Bicibus style
On Friday evening, I had just enough time left to hastily come up with a plan for Saturday. It turned out that in Girona, the ancient company Teisa has a whole special 🚲🚌, called Bicibus, which means "Bikebus". During the season it makes many trips, but in the autumn only three.
Armed with this knowledge, I came up with the following plan.
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I'll ride my bike to the town of Sant Feliu-something-or-other, which is located on the Costa Brava, meaning "wild coast/rugged coast". From there I'll come back on the bikebus that starts at three. Unfortunately, there wasn't a later trip. I couldn't leave earlier in the morning either. One of the reasons is that it's hellishly cold in the morning, under 10 degrees plus a breeze. On a bike, I feel this simply as Antarctica, especially with my health. I had to head out around 12, which by any measure is late, even if the ride is only forty kilometers.
As for the Costa Brava, there are some interesting details. The coast is called that because there are an awful lot of inaccessible cliffs overgrown with Pyrenean pines, firs, and spruces. Nevertheless, there are also pleasant sandy beaches in abundance. The name was coined at the beginning of the last century, but only started being actively used from the middle of it.
The Spanish and Catalan governments figured out that the piece of coastline from the outskirts of Barcelona to the French border was a solid spot. Warm, beautiful, cheap, easy to get to. Conclusion: it needs PR. It worked out well: they built a ton of hotels, tourists flooded in, mostly package tourists from travel agencies. Lovers of lounging on the beach, basically. One of the reasons was the overcrowding of the French Riviera. And it's cheaper, naturally.
But I am not a package tourist, I am a chaotic squanderer of funds, and I was in no big rush to get to the coast. After all, the goal of my vacation isn't to get from point A to point B as fast as possible. I tried to look around, to study what's what, as much as that's possible on a civilized bike path. The route really is very polished: the gravel is nice, there are almost no puddles or mud, you could even roll along on a road bike. At the intersections there are usually signs, often benches. A whole lot of pedestrian bridges. Back home, the government would burst from greed if they had to build so many bridges for cyclists.
Narrow-gauge style
The path from Girona to Sant Feliu is a former narrow-gauge railway with the simple name "El Carrilet II". It translates roughly to "tramway", or maybe that's exactly what it is, "narrow-gauge railway". This path is part of the vies verdes, "green ways", meaning the official marked easy tourist trails around Girona. Interestingly, in English the word translates conveniently to "greenway", by analogy with "highway". In Russian, I can't immediately think of a catchy name for it. The currently hyper-trendy AI ChatGPT suggests saying "zelenushechka" (little greenie). Let's go with that.
Of course, my full-suspension bike is not exactly the right bike for a zelenushechka. But my subpar physical fitness doesn't yet allow me to use its potential to the fullest. To do that, as a 20th-century oldfag, instead of improving myself, I cherish dreams of improving my bike (or rather, replacing it). Making that very fullest potential electric, so that my carbon two-wheeled steed with its magnesium Shimano EP801 heart would elevate me to the rocky peaks of the Costa Brava's cliffs. And from there I would leap like Steven Seagal. But for now, these are dreams. And current reality says that I still have to buy a bike trainer, a mattress, pull out a molar and replace it with an implant for 1.5k euros. All this pushes the prospect away into the misty heights of the Jungfraujoch peak from the issue about Switzerland.
You do meet people on the zelenushechka, especially closer to the towns: cyclists on gravel or hybrid bikes, runners, and Nordic walkers. Sometimes people are walking their dogs, but usually on a leash. There are often signs stating the road is only for bikes and pedestrians, so a car doesn't accidentally drive in. Where this is unavoidable because it's access to housing, there's a 30 sign and a "bikes have priority" sign.
The elevation profile of the route was such that closer to the town of Sant Feliu de Guíxols I was about to roll down a big hill, down down down. This would have been great, if not for one thing - time was pressing, the clock was ticking, and I was starting to get nervous.
Did I manage to pop into Sant Feliu de Guíxols and get to the Bikebus on time?
