European Divide Trail: The Final

Day 12

We start the day in unusually high spirits. We have a long day ahead — 168 kilometres — but the route looks flat and even the weather seems to be playing along. In the morning we pick up the Via Rhôna again. It’s a genuinely wonderful and beautiful cycle path, so we make good progress. At one of the junctions we spot another bikepacker looking at his map. He’s also cycling to Spain and asks if he can ride a stretch with us.

Straight away some unusual things catch my eye on his bike: a staple gun taped to his handlebars and a tin can hanging from his front fork with a little plant in it. Basil from Basel turns out to be quite a remarkable guy on quite a remarkable adventure. He has a few months free before starting work as a bike mechanic in September, and has decided to cycle to his girlfriend who’s on exchange in Córdoba. That’s already a serious trip, but he’s also doing it without a phone or GPS. He has his phone on him for emergencies, but otherwise it stays off.

The story behind the staple gun still isn’t entirely clear to me, but according to him it brings luck. The plant is an experiment — if it survives, it’ll be a gift for his girlfriend. He keeps his family, friends and girlfriend updated via postcards. What a romantic. As for his route, he doesn’t really have a plan yet. Right now he’s following the Rhône down to the sea, and after that he’ll see. I genuinely admire his approach.

We ride together for a stretch and swap stories about our trips. After an hour and a half our route turns away from the Rhône and we head into the mountains. Basil hesitates for a moment, but since he has no map he decides to stick with the river. We exchange numbers and agree that he’ll be in touch once he arrives in Córdoba.

Although our route goes uphill, it stays on a nice cycle path. Everything is going so smoothly today that it almost makes you nervous. But today things just work out. Sure, in the last five kilometres we still have to walk a pointless little climb (the main road runs right alongside), but nothing can bother us anymore.

We arrive in Dieusse at Nel and Torben’s (my aunt and uncle) and are warmly welcomed. First we hang out all the wet things and wash the bikes. Then we both take a hot shower and are tucked into comfortable loungewear while Nel washes our clothes. She’s also cooked a delicious meal for us. If there’s one thing you can count on when visiting Nel and Torben, it’s that you’ll have more than enough to eat. We have a lovely dinner, they’re keen to hear all our stories and we reminisce about the last time I was here — a very long time ago. After dinner we sit in the living room with a glass of wine by the fireplace. You would almost forget we’re on a cycling trip, and how differently we had imagined this evening yesterday when we were suffering in the rain.

Day 13

We wake up slowly in Dieusse. Torben has fetched fresh bread and pains au chocolat and we take our time over a leisurely breakfast. Then we pack up all our washed and dried things. First we get an elaborate photo shoot, and then we really have to get going again.

From here it’s still about 450 kilometres with little climbing. Easily done in four days, too rushed for three. So from here we take it easy, with the goal of arriving on Friday.

In the morning we get a few heavy showers, but it’s warm enough that we barely notice. Then panic briefly strikes: I have — for the third time — a puncture, and this is our last inner tube. It’s still 60 kilometres to today’s endpoint and we don’t seem to be passing any bike shops. Several times I’m convinced I can hear my tyre going down — I might have developed a little trauma here— but it turns out to be a false alarm each time.

At lunch I have a second setback to deal with. Nel had made us lovely packed lunches, but while I was patching up my tyre, Dennis ate my pain au chocolat because he thought both were meant for him…

The rest of the day goes reasonably smoothly. A short but fierce thunderstorm with hailstones passes through, and the planned campsite turns out to be closed. But luckily we find another campsite in the next village and arrive there at a reasonable hour.

Day 14

We start the day with an important task: getting new inner tubes. While I go to the bike shop, Dennis does the groceries. When he arrives I’m standing there cheerfully with my new tubes, but Dennis looks alarmed: “What happened?”

What had happened? I’d managed to get a puncture right in front of the shop. The tyre is literally off the rim and I hadn’t noticed a thing. I’m completely done with inner tubes, so I ask the bike mechanic whether he can make it tubeless again. He says it’s a lost cause. He also doesn’t have a suitable tyre for a gravel bike, so it’s another inner tube after all.

