Quiet glory

If you're the kind of person who gets jealous, stop reading now. What I am going to describe is a day of quiet glory, a day that makes me feel thankful for being where I am and being who I am. And it happened last Saturday.

Around 7am I rolled out of the garage, on a relatively cool and crisp morning. On the way to the selected climb, this time about 22km from my house, I bumped into one of my very old teammates and his posse at Penya Nicky's, and we were both very pleased to see each other. We chatted, remembered together the good ol' moments and exchanged e-mail addresses. We parted ways though, as he was headed for a different route.

Just before the beginning of the climb, I crossed the old town of Caldes de Montbui. Notice the very European pavé

and the 16th century Church of Santa Maria:







Don't fill your bottles here in the summer! It's a thermal fountain and water comes out at 65 Celsius. Caldes de Montbui used to be a spa resort in Roman times.





After leaving the town behind, it was time to get down to business. The day's climb, El Farell, looks like this:

Click on the picture to enlarge

This is probably my favorite "coll" around here, not because it's the hardest or longest or highest, but because of its ever-present tree shade, very twisty road, and relatively forgiving gradients, which makes you feel fast, but at the same time gives you the impression that you're climbing something serious.

I climbed it all-out the first time, to beat my previous PR (which I did, but only by 10 seconds!). But I decided that this wasn't a hard enough workout for a "hard day," so I descended and then climbed El Farell again. This time I did it on a smaller gear, at a moderate tempo, and watching my climbing form. (And relishing the aromas of pine, rosemary and thyme that inundate the air in these parts.) Once at the top again, I descended along the other side of the mountain, to the tiny village of Sant Sebastià de Montmajor (population: 6). On the way down, by the way, I almost overshot a hairpin turn Ullrich-style (TdF 2001, stage 13, Peyresourde).

The hamlet boasts an 11th century church:



Luckily for me I have a Campagnolo drivetrain, so I am allowed to lean my bike on this church.

Next to the church there was this delightful little cafe with outdoor seating, which a few mountain bikers had already occupied. Sitting on the stones, sweaty and thirsty, but with a cool breeze on my face and birds chirping in the background, I had the best can of Coca-Cola ever. (Do you understand now why I say that bike riding in Chicago sucks?)



I climbed back to the top of El Farell and descended to the valley, and then rode home at a brisk pace, waving at (and zooming by) the numerous cyclists on the road.

Total route: about 87km.

I followed the cycling activities with a home-made seafood paella, then an evening visit to Gaudí's breathtaking Parc Güell in wonderful company. After that, dinner and catching-up with my very best friend, whom I had not seen in two years, in a posh restaurant. The conversation went into the wee hours of the morning, and I would be riding again on Sunday morning, but who cares?