Today was a difficult day, one of the hardest on this journey so far. I awoke in a light drizzle and thought I wouldn’t go far, just out to the local delta of L’ebre river. It is a large, wide delta covering many miles, comprised of endless rice fields, berms and wetland. It is a birder’s paradise and all manner of shore birds stop over there on their migratory route—even flamingos. Simply, the goal of the day was to see them, to sit on the shore and watch them flounce and clack, and to relax.
So, out I went, the wind at my back. It felt more like Holland than Spain as I cruised farther and farther out on to the delta. Not a tree, not a bush, not a rise, just wide open land all the way to the sea. After an hour or so, I turned the corner and there they were, the flamingos, in all their pink celebration. I stopped short, hopped off my bike and prematurely grinned over what I thought was going to be a delightful day. That is when I felt the wind.
I had been pedaling with it and hadn’t noticed it’s growing ferocity, but now that I was still, I felt it whip round me in a most dispiriting way. Anxiety filled me, it was nearly 20 miles back to the mainland directly into it with nothing to break it’s power as in hurled itself out of the mountains. What had I done?
Suddenly, sad to say, the beauty of the flamingos was lost on me and I started to dither about getting back.
I consulted the camping app on my phone and saw there was a camping spot 12 miles further on and they were open. If I made it there, I could spend the night and return across these flats tomorrow when perhaps the wind would abate.
I hoped I would see more flamingos on the way, but decided I couldn’t take the time to linger and pedaled on.
12 miles later, arriving at the campsite, I find it is closed. Now it is 32 miles back, directly into a wind that shook me as I stood. I see an employee of the campground and begged. I sniveled, I made promises, but they didn’t budge. I was stuck.
Into the wind I rode. Most of the time I took it on directly, barely moving forward. It felt like being on the highest setting of a stairstepper excercise machine. My front panniers would catch a gust and turn my front wheel this way and that so I was constantly correcting. I wore my rain jacket to protect myself from the abrasiveness of this wind and underneath I was soaked with sweat.
Occasionally, I would turn and get the wind, full force on my side. This was almost worse as it threatened to send me careening off the road into one of the canals. More then once it took me off the side of the road and I had to save myself by quickly jumping off my bike.
To say I was exhausted is an understatement. I reached the end of my abilities, well nearly. I didn’t cry because there was no one to cry to, but I would have.
Hours and hours later, when I reached the mainland, I still had 13 miles to go to my campsite. I had pictured a flat coastal route, but much to my dismay, it was an undulating series of coastal headlands. Hills so steep that I had to walk several times.
My mind became mushy, my body overly fatigued and that is when I saw them—the golden penises. As I deliriously pedaled through a small town and up another hill, I was met by a troop of 20 or so men, all wearing golden pants in the oompa-loompa style, each with an 18 inch penis sticking out at curved upward angles. They were laughing and cheering and wiggling their hips with bravado. It crossed my mind that I had finally lost it.
But no, it is carnival season here in Spain. A final celebration and period of acting out perhaps before the confines of lent arrive. They were actually a very welcome sight, a little joy.
When I finally arrived at my campsite, it too was closed. The sun was set and I found myself wandering the streets of L’ametila looking for a hotel. I was a sorry sack.
I did find one—sans hot water—and listened to the wind beat against my window pane all night. I barely slept. 76 miles in all. Flamingos and golden penises, definitely sounds like a dream doesn’t it? Or maybe a nightmare.
What an awful day. Flamingos must have been beautiful though. What you need is a day of rest.
I don,t know how you make these challenging side trips. The flamingos must have been beautiful though. stay safe,stay well.
Well, you’re certainly seeing the technicolor sights. You’re sure they weren’t golden flamingos? You’re confident this wasn’t a wind-induced hallucination? Seriously, I cringed reading about that wind for that long. It’s physical and psychological pain going for that long into a gale.