Will Walk for Food

by Steven on November 16, 2011

Gernika Loop Day – 16K

You snooze, you lose . . . literally.   We woke a little less early (not late!) and went to breakfast in the hotel restaurant (which was the hotel bar last night), only to find that the ration of breakfast goodies had pretty much been picked through.  There were a couple of Danishes on a tray on the bar; next to those goodies were some plain old slices of French bread (ala Olive Garden).  I knew from reading the sheet on this hotel that there was something funky about the breakfast. The deal was, the sliced bread was free and the good stuff wasn’t, though we would be reimbursed for whatever we had to pay for.

Unfortunately, we hadn’t brought any money down.  Taking one last look at the chocolate croissant that had my name all over it, I grabbed the key off the table and jogged up the stairs to the room to get some cash. In the few minutes it took, I came down to the same tray—minus my chocolate croissant. “Perdone . . . tiene mas?” I asked the server, pointing to the non-bread part of the tray. The furrowed brow and shake of the head needed no translation. Grabbing the remaining two mediocre pastries, I paid the breakfast-tender and went back to share with Damon. As I passed the other tables, I nonchalantly took an inventory of newly acquired goodies on all plates.  And there it was . . . my chocolate croissant sitting on a plate in front of Bay!   Damn her (in the nicest possible way).

We rode out on our loop day as a big group—at least I think we did.  I’m not 100% sure since I was still thinking about my stolen chocolate croissant, but I remember getting to our first stop the “sort of” beach. The beach was more of a little cove, surrounded by huge boulders. At this point we all sort of did our own thing(s) . . . walking the beach, swimming, watching the pair of sailors . . . .wait, what?  Going over my notes from that day, but I don’t remember . . . ah, ooops, can’t read my own writing.  We were watching the parasailers (that sounds better). The weather again  was perfect . . . 80’s, sunny, beautiful—pretty much the norm for this trip.

We hung there for an hour or so before gathering up our stuff and attempting to get a bite to eat at the local beach shack café.   While our group mentality in restaurants—making ourselves at home, moving tables, locking our bikes to anything that didn’t move— was often tolerated because we were going to be a big chunk of business, it was not always the case.  Sometimes even the promise of a large food and drink sale wouldn’t endear us to the local restaurateurs. This day for example, as we were moving tables and trying to open windows in the otherwise empty (but for one table) eatery, we were, well . . . yelled at.  And even after we stopped moving tables, and assured to the cranky old Spanish man we were willing to play by his house rules, he kept yelling.  Having suddenly lost my appetite, I turned to the back room where the man was standing and yelled the only thing I could think of in Spanish—“Gracias, pero no gracias . . . vamanos!” Thanks but no thanks . . . let’s go. How do you say “drama” Spanish?

On to the next beach and actual food.  We stopped at a small roadside restaurant siding a beautiful beach.  Here once again I was able to use my limited Spanish—for good this time—to get us a table and order some food (big giant chocolate covered croissants—and plenty of them—to make up for this morning).   Being the lazy day this was we spent some timing just hanging out.

Wait . . . I’m sensing we are drifting a bit (“we” being you).  OK, so every day can’t be an adventure-a-second.  To save you from having to relive our easy-peasy day, I’ll just say we had a nice little snack/lunch at the café by the beach, some went swimming, some sat in the sand, and one of us pulled out his MacBook Air and caught-up on email on the shaded patio.

That evening we were promised a spectacular dinner. All we knew was the restaurant was a bit of a trek beyond the city center. We could (should) have hopped in taxis but the weather being as beautiful as it was, we were just going to walk it.  We got a couple blocks beyond the main town area and Lyn, our guide, seemed to be getting a bit nervous, “hmm, I was here last year, but don’t remember EXACTLY  where or how far it is.”   Just then a bus pulled up next to us and we just happened to be standing at a bus stop. “Everybody, on the bus!”  Apparently he was starting to remember the true distance to this “amazing” restaurant.

Our walk to the restaurant . . .

For the next few minutes (seriously) we were attempting to get the 12 of us piad for and on the bus.  The looks we were getting were the same looks I give tourists in NYC when they stop suddenly on the sidewalk and look up—at whatever it is tourists see in the sky above Times Square that the locals don’t—causing a chain reaction collision of everyone behind them. Two stops later we were back off the bus.