“This one is much better than that thin one you had in,” he says. “C’est très fragile,” pointing at the old inner tube. According to him this new one is of high quality. He also has opinions about my tyre pressure. So with his top-quality inner tube and the ‘correct’ pressure we set off again full of optimism. We have three spare tubes and 300 kilometres to go, so we’re allowed one puncture per 75 kilometres — that should be fine, right?

Not even three kilometres later the tyre is flat again and I am furious. We find another bike shop a kilometre and a half away, but it closes in fifteen minutes. Dennis rides ahead to make sure we don’t arrive at a closed door. When I get there the man is already waiting with a new tyre, and within five minutes we’re back outside with a tubeless rear wheel. Is the tyre saga finally over?

What follows is perhaps the most beautiful stretch of the entire trip: Lac du Salagou. It starts with a climb with stunning views over the reservoir. Then we ride through a fiery red desert-like landscape on beautiful gravel paths. We have lunch by the water and then come across two water crossings. With the recent rain the water is deep and the current strong. Two other cyclists are already crossing, shoes off, trousers rolled up, wading to the other side.

I reckon I can just about ride across, but it doesn’t go entirely smoothly so I end up with wet socks. There’s also an elderly couple with e-bikes and a little dog standing there looking lost at the water’s edge. Dennis suggests we could help them, but they decide to turn back and find another route.

The rest of the route goes smoothly. We get another shower, but it’s not cold and in the golden hour it makes for stunning views. Via a beautiful path along the canal we reach our campsite in Béziers.

Day 15

We only have 200 kilometres left and I feel mixed emotions. On one hand it feels a shame that the adventure is almost over, on the other hand we’re longing for doing nothing and sitting on the balcony with a vermut.

Today looks promising — there’s a strong wind, but it’s blowing in the right direction. In the first village a man signals at us to stop. After establishing that Spanish is probably the best language to communicate in, he asks where we’ve come from and where we’re going. At first I get the feeling this is a way of asking if we have any money for him, but then the real reason for his interest emerges. He’s done many long cycling trips himself over the years, and we get extensive stories about all the places he’s been.

Then we continue our route towards Narbonne and at Saint-Pierre-la-Mer we reach the Mediterranean Sea. We pass through a beautiful nature reserve where we can really power through with the wind behind us. Dennis keeps things interesting, as today there’s a hole in his tyre that just won’t seal with the plugs.

Late in the afternoon we reach Perpignan. This was meant to be today’s final destination, but we both still have energy and feel like pushing on, so we decide to ride a bit further. We can smell Spain, we’ve been looking at the snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees all afternoon and we’re already riding through el país Català. Apart from an enormous sign, we notice very little of the latter. When I try to order our pizza in Catalan the girl completely panics. My Catalan heart beats a little faster at the pizza with aioli base on the menu, but the idea turned out better than the execution.

We spend our last night in Maureillas, just before the border.

Day 16

Because we continued until late yesterday, we only have 65 kilometres left today. We have a relaxed breakfast at a bakery — the owner gets very enthusiastic when I order in Catalan.

We cross a mountain pass and before long we’re finally in Spain. Even though I’ve never cycled here before, it feels familiar. The paths and nature are as I know them. This area is world-renowned for its beautiful gravel paths, and today’s route is pure enjoyment.

We ride today with a different feeling. Strangely, after two weeks there’s very little fatigue in the legs. Where for the rest of the days we were careful with our energy, today we can let loose. If we’re tired tomorrow, that’s absolutely fine. So we properly attack every little climb — according to Dennis I don’t have a gentle climbing mode anyway — and on the flat sections we also push hard.

That enthusiasm almost costs us. I have a small slide in a corner. And not even five kilometres from the end Dennis goes down hard on a straight gravel path. I immediately think broken collarbone (wouldn’t be the first time), but luckily he gets away with a fright and a few scratches. We decide to take the last stretch a little more carefully to make sure we both arrive in one piece.

And then, after almost 2000 kilometres and 25,000 metres of climbing, we arrive in Roses. Our welcoming committee consists of our dogs Mimo and Archie. Time to put our feet up, leave the bikes in the garage for a while (not for long, of course), and enjoy what we’ve achieved.

I’m incredibly proud of what we’ve accomplished and what we’ve learned about ourselves and each other on this trip. We both know it for certain: this was definitely not our last adventure!