Hola España

We made it to Spain, you guys. And it wasn't half the palarva we had anticipated it would be. On our last train-travel-journey, it had taken us about two half days to figure out how to purchase tickets and then the trip itself was four separate trains. Each station and train entailed their own laborious shuttling of gear, to the accompaniment of our children panicking and crying. A serene experience, it was not.
This journey was a piece of pastry in comparison. Shea came home from his ticket-buying expedition to the train station in Carcassone bearing our tickets and a smile. Another bike-angel had helped him out with the purchase. The adamantly-only-speaking-French ticket lady had heard his request and flatly told him "non." A sentiment she repeated with firm shakes of her head until Shea called his bike angel over. He'd been chatting the bike touring chap up while waiting for his turn in line and thus was able to call on him for interpreting. Some discussion and pondering and 60 euros later, we had tickets to the border and details on how to continue onwards.
The next day we strolled onto the first of our four trains and marvelled at how we were able to wheel them directly on and then off again. At each station we were flukily able to simply wheel the bikes on or off; no steps, no shuttling. Someone was looking out for us.
The trains brought us to Girona, Spain and here we spent our first night with a wonderfully warm Warm Showers host. Joan was our first Warm Showers host and we were his fiftieth guests. Though he did acknowledge that maybe we were only the second family he'd ever hosted.
"Very brave!" He kept remarking.
Very crazy, we sometimes wondered. Again. As we cycled the kids through rain.

This region in Spain, Catalunia, drew us because of the presence of a Vias Verde. An abandoned railway line, now marked as a designated cycle route. This 100km route led from Olot, a mountain town in the Pyrenees, 100km down to the Mediterranean Sea. It took us four days and we had the pleasure of stopping again with Joan in Girona, the midpoint. We trudged back to his oasis home as the sun set on a day of non-stop rain.

"I was worried about you," he said as he ushered us in. A sentiment echoed by the stranger who bailed us up in a village along the way with gestures and emphatic recommendations to take the bus to Girona. "Rain, for long time!" This stranger told us, "for me, not so bad. But for you...." and he gestured helplessly at our soggy crew. He seemed to imply that the local bus from his village to Girona, where we were heading, did not normally take bikes, but perhaps, in these extreme circumstances, if we begged him to...

It's not the first time in my life with my Mountain Man, that I've found myself doing something quite contrary to the recommendations of the locals.

And so off into the rain we continued to cycle.

But it was only one day of four. The rest was a sweet downhill to the sea (bar one hill which Lox declared "my First Mountain Summit!"). We reached 550km. We cycled a river, a canal and a railway line. We went from the Mountains to the Sea. We camped in cow paddocks and oak groves, camp grounds and Airbnb's (God bless Airbnb's).  I have saddle sores (don't ask me how that has happened after a mere. 25km each day, but it has). We are inordinately proud of oursleves.

We now head to Barcelona to sell our steed's and head back to the UK. Our last morning in the tent, cold and smelling the pig farm not far off, I felt quite emotional that this brief chapter was drawing to a close.
"I'm feeling things," I told Mountain Dad, "those emotions things. I don't like it."
"It's good for you," he counselled. But I'm not convinced, I think I musn't have slept very well the night before and was just a bit tired. I had cycled 25km the day before, you know...

500km!

We saw a lot of this. At least once a day.

Oh rainy rain...

View from rim of volcano overlooking Olot in the Pyrenees 

Mountain Dad has really been getting into some arty photo taking...

Last morning in the tent

Full moon; Mountain Dad was out prowling the cow paddock, missing his Full Moon Club mates

The Pyrenees are way back in the background

With Joan, our Warm Showers host

Mountain Dad’s home made camping table. Only scavenged materials used. Table itself only used once. Because it’s Autumn and so few people are out camping, we always had our pick of spots with picnic tables! Another good reason to travel in the low season

Cooking dinner in a cow paddock. I’m wearing everything I have with me. My hands are freezing. Another good reason to avoid travelling in the low season.

Mountain Dads 41st birthday.

The Mediterranean Sea!