Cami de Fontlletera

An article I wrote for the  Roughstuff Fellowship Journal in 2019.

It’s early enough that Camprodon is just beginning to stir. Dogs being walked, pavements swept, café shutters drawn up.  Sitting at the point where the Ritort and Ter rivers meet, Camprodon is a picturesque village in the Catalan Pyrenees.  Heavy rain last night makes for a cool start but the skies above are clear for the moment.  North-east would take me to Col d’Ares, along a course of the Retirada (the retreat) where Republican forces and supporters fled from Franco to France.  I’m headed north-west, against the flow the Ter. It is possible to do the opposite and accompany it on its journey to the Mediterranean at L’Estartit: the Ruta del Ter is well marked with maroon and green signs. 

Flitting in and out of shade the gentle gradient makes for easy progress; this won’t last. I pass through Llanars and Vilallonga de Ter. Buildings festooned with pro-independence banners show I’m firmly within Catalunya: Vam Votar, Vam Guanyar, Som Republica - We voted, we won, we are a republic.  I spot the bridge to Tregurà de Baix and turn left across it.  To keep to the valley road would eventually take me to the ski resort Valter 2000, a popular mountain top finish for stage races in La Volta de Catalunya.  It’s a demanding climb but on a sealed road.  I’m in search of something rougher – the Cami de Fontlletera.  The climb to Tregurà de Baix and then a little further on to Tregurà de Dalt twists up the mountain side on a well surfaced road.  There’s plenty of nature to take in.  A buzzard swoops above and the distinctive spikes of the incongruously named sea holly lie roadside.  A stone wall dotted with sempervivum calls for a picture to be taken.  The road takes me to Tregurà de Dalt’s Placa Sant Julia.  As is the custom with Catalan town squares, a much appreciated font, that is, a fountain (or rather tap) for drinking water is present.  It’s a chance to sit, drink, and look back down the valley.  It’s a nice view, I’m sure, but my line of sight is curtailed by encroaching cloud (will it catch me or can I out-ascend it?). 

Shortly beyond the village the weather station marks the end of sealed roads: it’s rough stuff for the next 23 km. It would be generous to describe it as purely a gravel road.  It is in places but elsewhere stones and rocks abound, careful lines will have to be ridden.  The Creu de Fusta, the Wooden Cross, offers a chance to look back on the riding so far.  The cloud is closing in and soon envelopes me, shrouding the route I’ve taken.  But as I gain height I out run it and am delivered onto the barren upper grounds.

It’s remote up here.  Little sign of life.  I know the Rufugi de Coma de Vaca isn’t a million miles away but it’s firmly out of sight beyond el Balandrau.  The only sign of human activity is the odd 4x4 heading up or down.  They progress gingerly, a testament to the roughness of the road.  The quietness draws attention to what would be normally lost to background rumble of a more populated place: recurring crunch of gravel beneath tyre, occasional jangle of cowbell, the steady labours of my breathing.  Time for a wobble.  A minor crisis born from solitude in unfamiliar terrain.  No companionship to push one on.  I’ve been climbing for a while now.  I’m somewhere around 1800m.  I could turn back, descending a route that offers the comfort of familiarity.  I think of the Spanish palindrome ‘La ruta nos aportó otro paso natural’ – ‘The path provides the natural step’. The track is clear to follow and I can see its high point in the distance.  I have food, water, time, and I press on.  The footpath that leads to the Font de Lletera, The Spring of the Milkseller in English, leads off to the right.  How does a spring get such a name?  There’s certainly sporadic groupings of cattle around. 

Cresting the Collet de la Gralla (2051 m), the telltale signs of the high point being reached: I no longer need to pedal to progress and my freewheel begins to whir. The best section of the ride follows. That moment of La Volupte, to use Jean Bobet’s phrase: ‘The voluptuous pleasure that cycling can give you is delicate, intimate and ephemeral. It arrives, it takes hold of you, sweeps you up and then leaves you again. It is for you alone. It is a combination of speed and ease, force and grace. It is pure happiness’.  The road has become a relatively smooth series of dips and rises. A meadow offers a place to rest and eat and saviour a view no longer hindered by cloud. Streams are present, the most abundant, the Riberia de Fontlletera, demands a paddle (once the marmots have scattered). The Collada de Meianell is soon reached and the descent steeper and more demanding.  Like supermarket queues and their quickness, the other side of the road always seems the smoothest. But with careful selection I wend my way down. 

The first sign of civilisation for several hours appears far off below - Ribes de Freser. The road eventually becomes sealed. I coast into town having clocked up 44 km.  Where to from here? The Cami de Fontlletera forms part of an off-road transpyrenees route. The Catalan section stretches from Cadaqués in the east to Vielha in the west. Of course travelling all the way to the Basque Country is possible (maybe one day).  I’m looking for a round trip back to Camprodon.  The more demanding route would be to head to Pardines and then Abella.  There’s plenty of climbing (not quite the amount I’ve just ridden) and much rough stuff.  I could use the rising heat of the afternoon (late July means the mercury’s north of 30) as an excuse not to do so but truth be told my legs are beginning to groan.  I choose a longer but easier route.  First a brisk ride to Ripoll on the road that follows the twists of the Freser river. Over its 13km you lose 200m of altitude on smooth tarmac. A welcome respite but you claw those metres back heading on to Camprodon. At Ripoll I take the Ruta del Ferro (The Iron Route) that follows an abandoned rail route. This then joins the Ruta de Carbó (The Coal Route) at St. Joan de les Abadesses. But I follow the signs of the Pirineux, an off / on road 360 km circuit of North East Catalunya with a brief excursion into France. They lead me to Camprodon, ride done, 90 km all told. My campsite has a pool. There’s the first decision made. The bar will almost certainly be the next.