Ametlla and Ten Kilometers Back

The next couch I had planned was in Tortosa, another 50 miles south. I did not want to cycle that far in one day, especially since at 11am I still needed to tune up my bicycle and ditch a lot of things (I don’t need three pairs of pants, clogs, and a few books to cycle…). Hopefully I can find a town before Tortosa to sleep in tonight. Even after that double-marathon yesterday, I think I can manage 20 miles of cycling, if I can find a couch somewhere...

Fortunately for me there was one couch surfer in Ametlla de Mar, about 30 miles away, who agreed to accommodate me tonight with less than a day’s notice. Ju said that he was a university colleague, so he was probably trustworthy. I was hoping to only stay with females on Couch Surfing just to be safe, but if I were to rely almost completely on Couch Surfing along the entire coast of Spain, I would eventually have to stay with a guy, because there would not always be the option of a female’s couch available where I needed to rest.

Out on the street, I thanked Ju for her hospitality and she wished me luck. Following her directions to leave Tarragona, I immediately got stuck at a hectic round a bout, where I thought I might never cross. After finally reaching the other side, I realized that I had strapped my panniers on backwards, and therefore had to stop and readjust otherwise my heels would get caught as I pedaled. Bicycling on the side of a European highway is scary enough; I didn’t need the possibility of snagging my heels added on.

By the time I finally left Tarragona it was about 4:30pm, a quite late start time, but the today’s distance of 50k shouldn’t take very long, so I wasn’t especially concerned. I managed to get back into the rhythm of pedaling easily and my body felt surprisingly agile considering yesterday’s feat. I stopped only once to break for water and bread at a gas station pullout.

“Bravo!” exclaimed an older man I passed on a sidewalk; and a driver headed the opposite direction honked and gave me a thumbs-up. Even the slightest gestures help me.

Upon reaching Ametlla de Mar several hours later, I said goodbye to the highway and cruised into the quaint neighborhood to view the bluish-grey beach, and pick up a few groceries to last me through the night before calling up Sacha.

“Hola! Sa está??” I asked to the person on the receiving end.

“Si”

“Hola, me llamo Aleta,” I explained, “…soy una chica de Couch Surfing…?” “Yes, yes, you speak English?”

“Si!”

“Ok,” he said, “I think I saw you pass by on your bicycle earlier. I’m working right now, at a gas station about 10 kilometers north of Ametlla. When I saw a girl biking past that looked like your pictures on Couch Surfing, I still didn’t know if you were coming, because I didn’t check my email since earlier. When I ran outside to call after you, I had forgotten your name so didn’t know what to call out.”

At this, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh about this little mix up or feel frustrated that my destination was behind me. He explained that he lived just north of Ametlla and would be working until 10pm, so I could either wait in town for him to pick me up later or cycle ten kilometers back to wait at the gas station with him until he finished work. Without thinking very carefully I told him that I’d meet him at his gas station, to save him from driving into town for me later.

By then it was past 8pm and darkness was creeping in. It was my first time bicycling in the dark, but I didn’t think it would take too long. I switched on the lights in the front and back of my bike and returned to the highway. Within ten minutes of cycling, I regretted my decision. Traffic was not too heavy and there was enough shoulder for me to stay on my side of the white line, but I feared that the cars coming from behind couldn’t see me in the dark. I pedaled hard, so as to spend as little time as possible on the road.

“Just keep going, just keep pedaling, the gas station will be around the next bend,” I persuaded myself, praying that I would never have to do this again, “biking in the darkness was bound to happen at some time, so why not now?”

A small car pulled a U’ey at a small intersection behind me, and I noticed a guy with a big head of hair come running after me (Ju forewarned me that Sa had an afro), so I presumed it was him and stopped pedaling. Apparently he drove down a short ways to make sure I was all right; but since he was still working and couldn’t really help out much.

“Why didn’t he do this when he saw me pass by earlier in the day?” I thought. I was ok for now, and told him that I’d see him at the gas station. It would have been a wiser choice to wait in town for him, but I had already come too far to turn back now.

Fifteen minutes later I pulled up to this gas station and was welcomed into the mini mart by him and his co-worker. Sucking down a liter of orange juice sitting on a barstool, I made small talk with them, and waited patiently until 10pm.

His coworker said that Sa was a good guy, and I didn’t pick up any obvious weirdo vibes from him, so I felt fairly comfortable crashing on his couch for the night. Then again, when the clock strikes 10pm after biking all day, nearly any couch sounds good.

Turns out that Sa’s couch was not at all what I was hoping for.

When we reached the gates of his house in his car, he had just finished explaining to me that his family had recently built this house to rent out in the summer months, but he had the place all to himself for now since they currently resided in France. The car’s headlights revealed a stretched villa-style house with tiled roof, chimneys, and arched pillars.

Inside he gave me a quick tour of the eight bedrooms, four bathrooms, spacious kitchen, and grandiose living room, before letting me loose to choose whichever room I wanted. I picked the closest one and put my things down, heading foremost for the shower. Snug in my dry clothes, I found Sa in the kitchen listening to the soundtrack of Triplettes de Belville, a whimsical animated French film about a European cyclist.

“I love this song,” I told him. I downloaded this theme song years ago, and listen to it frequently, especially after arriving in Europe. Sa probably had no idea how perfectly the song fit at that moment.

