What better way to soak in this historic port city than to tour with the Fat Tire Bicycle Company? With the added bonus of Bill _______ ; our sexy, rugged five foot seven ex-pat tour guide. Although it took us a while to find him...
Our tour guide Paz (pronounced Poth) has pretty much scared the living poop out of me with being on time, hurrying up (seemingly ironic in Europe) and sitting down on the bus. However I have been on time the last two days because even though I am an adult, I still do not like being in trouble and her tone intimidates me. This was a long explanation of why we arrived early at our meeting point for our bike tour rendezvous.
As we were anxiously awaiting our thrill ride, we noticed an apartment right above the Fat Tire garage. It was siesta time and yes we were talking excitedly. But does that give a 50 plus year old shirtless and sweaty gentleman to yell at us outside his window for us to go to the beach? Is that a new way to say f*ck off? I am glad he was not our tour guide, even if he did have the right amount of chest hair for my liking. So after being accosted twice by this cranky man who certainly needed a nap, I decided to go up to this good looking guy wearing pink sandals, feet covered in sand as if he had just finished surfing. It was Bill! We were then suited up with our yellow, red and blue bicycle cruisers and Bill and Our Excellent Adventure began (too bad there wasn’t a Ted).
What a hard core bike ride for 25 Tracyites, one St. Louian, an Australian and a Frenchman (Francois). For three hours, we pedaled through crowded Barcelona streets, dodging tourists and locals through narrow alleyways and not wearing helmets. What beautiful sights we encountered from La Sagrada Familia to the Gothic Quarter, the other park created by Gaudi and the impressive beachfront. One reason I fell for Bill was not only for his sweet bike riding skills, but his wit and charm when sharing the history of “bow chicka wow wow” time between Christopher Columbus and Queen Isabella, the ironies of architect Gaudi’s life, and Catalonian blood stripes. For your enjoyment, “Fun Facts with Bill and not Ted” to be posted soon.
Francois took up the back end (that’s what she said) of our large party for those who preferred to bike “stroll” than bike “run”. As we were crossing a surprisingly uncrowded sidewalk, a driver almost bumped us as he was pulling in to the driveway (that’s what he said) Francois got a shout out from our bike crew for cussing out the driver, hand motions and all. I believe the phrase “puta madre” was shared with the gentleman driver. Snaps for Francois.
Running on five hours of sleep and nutella crepes,