Biking Nations: Barcelona, Spain (Part III)

The first day of Barcelona was all about getting to know the city. The second day started with some of the city's famous beaches. The third day was all about a goal: get to the strange antennae-thing I saw in the hills and the nearby church-looking building nearby.

Yes, I had forgotten to figure out what they were called before setting off. I figured it would add to the adventure anyway. I also had a back-up goal in mind: to ride 40 miles, which was going to be hard enough since I wanted to meet my wife at four in the afternoon and the busy streets, coupled with my tendency to stop every 1/4 of a second to take mostly blurry photographs, would make that goal rather ambitious as well. 

After consulting the map, I decided the best way to head in the direction I wanted to go was to take Av. Diagonal, which, in the traditional Spanish translation, means, 'diagonal.' 

For a good stretch of Av. Diagonal - which is augmented with excellent bike lanes - I was behind the character in the photo who had a fixed gear….and only appeared interested in stopping at red lights so he could practice keeping his balance while the bike was motionless. 

We all had our challenges for the day. 

Eventually, he disappeared and I only had Av. Diagonal to think about. The path, which was broken up from time to time for a couple of traffic circles, later disappeared; right around the time I stumbled across Jardin Del Palau dal Pedralbes, which translates to: 'garden you will take your wife to during the next trip to Barcelona.'

I then reasoned I needed to gain altitude since I thought I was near the antenna-thing, so I turned right and the smaller of the two chainrings was pressed into service. 

Little else happened for the next hour other than pedaling randomly uphill. From time to time I'd hit a dead end and I couldn't figure out if I was on a private driveway or a public street. Few cars and even fewer humans were on the roads. The nice houses I saw were quiet. 

Finally, after a particularly punishing climb, I reached a point where the pavement disappeared beneath me. The 100+ psi tires would be helpless on the terrain, so I dismounted, turned the bike 180 so I could lean it on a piece of fence, and looked at how far I had gone. 

I then looked at where I couldn't go and noticed some peculiar tracks in the ground. Studying them closely, I knew exactly what they were: Continental Mountain King II 29" x 2.2" mountain bike tires that were kept at about 30 psi. 

Or something.

As if there was any doubt they were mountain bike tire tracks, two mountain bike riders came out of the trees, breezed by, and sped down the hill toward the city. 

I was definitely in a part of Barcelona I hadn't been to before, and the antenna-thing and interesting building never looked closer.

Continuing my search, I headed partially back the way I came but tried to avoid going downhill as much as possible. I ended up on a part of the city that is very close to the highway, which meant some automotive traffic but also a service station where I found some nourishment: Sunny Delight (in a flavor not common in the States) and a large bag of almonds left a Shell station with me. The Sunny Delight was gone in seconds, and half of the almonds were gone in minutes. 

Moments later, on another dead-end climb, I ran into a cyclist from New Zealand who was nearly out of breath and in need of food himself from all the hills, and we chatted briefly. It was then that I realized something important: if you don't know where you are going, you can't ask for directions on how to get there. 

He couldn't tell me how to get to the antennae thing - but I told him where the Shell station was. We parted and I continued the hunt. Before long I found (what else?) another climb that looked incredibly promising.

However, another series of twists and turns brought me to yet another place where the asphalt was replaced by dirt and I couldn't go further. Still, I was once again offered some great views as a consolation. 

I then saw more mountain bikers, and once again they were descending from the general direction of the structure I was trying to find. 

I then rode past Tanatori de Sant Gervasi, yet another building in Barcelona that looks cool but you're not sure what it is since you can't read Spanish. 

I pressed on, and just when I thought the city couldn't surprise me again I ran smack into the trolley. Just like that I was reminded of the great trip in Lisbon. I followed the trolley as it ascended…and ascended.

The trolley tracks ended at a couple of small restaurants, but the road continued so I kept hammering the pedals. As far as I could tell, I was in Parc De La Font Del Racó - in a place far, far away from my hotel.

