Chapter 2

First Stop Andorra

“Give a man a fish and feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and feed him for a lifetime. Teach a man to cycle and he will realise fishing is stupid and boring”.

Desmond Tutu

Time travels quickly when you’re riding a bike. While your destination might be way in the distance you have all day to think about more pressing matters: first and foremost, your safety and the road out in front of you. On a long day’s ride you listen more to your body. You become more aware of your aches and pains, your energy levels, and your thirst. You also become more sensitive to the things around you – the landscape, the position of the sun and the changing strength and direction of the wind. Like unravelling a tangled piece of rope, life becomes less complicated with every revolution of your wheels. How simple can it get? There’s just you, your bicycle and a new destination somewhere down the road.

So here I was, gliding along the quiet C-4012, with, at least temporarily, no bills to think about, no phone messages to act on, no tiresome meetings, no banal television programs and commercials to fall asleep in front of, and definitely no take-home work hanging over my head like the Sword of Damocles.

I chose to start, and end, my journey from the relatively small and out-of-the-way town of Solsona. Why?  Because it’s just that: small, with a population of less than 10,000, and far enough away from the busy streets and motorways that, like parasites, slow you down and feed off your energy reserves.

Situated in the Catalan Central Depression, between two high ranges, Solsona is approximately 115 kilometres northwest of the Catalonian capital, Barcelona. Renowned for its fortified old town and Cathedral de Santa Maria, both of which date back to the 14th century, it’s perhaps best known, by Catalonians in particular, for its Carnaval Solsona, a festival believed to have originated in the mid 1930s.

Attracting thousands of visitors in February each year, the festival consists of more than 50 events, typically concerts, dances and street affairs that continue over 10 or 11 days. One of the main events is the Hanging of the Donkey, which involves the hoisting of a papier-mâché replica of what was once a real beast up to the top of the Tower of the Hours. Installed with a device that feigns the animal defecating and urinating, it has become the climax of the festival.

Ironically, the ‘Mata-donkey Honour’ is bestowed upon a person, or people, who over the year have excelled in their field within the wider Catalonian community. Besides being given a commemorative trophy, they are awarded a carnival gown and pair of donkey ears.

While it might seem to outsiders a rather strange honour – at first glimpse it did to me – it may be a satirical reminder of a more brutal past, when life, any life, could not be taken for granted. In some respects, it reminded me of passing the wind turbines in northern France. Regarded as an eyesore by many, they are at least a sign of progress in a part of the world that has produced so many white crosses. 

Essentially a feudal kingdom until deep into the 20th century, the tiny landlocked principality of Andorra has become a Mecca for the outside world, particularly tourists, skiers and shopping enthusiasts. On any given day, you are likely to be caught up in the maze of traffic that is siphoned along its two connecting roads, the N-145 from the Spanish frontier, and the N20 from the French spa town of Ax-les-Thermes.

Save for its narrow valley ‘highway’, which boasts more than 2000 shops, Andorra is 450 square kilometres of steep mountain slopes. Its capital and only town, Andorra la Vella, sprawls along this main road, having merged with once-separate villages along the route.

From the Middle Ages until the late 20th century, Andorra was presided over by two ‘princes’, the Roman Catholic bishop of the Spanish border town La Seu d’ Urgell and the president of the French Republic, who acquired the role from the pre-revolutionary Bourbon kings. It wasn’t until 1993 that the former sovereign state became a parliamentary democracy, following the endorsement of a new constitution by a popular referendum. While the new structure retains the French and Spanish co-princes, their roles became largely symbolic. Since then, the country has been administered by the 28 elected local representatives who make up the General Council, sometimes known as the ‘Consell General de les Valls’ (General Council of the Valleys). Having moved a long way from its centuries of relative isolation, Andorra is today a full member of the United Nations and the Council of Europe.

Due to its relative separation from mainland Europe, save France, Spain and Portugal, Andorra managed to avoid much of the conflict that plagued the continent during the first half of the 20th century. While declaring war on Imperial Germany during World War I, it wasn’t actually involved in the fighting. Twenty years later, Francoist troops reached its border during the latter stages of the Spanish Civil War, but French detachments, which had been garrisoned in Andorra throughout the conflict, prevented any incursions from taking place. While Hitler and Mussolini’s forces threw much of Europe into chaos in World War II, Andorra again avoided hostilities, declaring itself neutral. Ironically, because of its mountain location between two tightly squeezing neighbours, it became a vital smuggling route between Vichy France and Spain.

Andorra today, apart from having a small ceremonial army, doesn’t have its own defence force, relying primarily on its French and Spanish allies to protect its borders. Somewhat similar to the United States, where citizens have a constitutional right to bear arms, the eldest able-bodied Andorran in each household is bound by law to keep a rifle in case of emergencies or natural disasters. Fortunately, deaths by homicide in Andorra, per capita, are considerably less than in the US. Perhaps purchasing duty-free bargains at the many department stores along the main shopping strip, has made people much happier these days, and they’d rather play with luxury items than with handguns.

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Andorra’s relationship with the Vuelta a España began in 1965. While Spaniard Estebán Martín won the 241-kilometre Stage 11 race, from Barcelona to Andorra la Vella, German rider Rolf Wolfshohl was way ahead in the standings by the time the riders reached Madrid.

Always a step ahead of its less marketable neighbour, the Tour de France had visited the small principality the year before. Rarely doing things by halves, it climbed Andorra’s, and the Pyrénées’, highest paved-road mountain, the Port d’Envalira, first for the 170-kilometre stage from Perpignan to Andorra, and two days later, for the 186-kilometre stage to Toulouse.

Whether it’s because of the harsher conditions, the different scenery or the lack of affection toward the Spanish villages, or something else completely, the Pyrénées seem to feature considerably less often in the Vuelta’s itinerary than its French neighbour. Until the last quarter of a century the race visited Andorra even less. In fact, it took until 1985 for the principality to host a mountain stage finish. In that year Colombian rider Francisco Rodríguez narrowly defeated an unlucky Robert Millar, who was stricken with bike trouble, in the 16-kilometre individual time trial up to ski station Pal. 

Unlike the Tour de France’s romantic relationship with the Col du Tourmalet and the Col d’ Aubisque, almost since its inception, it took until the late 1990s before the Vuelta finally made the Andorran mountains its own. Climbs such as Pal, Ordino-Arcalis, la Rabassa, Collado de la Gallina and Port de Envalira now feature regularly in the Spanish Tour, and with good reason: they are challenging, they are along good-quality roads, the scenery is magnificent, and as far as stage finishes are concerned, most have ample room at the summit to parade the race’s brand to a global audience.

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We visited Andorra partly because of its recent and hard-won popularity as a Tour destination, and partly because one of its significant climbs, the Collado de la Gallina, was recommended to me by a friend, Eric. Eric and I first met at a cycling event in Bright, the Audax Alpine Classic, in 2012. While I’ve only met him, and his wife Brigitte, over dinner or coffee a handful of times since, our conversations are never dull. Needless to say, while they almost always involve the subject of cycling, they also transport us back to many of the wonderful gifts of nature we call ‘mountains’. At 74, Eric has a hundred reasons to live. He still climbs, not just up your comfortably graded inclines like the Col du Lautaret (from Briancon), but also Hors Category climbs, ones like Austria’s Rettenbachferner, Italy’s Passo dello Stelvio and Switzerland’s Sustenpass.

These days, the term ‘Mamil’ – Middle-Aged Men in Lycra – has become the new way to poke a little fun at male cyclists in their 40s and 50s. True, some think...