To Calella

November 17, 2024

We have a very simple, fault-tolerant agenda for the day: check out of our Barcelona Airbnb by eleven; bike a half mile to catch the regional train to Calella, an hour east on the coast; show up for our 1:00 lunch reservation; and then bike to our new B&B where we’re booked for our final four nights before heading to the airport. There’s always the chance that we might miss the train or not be able to board because bikes are allowed on a space available basis, but that’s not such a big concern because they run every half hour all day long. If we miss one we’ll just try for the next one.

We start assembling to leave around 10:30, an hour before the 11:37 departure we’re planning on. We’re allowing plenty of time because leaving here is complicated. We’re five flights up in a building with an elevator so tiny that I can barely fit in one bike at a time, folded. It’s another argument for folders actually - we’d have been in a jam here without them.

Rachael goes first with all of the panniers and then I follow with the bikes, one at a time. We have plenty of time but she’s antsy to go so she seems irked when I reposition her bike so it’s directly under the stairwell because I want to take a last photo of it down that five story elevator shaft. I look up to make sure it’s centered correctly and then take the elevator back up.

At the top I look down, pleased to see the whole bike is visible far below, and then reach for my camera. It’s not there though, and then I remember that I put it in my rucksack, which is down below. I reach for my backup camera, the phone, but that’s downstairs also. I’m not about to hold us up further by taking the elevator down five flights to get the camera and ride back up again, because we know what’s at risk there. So I drop the idea, but once I’m downstairs I take a shot back up the stairwell to remind myself of what a dope I am.

You can help out here. Use your imagination to mentally flip this 180 degrees and put a tiny blue Bike Friday at the opposite end.

Biking to the Le Clots station is simple although we’re held up t first after slightly coasting a half block when Rachael yelps that she’s not going anywhere. Her chain’s off, dislodged when her bike was folded and unfolded. No biggie, and I remind her that we still have plenty of time when we arrive at the station a half hour before departure. Our abundance of time starts shrinking though, first when we can’t find the elevator that we know is here because we took it up when we arrived four days ago. It takes several minutes and a check of the map on the phone to realize that I’ve mapped us a block short of the station.

So we go to the real station location but still can’t find the elevator. I leave Rachael with the bikes while I go down the stairs to look for it. And I find it too, but can’t get to it - that bit of the hallway is fenced off, the elevator presumably out of service.

So, stairs it is and after unloading the panniers we face a missionaries and cannibals sort of dilemma. How do we shuttle everything down this flight of stairs so that we’re not risking leaving something unguarded at either the top or the bottom in this huge city (population over 5 million, some number of whom are guaranteed to be of poor moral character)?

We get it done though, her back and my knees complaining the whole while, and as I’m reloading the bikes Rachael walks off to find where we go next. By the time I’m done she returns with the unwelcome news that she’s found it - at the bottom of a second, longer set of stairs. Poop.

This all takes time and I’ve mentally written off our chance to catch the 11:37 until I’m surprised to have the ticket agent tell me departure is in ten minutes, at track 4. Even after some difficulties squeezing our bikes through the access gate we’re standing on our on our platform positioned to watch for the bike car on the arriving train with five minutes to spare. While I wait I remind Rachael that this is a thru train and the stop will probably be brief so if something goes wrong and only she gets on, she should just get off at the Calella station and wait for me on the next train.

The train comes, we quickly spot the bike car passing before us, and it just keeps going because it’s a long train. We’re ready for this though, rush toward it and arrive in time. There’s just one thing - the door to the bike car doesn’t open for some reason. So in a bit of panic we enter the car next to it in a rush. It’s not easy though because it’s a narrower door and there are stairs involved. She lifts the front of her her bike up, climbs the stairs, and I lift the back of hers up with one hand while holding my other bike up with the other and then rush to get myself in before the door closes on me.

Whew. We’re both on, and after we roll the bikes to the bike car and down those steps to it we get our bikes strapped in place so we can just sit for the next hour. It’s been a challenge though, mentally and physically. The minds reel, the back and knees complain.

On the train. We’re in luck. When we arrived the bike space was already occupied but the guy got off at the very next stop. This is the only actual dedicated bike space though - if you’re not lucky enough to snag it, you improvise.

While we wait we’re briefly treated to a live music concert. After a performance of the House of the Rising Sun he collects his tips and moves on to the next car. I wonder if he knows more than one song?

We arrive at the Calella Station right on time, and we’re prepared. We got up at the previous stop to unstrap the bikes, position us and our belongings near the door, and we’ve discussed the exit plan: She’ll step off first with the panniers; I’ll then hand down her bike before getting off with my own.

There’s just one thing: the goddamn bike door still doesn’t open, something we might have considered and prepared for if we’d been a little sharper. Panicked again, we rush with everything through the length of the car to its opposite door. I get there first and get half-off with my bike hoping I’m visible enough that the door doesn’t close on me until she arrives too.

In a minor miracle, we both manage to get off; but to our surprise the train doesn’t actually leave for several minutes more, because it’s waiting for the arrival of an oncoming train to presumably clear the tracks. That’s probably the only reason we were able to get off. We are off though, right on schedule, and no worse the wear except for an overload of mental and physical stress.

The mental stress at least is eased when we arrive at our waterfront restaurant and sit down to a fine meal: probably the best goat cheese salad of the tour, sole (grilled for me and meunière for her), and a therapeutic beverage.

At three we make our way to our B&B where we’re shown a simple but acceptable room and our bikes are safely stored in a locked garage. Toward sundown we walk down to the beach to sit on sandbags and watch the end of the day, and that’s therapeutic too.

After sundown we walk back to the room, but I return to the beach an hour later to see the moonrise, envisioning getting a photo of the last super moon of the year, one day past its prime. It will make a nice super moon bookend paired with the one from two days ago, I’m thinking. Fifteen minutes past moonrise time though Mister Moon still hasn’t show up so I give up. For one, it’s dark and chilly. For another, I realize it must be rising behind the hill east of town rather than over the water like I’d imagined, so it could easily be another hour before it rises high enough; and even if it did make a showing, I’ve also just realized my camera’s battery has all but died. I probably wouldn’t be able to get a decent shot off even if I did wait around.

Today's ride: 2 miles (3 km)
Total: 4,839 miles (7,788 km)

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