About to fix something for us to eat, he asked if there was anything I didn’t care for.

“I’m not too picky, except I don’t eat meat,” I replied, “but you don’t really have to adjust your dinner preparations to me or feed me at all! I have some bread and cheese that will be fine for me.”

Insisting that mere bread and cheese was insufficient, he prepared a Spanish-type brochetta by rubbing tomatoes and olive oil into a halved baguette topped with tomatoes, onions, grated cheese, and anchovies.

“I seem to be cursed with having lots of vegetarian friends,” he mentioned while adding thinly sliced meat to his pieces before broiling them in the oven.

He was studying to be an English teacher, and as a result we conversed almost entirely in English, which made things a little easier for me. When the brochettas were finished, we carried them into the living room to watch a couple episodes of “Coupling.” It was the most gourmet TV dinner I’ve ever had.

Waiting

I woke up lazily after 10am, hearing Sa already moving about in the house. He was busy watering the huge lawn and had very considerately waited for me wake up before having breakfast, so we ate cereal together at the long table. He had his chocolate moons and I had unsweetened corn flakes listening to French radio. Over a glass of orange juice, he unwrapped Champagne-flavored chocolates leftover from Easter. Nearly gagging after first tasting the exotic chocolate, he offered me to try it. I accepted one to take on the road with me.

I stayed around until just after noon to send emails and organize my things again. Before leaving I captured a photo of us in front of his Tarragona villa.

“Thanks for everything!” I waved back to him on my bicycle.

“Good luck and be careful!”

The first few hills between Ametlla and the next town were a gorgeous site, rich-red soil, rows of fruit trees, and dozens of Quixote giant windmills were spotted in the distant mountains. Every town I passed was too far off the main road or seemed closed down for Siesta to stop in. Tortosa was only 45 kilometers away, so I didn’t rest until I reached the city.

I found a supermarket to load up on juice and crackers, and went in search of nice place to spend my evening before meeting up with tonight’s couch host. I laid my bike down and sat under fig tree watching scullers pass by on the Rio Ebro.

A couple creepy guys sat nearby in the park while I wrote in my journal and studied my map of Spain, but I outlasted all of them until twilight shadowed the entire riverside. At 8pm, I picked up my bike to go meet up with An. On my way to our meeting place in front of the train station, I noticed that my left pedal felt disjointed and my back tire was making an oddly intermittent buzzing noise, as if rubbing against something. There wasn’t much I could do about these issues for now, so I propped up my bike and waited for another half hour on the cold pavement drawing snowflakes on my water bottle.

When An arrived I felt like a child getting picked up after school after everyone else had gone home. She was a small spunky woman and hesitated momentarily when first spotting me, since I may have looked slightly bum-ish sitting cross-legged in front of a public transportation station.

She helped lead me over the train tracks, and we awkwardly snaked towards her apartment she lifting the front of my bike while I pulled at the rear. Luckily she lived on the ground floor so getting the bike into her apartment was fairly straightforward. It was a spacious place with lots of colorful little rooms, separated by cute bead curtains. Leading me to a spare bedroom and bathroom at the end of the hall, she told me to treat the place as my own home. Tonight she already had plans to go out with friends, so she very trustingly left me to shower and relax.

“Hablarémos mañana,” (we will talk more tomorrow) she assured while heading out the door.

Again, I took advantage of the shower and checked my email before returning to the bedroom. I had an apple, crackers, and cheese for dinner, and looked for something sweet before sleeping. I found the the champagne-flavored chocolate from Sa. Indeed, it did taste awful; and like Sa, I couldn’t take more than one bite of it.

Nothing Sunday

Shit! It’s Sunday!

I woke up feeling crummy with all sorts of worries on my mind. My head felt congested and my nose was filled with thick snot.

I realized that today was Sunday and no stores would be open, which was an obvious problem since I had nearly finished up all my food last night. All that remained were a couple cheese wedges and a bruised apple. Secondly, my bici needed repairs that I lacked the knowledge of doing myself. And Thirdly, I didn’t have a secure couch to stay in tonight if I could even reach the next town, Benicarló.

An directed me towards the nearest gas station mini-mart (the only store always open), so I could pick up some basic food supplies and test out my bicycle. Just outside of her apartment, I studied at the bici a little more carefully and realized that not only was the left pedal wobbly, but the back tire was crooked as well! I fiddled with the tire a bit, but found that the repairs needed were beyond my capability. Since it was still useable, I rode it across the Ebro river to a gas station to load up on crackers, sardines, cookies, and orange juice. It was a nice sunny day, but I headed straight back to An’s apartment because I was wary of riding my unsound bici very far, plus I could feel that my health was not in top-condition neither.

Back at the apartment An was still in her study working hard on traducciones (translations), but we had a chance to chat a bit when she emerged for lunch. It made me feel more comfortable knowing a little more about her, and for her to know more about me. Considering that I did not have a definite place to stay in Benicarlo tonight, and understanding the condition of my bicycle and personal health, she said it would be fine for me to stay another night in her comfy apartment.

So I sat in my yellow hoodie in her chic apartment with a beige and dark maroon color scheme to contemplate what to do next. I had a place to stay for tonight, and it was nice to just rest without feeling rushed, because nothing could be done on a Sunday. Today’s goals were to take Vitamina C, rest my legs, and organize for tomorrow.