Hurry-scurry style
When I rode up the little hill from which I was about to roll down to that very wild coast and the town of Sant Feliu, I discovered that there were about 40 minutes left until the bus. If going by the track, it was about 12 kilometers. A bit much, even considering I'd be going downhill. After all, you still have to look at the map sometimes, and it's better to arrive early. There are also traffic lights, breakdowns, and plain old brain-farts.
I decided not to tempt fate this time, as I usually do. I turned straight towards the bus station, skipped going into town. A pity, but what can you do - as I've written more than once, in life you usually have to compromise. The issue here is strictly in the structure of reality. There's time and place, which sort of merge together into Einstein's spacetime. A human can only be in one place at one moment in time, which means you have to choose. I'm not even talking about time - that's a total mess. You can't rewind it backwards, or forwards either, all that's left is to abide in the present, as Buddha advised us.
And so I arrived at the bus station, where a very real Bikebus awaited me. It was a regular intercity bus, but with a nuance. Attached to the bus was an enclosed trailer with latches for 24 bikes (I counted) and self-promotion on the side. The station was closed, but I had an electronic ticket, and I had bought it the night before so as not to take any chances. I have no idea what people without phones or the skill to use the internet are going to do soon. Small stations nowadays frequently have no staff, because it's unprofitable, COVID, and so on.
In total I rode 41km, with an elevation gain of 240 meters. Not much, but after all, I still had to catch the bikebus so I wouldn't have to slog 40km back in the dark. Much too cold and dark. Even though I have a very powerful bike light, and there are no people on the bike path at night, the risk of accidents goes up. Because the zelenushechka has intersections with car roads, potholes, and boom barriers. The juice ain't worth the squeeze.
The Bicibus driver greeted me warmly, scanned my QR ticket from the email, tossed my bike into the trailer, and strapped it in. Then I confirmed with him the knowledge I had dredged from the Teisa bus company's website. As expected, there are only three bikebus trips. I got on one of them, and moreover was the only passen
ger. And about the other two, you will find out from the next posts.
Veggie-eater style
The ride from Sant Feliu back to Girona took an hour, and I was home early. A shower, lie down a bit, veg out, and then hoof it down into the center. I do want to see what the city looks like where they filmed a good chunk of "Game of Thrones". Plus, I'm too lazy to cook, and there are a bunch of eateries nearby.
Admired the center, started looking for a grub hub. With vegetarianism in Girona, things aren't ideal yet. On top of that, the popular app for finding plant-based food Happy 🐮 has felt a terrible craving for 🤑🤑🤑, and doesn't let you filter anything, sort anything. Basically - eat what you're given. Here I felt like an oppressed minority. Did you know that plant-based food should be noticeably cheaper than 🥩? In fact, things are completely different, and often all sorts of trendy vegan items are nightmarishly expensive. There are several reasons, but probably the most significant is that governments heavily subsidize the production of 🥩 and 🥛 through farmer support. It's understandable that this formed traditionally, but incomprehensible why it hasn't un-formed yet. The second reason is that these products target the group that loves "eco" and "green" stuff. I'm cool with eco-schmeco, but because of the marketers' stance I have to overpay for a feature I don't need. Pay attention to the vegetarian goods section in the grocery store - 90% of it will be "eco", and the price twice as expensive as normal grains and other things. Just give me my falafel, fake pea patties, and wheat sausage for the price of a piece of chicken, not foie gras, already!
By the way, forgot to mention I ate a very tasty 🧆 at a joint called Kukla, back in Valencia. Highly recommend.
I also popped into an eco-craft-local-shop, where I saw all sorts of oddities. A quince the size of a fist, kefir with "кефир" written in Cyrillic, and so on, and so forth. I don't remember if I wrote this, but periodically I've found it difficult to buy whole milk. In Spanish that would be Leche Entera, but some original thinkers write it in Catalan, or devil knows what language.
In principle, for breakfast every day I fed on Leche Entera + Integral Flakes. I hope that from such a diet I became entirely whole and integral, as the New Age lovers bequeathed to us. On the other hand, neo-hippie festivals taught me that only vegan raw foodism will save us. Hardcore only, only overnight water-soaked oatmeal without cooking!