The road twisted away from where I wanted to go, but it hardly mattered because, yet again, the pavement disappeared. I wasn't sure if I could have kept it up much longer anyway as I was around 900 feet above sea level at that point and my legs were getting shaky.

I looked up and, using the zoom on the camera, took a picture of the mysterious building I now realized I wouldn't get to see on this trip. I found the statue of Jesus to be oddly comforting as his hand gestures seemed to say: "relax, cyclist: you're just on vacation." And there were a lot of cyclists around me - all mountain bikers - who clearly were getting that message. 

I turned around and left where I was (Parc de Collserola), strangely satisfied. I didn't reach the building, but maybe I could still make my 40 miles before meeting my wife at the hotel. I stopped at the little bar where the trolley had stopped and, after carefully locking the bike up, was dismayed to discover they didn't serve food. I ordered an ice tea and consumed the second half of the bag of almonds I had purchased that morning. So much for my plan to have a healthy lunch, I thought.

I then raced down the hills toward the center of Barcelona. The miles evaporated fast and the altimeter on the Garmin reminded me just how much climbing I had done to get up there in the first place. 

As I neared the beach, I realized something: I had arrived at the very spot where Meg Ryan had dropped off Billy Crystal in 'When Harry Met Sally.'

Actually, I hadn't, but that's what this reminded me of: I was actually at Arc de Triomf, which did have its share of tourists milling about but it did have a nice vibe to it. As a bonus, there is a bike track nearly a third of a mile long encircling the park. To build up a couple of easy miles and creatively people-watch, I did a few laps before stopping at a bike shop nearby: Bicicletes (which didn't have 20" tubes).

Remembering how nice it was the day before, I returned to the beach and the great path alongside. Much to my amusement, the rickshaw driver in front of me actually had a very similar bike box to the ones I have at home.

I continued along and soon got to see the famous W hotel in all of it's shark-fin shaped glory. In case you are curious: it costs least 1/3 of a Brompton to stay there each night. I'm not saying they'll take one in trade for a three night stay, but, well, it is a ways out of my budget. 

Beyond it was the Ctra. Miramar hill - the switchback! - and I was determined to do it one last time. The day was perfect and just when I had only about six miles to go before hitting 40 miles...I got another flat.

I ignored the sensation of my head shaking in disbelief as I found a bench in the shade and applied a patch. Unfortunately, for some reason - maybe the heat, maybe my poor motor skills - it didn't take. Not only that, but I…well…just look.

Aluminum is not the best material for tire levers, I found. Lucky for me, I still had a couple of steel ones. 

I installed the tube I had patched the morning before. I installed it carefully…and it refused to take air from either pump. Hot, tired and closing in on 'annoyed', I drew from the Camelbak only to find I had no water left. 

It was now nearly three. Things looked grim. All I had left was the unproven Kenda tube that was a 1/4" wider than what was probably supposed to go in the tire. 

I installed it carefully…a pinch flat would doom me at this point. I gave it a few pumps and it took air. I leaned on the pump handle. It took more air. Finally I broke out the pressure gauge and found it was just about at 100 psi - and had gone on straight and true. I half-expected it to explode at any moment, but it didn't. 

It was also my last hope, and I realized it was my last chance to ride the switchback and hit my 40 mile goal. I put the wheel back on, adjusted the brake, threw the tools in the pack and set off. Nothing went wrong, and at this point I hoped nothing would: any flat now meant an undignified end to my Barcelona adventure and a walk back to the hotel. 

A year from now, when I'm getting ready for the next Urban Sketching Symposium/bikecation combo, this is the part I will be appalled at when I look back on this trip: rather than ride close to the hotel, I proceeded to put more miles between it and myself. With no water, I headed further from Meridian, past where I found the five Euro note, and began climbing the hill. I wanted - no, needed - to do the switchback one last time. I tried keeping the speedometer in the double-digits but it almost impossible. 

Up by the Hotel Miramar, I had a slight reprieve from the sun as I passed through the tunnel.

