Our final day in Barcelona feels like it may be my final day ever. We are hammering through heavy city traffic like Melbourne bike couriers - red lights and trucks be damned - trailing in the wake of Dan, who has offered to take us on a two wheel tour of the city. Dan has given up what sounds like a sensible geological engineering career to run cycling trips leading tourists up alpine passes all summer. This appears to have resulted in enhanced speed, power, bike handling skills and overall life satisfaction. I have to work hard to keep up, particularly while wearing jeans definitely not designed for cycling. Apologies to all those I passed...
We sprint up the hills north of the old town, pausing to admire the moasics at Park Guell. We roll back down to gape in awe at the Sagrada Familia. We run through two stop signs to get to the art nouveau hospital that is so beautiful it makes you wonder why people don't make themselves ill to score a stay. It's nail biting, but also alot of fun.
From Barcelona, oure plan is to bus to Murcia and then ride south to Gibraltar. This is still our plan, although Matt's bicycle Babar has thrown an allen key in the works. I suspect he wanted a stay in the Barcelona hosital himself, but his damage was detected too late. On the highway just outside Murcia we realise there is a crack in the downtube of the frame. We about turn, Matt riding all the way back without sitting down. After some searching, a bike shop is located. We converse through google translate, and they make a number of phone calls, with the eventual result that two men turn up with a trailer, load up Matt and his bike and disappear. I have no idea where they are off to, or how to contact Matt. So I sit and wait. And wait. And wait. And finally, after the bike shop has shut and I am sitting on the footpath with one bike and a pile of panniers, I hear a familiar bike bell ring.
Matt tells me he was dropped off in a shed by the two men and left awhile before a third man turned up, girlfriend and dog in tow. Matt's spanish was as good as their english ( which is about as good as my swahili, if some kind of measure is needed). He was left to play with the dog while backyard surgery was performed. A few welds and a dab of paint later, and Babar is a new man/bike/elephant. The welder-surgeon refused any kind of payment and sent Matt on his way.
We have thrown ourselves upon the kindness of strangers alot lately, and come out smiling.