For the next 15-20 minutes, we wandered the streets of a seemingly upscale residential neighborhood, heading generally in forward direction—and up. Just as it was becoming pitch dark out, we came to the end of a long driveway (we had no idea how long because there were no lights . . . anywhere).  A couple more minutes to the top of the drive, we turned a corner and found ourselves in the parking lot of Baserri Maitea, an 18th century Basque country house turned restaurant. I immediately felt out of place.  It was such an elegant setting—even from the outside.

As we were all standing in the middle of the gravel parking lot, we were gently nudged aside by a stylish young couple in a shiny black Mercedes.  The woman and I locked eyes briefly as they crept by . . . her look was one of pensive curiosity with a dash of fear; I half expected to see her hand come over her shoulder and lock her door. I turned to follow the rest of the group past the subtly backlight garden and into the restaurant. If the parking lot made me feel a bit under-cultured, the restaurant itself had me channeling Julia Roberts’ character in “Pretty Woman” when the saleswoman told her there wasn’t anything there she could afford.

But once we were seated, the restaurant staff couldn’t have been friendlier and the food couldn’t have been any better.  Sadly, I didn’t steal a menu like I had in other favorite restaurants, so I won’t be able to give words to the food pics below.  Just know that it was the culinary equivalent of a great Christmas morning . . . present after present showing up at the table until we just couldn’t consume another bite.

By the end of the night I think we all had forgiven Lyn for the trek there from the hotel. It’s a good thing we thought to call for taxis to bring us back as I wouldn’t want to . . . huh? No one thought to call to arrange for taxis for the ride home? Seriously?

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The F word . . .

by Steven on November 7, 2011

San Sebastian to Gernika – 47k (and some big ass hills)

[This ride takes us out of our wonderful San Sebastian—though we’ll be back for a surprise visit in a few days—to the town of Gernika.  It’s a Sweet little town and ALMOST worth all the “up” we had to endure to get there.]

OK, you’ll love this.  You know from previous posts that our hotel could not have been any closer to the San Sebastian train station and train tracks (see video in last post if you doubt). So knowing that we were starting our journey on a train that day, it was the only bright spot of that location—we were already at the train station.  But alas, even that was too good to be true.  We were leaving from the OTHER San Sebastian train station across town.

So we rode to that station right after breakfast.  We were taking the train out of San Sebastian for logistical reasons; apparently it’s not as easy to leave San Sebastian as it is to enter (tell me about it).  We took the regional Basque train service to the town of Deba, about an hour away.  There was an option to get off a town earlier, in Zumaia, but that would have added 16k of a big hill to a day already full of hills.  In fact, there were so many big hills I found myself internally chanting “flat . . . flat . . . flat . . .” hoping the hills would somehow mellow a bit. In a classic case of being careful for what you wish, it worked . . . I got a flat tire half way up one of those hills.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.  Our first rest/refueling stop was a town called Ondarroa, about 8 k after we hopped off the train.  The town was a typical Spanish town on the water, but with a bit of an industrial feel to it.  We ran into some fellow riders including Gennesse and Stephen.

By way of introductions, Genesses and Stephen both happened to be from Australia, though they were not actually traveling together.  Gennesse was an Administrator for a university and a very strong rider.  She was witty, charming, and always very “up” (and the good kind of up, not a hill kind of up). It was always a treat to be around Gennesse—assuming you could catch her.  Stephen was also very nice in that pleasant Australia “hey mate!” sort of way.  He was one of the more low-key rider on the trip, which was a nice balance for the equally enjoyable but crazier, or if I may, rowdier ones on the trip (“arriba!” :-) )

After a lunch of tapas and Coke from the bar at the waterfront plaza, we were off again. Not surprisingly, if you’ve been paying any attention at all, more big hills were ahead of us.  The hills on this part of the trip were opposite of what we were used to on other trips.  Normally you would ride up to the fortress type town and coast back down to continue to the next town.  That particular day we were coasting into towns, but were faced with big hills on the way out.  Nothing like a multi-k, 10% grade up to make you regret having had the second round of tapas (and dessert) for lunch.

Our next town was Lekeitio, a delightful little fishing/boating village where we ran into the rest of the group….well, at least their bikes.  It’s hard to miss a group of Blue Marble riders on or off their bikes . . . the panniers and handlebar bags locked together in a mass of metal and rubber. We eventually found them in one of the restaurants.  Since we had just eaten our too many tapas, we left them to their meal and explored the town a bit before heading off.

