OTHG – GIRONA VACATION

Just back from a solo ride this morning.  John and Ira are climbing 1,000-metre Rocacorba and Russ is exploring à pied.  No climb for me, alas, after a four and one half hour ride out to the Mediterranean coast and back yesterday.  I’m very satisfied with the 340 km. I’ve ridden these past five days since we arrived in Serinya.

I rode part of yesterday’s route this morning, out to Terradelles and back, through farmland and small villages, some of whose names I remember, others not: Centenys, Vilavenut, Balliners, and Vilademuls.  I wonder where they got their names and when.  Each one features an ancient church.  Everything is quiet as I cycle through narrow streets; hardly a soul is about.

 

I listen for sounds of activity and hear little, except for the odd farm tractor, a barking dog, or a crowing rooster.  I smell freshly spread hog manure, plus the sweet odour of figs, fallen from a roadside tree and crushed by passing traffic.  I see what looks like an early-morning mist rising from the ground, and realize just soon enough to close my mouth that it’s a cloud of insects!

I take my time going up and down the hills and round the endless turns, not like yesterday when there were four of us in a row.  The back roads I’m riding are hilly and curvy, and pass through gorgeous farm country where no land is wasted.  The road is well paved, but barely wide enough for two vehicles to pass.  No one seems in a hurry, a good lesson for those of us continually rushing to get to God-knows-where.

The farms are like the villages, orderly and well cared for.  People here take great pride in their properties.  I stop to take a few pictures along the way of things that will remind me of these special places.  As I turn around and come up the steep hill to Terradelles, I watch a paddock-full of horses lazily munching on a stack of hay.  I pedal past a van parked on the side of the road; the appliance repairman talking to a woman.  Next, I come upon two men changing a tire by the side of the road. 

 

My legs begin to feel soft and I try not to push too hard.  For once, I tell myself, try to just take it all in; enjoy the moment.  I remember now that the ride back is mostly uphill, and notice that it’s getting hotter by the minute.  I’m glad I brought two water bottles this morning.  I begin to feel the dull pain of the saddle sores I developed yesterday (Note to self: bring own saddle next time!).  I see my shadow in front of the bike, urging me on.  I keep climbing until I reach the small village of Centenys; I know it’s flat or downhill from here.

When I get back, I find new guests arriving at Mas Pelegri, being checked in by our hosts, Fiona and Garrett.  Their son, Eli, is playing in the yard.  Russ, John and Ira are still out somewhere, enjoying the day as much as I am, I’m sure.  We’ve been here six days and, tomorrow, I’ll drive Russ and John to Barcelona for their flight home.  While there, Ira will pick up Liz, and I’ll drop them off to their lodgings in Girona. 

The week has gone by very fast.  We got here on Saturday and had a nice meal, served outdoors under a beautiful evening sky.  The next morning, Garrett got us fitted with bikes, not the best, but adequate.  He gave us a map for a 75-kilometre ride and we set off for Banyoles.  From there, we hit our first hills and rolled eventually into Santa Pau, ready for a strong coffee.  (The latter is reason enough in itself to visit Europe.)

 

From Santa Pau, the road features a five-kilometre downhill run to Olot, a fair-sized city.  We stopped for water and some fresh figs and made our way through the city and back toward Serinya, arriving here mid-afternoon, just in time for an afternoon nap by the pool.

On Monday, we were tempted by the climb up Mare de Déu del Mont but thought better of it, deciding instead to repeat the previous day’s ride in reverse.  It proved to be a good decision.  The next morning, a day off from riding, we drove up the mountain in question and noted the wisdom of our choice; the descent is just too narrow and dangerous.  We made our way to the Mediterranean coast and stopped at a small resort town called Llança, definitely a place I’d like to return to.

Yesterday morning, armed with copies of Garrett’s infallible maps (NOT!), we headed for the coast through beautiful countryside, eventually finding the sea at the resort town of Sant Pere Pescador.  From there, we pedaled south along the coast until we reached L’Escala, our lunchtime destination.  The seaside town is a tourist haven, but has a certain traditional charm to it nonetheless; another place to go back to someday.