Wishing for water, I climbed up to the 1992 Olympics diving pool and was reasonably sure that the next three miles would be a lot easier than the three I had just pedaled. Stowing my paranoia about a blowout, I turned the bike around and started down the hill. A pesky tour bus got in my way but I managed to get around it and pick up speed in the tunnel as I headed into the switchback. 

Now I should tell you that I like my Canon digital Elph okay, but it does has a fatal flaw in that you need at least one hand to operate it. Both of mine were occupied as I was gripping the handlebars quite ferociously, so I have no pictures of my last run. I do have to tell you it is quite an experience if you both focus on the road and on the scenery: the Mediterranean Sea is down the hill on your left, and then when you do the turn, suddenly the sea is on your right. 

It didn't feel like I was turning so much as it felt like the country of Spain was rotating 180 degrees beneath my tires. Go ahead on file that on your bucket list. 

I took the turn as fast as I dared and nearly nicked 40 miles an hour on what I knew would be my last descent in Barcelona. The final couple of miles disappeared. I looped through the traffic circle and headed up past the human statues, sketch artists and tourists crowding La Rambla. A final wave at Marilyn and a quick ding on the bike bell discouraged a tourist from jaywalking into my path. 

The speedometer pushed past 40 miles. I had done it: 100 miles in Barcelona.

The bottle of complimentary room-temperature water was gone before the door to my room at the Meridien had finished closing. Silt and sunscreen spiraled down the bathtub drain minutes later. Shortly after I changed into non-bike clothes, my wife and I were reunited. After a great dinner at Luzia, right across from Meridien (the chicken was so good I took a picture of the food first) it was time to pack the bike up…and spend a final few minutes chatting with the passionate pen people of the Urban Sketching Symposium. 

Now trip wasn't like Santo Domingo, which was a fun trip but I don't feel like I need to do it again. With Barcelona (and, on a greater extent, Spain) I feel like I could easily return since I really saw very little, and once again I thank the Urban Sketchers for picking a winning location.  And if you remember to hold fast to your valuables, have a good map and pack as many spare bike tubes as possible,  the city will probably be as nice to you as it was to me. Thanks for reading and thanks for riding. 

Biking Nations: Barcelona, Spain (Part II)

Click here for Day One.

Day two of any three-day cycling trip tends to be the lightest of the three days. I didn't expect to do more than 20 miles and this time I had a targeted destination in mind: the beaches of Barcelona.

I got an especially late start as I began the morning by patching up the tubes I had broken the day before. For some reason, one took multiple applications and the other couldn't be fixed at all. After getting the first tube into what I thought was reasonable shape, I decided I needed more supplies and followed a lead: there was a sports shop called Decathlon, which was a five minute walk from the Meridien. It was, and it was open. 

In their bicycle section, I saw more tubes than I had ever seen in my life. But none of them were 20" x 1 1/8" size with Presta valves. All I could manage - and a conversation with an employee confirmed this - was one Kenda tube. The last one. And it was 20" X 1 3/8". I reasoned it was better than nothing and handed over a few Euros to buy it. 

Finally, I began my trip by heading down La Rambla, making sure to wave at Marilyn on my way down. 

I couldn't see the sea from the hotel, but reasoned I could find it if I kept cycling downhill. That strategy paid off handsomely.

The beaches are quite something, and I quickly discovered that a good number of cyclists not only ride along the beaches but actually sit on the sand as well. It was quite tempting as there were a lot of interesting sailboats to watch.

It was around this time I realized it appeared to be a 'clothing optional' beach. Not wanting to lower Barcelona beachfront property values, I kept my cycling attire on. 

I continued pedaling along the beach and passed…quite a few nice things to look at, including a sculpture that I assumed had to do with the diving events of the 1992 Olympic Games. 

I truly appreciated the message Barcelona was sending with these beaches: the city wants cyclists to be there. The city wants people to meander along. The city also wants people to stop and buy a frozen slushy…even though there is absolutely no consistency whatsoever in how much they cost or how much of a unit of slushy should be or even is. It's a highly unregulated market and you should always avoid buying slushies at all times and all all costs except when you want one. 

