reality, it was probably only 45 minutes, before we had finally reached L’Estartit, a beautiful city lying directly on the Mediterranean, under the shadow of an amazing castle-ruin sitting on a 1,000+ foot rocky mountain. We pedaled gently through L’Estartit, taking in the brilliant blues of the Mediterranean and the pure whites of the buildings reflecting the bright sun. We looked out at islands that seemed unreal because of their beauty. We took dozens and dozens of pictures.
I was very happy to stop pedaling and sit down at an outdoor café overlooking the Mediterranean. We were actually sitting 10 meters away from the Mediterranean, eating grilled squid, and putting away a huge amount of pasta. We sipped cokes and slowly worked our way through wonderful bottle of Spanish red wine.
Jeff riding under golden evening sun and flowers in Spain
Finally, it was time to get back on the bikes. I felt refreshed, and undaunted by the fact that it was about 530pm and we had another 3 hours to get back to our car. Before today, I’d never ridden more than 3 1/2 hours on a bike. We left the coastline and pedaled strongly inland. We took a fairly busy road for about 10km before getting back onto the empty roads and ancient villages. Soon, we found ourselves on another dirt road. We pedaled a long way, and began to worry that this wasn’t actually the route we desired. Finally, when the path turned to single track, we turned around and headed for a road we could see in the distance.
After getting back on the right paved road, we found ourselves approach Els Angeles for the second time today. However, we knew that the climb from the Costa Brava side was much more brutal than from the Girona side. The road was much steeper and the road surface much rougher. However, as we climbed together, each pushing the other on, we actually climbed a real Category 1 mountain. Little did we know that this was part of the Tour of Catalonia, a stage race which George Hincapie would ride in just a few days. Turn after turn, we pedaled, and stood, and sat, and pedaled. Sweat poured from our bodies, and the late evening Spanish sun turned everything to gold. Still, we climbed. The kilometers are marked on this climb, and we knew that this climb was “only” 5km long. However, between kilometer 13 and 14, we both swore that we had climbed 3 kilometers – not one!
As we crested the mountain together, such a sense of satisfaction filled both of us. We had just not only survived, but really “climbed” a Cat 1! As we descended in a crazy swirl of leans through sharp turns and standing and pedaling hard between switchbacks, we yelled to each other in happiness. We were riding the same mountains that Lance Armstrong and George Hincapie trained on.