 

Fortified with a bit of food and some strong coffee, we headed back toward Serinya, hoping to get there by the shortest route.  We got off to a good start, but took a turn that sent us a bit too far north.  Eventually, we figured out how to get back to Mas Pelegri by the same way we’d come out; we’d done 130 km., a pretty good day.  For supper, we had our best meal to date: steak and sausages, potatoes, tomatoes with mozzarella, fresh bread, and a damn fine chutney prepared by Russ from dates, pears and peaches, with a pinch of curry thrown in for flavour.

Which brings us back to today, the end of another enjoyable week for OTHG.  May there be many more to come!

And now for my nap…

GRANFONDO NIAGARA FALLS

According to my cycling companion, John MacQuarrie, who claims to know such things: “Niagara Falls is every new bride’s second biggest disappointment!”

GranFondo means, literally, a big ride.  It’s the label used by GranFondo Canada for its organized rides, the most notable being the Vancouver-Whistler GranFondo which attracted 4,000 cyclists this year.  The 2013 Niagara Falls event was the inaugural edition.

As is the case every year, the Over the Hill Gang chose an out-of-province event to train for and to keep us motivated.  Building on last year’s excellent experience with the Louis Garneau GranFondo in Québec, we settled on Niagara Falls.  Four of us flew from Charlottetown to Toronto and rented a van for the drive to our destination; the fifth chose to drive.

We arrived mid-morning, drove through the seedy back door of the city and checked into the luxurious (NOT!) Days Inn.  It was a cold, misty, miserable day as we walked down to register, past the Ripley’s Believe-it-or-Not Museum, the Upside-Down House, and the Criminals Hall of Fame Wax Museum.  I wanted to visit each one, but the boys would hear nothing of it.  For those of you who haven’t been there, Niagara Falls’ downtown core is incredibly tacky, except for the falls themselves and a few nice public parks.

 

GranFondo Niagara Falls was set up in the luxurious Crowne Plaza.  “How come we never get to stay in anything above two-star?”, I thought to myself.  It was plain from the start that this was a first-class event, organized by people who knew cycling and who knew what they were doing. 

After a hearty lunch at Kelsey’s we reassembled our bikes and chatted across adjoining balconies with a group of drunks from Sarnia who had gotten kicked out of a baseball tournament for alleged bad behaviour.  This naturally confirmed our belief that our choice of hotel was the right one!  We hoped they wouldn’t keep us awake all night.

 

After feasting on our obligatory pre-race pasta meal at Mama Mia’s, a decent restaurant surrounded by discount t-shirt shops, we retired for the night.  The alarm went off at 4:45 on Saturday morning!  We walked groggily to the all-night Denny’s, past a couple of Head Shops and a guy who’d passed out sitting in a chair on the sidewalk.  Half the people in the restaurant were on their way to bed after a long, hard night, while the rest were like us: preparing to endure four hours of pain.  Alas, I’ll take tired legs and a sore butt over a hangover any day!

Since the ride was scheduled to start at the ungodly hour of 6:45, we had to ride down to the marshalling area from our hotel in total darkness.  At the sound of the starting gun, thousands of wheels rolled forward, and we were soon speeding along the Niagara Parkway, headed for Niagara-on-the-Lake, our intrepid leader, Ira, on the front, making sure we stayed with a group of riders just fast enough to challenge us.

 

The Parkway is a beautiful stretch of road, and like the entire route, it had been closed to all traffic except cyclists.  What a treat is was to have the whole road to ourselves, with police controlling traffic at every intersection, directing us at every turn.  While it’s tempting to look at the scenery, to ride safely in a large group, one must focus intently on wheels, Spandexed butts, and the road in front, hoping like hell that riders on the left and right will hold their lines.  As we climbed up a hill on our way back from Niagara-on-the-Lake we came across a pool of blood in the middle of the road, no doubt the result of a nasty crash where someone was not so lucky.

