Two Wheels Good (But An Electric Bike Is Better!)

Writer Kathy Lette loved the freedom of cycling through Spain, but wished she had followed her friends’ hill tactics...

- Kathy Lette

You know your day is not going well when you find yourself lost in an unfamiliar forest, contemplating which of your two girlfriends to eat first. And yet the morning had started so well. I’d arrived in Catalonia with two old friends, Maureen and Catherine, for four days of cycling through the castle-encrusted countryside. The plan was to pedal like mad by day, then eat our own body weight in paella by night.

Cath and I had already lost quite a lot of weight from laughing hysterically at Maureen’s padded cycling pants. They’re devised to prevent bike friction on those parts of your body primarily reserved for giving birth, but make Kim Kardashian look under-buttocked. How I guffawed at Maureen’s padded posterior! Until our 5km introductory cycle accidentally turned into a marathon, bum-numbing detour far off the beaten track. No. I was no longer laughing then. Put it this way: I now knew that ‘numb labia’ was not, in fact, a country in Africa.

A self-guided cycling tour, gently meandering through the medieval towns that crown the Spanish hills above the Costa Brava, had sounded so easy. The Costa Brava, or ‘fierce coast’, is the dramatic northern corner of Spain where the Pyrenees slope down to the sandy coves and secret caves favoured by pirates. I love cycling, but hate the way city roads are blocked with standard, parental-issue behemoths burping exhaust fumes in one’s face. A cycling holiday, winding through fume-free, cork-oak forests, vineyards, and olive groves, sounded idyllic. To make matters even easier, our bags were to be collected each morning and deposited at the next hotel (in truth, we were already travelling light – after all, laughing with girlfriends is the best way to rid yourself of any cumbersome emotional baggage).