Costa Brava, Spain: Along the Big Blue Sea

Our last view of Barcelona looking south.

The morning was overcast and the terrain level on the day we left our camp north of Barcelona.  The skies cleared by noon, and the road started to climb and twist and turn like the serpentine lines on the map.  It was Palm Sunday, the first bright and sunny day after a rainy spell, and we shared the road with packs of racing bikes, fast and roaring motorbikes leaning into the curves, and people out to enjoy the coastal views.  We were the tortoises amongst the hares.

Imagine this beach on a summer day packed with oiled bodies.

Rocky shoreline of Costa Brava

Costa Brava is the name of the Mediterranean coastline north of Barcelona to the border with France.  Resort towns are scattered along the way.  Houses are built on the nearly vertical cliff faces, clinging to the slope but somehow enough room for a swimming pool.  At one point in the afternoon, as we were crawling our way up a grade, I looked town onto someone’s terrace, and there was spread out a holiday feast with the barbacoa going and the family gathered around.

Downhills are a reward after a hard climb.

Mediterranean blue water and rocky shore.

We were feeling good.  At about the 70 kilometer mark in the town of Tossa de Mar we had an opportunity to camp and call it an afternoon, but we did a reality check and and agreed to push on.  We finished off the last 21 kilometers with just enough time before the sun set to find a grocery store and the campground in the town of Sant Feliu du Guixols.  Before leaving on this journey we wondered if we had trained enough or still had it in us to do the big climbs with our loaded bikes.  No more worries

Can't resist another "old and new" shot.

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Barcelona, Spain: First Impressions

Our flight and arrival in Barcelona went smoothly with no surprises, a result of John’s good planning.  We flew with Norwegian Air, and we had no complaints.  The flight was half the price of the other airlines we researched, but this is due to their pricing model which itemizes each of the amenities that passengers used to take for granted -- peanuts, pillows, assigned seating, meals, headphones.  You can get those if you pay for them, but we brought our own munchies bag and didn’t miss anything.  Movies, wifi, and bathrooms were free, in case you were wondering.  Our plane was a new Boeing 787 Dreamliner, very modern, but the seats didn’t seem any bigger after 10 hours travel and sleeping in a vertical sitting position.

We caught a shuttle that transported us and our cardboard boxes with bikes and gear to the hotel  we pre-booked.  Morning found us still a bit jet lagged and the weather outside cold and drizzling.  So we opted for another night at the hotel to stay dry, assemble the bikes, and go out in search of food and camping fuel.

Negotiating the Barcelona city streets.

 The next morning was cool and breezy but brilliantly sunny, a most perfect day to start cycling to a campground on the north side of the city.  We spent the day as oddities with our fully loaded bikes negotiating the city streets.  We took a few detours, one to the top of Montjuïc where we saw the layout of the city and the steeple of probably Barcelona’s most famous sight, the La Sagrada Familia church.  We dropped down the hill and circled that same church and took in a few of the other wavy-gravy architecture by Gaudi.

View of La Sagrada Familia from Montjuïc

 We were impressed how bicycle friendly it was -- dedicated bike paths and lanes in the core of the city, even in some of the narrowest of streets.  The drivers are calm and patient -- I don’t think anyone honked at us the whole day.  They seem to be used to cyclists.  There were people on bikes, not in great numbers, but a variety -- some on folding bikes with toy wheels, others on the snappy red bike shares, as well as recreational cyclists clan in Lycra.  And once we left the main part of the city we followed the coast north on a bike path that followed the beach and separated from all traffic.  It was great to experience bike infrastructure that works.

Gaudi house in downtown area.

While the crowd was looking up at the Gaudi house, I looked doiwn and was a bit taken with the sidewalk tiles.

La Sagrada Familia, from street level.

Our next day was spent as conventional tourists.  We rode the light rail into town and took in the common attractions -- walked down La Rambla, ate paella at the central market, visited the Picasso museum, and said hello to the Columbus statue on the waterfront.

The classic Gothic lines of the old Barcelona Cathedral.

Another angle of the Barcelona Cathedral

Carzy narrow street in the medieval section of the city.

A carnivore's fantasy at the central market.

How about some chocolate?

Our vendor of choice for lunch, dipped from the paella pan on the right. 

Remnant of a Roman wall from the 3rd century used as a foundation for later construction.

