The pain in Southern Spain

Barcelona > Canyelles > Figueres

This was my first real day cycling. Unfortunately for me, I decided it would be a fantastic idea to begin it in the midday heat of Barcelona city centre. The heat choked my overworked lungs as I darted under bygone fiesta decorations and sun-bleached avenidas. Barcelona city transport department had decided the best way to implement traffic calming was to plonk a set of traffic lights every twenty-five metres. This meant I’d gradually work the crank to get my heavy cargo moving and build momentum then bring it to a juddering halt eight seconds later and start the whole process again. It was time to scruffily eat a banana near an ant’s nest and find the ocean.

Finding the ocean - and a small naturist colony…

Happily, Spanish drivers had been nothing but courteous so far, certainly no sign of drunkenness, although one disgruntled pistonhead had seen it fit to pepper a speed camera minding its own business with a hail of bullets. As I swept across the watery borders of the Costa Dorada and the Costa Maresmo, my mind drifted from death by stray bullet to filling my stomach. Having cleared thirty miles whilst being ripped along by a bustling tailwind, what would be my first proper cyclist’s lunch?

Well, my cyclist’s lunch was carbs, carbs and processed pink sludge masquerading as ham. I’m digging the hydrating cherry tomatoes, though. So sweet and refreshing, even if I didn’t know how to label them properly at the supermarket and faced the wrath of the old ladies at the checkout.

The closest I got to find any meaning of Bowie’s Life on Mars? was these curious spacemen and women held in orbit/storage.

Even though it was autumn it was still around 18 degrees and after running out of water and not finding any for the next 20 miles I collapsed behind a petrol station with just some ham sandwiches and crisps for company. That was until I got chatting to a Lithuanian trucker. As I tried to explain what on earth/Mars I was doing, I played him some Bowie. He promptly hopped into his truck to get his phone, he was going to play me some more Starman in return. At least that’s what I thought, what he actually played was I wanna Rock n Roll by Kiss whilst dropping a large coffee stained tongue from his mouth.

After that little sing song I trundled on, these ‘hills’ shaped like massive swines were in fact the Pyrenees mountains and tomorrow I was heading right for them.

But with two Bowie stadiums, a 100m title and around sixty miles under my belt, this was the furthest I’d ever pedalled. So it was time to stop trying to pat myself on the back whilst cycling and wind things down for the day. Looks like I’d settled down for the night in a campsite where dogs are routinely stalked by giant fists. But the view and icy cold beer made up for it. As did the lovely couple, Joseph and Yolanda, who took pity and me sweat-stained face and fed me some tasty chicken noodles. I met their two rescue dogs, a foam-faced Alsatian called Bob Dylan and a skittish mongrel called Wilky. It was a sign. A supremely tenuous one, but one I was desperately willing to take. Because, a mere four songs from Life on Mars? on the Hunky Dory playlist is Song for Bob Dylan. This furry four-legged troubadour didn’t have ‘A voice like sand and glue’ but was excellent at catching tennis balls with his rabid face.

As we dined together, I learned they lived happily on the campsite for four months of the year. But I was knackered, so I chucked Bob a mucus coated ball or two, gratefully thanked them, and headed to the washroom to brush my teeth. The humidity that had been steadily growing outside was torn asunder by a raucous bout of thunder. Lightning bolts fizzed down in a stage show to rival Bowie’s ‘87 extravaganza while rain drummed apocalyptically on the corrugated roof. Eventually a wash of cool air broke the tension and the troubled clouds breezed away to reveal a clear sky straining under the weight of faraway stars. I was to reflect on a satisfying first day of proper cycling where too much food, wind and men’s genitals had crossed my belly, face and eyes and was asleep before you could say, ‘Didn’t mention Life on Mars? once at dinner.’