Will and I finished the 700km Ride Across Girona this morning at 2:25 am and I’m having a hard time even understanding what we’ve just accomplished. Granted, it was “just” a bike ride, but I’ve done a lot of bike rides and it’s quite possibly the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Whenever I can’t understand something I think of the ending to the film “Burn after Reading” because it perfectly captures just being in awe and accepting I know nothing about anything. Excuse the language:

You might recall I had a meticulous plan for this ride, but as the title of that blog post suggested they were merely best laid plans… and friends, they went VERY awry. That might be a slight exaggeration, but things definitely didn’t go to plan. First the positives. We kept it rubber side down, we had zero mechanicals, and aside from fog and a few sprinkles, we stayed dry! I think if any of these things had happened, I would’ve had to strongly consider if I was going to finish this ride.

You know how job descriptions often have a line item “attention to detail”? Well, anytime I’ve ever applied for anything, if that line item was in the description, I just close the application because attention to detail is not something I possess. Not even a little bit. This whole time I thought we had to finish by 2pm on Monday afternoon, when in fact we had until 2pm on Tuesday. Lovely to make this mistake as the additional time would be very neccessary.

The first day went mostly to plan, until we were so far behind schedule that it was unsure if we’d make it to the hotel before it was too late to check-in. When I made the initial reservation, the receptionist said we’d need to arrive by 10pm. We were aiming to ride the first 303 km of the route by then. The first parts of the route were fine. We did the rollers to get out of Banyoles over to the back side of Els Angels where we basically did a reverse hincapie loop (a very popular girona go-to). From there we climbed over Calonge via my least favorite river crossing where of course, a photographer was waiting, then we made our way to the first checkpoint, La Maglia Cafe in Platja D’Aro.

We stopped for coffees and snacks and pressed on towards Sant Grau, a climb that’s definitely more pleasant in the opposite direction, but we made it! Ah, I forgot to mention when we were prepping before the start of the whole ride at 5:30 am, I slammed the trunk of the car and sent Will’s bike toppling over directly onto his rear derailleur hanger. The hanger was very bent and he couldn’t access half of his gears for the first 100km. It took a bit of convincing, but I assured him we could bend it back. We successfully straightened out the hanger and were back in business just before Sant Grau, which has a very annoying steep section when climbing up from the coast as we did.

By the time we made it to LLagostera at km 166, we’d taken a bit too long at some of the stops plus dealing with the hanger, and were adding a new longer lunch stop. I was starting to get worried about time then, but it seemed like it would be fine. When we made it to around 250km it was evident that we were absolutely not going to make it. We still had to climb El Far which isn’t a small thing, and it was already 8ish. I called the hotel and she let me know she’d be there until 11:30. This was far more reasonable.

We were stopped at a market where we grabbed crackers and meat and cheese slices, ya know, dinner! Threw them in a backpack and hit the road for El Far. I’d never done that side of El far, it is sooooo long. Not steep at all, but it just drags on forever. Mind you, by this point it was dark, and unfortunately, I’d forgotten to charge my front light, AND I’d also somehow failed to pack the appropriate charging cable. No bueno. I did my best to conserve the little bit of battery left and mostly followed Will uphill using only his light. I had a rear light so it didn’t feel dangerous to tag team this effort. As we were climbing, I felt fine, but Will was deteriorating, and we had to keep it slow and steady so he didn’t blow up.

By the time we made it almost to the sanctuary, it was 11pm. We obviously weren’t going to make it to the checkpoint that evening, so we descended a kilometer down the other side to the hotel. As is standard with these mountaintop hotels, they are off the beaten path up a steep and obnoxious hill. Will was crawling by this point, but he was the only one of us with a front light, so we crawled together. It was only a kilometer away from the road, but there were no signs of light or life, so I was growing increasingly concerned that we were going the wrong way. I made us stop to check, which was silly, because 100 meters up the road, there was the hotel. We made it at 11:13pm.

The next morning we were so cooked that we moved at an absolute snails pace. Breakfast was at 8:30, so I woke up around 8, requested a blowdryer from the receptionist (secador en espanol), and proceeded to dry my very damp bibs. I travel with a little container of laundry detergent and wash our bibs every night. I didn’t have space for more than one pair, so I had to blowdry them every morning. Breakfast was cute, the usual meats and cheeses and breads, but also excellent juices and really good coffee. I wasn’t super hungry but I packed a sandwhich to go. The hotel was beautiful, and you could see the mountains and towns below. We hope to go back for dinner some day.

We didn’t hit the road until around 10:30, we were absolutely dragging from the previous day’s effort so moving slow wasn’t a choice. We made our way up to the Sanctuari Del Far checkpoint, and decended down the hill.

Okay. So you know that song, “Aint No Mountain High Enough”? Well, those folks have clearly never climbed Bracons. In all fairness, it’s not THAT high, but it sure is steep. I’ve only done it from the other side, which is not a picnic either, but with over 300km in the legs, this was cruel. I made it up and over, but in the future, if you’re on the other side of Bracons, I might not get to you. I might never do that nonsense again.

After Bracons we stopped in Torello around 344km. We grabbed snacks and kept it moving. It was super hard, but felt okayish going over Bracons, this little 11km gradual climb out of Torello was beating my behind. I felt sick, I felt tired, I felt angry, I wanted to fight Will and he hadn’t even done anything. I kept all of this to myself of course. He stopped to pee, so I took it as an opportunity to slow down even more and creep up the climb. If there was any point where I almost gave up, it was on that stupid climb. I also reminded myself that low points almost always turn around, and you just have to power through them, even if you slow down a lot. So that’s what I did. Once we made it to km 364 Sant Boi de Lucas, I saw a bench on the side of the road and declared I was getting off my bike and sitting down.