I remember Lekeitio specifically as that was where I almost took a potentially disastrous tumble while not even moving.  Yep, this year I decided I was going to “clip in” to my pedals like a “real” cyclist. For the uninitiated, this is where the cleats on the bottom of special cycling shoes lock your feet to the pedals for improved performance and keep you feet from slipping off.  To unlock from the pedals you have to remember to snap your foot outward to release the connection.    While clipping in has its advantages, it also has its drawbacks, one of them being if you stop your bike and forget to unclip when you go to slide your foot off the pedal to complete your stop, it doesn’t come off.  By that time you realize what you’ve done (or not done) it’s usually too late and you take a slow motion ohhhhhhhhhh sssshhhhhiiiiiiiiiittttttttt drunken David Hasslehoff tumble to the ground.  I was this close (holding my thumb and forefinger a smidgen apart) to taking that tumble . . . my inside voice even calmly said the words “Oh crap, I’m falling over…. “

Fortunately, at the last split second I yanked my left foot with all my might and “click!”  my foot released and met the ground just before my bike tipped passed that unrecoverable 45-ish degree angle on the way down. The look on Gennesse’s face as her hand snapped her chest with a start let me know she was as surprised by my save as I was.  Wow, that deserved an ice cream.

Thirty or so minutes after that little episode, we were riding up the umpteenth hill for the day when something just didn’t feel right.  The riding seemed a bit more difficult and I was slowing.  Then I heard that unmistakable squishy sound a flat tire makes once it’s fully deflated. Oh damn! Fortunately, because of flats on both our 2008 and 2010 trips, I was pretty good at changing and in 15 mins we were in upward motion once again. As we got to the top of the hill, we were surprised to see Gennesse, Ying, and Stephen waiting for us (thanks again guys!).

The scenery on that ride was spectacular.  We were riding a two-lane road through beautiful lush green mountain passes, skirting the cliffs and ocean below. It was days like that that made all the pre-trip prep work and training worth every drop of sweat expended.   On the way down the other side of this particular pass leading into the town of Arteaga, we pulled over to the side of the road to take in the view.  Looking to the road ahead of us we saw a police car heading up the hill we just descended.  Behind the car were what turned out to be probably 70-80 kids on bikes in various states of excitement (or distress for the few, um, heavier boys and girls).  Following up the pack slowly behind the least athletic riders was an ambulance. We all expressed hope it wasn’t going to be needed that day.

Finally riding in to Gernika (or “Gattika” as I kept referring to it) we were more than ready to stop for the day.  We had run into Bay, Helen, Lauren, John, Doug, and Lyn at the top of this other really big hill, just outside of our destination.  As wasn’t normally the case, we all arrived at the hotel about the same time.  After checking in to the Hotel Bolina, we had one more surprise waiting for us—the bikes were kept in a room at the top of two flights of stairs.  Normally carrying a bike up two flights of stairs wouldn’t be a problem.  However, after the ride we had that day it was actually a bit of a challenge.  Yup, that deserved an ice cream.

Were we on an independent night for dinner, so Damon and I got settled in the room and then headed back out to find food.  The town was quite pleasant, having a little landscaped square in the center where we had tapas and beer(s). It was there I also overcame another language barrier.  I was dying for a Monaco (beer with a bit of 7-up and a splash of grenadine) and decided to try to get one.  As I was explaining to the bartender what it was, we got stuck on “grenadine” and he just wasn’t getting it—no matter how clearly, slowly, or loudly I said it.  I then tried my Spanish “es rojo . . .agau asucar . . . ah, um . . .rojo . . . tambien para ninitos con siete arriba?” Clearly “red sugar water also for kids with 7-up” wasn’t going to do it.  Then the bartender pulled out his iPhone and handed it to me to type into the translation app.  I typed g-r-e-n-a-d-i-n-e and hit enter.  What was the crazy translation that was keeping me from my sweet syrupy beer drink? When I saw I couldn’t help but laugh a little and shake my head.  I handed the iPhone back to the bartender, he looked at it for a second. Suddenly, his eyebrows shot up and he started nodding and smiling. “ahhhhhhhh, si . . . grenadina!”  Oy!

We sat at a table outside the tapas bar for a good hour and a half and just watched the Spanish lifestyle in all its glory. After a walk around the town we were ready to head back to the hotel.  It was about 8:00 pm and all we could think about was getting off our feet and resting for the following day’s Gernika loop ride.

