Girona Tour Day 2 - Rocking Rocacorba

The alarm went off at 7am and, hurrah! Esther, my roommate, had arrived. I caught her up on the trauma of yesterday’s torrential rain. But today looked more promising, so I pulled on my damp cycling kit, optimistically hoping the squelchy bum pad might dry out on the move.

Breakfast. Another shameless opportunity to eat doughnuts and cake far beyond anything remotely calorifically sensible. I knew I had to reign it in — yesterday’s binge had already gifted me a solid case of heartburn.

We headed down to collect our bikes, and by now we were feeling like a well-oiled Tour de France team. Off we went, cruising along a mostly flat route with a few cheerful bumps to keep things interesting.

About 60km in, the chat turned to his majesty, Rocacorba - a 10km climb with a 7% average gradient. The Queen of the Mountain time was 30 minutes, so I braced myself for something more in the region of… double that.

I set off in a group of three, watching the others gracefully disappear into the distance. The gradient was uncomfortable but not impossible. The road twisted endlessly through thick trees with zero views to distract or reward you.

Partway up, I encountered a couple who’d suffered two punctures. We played a bit of cat and mouse, chatting here and there, which offered some much-needed mental relief.

Two-thirds in, the temptation to unclip and "just take a moment" was strong - but I stuck to my number one hill rule: stay on the bloody bike.

Around this time, a very lean man lapped me. For the second time. Slightly disheartening, to say the least.

Spin. Plod. Breathe. Repeat. The end felt close, but it was a lie. A cruel, false summit.

Eventually - more spinning, more plodding and I was in touching distance. I could hear the crowd! My name! The Waldy chorus cheering me on! Completely bowled over by the allure of the gated off electricity pylon, I summoned a final burst of energy and sprinted the last stretch.

Once my heart rate returned to something vaguely human, I soaked in the real view and snapped this racy photo:

We stayed to cheer on the others before descending - which, in my opinion, was far worse than going up. My hands were cramping from death-gripping the brakes, and I had to stop halfway just to give them a break. Then, finally, we rolled on to the picnic stop to inhale more food.

After that, it was time to reunite with friends, swap stories from the climb, and make the all-important pit stop for a celebratory beer. A little tipsy shopping followed, where the only sensible purchase was, of course, a Rocacorba fridge magnet.