I pedaled leisurely along the path - I was probably the only cyclist within five miles who had drop-style handlebars - which wound its way along the shoreline. 

If you do this, you'll be pleased to know that there are a good number of places to eat along the path that are outdoors, which means you can dismount your bike and hold on to it as you order your chorizo sandwich and french fries.  It was at this time I made a promise to myself: have a healthier lunch on day three. 

After dining I continued along the shore and the number of tourists and those catering to them thinned out. It still didn't make the beaches less lovely to look at. 

Before long, I had reached the edge of the map and after a few twists and turns came across Museu Blau; a massive museum known for its unique X-Files style UFO shape. 

Though my original plan was to stay along the shoreline for the day, I did find myself surprisingly energetic despite the heat and unhealthy lunch (which I was anxious to burn off anyway) and decided I needed to get back on the roads and head for some hills.  

I climbed and climbed and climbed…until finally I was out where the tour buses don't run and wide-eyed Americans with cannon-sized Canons hanging around their neck were virtually nonexistent. Don't get me wrong: I loved being at the beach and I the landmarks and museums look great, but I can do that when I'm older. It's something else entirely just to peacefully pedal through a neighborhood up in the hills.

I climbed some more in the direction of Parc Güell - calves protesting at this point - and was rewarded with some impressive views of the city. Additionally, I was able to get a closer look at what looked like a S.E.T.I. tower and some kind of interesting cathedral-like building next to it. It looked as though it was at the highest point of Barcelona. I took a quick picture of it, reasoning I could find out what it was called later. 

Shortly after I came upon what I assumed was Parc Güell. The friendly British tourist I met up there told me she wasn't sure herself, but we took pictures of one another with each other's cameras anyway. Now just when I assume views of the city couldn't get any nicer, I'm offered a view of the Torre Agbar skyscraper. Yes, it looks like a blimp sticking nose-first out of the ground, but it is even more impressive up close. 

I then decided I was done climbing for the day and should wrap things up, so I headed back toward the center of the city in the general direction of Meridien. But a little thing called gravity changed all that. You see, I had spent most of the time climbing and I somehow stumbled across a road (I unfortunately forgot the name) and was able to ride fast and feel the wind blasting my face. Having spent a day and a half riding in a busy city filled with intersections, cars and stoplights, I had nearly forgot how fantastic a good descent could be. Even stopping at every red light didn't feel like it was slowing me down.

I had gone just over twenty miles at this point so I thought - why not? I'll go another ten. 

I returned to Ctra. Miramar and did the punishing climb yet again. You remember: up and up and up (switchback!) and up and up. 

And up. 

I wondered if I'd regret pushing myself this far on my second day at the start of the third, but at Castel de Monjuic I was again rewarded with nice views of the port below, and since this day featured even clearer weather than the first, I had a flawless view of the port. 

Finally calling it a day, I came back down the same way I came up and enjoyed it immensely. There's a bit of a tricky traffic merge at the very bottom but other than that I quickly decided the Ctra. Miramar switchback was my favorite downhill of the trip. 

After another great dinner - this one at Caravelle not far from the hotel - my wife colored in her sketches while I watched TV. I watched a little of MTV's 'Jackass' dubbed in Spanish (I could still follow it alright) and found a sports channel that needed no translation as I thought about how to find that building and S.E.T.I.-looking tower on the hill the next day. I resolved to either find it or ride 40 miles, so, like Santo Domingo, I could make it a 100 mile vacation. The link for part III is right here. Thanks for reading and thanks for riding. 

Biking Nations: Barcelona, Spain (Part I)

Two years ago, I accompanied my wife to Lisbon, Portugal so she could attend the Urban Sketching Symposium. I rented a bike for three days and saw her…and a passionate pen afficionado or two…for dinner each night. A year later, since the symposium was held in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, I spent three days riding my own Bike Friday New World Tourist there. This year, the powers that be decided that the 4th annual event that draws talented pen-and-brush enthusiasts from all over the world would be held in Barcelona, Spain. 