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Tapas and Tishrei: My Night as a New Spanish Jew

by Steven on October 25, 2011

Hi all-  Thanks for waiting while I rejoined my life in the US (already in progress).  Not surprisingly there was a ton of work waiting for me, but I think I’ve made enough of a dent that I can fit in some blog posts too.  Shooting for one a week . . .as we rejoin the trip we’re still in San Sebastian, but leaving for Gernika the next morning.

[San Sebastian - Loop Day]

We awoke in San Sebastian to our first “loop day” of this trip. As the name implies, a loop day starts and ends in the same town meaning we’re there for more than one night. Loop days are optional, and you can skip them altogether if you so choose. Damon and I were split on this one . . . he chose to ride, I chose to not. I kept meaning to ask him where they all went that day, but cow photos below are from his ride.

Technically, I did still ride, but not the planned route.  I decided to explore the city of San Sebastian. Now, if you’ve read anything from our blog prior to this post, you’ll know this isn’t really a serious travel/destination blog. It’s more of our narrative on travel and cycling in a foreign land. Fair to say?  OK, but now that we’ve agreed on that I’m going to do a quick bait-n-switch. You’ll need to read the following in your best Rick Steves’ inner voice.  Here we go . . .

San Sebastian, or Donostia in Basque, is the land mass equivalent of a pint of Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk; just the right size, sweet at first bite, and full of tasty surprises all the way through. The city lies in the northern Basque region on the Bay of Biscay, about 20 kilometers from Spain’s border with France.  The old town, or Parte Vieja (“Old Part”) is nestled between the Atlantic coast and the Bay of La Concha, proudly displaying its impressive 19th-century architecture and offering some of the tastiest Tapas bars and finest restaurants Spain has to offer.

Ok, my voice again. That particular loop day I was on a mission. There had to be at least one great big minus in this stunning city of so many pluses; that dangerous block of public housing and drug-dealing prostitutes; the abandoned and ramshackle 70’s industrial plaza; at the very least a Pizza Hut. I cycled the seemingly ever-present and impressively kept bike lanes though the city proper, skirting the sparsely attended golden sandy beaches. I rode inland though the clean, graffiti-free business district, around the modeled and manicured residential areas, and crisscrossed the sidewalks of the Parte Vieja. But nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch.  Wow, it was all good—literally.  It was that day I decided . . . IF I ever die, I don’t want go to heaven—just send me to San Sebastian.

 

That night Lyn had us going to a wonderful restaurant deep in the heart of the Old Part.  We all met on the corner in front of the bridge leading into the old town at 9:30 to walk to dinner (usually my bedtime). And that’s an early dinner in Spain. So, we’re strolling and chatting our way to the restaurant when Lauren (of Lauren and John) pulls out this little 12” by 14” poster with some kids, this mean looking dinosaur, and a bunch of Spanish writing on it.  “Cool, where’d you get that?” I asked. “I stole it,” Lauren replied.  Ok, so I’m paraphrasing (or am I?), but that was the gist of the conversation, she had peeled it off of a wall or windows or something. Now remember this when we get to the religious portion of this post . . .you’ll see.

So we get to the restaurant as group of 12 or so and are seated in one big long table as you first walk in. Lauren was seated in the middle of the table. As we were getting comfortable and deciding on our orders, she pulled out two candles and placed them in glasses on the table. Next out of her magic carry-all bag Lauren pulled two apples and a jar of honey.  The apples were then sliced and put on a couple of plates and the honey poured into two little cups.  These were then passed around the table along with a couple bowls of bread. And then the really cool part—we celebrated Rosh Hashanah. Yeah, me . . . a born-Catholic-but-fallen-from-the-flock (mom hates when I say “recovering Catholic” so I won’t) midwesterner. I was about to become Jewish by association (and celebration)—in Spain nonetheless!!

sam_1330

 

Seriously, Lauren was so gracious to talk us through the celebration so that it made sense for those of us “new” to the Jewish faith.  She explained the significance of the two days of the Tishrei, the beginning of the Jewish New Year, and the sounding of the Shofar (the ram’s horn) to signal repentance.  Sadly, we had no ram’s horn, but that seemed to be OK. Lauren then lit the candles and we dipped the apple slices in the honey, passed the bread, and those at the table who knew Hebrew and were able to sing the prayers and blessings joined Lauren and John. I couldn’t hear much over the noise in the restaurant, but I think they got it all right :-) It was one of those special moments you can’t force; it comes together on its own as if it had been orchestrated by some higher power (I know, I’m just sayin’ . . . ).  It was a very special experience and one we won’t forget.

