Crashed Out
Back at Gatecrasher HQ Glen James organised us into two teams. There was an A-team of four named ‘The Dog Beds’, which he led, and it was upon this team that hopes of Gatecrasher glory were resting. The rest of us, five in number, formed the B-team. It went unsaid but was a truth universally acknowledged (to paraphrase Jane Austen) that not a lot was expected of the B-team and they were duly christened ‘The Bottom Feeders’. If anything this sentiment was reinforced when I found myself appointed map-reader!
The next morning the Dog Beds were away by 0800. The Bottom Feeders looked up, gave them a cursory wave goodbye, and continued their breakfast. After a certain amount of chivvying the ‘Feeders were lined-up and having their photo taken by Austin at 0900. Soon after we were swinging off the tarmac onto the first trail…
The Pyrenees are infested with trails and they’re nearly all marked on the map. Most of them are very old farmers tracks connecting long since abandoned villages and valleys. Luckily for us they usually have vehicular rights.
After remarkably little faffing about we were soon at our first checkpoint. Whilst I stopped and sorted out how to get to the next CP the rest of the team consulted the book and located the tag. Before long we started to develop a rhythm and began to collect CPs at an encouraging rate. Occasionally we encountered other teams and would share pleasantries and information. One rival team even had a KTM 950 Adventure among their number. Watching this aircraft carrier-like device move off I remember thinking it was surely a handicap too far and they were unlikely to trouble the leaders…
As the morning progressed we worked our way down to the southeastern corner of the map. Our goal was CP 501, which had been enthusiastically endorsed by Austin as a perfect trail. It started off as a grassy track leading up a wooded valley with a stream running along the bottom. This lead to a steep staircase of switchbacks, which took us onto a rocky ridge. On one side was a deep gorge with a large deserted village built onto a prow of rock. More technical than the usual trails, it was a great ride and we followed the ridge north, back to the eastern side of the map.
Midday found us knocking off a few easy CPs miles from any surfaced roads, when to our surprise we came to a signpost for a restaurant. A swift Bottom Feeder conference soon had us heading for the food. Six kilometres later we came to a restored farmhouse with a courtyard, and huge slabs of stone set up as a tables. The place seemed deserted but a tentative knock at the large wooden front door produced an owner who spoke only Catalan.
Following a conversation conducted mainly in sign language he agreed to feed us, and things kicked off with a refreshing beer and a large plate of cheese and paté. Assuming it was a starter we snaffled the lot. Next a mounted tree branch with seven salamis hanging off it arrived. Swiftly christened the ‘Tree of Cock’, the team gave it a savage pruning. This was followed by a salt cod salad, one of my favourite Spanish dishes. Regarded with suspicion by some of the ‘Feeders, it of course meant all the more for the rest of us. So I made a bit of a beast of myself. A glass watering can full of wine appeared for those in need of lubrication… which turned out to be everyone.
By now we really should have stopped, but the food and drink kept coming. Finally, after a robust goulash with chips landed in the centre of the table, we had to beg them to stop. They appeared genuinely surprised. This huge dish sat menacingly before us. We could not send it back untouched so we all had to dig deep to consume it. Danny McGuire and Laurence showed particular grit in the fight to finish it. Burping happily we were congratulating ourselves on this unexpected find when ice creams, coffee and a sort of homemade melon firewater were pressed on us. So we ploughed on…