Beached on Barcelona

30.11.10

Barthelona, Espana

We have made it, at long last, to the fabled Mediterranean Sea. It seems like only yesterday that we were in the central mountains of Spain riding through a snowstorm and trying to find a bank that would turn some Benjamins into Jean Jaures. Yes, it did snow quite a bit yesterday, prompting our Argentinian friend Miguel to say that it was the coldest day of his life (right at freezing). Today was much better, only raining in the morning and warming back up to 10. In order to ensure that we make it to Rome in time for Sean's flight, we had decided to take a bus last night from Madrid to Barcelona and a ferry tomorrow from here to Genoa, Italia (a whopping 18 hours! I wonder what the average man overboard rate is on such a long seafaring journey). Now, I had to work quite a bit in order to convince myself that this was an acceptable (and even desirable, considering our schedule) choice of transportation. However, now that we've actually bused 600 km in Spain to the very coast of the sea, I feel as though we are missing out. For one, we cannot nearly appreciate the drastic changes that have taken place between Madrid, one of the coldest cities in Spain, and Barcelona, where palm trees grow with reckless abandon. I love the way that cycling makes clear the intimate connection between places through the gradual changes you witness and the continuation of one road into the next. Falling asleep on a night bus and waking up groggy in a new land is like a magician's trick that is too flashy to feel right.
Secondly, taking a bus breaks the normal flow of biking every day. While I acknowledge the power of properly timed breaks from the constant wear and tear of biking, busing removes the mental edge for a while by completely switching your focus. We are still traveling, but no longer do we need to do anything to get anywhere. This brings me to the final point, which is that we are not doing anything to deserve the free mileage, and so the progress made feels false. Biking is not at all an obsession with me, for I can easily take breaks from the daily grind without any feelings of guilt or the like. Nevertheless, I certainly derive a strong sense of pride at having conquered mountains, the elements, and whatever other challenges have come my way, all without succumbing to the forces that be or seeking the help of passing motorists. I know this is a necessary course of action at this point, but I can't help but reflect on the bruised pride that comes with throwing my bike in the boot of a bus and sleeping while I "see the world" 600 km at a time. This way of doing things, thankfully, is not in my future for long.

Peculiarly, I like the idea of taking a ferry to another land. Perhaps it is because the sea has always drawn me, or perchance due to the foreign medium that is the water, but I love hopping on a boat and watching the green ocean flow by in amazing frothy waves. Of course, it is infinitely more significant that we will be embarking on a journey across the Mediterranean Sea tomorrow, a treacherous and legendary sea that has claimed more lives than I can claim to have met. On the other side of that pond is Italia, the final country for Sean and I together (I would love some input on where to go after, by the way). Sean and I will be wearing our rain jackets aboard the ferry, for our powers will certainly manifest themselves at the worst time possible...