And then it hit me (the new cynical Jewish me)!  THAT’S why Lauren stole the dinosaur poster that day.  She knew she would be repenting later that night at dinner. It was a freebie, like knowing you had a get out of jail free card in Monopoly. Brilliant! The rest of the dinner was just as special . . . delicious food, wonderful wine, and the ‘funnest’ group of people you could hope to assemble for a trip like this . . . a night like this . . . and a celebration like this. [UPDATE: I got a really nice email from Lauren after she read this post and clearly I still have more to learn.  Lauren atoned for her dinosaur theft on Yom Kippur, not Rosh Hashanah . . . damn!  ooops, sorry.]

Oh, and remember (last post) what I told you about the hotel we were in in San Sebastian (“The Terminus”) and its proximity to the train station and tracks?  Well here it is (the building on the right) . . . this is a view from the other side of the tracks (so to speak).  Pay special attention to . . . the . . . NOISE.

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A Be-yotch Named Jaizkibel . . .

by Steven on October 12, 2011

[Leaving the town of Fuenterrabia for San Sebastian. Passing through Guadalupe and Pasaia Donibane and up a monster hill – 25 k]

Hotel Palacete

Loved the previous night’s hotel. We were at the Hotel Palacete and it was a beautifully restored stone structure behind the wall of this fortress city.  Everything was stone and cobbled streets—not so hot on the bikes, but great to live in for a night.  Dinner was perfect, we had the whole group, including Ty who was the baggage master for part of the trip.

We were setup outside in the middle of a classic Spanish square across the cobbled road from the pub that would serve our food that night.  The paella looked delectable.  The Big Mac I ordered . . . ooops, sorry, projecting . . . the pork tenderloin I ordered was also quite good, but I was a little sorry I hadn’t gone with paella (Spain + Paella = duh).  But I was too exhausted and ecstatic (yes, they go hand-in-hand) that I was sitting in this marvelous little town in Northern Spain with a bunch of really fun people, delicious weather, and some great local red that I didn’t care a bit.

Seriously. . . ?

We knew nothing about our next destination, San Sebastian, before arriving. By the time we left two days later, we’d be trying to figure out how to drop everything and stay, living like locals.  Really a beautiful town . . . the architecture, the coast, both spectacular; the people were nice, it was clean—they even had a big beautiful modern Opera House right on the water—everything you could ask for in a cosmo city. But we had to get there first and that meant conquering the big “J” (or big “B” however you want to look at it).

After breakfast in Fuenterrabia we loaded up on snacks for the ride.  We were warned there would be a huge hill, so we wanted to be ready (but really no such thing as ready for this one).  We were a bit concerned the night before when we got the route sheet and the first line was: “Check your brakes before you begin this ride.” (and yes, bolded and underlined). Since this would only be important going downhill and we were at sea level, it also meant we had to first go up.  The route sheet referred to this ride simply as going “over the mountain.” In fact, I recall Lyn pointing to a mountain (not an exaggeration) on our first day and saying, “See that hill?  You’ll be riding over it later in the week.”—I thought he was kidding. It ended up being a 455-meter vertical climb in the span of 8k, with a total of 25k all day.

Helen and jaizkibel

Helen!!

The peak is called Jaizkibel, but we just called her The Be-yotch for short. On top of the 10% grade in some places, it was HOT out.  The weather after that first day could, in most cases, be considered perfect.  It was sunny, not a cloud in the sky and mid-80’s. Perfect for, say, a day at the beach.  Riding up a steep hill on a bike, not so much.

Basically it was really slooooow going in “granny gear” (no, not proud, but not gonna lie). I actually had to stop and “take some pictures” of the scenery on the way up.  Scenery that looked, felt, smelled exactly like all the other scenery, but just happened to coincide with a point where I was breathing so hard I felt like I was breathing in and out at the same time (not pretty and much harder to swear with any conviction).