 

The five of us eventually teamed up with a group of from ten to twenty riders, some of them very good at riding in a group, some less so.  All of the riders were younger than us and no doubt assumed we would peter out eventually.  I’m sure they chuckled to themselves when we each took a turn at the front of the line, thinking: “Those old guys won’t be around long!”  It’s the same in every ride we do though: eventually, other riders begin to understand that we’re disciplined and careful, and tougher than we look!

We stopped for the first time at the 83-km mark, still feeling pretty good, and filled up with some fluids and a bite or two to keep us going to the end.  Next, we rode through Short Hills Provincial Park and suffered a bit on our way up Effingham Hill (I have another name for it!)  Back out on the highway, we wheeled through the 840-metre long Thorold Tunnel which runs under the Welland Canal and back toward the finish line in Niagara Falls.

I took a long pull up front and ‘buried’ myself, not remembering that we were about to hit another nasty little hill, topped off by a 14% grade over the last 200 metres or so.  Big mistake!  But, I made it to the top and caught up to John and Richard before the pace line re-formed.  As soon as we got back on the Niagara Parkway, all hell broke loose as riders started to smell the finish line.

The last twelve kilometres or so were fast: 35 km/hr +.  There was a lot of jockeying for position, especially when we got inside the city limits.  It was kind of exciting, actually, even for an old guy like me.  Guys would pass us, and we’d pass them again! 

Russ, whom we’d not seen since the last hill, caught up to the three of us, and we just ‘gave her’ as we sped toward the finish line at over 40 km/hr.  Together, we passed a bunch of guys and one cute hard-body with a braided blond pigtail in the last kilometre.  The four of us crossed at the same time, 3 hours, 50 minutes and 30 seconds, an average speed of 33.4 km/hr according to my computer.  Ira came across the finish line a few minutes later. 

For results, see: http://niagarafalls.granfondocanada.com/news/ride-results

The photo below was taken by the event organizer who met riders at the finish line; unfortunately, Ira had not yet arrived.

 

We parked our bikes, strode gingerly up to event area, and demolished plates of vegetable jambalaya, and as much as we could drink.  A local band called The MadHatters came out on stage and started to play some damn good tunes.  Feeling grubby and stiff, and needing a shower, we straddled our loyal mounts and rode back up the hill to the Days Inn.

Next thing we knew, Ira was knocking on the door with the exciting news: we were the fastest team and had to hurry back to the events area to pick up our awards!  Holy jeezus!  We’re the fastest team!  Us five old guys!  What’s that all about?  After picking up our very nice Thule daypacks we parked our tender butts on the grass and listened to Barney Bentall and Jim Cuddy belt out many of their best-know hits.  It was a great concert.

I lay on the warm grass of Queen Victoria Park, looking up at a gorgeous blue sky, feeling the music vibrate through the ground under me, endorphins coursing through my body, enjoying the best rush there is.  I could see the American Falls just off to my right and feel the rumble of the Horseshoe Falls, less than a five-minute walk away.  I was surrounded by good friends; felt good about what we’d accomplished together; and was thankful we’d chosen to train for and participate in a first-class event.

 

After leaving the Park, we had just enough time for a bowl of soup before driving to Hamilton to link up with Ira and Richard’s friend, Mike.  After drinks at his house we feasted on a proper post-ride meal at Montana’s Cook House and enjoyed Mike’s well-told tales about cycling, and life in Poland before he emigrated to Canada thirty years ago.  By the end of the meal we were more than ready for some well-earned sleep.

One day later, I look back on a great day, one that offered everything I could ask for: companionship, challenge, exhilaration, relaxation, and satisfaction.  In six days’ time, Ira, Russ, John and I will pick up where we left off in Girona, Spain, where we’ll spend a week cycling together: a fitting end to a great summer!