Barcelona is a modern city, and from what we could see, thriving.  There was no trash, no homeless people on the streets, and there still seemed to be a bit of afterglow from the Olympics. There were plenty of trendy shops in the old city, tucked in narrow streets, the bright and shiny displays contrasting with the ancient stone walls.  But what impressed us the most is finding the few sections of Roman walls dating from the 3rd century, almost lost to time, but serving as foundations of subsequent layers of bricks and mortar.  And that is what makes Barcelona and Europe so different from home -- the juxtaposition of the old and new.  We are so ready to see more!

John cycling along the waterfront on the way to our campground north of Barcelona.

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Pleasant Hill, CA: Anticipation Becomes Reality

The bikes have new tires. Our panniers are filled with camping gear and way too much food. And John has learned enough French to get by. After months of planning and anticipation we are on our way to Europe! It is a few hundred miles from our house to Oakland Airport. On past trips we transported our bikes in our car to my sister's house and left the car in her garage for the duration of the trip. But now we have our own garage, so we decided to find a way to leave the car at home and somehow get ourselves and our bikes over the mountains and to the Bay Area. So two days, two buses, one train, and some muscle power brought us to my sister's doorstep. 

An early morning start, heading towards the June Lake Junction as the sun comes up and the temperature gets above freezing.

We took advantage of the Eastern Sierra Transport Authority (ESTA) bus that stops at June Lake Junction to get us to Reno. We were up early to load the bikes and shut down the utilities at the house. With a few minutes to spare we weighed our gear. It's not like we don't know how to pack light -- we backpack and have done this bike tour thing before. But we had 65 pounds of gear each, not counting the bikes themselves. Ouch! As we were biking from the house to the junction I started listing in my mind what gear to leave at my sister's. Our neighbor Joe passed us on the way, and we unburdened ourselves of a couple pounds of trail mix and other dense food -- I am sure he was glad he stopped! 

Our bikes on the front of the ESTA bus. We appreciated the sturdiness of the racks and that it wasn't snowing.

We stayed the night in Reno on the 23rd floor, looking down on the Amtrak station from where we would depart the next morning. A bus then transported us to Sacramento, and then it was an hour and a half by train to the station in Martinez. We cycled the last ten miles to my sister's house in Pleasant Hill. That familiar feeling of pedaling much and moving slowly on a bike that steers like ship came back. It was a good feeling.   Really!

Downtown Reno from our room.  It was pretty exciting when the Circus Circus clown lit up.

 

Casting a long shadow at sunrise outside the Amtrak station in Reno.

 We had a couple of layover days, so we had some time to do a Sunday morning ride along the Iron Horse Regional Trail. which follows the former railway right-of-way. It was flat. Our bikes were unloaded. It was easy. Things are going to be a little different when we land in Barcelona, just 20 hours away as I write this. Anticipation will then become reality.

Bridge on the Iron Horse Rail Trail

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Piha, NZ: An Ending Grace Note

In an effort to avoid Highway 1 on our southerly trip back to Auckland, we crossed over from the West Coast to the East at Wellsford, and then continued on Highway 16. Definitely a scenic route, but as the local we talked to said, not used much because it is curvy and hilly and slow. Coupled with warm and humid weather, we were used up by the time we reached the East Coast town of Helensville.

Recharged overnight, the next day had its odd shower, and it was still warm as we climbed and climbed into the Waitakere Ranges. The North Island is at its narrowest here, and the distance from Auckland to the West Coast is just 50 kilometers or so. But the topography gods managed to fit in an impressive ridge, where Auckland's elite could build their view homes and bike tourists could challenge themselves. When we saw the cell phone tower on top, we knew we had summited, and we dropped down the west side to our destination, the beach town of Piha.

Looking east from the high point of the Waitakere Range towards the Auckland metropolitan area.

Not knowing what to expect, we found a jewel of a place at Piha. A bay to itself, it is a favorite surf spot as laid back as any California beach town. No liquor store and just a couple of cafes and takeaway shops, the main town area is dominated by the domain campground. The managers are committed to keeping the prices low and the atmosphere quiet, so Kiwi families could still spend a holiday at the beach. Decidedly mellow, they burned incense in the reception area and there was a list of instructions to live by penned by the Dalai Lama hanging in the kitchen.  My favorite -- "Approach love and cooking with reckless abandon".


The manager just also happened to be the town medic. John stepped on a bee on his way back from the shower, and within 15 minutes it was swollen and red. He limped over to the office, and as she searched her bag for some medication, another camper came up. He happened to be a doctor from British Columbia, and within minutes John as administered a shot of antihistamine. Dumb luck turned into good fortune!