But eventually we got to the top and wow, what spectacular views.  Images below don’t do it justice, but after all my vital signs returned to normal, I almost thought it was worth the agony on the way up—almost.  And John got an extra special treat being the first one to the top. Having been standing next to the only parked car there for a number of minutes, stretching and toweling off, he eventually noticed and visually followed the muffled moans to the back seat where a couple was having their own celebration for having reached the top—happy endings as they say. Needless to say, John, being the gentleman that he is, gave polite applause at the end of their performance. As the rest of the group made it to the top, we hung around and took lots of pictures.

Lunch was in a town called Pasaia at this great little restaurant across the water and about 2k from San Sebastian. It was another one of those group of 12 disrupts the peace and quiet of your typical restaurant in a small Spanish town.  The restaurant was great, close as possible to the water and right next to the ferry that would take us closer to San Sebastian.  After lunch and for 1.20 € we were whisked across the water and were on our way.

As soon as we saw San Sebastian we knew it was going to be high point. After entering the city and dodging traffic for a few k’s, we came to a beautiful site— [There's more...(click to continue!)]

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Biarritz or Don’t Be at All…

by Steven on October 4, 2011

[Still in France for the morning and then on to the town of Fuenterrabia (or Hondarrabia in Basque), just over the Spanish border, for the night’s stay.  Total ride today was about 35 k – a regular cycling-day-at-the-beach compared to yesterday’s brutal hill-fest.]

The day started as most do with big baskets of bread thingies, orange juice, and a few cups of thick, gooey “black gold” that makes Starbuck’s “bold” seem like spring water. The weather was beautiful as was the town.  Biarritz seemed very much a pretty ‘trophy’ city—it was clean, manicured, expensive looking, but we didn’t find a lot in the way of depth or substance (my apologies to any trophy wives reading this post, I really didn’t mean to compare you to the city of Biarritz or vice versa).  And Biarritz, forgive me if there is more to you than what we shared that night together, I just didn’t see it.

Babes in Biarritz...

After breakfast Damon and I walked the beach and got an eyeful of local color—leather brown. Seriously, these people do not believe in sunscreen or moderation. Half these women are the same color as that nice cocoa brown leather couch we liked so much in the Restoration Hardware catalogue.  Come to think of it, they looked like they might have a similar texture.  But the beach was truly stunning and well worth the time to visit.  We even snapped a pic of some of the locals . . . nice.

Anyway, back to riding.  We set off Feunterrabia and did a little back tracking from our first day.  We were actually going to end up across the water from Hendaye as Biarritz was kind of like a giant loop over a couple of days. Today was a relatively relaxed ride (comparatively speaking). We spent much of the latter part of the day with Lauren and John, Helen, Ying, and Bay.

I mentioned Lauren, John and Helen in yesterday’s post (all smarty-smarts in the mental health field, but super nice and down to earth).  Ying is a lawyer for the government and also super smart, but quite the daredevil. “Yes, Ying, please DO keep your eyes open when racing down a hill at 50 km’s an hour, we’d hate to have to peel you off one of the well-maintained Spanish roads—or a pretty Audi A4 Avante wagon (I think that man is probably still cussing at you in Basque).

And Bay, what can I say about Bay? Nothing.  Actually, she’s another smart one (see a pattern here?), but due to her new job in Washington DC I won’t be giving a lot of details about her antics (she did NOT participate in any shooter contests, did NOT dance on any tables yelling “arriba, arriba!!” and NEVER asked for butter for her bread or fought anyone for extra desserts). We also spent some time with Janess, Doug, Stephen, and Lyn…more about them in the next post.

The day consisted of some reasonably small hills, more beautiful little towns, and a couple stops at beaches (for more tanned, leathery locals).  The second beach stop was in or around St. Jean, and while it was a lovely beach with lovely people, the best part was seeing the group waist-high in the water singing and acting out the “Shark Song” led by Lauren and John.  In one of my most egregious acts of not capturing a spectacular event on this trip, I did not get helmet cam video of the Shark Song.  My most sincere apologies to all…..

Back on the road after some well-deserved ice cream, we made our way to our hotel for the night.  About 5 k out of the town of Fuenterrabia we had the option of taking the ferry over to the old town or riding around the lagoon, bay (that’s bay, not Bay), or whatever they called it, and through the city proper to our hotel.  Some did the ferry and Damon and I followed Lyn through the city.  It was an easier day of riding, so we didn’t mind and extra few k’s. The ride through the city was, well, an experience. Think NY traffic on Paris streets, speed it up a bit and add a Spanish soundtrack and lots of horns, turns, some hills and trying to keep up with someone who cycles for a living. That was our introduction to Spain.

