Girona Tour Day 1 — Girona Hills Baptism

By Luke C

If there’s one thing I’ve learnt on this, my third Waldy tour, it’s that what binds us isn’t just the cycling — it’s shared adversity. And Day 1 in the Girona hills delivered that in spades. From torrential rain to white-knuckle descents, and a soul-restoring Catalan lunch at our mountaintop sanctuary, it was a day none of us will forget anytime soon.

We rolled out early (although, as tradition dictates, later than advertised), hopeful the weather might hold. Confidence was high — after all, the weather report from the lift (a well- known and trusted meteorological source) suggested optimism. Our route traced a classic Girona loop, winding its way up towards Sant Hilari Sacalm. The climb was steady but testing, the scent of pine hanging in the air, accompanied by a constant squeaking and scraping from my brakes. A new bike, apparently nothing could be done about it — though it would soon be the least of my concerns.

A coffee stop and regroup in St. Hilari saw spirits high, legs feeling good, and even a first spot of rain couldn’t dampen the mood. “We’ll wait five minutes for it to blow over… maybe five more… another five?” Enough time for Fred to fix my loose helmet strap (rendering my head protection mostly ornamental until then). Eventually, we had to face facts — it was getting heavier.

As we began the descent, the weather properly turned. What started as a drizzle became a full-on deluge. Roads that might normally be cycling heaven turned into rivers, demanding total focus. No time to think about waterproofs (or lack of), freezing hands, the sunglasses rendering me half-blind in the gloom, or the unnerving silence as I realised I could neither see anyone head nor hear anyone behind. An occasional nod from a drenched local rider climbing the other way proved we weren’t completely mad.

Eventually, the descent ended and a familiar Waldy face appeared, waiting. “Oh look — the

sun’s coming out!” Ever the optimists.

By the time we reached Hostal Santuari del Coll, we were soaked, cold, and ready for refuge. Perched on a ridge among rolling green hills, it was a spectacular spot. Inside, the log burner doubled as a drying rack for sodden gloves and jerseys, while the kitchen produced a simple but soul-saving lunch — various animal limbs, a sausage, crusty bread, and some wine that, judging by our Chairman’s reaction, could strip paint. There’s something borderline spiritual about a good mid-ride meal, and this was very much one of those. Laughter returned, spirits lifted, and miraculously even the rain seemed to ease. It wasn’t until we opened the door that we were reminded we still had to ride home.

Post-lunch ride brought new challenges. The first faller didn’t even make it out of the car park — a comedy roll-back and topple witnessed by few but celebrated by many. The roads rolled and twisted through damp woodland, every corner slick and treacherous, demanding total focus and light braking. There’s a kind of camaraderie forged in those conditions — the knowing glances, the shouted warnings, the collective relief as the group re-formed safely after each sketchy descent. Sadly, not everyone made it down unscathed, and our thoughts were very much with Rob H after news spread of his crash. Thankfully, despite injuries, he was in good care — though this didn’t stop a couple of comedically poorly timed WhatsApp messages querying dinner plans.

After a quick beer stop, we eventually rolled back into Girona — damp, battered, and exhilarated. It’s rides like this, and those that followed, that stretch you, bond you and remind you why you do it. Cleaned up and warmed up, we gathered for well-earned beers, food, and an exchange of stories from an epic first day. What a day.