Naturally, I packed my Bike Friday New World Tourist and went along. 

To prepare, I looked back at last year's Santo Domingo trip…and was immediately appalled. I was surprised just how close I had come to having a disastrous cycling experience: between the trashed pump, the flat, the heat and biking far off the map, I was lucky not to have been killed or even worse: been forced to give up riding on vacation. 

So this time I took extra precautions: I brought two patch kits, two tubes, two sets of tire levers (one metal and one plastic as I've always had trouble getting the tires off the small rims without metal levers), two quick links in case the chain broke. Two bike GPS units. Two cable locks. 

Two of everything. I had the Noah's Ark of tool bags. I also had duct tape, some reusable wire ties, a spare tire and a small pair of vice grips. Angus MacGyver would have been proud. 

I also applied some wisdom from the Santo Domingo ride: wanting to get a grip on my runaway smoothie spending, I bought a Camelbak that could easily swallow a two-liter bottle of Mello Yello (knowing what a pain in the butt these things are to clean - I only used water). 

For this trip we stayed at the Barcelona Meridien, on the famous La Rambla street (now it is recommended that you learn how to say 'Stop thief! He stole my wallet!' in Spanish before frequenting that area, but if you take a few precautions with your personal valuables - such as keeping your stuff in sight at all times and the zippers on your pack closed with reusable wire tires - you'll probably do fine. Also: if you are wearing bike shorts and a bike jersey, you have no pockets to pick). 

I've stayed at other Meridien locations before; and I found the Barcelona location was like the others: a very nice hotel with professional and friendly staff that never gave me trouble when I'd wheel the bike through the lobby.  My wife and I stayed there a total of five days - which gave us just enough time to figure out how to make the shower spray water at an ideal speed and temperature. 

I unpacked the bike the night before my wife's first workshop and assembled it in the room. Thankfully, since I had re-visited the Bike Friday manual, I had packed it properly days earlier and, unlike last year, there was no damage and everything went together well. The next morning, after collecting the customary tourist map from the hotel concierge, I set off. 

Now I have to admit I didn't spent nearly as much time researching Barcelona as I should have: I had done a trip to Cleveland/Columbus/Hershey and been committed to a wide variety of Grown-Up Things in the weeks prior to the trip. All I really had was a list of bike shops (and there were many) and had noted that when trying to use Google Map's bicycle directions feature in Barcelona…the little bicycle icon had disappeared. 

I didn't take that as a good sign. 

But within minutes of setting off, I knew I'd be in good company: unlike Santo Domingo, where I saw very few cyclists, Barcelona just feels filled with them. 

And if you go to Barcelona without a bike, there doesn't seem to be any shortage of places to rent one either on your own or as part of a tour group - neither of which I did. Also exciting is the huge number of folding bikes, which I theorize is due to people coming to Barcelona by yacht (the Brompton riders) or some other type of watercraft (non-Brompton riders). 

The city also has a bike share program that it rolled out in 2007 called Bicing.com, and I found docking stations everywhere. 

But best of all: Barcelona has bike paths almost everywhere you look. You could spend hours just pedaling aimlessly around the city moving from one lane to another - which was a big part of my strategy on the first day. 

Now like every city that has them, sometimes bike lanes would appear, disappear, or simply be missing entirely which put me on the roads. My personal experience found that motorists in Barcelona drive less angry than in other parts of the world. It's not like in New York where someone will honk their horn at you as though you were planning to be in their path since you let the house that morning. Barcelona drivers will get annoyed when you get in their way and they will honk, but you just get the feeling that they don't take it personally. It's always a good idea though to wear a helmet (not like 99.3% of the people I saw) with a rearview mirror and just follow the rules of the road - and the rules of the bike paths.

Now there are some pretty big traffic circles you need to be aware of and use extreme caution when riding through, such as the one that contains a beautiful and impressive statue of Christopher Columbus pointing as if to say: "Look! A Bike Friday!"