Tomorrow: Surprise! More up.  $#!%

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There’s Hills in Them Thar Hills….

by Steven on September 30, 2011

[This post finds us in Southern France and takes us from Ascain to Biarritz, via Bayonne.  We had options and took the wron…ah, I mean long one.  Total distance today: 76 k. Hoping to catch-up on the posts between Spain and Portugal!]

We are HERE...

Let’s start this post with a trick question . . . When cycling up a 10% grade through the ridiculously hilly Basque countryside, you come upon the realization your heart is beating so hard that it could literally pop out of your chest and roll into a gravely ditch by the side of the road, you should:

a)    Stop to eat, drink, and rest for 10-15 minutes; restart the hill when ready

b)   Secretly let the air out of both tires telling your fellow cyclists to go on while you change them; re-inflate and coast back down to the nearest train station.

c)     Ride to the next town, hop off the bike and live like a local until you can afford a car to get the hell out of there

d)   None of the above

The correct answer is “d” – instead, every couple of k’s enthusiastically exclaim “What a spectacular photo op!” and stop to take a picture (and get a drink, eat a gummy bear, update Facebook status, repack pannier . . .).

So this morning we all met for breakfast nice and early at about 8:30.  We heard this could be a long day (if we so chose) and wanted to get an early start.  The mealtimes are great since we get to learn more about our fellow cyclists. Three of the people in the group are in the mental health field (professionals, not patients—I think :-)   ).  Lauren and John are married parents of two, and Helen is a friend of theirs and someone who’s worked with John in the past.  The one thing I’ve noticed about hanging with these three is we really try to keep any “crazy” in check.  They keep talking about being “on axis” and I just want to make sure we’re in the ‘good’ coordinates (if we’re even supposed to be ON the axis—ruh rooohhh).

After breakfast we all headed out as a single group and somehow splintered into 2-3 groups for much of the ride and were all back together by lunchtime (minus Lyn). We ate in a small town called Cambo-les-Bains and went to the only restaurant that would have us (one was a little too fancy for the likes of us, and the other was serving a limited menu). It’s actually pretty comical to see a group of 12 English-speaking people in bike shorts and cycling shoes who (mostly) don’t speak the language trying to get tables, the right food, and the check. Lyn, who had snuck off to get a really delicious Gateau Basque for dessert, arrived about 15 min. into lunch  (by that time we had done all of the damage to the image of  American tourists we could do in one sitting).

So after lunch we had a decision to make—the short ride or the long one. Or as someone in the group put it (Bay or Lauren?), “the girly ride or the manly-man ride.” Of course that sealed our fate right there…. [There's more...(click to continue!)]

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Le Group Tour de Basque!

by Steven September 27, 2011 2011: Basque & Portugal

(First ride day – Hendaye to Ascain – 23K) Last night we fought for sleep on the TrainHotel . . . and lost. Yes, second night in a row with little to no sleep.  We caught the train in Lisbon after a nice day exploring he city. We left about 4:30 on Friday evening and [...]

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EWR to LIS with a side of RLS…

by Steven September 26, 2011 2011: Basque & Portugal

[Hi all - wifi has been really spotty so posts will be trickling out as I’m able.  I can’t wait to tell you about our ride from Ascain to Biarritz—so brutal it made me nostalgic for last year’s 80K ride from the Italian Lakes trip. But first a little about our trip over....] (New Jersey [...]

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If it’s fado you want, it’s fado you’ll get….

by Steven September 20, 2011 2011: Basque & Portugal

So here we go again.  What started in 2008 as a ‘once-in-an-adulthood’ cycling trip through Provence and Tuscany, has turned into our preferred mode of exploration of the far away lands we’re too lazy to experience on foot. This particular journey will take us (and you, if you so chose) on a 7-day ride through [...]

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The next journey begins in 17 days, 20 hours and 14 minutes….

by Steven September 4, 2011 2011: Basque & Portugal

Yes, I’m counting. Join us for a new adventure in Basque and Portugal beginning September 22nd, 2011. We’ll be posting in the coming weeks, but just so you don’t miss us and we don’t miss you, please subscribe (yeah, just over to your right, down a little…there, that’s it!)–we’ll try not to make you sorry [...]

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