USSR style
In the end, I found a meatless resto - the tavern El Drac al Cau del Llop. In Spain, restaurant opening hours are quite arbitrary, and here I hit upon this exact arbitrariness. Arrived at 7, and they told me that until 8 only the bar is open. What could I do, I ordered a green tea, sat down at a table, and started planning tomorrow from a dying phone. You'd think I should have learned by now that it's better to bring a charger. But, apparently, I'm one of those people who needs to step on a rake ten times to realize it exists.
The tea bag looked like it had been dried on a radiator - all brown like that. I get that it's just made from recycled paper, but it's funny - feels like I ended up in the Soviet Union. Only my friends read me, otherwise trolls and Kremlin-bots would come swarming to tell me how wonderful the USSR was. I was there long enough to remember that in my neighborhood only two types of ice cream were sold: chocolate and vanilla, for 20 kopecks. Once a month they brought creme brulee for 15, but you still had to manage to buy it in time. And this was in the prosperous Latvian SSR!
Or the story of when I saw a German toy train in the kids' store in the city center. I ran to get my mom, but I was an infinite number of minutes too late. There were only a few trains in total, and they were instantly sold out. What the hell do you need a country for that can't make such simple things as ice cream and a toy train, tell me? To build rockets and send people into space? How about tackling that, at least once there's no longer a deficit of creme brulee?
When people talk about the Soviet popsicle on a stick, I fall into a stupor. My memory is bad, of course, and might be lying, but I am 90% sure that there were no popsicles in my city. Or take glazed curd snacks - the lemon ones were sold only in Liepaja, near my grandma's house. In Daugavpils such luxury was nowhere to be found.
But now, when I buy a lemon Baltais, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. I remember grandma's amazing house, full of mysteries. Built of stone at the beginning of the last century. With two exits - the front and to the courtyard. Stove heating and no hot water. But incredibly huge rooms and 3-meter-high ceilings. And a room without windows - the "nightie", where I slept on a trunk.
Tavern croquette style
Let's return from the conquest of space, the USSR, and curd snacks in Liepaja to the realities of Girona. As you probably don't remember anymore, I was sitting and waiting for dinner. Since the establishment was unironically a tavern, the food there was fitting. That is, more like pub grub than main courses. I'm sick to death of pizzas, and so I ordered croquettes. Haven't eaten them in a long time - it's more of a dish from the Netherlands than a Spanish one. A croquette is this little cylinder of filling rolled in breadcrumbs and deep-fried. I ordered the assorted platter. I liked the spinach ones best - they had such a delicate creamy taste that it just melted on the tongue. I don't know if the spinach was with some special cheese, or with mashed potatoes and butter, as happens. Next to me, a young couple was sharing some dish of the kind where you have to dip croutons in melted cheese, but not fondue. I was bored, and I pestered them a little bit, but I didn't know what to ask about, and soon quieted down.
Forgot to mention that right at the register of the craft store they were selling four strains of marijuana. If you came from a Latgalian village and you're 60 years old, you could probably catch a heart attack from such rampant moral decay. That is, if you're not aware that CBD cannabis is all the rage these days, meaning not the junkie kind, but like, medicinal. If anyone still hasn't heard about this, I'll say it briefly: there are many cannabinoids in marijuana, the one that gets you high is mostly tetrahydrocannabinol, TGK or THC in Latin letters. It's believed that another one, cannabidiol, CBD, provides a calming and pain-relieving effect. In reality, there are almost no reliable studies. The ones that exist use dosages tens of times! larger than in the little bottles and pills you can buy in craft shops. Buyer beware!
I also stopped into a souvenir shop with interesting gifts: puzzles, weird jewelry, and other stuff. They had cool lanterns - a paper construction set that unfolds into a decorated star. I think that in the new linguistic realities the word "decorated" (razu-crush-enny) comes from the word "crush", meaning something cool that you fall in love with. Don't know why I didn't buy it - probably figured I'd find it cheaper on Ali.
When I had eaten my fill and walked enough, I had to drag myself up my hill. In the video I tell a bit of a fib, saying I've got a hundred-meter climb ahead of me. That's not true, more like sixty.
A track of 41.73 km, 232m of elevation gain and less than three hours long
Well, you know yourselves what needs to be written here!