We spent a lovely day resting and walking on the black volcanic sand beach, postponing one more day our return to Auckland and the inevitable return home.

View of Piha from the high point just before the steep three kilometer drop ibnto the bay.

A Pukeko, a native flightless bird with enormous feet.

Low tide on the black sand beach.

Volcanic flows right on the beach trap the incoming surf.

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Kerikeri, NZ: Dear Ladds

Dear Sandy, Josh, and Roger,

We brought only greetings from John's sister Diana, your friend and colleague when you lived in California nearly 20 years ago. Oh, and a bottle of wine, too, which went well with the lovely salmon dinner and your Mum's desserts and your good company, don't you think? Small tokens, really, for a couple of nights of warm Kiwi hospitality. Thank you!

You have a good life in your bright house with open land all around. It was so quiet the day we rested while you were at work -- the ocean breezes filtered nicely through the doors and windows of your house. After four months of travel, it was nice to have a couple of days away from holiday parks and the queries of other travelers.  We were sorry that we could not meet your daughter kelly, but tell her we enjoyed sleeping in her room with the pink walls and butterflies.

A warm little house with lots of open space -- our dream.

Give those trees the same care as your son, and they will grow tall and strong just like him!  What an achievement for him to be a member of the National inline hockey team.  Safe travels as you criss-cross the country for the games.

Several generations of trees to supply many a future Christmas.

And can we adopt Kelly's mum as our Kiwi mother? Not one, but TWO desserts! What a special lady -- we were so glad to meet her.

Sandy and her Mum

Ollie the dog cried when we left in the morning. He made us feel like part of the family, too.  Thanks for giving us two days of your very busy lives.  And when you come back to California to visit, someday soon we hope, we will see each other again!

Sandy, Josh, and Roger

Love, John and Doris

..

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Northlands, NZ: A Gallery of Images

At Bayleys Beach on the West Coast of the North Island, fisherman can drive on the beach for long stretches.

Ferns of the Waipoua Kauri Park rainforest.

Typical rolling pastoral land of the Northland.

After a hard climb at the end of the day, a sweeping view of Hokianga Harbour near Opononi and approaching rain clouds was our reward.

Roadside art.

Ninety Mile Beach from the southern end.  You could drive your car to Cape Reinga at the northernmost tip of New Zealand along this beach.  Heavy rain and skinny tires discouraged us from trying.

"Reduce, Recycle, Reuse"

Mangrove lines many of the waterways at this latitude.

We followed an uphill gravel road for 15 kilometers in search of a DOC campground, and we found this unexpected path through the Kauri trees in Puketi Forest.

Sunset in Puketi Forest, an island of native rainforest in a sea of farmland.

Curious cows in the hills above Kerikeri.

Stellar ocean views in the Bay of Islands.

Oh, to be back in the Shire again!

A divine opportunity along the highway into Whangarei.

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Waipoua Forest, NZ: Botanical Wonders

There is not many a vegetable that we do not like. At home we have the thing called the sweet potato, and its cousin the yam, both of which we do savor. But here in new Zealand there is the kumara, a purple-skinned variety that makes me get more than normally excited for dinner. And here in the Northland we went through the otherwise drab town of Dargaville. Not worthy of note, other than the fact that this is the kumara capital of New Zealand, where 70% of the country's crop is grown.

One jolly kumara on the side of the road.

Kumara fields forever!

And just to the north there is another botanical wonder. At one time, before the arrival of European settlers in the mid-19th century, the hills of the Northland were covered with thick forests. Immense Kauri trees grew here, some thousands of years old and tens of meters in height and girth. The trees grew tall and straight, and made good ship masts in the grand era of sailing ships. This native wood was used to make many things -- mail boxes, furniture -- but also was a major commodity for export for this young and developing country. The forest was stripped for pasture, and all that remains are a few pockets of this once great forest. Visiting the Waipoua Forest was the primary reason we came here to the Northland.

The feeling of seeing these trees was the same as standing next to the great Sequoia or Bristlecone Pine -- how insignificnt our time on is Earth in comparison to a tree that is two thousand years old.

Fungus growing on the bark of this Kauri tree.

Passing trough a section of one-lane road, narrowed to fit between two towering Kauri trees.

A grouping of trees known as the "Four Sisters".

The canopy of the trees support a whole ecosystem of other plants.

Te Matua Ngahere -- "Father of the Forest"  -- the second largest remaining Kauri with a girth of 16.4 meters and height of 29.9 meters. 

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