When riding about Barcelona, even aimlessly, you will come across some rather historic buildings. You will even notice these buildings if you are not paying attention to the buildings. A good rule of thumb is that when you're riding in Barcelona and you come across huge groups of tourists pointing their cameras upward, they're looking at something cool, such as the great Gaudi work, Casa Batlló.

Later I ran into Gaudi masterpiece Sagrada Família. It's been under construction for over a century so I'm surprised Gaudi didn't incorporate construction cranes in the original design. It's still an impressive piece of work. 

Eventually, I stopped for lunch. Paranoid after learning one of my wife's sketching friends had his bike stolen (twice!) while living in Barcelona, I selected one of the many small eateries that had outdoor seating. Since I can't speak Spanish, a lot of pointing was involved to get me a sandwich.

Closer to the beach - which I did not explore on my first day - I decided to head up the hills to visit Castel de Monjuic on the outskirts of the city. This involved pretty much the only big climbs of the day - and they were big. Lucky for me, I found a five-Euro note at the base of Ctra. Miramar, which was a good morale boost before hammering the pedals up, and up, and up (switchback!) and up and up. 

It was during this stretch I really appreciated the Camelbak (each day of the ride, though, I'd have to refill it at least 2/3rds of the way through, which meant I was consuming more than two liters of water daily. If you visit Barcelona in the summer you will probably have to do the same thing unless Camelbak and  B.O.B. Trailers engage in some kind of joint venture). 

After passing through a short tunnel near Hotel Miramar, I got my first rewards for doing this optional climb: a nice view of the city through the haze of a July day. 

I kept climbing and passed beyond the ski-lift thing that carries tourists to Castel de Monjuic. It was a tough climb, but I was rewarded by my destination which featured even nicer views of the city - especially by the old cannons, which reminded me of Santo Domingo: go to an old city near a port and there's usually going to be cannons involved. 

I eventually made my way back toward the roads that led to the Olympic Village (Barcelona had hosted the Games in 1992) and the MNAC museum (part of which is visible on the first photo on this post). And it was here, more than twenty miles into the ride, I noticed the front tire had gone flat. Luckily, Dave Matthews happened to pass by in a car with a bike rack, and he offered me a ride, dinner and front row tickets to his Barcelona show.

Okay, the second part did not happen. What did happen is that I sat under a shady tree and calmly removed the front wheel and calmly took off the tire as double-decker tour bus after double-decker tour bus rolled by. I had already gone about 20 miles, it was nice weather, I had multiple sets of multiple tools. Nothing could go wrong. 

However.

You know, if you take two patch kits and fail to check them first, you have really brought no patch kits.The vulcanizing fluid will disappear as if by magic, which means that you've only managed to bring an ideal storage box for your iPod Shuffle and charger cable.

But I digress.

I resolved not to panic. I did, after all, possess two tubes. However, due to my overall clumsiness, I managed to pinch-flat one of them installing the tire. 

And just like that: it came down to one tube left. Lucky for me and lucky for you, the reader: I managed to put in on without any further problems. But I was a little nervous about getting another flat, so I decided to ride around until I found a bike shop that could sell me something. 

Soon enough, I did: eWheels. 

Despite the visually pleasing sight of a lot of unusual folding bikes in the store, I was unable to find any replacement 20"  1 1/8" tubes with Presta valves. But the friendly clerk and myself were able to do business on patch kits and the five Euro note I found earlier discovered its purpose. 

With the patches, my confidence returned enough to pedal on, and before I knew it I had reached 30 miles on the odometer on one of the sloppiest and aimless rides I had ever been on. 

After returning to the hotel, cleaning up and reuniting with my wife we walked off to the restaurant 4Cats - which is where Picasso had his first exhibition - and the famous self-portrait of Roman Casas is printed everywhere (including their paper placemats) and it made me smile. The food was quite good as well. 

While my wife sketched the bar, I looked at the map and decided that a 30 mile ride was quite nice (all city miles) and I could probably manage at least 20 the next day - which was going to be all about the famous Barcelona beaches. Here is the link for Part II, and you can also check out my wife's first batch of sketches.Thanks for reading and thanks for riding.