I needed a moment. Actually, I needed a day. The original plan had us climbing all the way to Bolqueré in France. We were still 140ish km from that point, we’d only covered about 60km so far that day and we’d already been riding for around 6 hours. There was absolutely no way in heaven or earth we were going to make it to France. Aint NO way. So after taking a moment on the bench, I explained the situation and we negotiated how we were going to regroup. The funny/ not so funny thing is. While we were sitting there during my momentary crises, another man we’d been leap frogging since the previous day passed by us. Going backwards on the course. This man was so smiley every other time we’d seen him, but he too had done enough and we think this was the exact point he decided to quit. As he passed by going back downhill I said to myself “I get it”.

Between us and the 500km point were 3 more climbs. One was 12km, one was 20km, and the final one was 24km, all according to my hammerhead. I felt like I could make it over the 12km climb, and we’d stop at the bottom of the 20km climb at the 410km mark in La Pobla de Lillet. Take the rest of the day to chill, get a proper meal, and set back off in the morning. This was a VERY good adjustment. We stayed in a lovely hotel Hostal Cal Pericas The hotel keeper was super nice, took us in, and pointed us in the direction of food.

I had to cancel the intial french hotel, but i was so tired that i called the wrong place and we had the most ridiculous interaction in the best french/ english both of us could muster. I did figure out how to cancel via text message, and they were very understanding.

I didn’t take a picture, but my dinner outfit was impeccable. Compression leggings, a tank top, a rain jacket, fuzzy socks, and cycling shoes. Will had to hold my hand so didn’t slip and fall on the wet cobblestones, but we made it.

The next morning, we were treated to an excellent breakfast. In addition to the usual meats and cheeses, there were fruits, and even a made to order omlette. We crammed as much in as we could, and were able to get ourselves together and on the road by 9am.

We climbed up and over Coll de la Crueta, it was a very long, but very forgiving climb. Everything was beautiful, the roads, the cows, the fog. I was having a lovely time, and so thankful we’d made the decision to stop. I kept thinking about how much I would’ve hated it if we’d just pressed on. We saw a beaver cross the street which triggered a childhood memory of the show “The Angry Beavers”, Will had never heard of it. His loss, it was a very silly show, and I loved it! The top was a checkpoint, 432m done.

The descent was very cold, and we were VERY hungry once we made it to the bottom, but we stumbled across the loveliest little restaurant shop at km 452 in a small village of Urus. The shopkeeper made us delicious warm ham and cheese sandwiches, and I FINALLY had an appetite. The first day I could barely eat, and by the time we reached Bracons on the second day, I was ravenous. By this point, everyone had either nearly finished or quit with the exception of two men who were not too far ahead of us. We pressed on.

One last super long ascent to France, but thankfully it was also very forgiving. We bopped our way to the top and stopped at an InterMarche in Bolqueré at the 500km mark. It was SOO cold. Also, me and food and France almost never get along. I wandered the aisles of the intermarche and settled on my go to smoothies. When I got back outside, Will asked if they had any gloves. Neither of us remembered to pack them, and we were facing two 30km descents ahead. I went back in, put on my thinking cap, and purchased some thick latex house cleaning gloves. They were perfect for the task at hand. We both looked ridiculous, but our hands were warm!

The descent was so cold I couldn’t tell if I had the speed wobbles or I was just shivering. I think it was a combination of both. We made it to the next 527km Checkpoint in Llivia, ate a snack, and kept it moving. One last big climb. 21km long, but also forgiving. We were determined to finish the whole thing and sleep in our own bed. Once we made it to the top Will was convinced we were going to get to Olot before sundown. With less than an hour of light, I knew there was no way. We’d fly past the final checkpoint in Ribes de Freser at km586 and stop in Ripoll to regroup.

The descent was FREEZING and we were losing light very quickly. I was starting to lose my moxy. When we were passing through Ribes de Freser I saw what was probably the other two men looking cozy and warm in a bar. I stopped, but Will said “we have a plan keep going to Ripoll”, so I dug in and got us to Ripoll. 600km done. By this point it was already 9:30pm. We’d found a small market that was still open where I found a warm baguette, a meat stick, and a small can of our favorite pringles. At this point, I’d purchased a charging cable for our lights at a repsol, but i think it was faulty, because it wasn’t charging quickly enough. We were low on battery and it was pitch black.

We pressed on, taking turns using our lights, and made it as far as Olot. I tried to conserve by turning off my light when in a town with streetlamps and high visibility, but the police did not appreciate that as I understood the word “light” in catalan and the word “always” in spanish. I kept my light on, and then it died.

We had no choice but to stop and see if Will’s light would charge enough to take us the remaining 53km. We were SO CLOSE. As I sat there on the curb, I calmly aired all my frustrations. It was midnight, and I was angry, tired, irritated, but also in it to win it. Will handled my tantrum like a champ, but I bet my eyes were lasers, and I was not fun to be near in that moment.

We charged the light for maybe 15-20 minutes, and decided to leave it plugged in while we rode and hope for the best. Praise the heavens it held on. We climbed the last few punches and rollers, and did quite a bit of descending back into Banyoles. 2:25:38am. We crossed the line.

So remember how i mentioned I have no attention to detail? It turns out I was the only woman to finish the 700km route out of 13 finishers, but I initially registered as a man. Also, I wore Will’s cap all weekend. He was cap 91, I was cap 90. Way to go McGowan.

That was so hard, but we did it! 698km 11345m of climbing (433miles, 37.5k feet) in 3 days. I need one of those geriatric handle situations to sit on the toilet, and I moan every time I move, but I’m really proud. I’m also really glad that’s over, and now I get to find some new ridiculous thing to do. Suggestions?

Ride Across Girona 2025: What even was that?