The first night I dreamed of Calippos. Slushy, icy, sugary goodness. It’s hot for pasty English types round here, and the riding is hard, but so rewarding: there’s a reason why so many pro riders choose to make Girona their home, and after five days of riding I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface.
Girona is a cycling bubble, packed with pros and bike shops and tour operators. It’s a smaller bubble as I roll into town in July, as the heat kicks in and the beach fills up, and Off Grid is a bit off the radar, 40km from the city into the Alta Garrotxa, up near the French border.
Besalú, with its medieval bridge and even older church, is the nearest place of any size. Off Grid, is, predictably, not in town: an old masía, a farmhouse of the region, converted into a 10-room hotel. The cattle used to shelter on the ground floor; now there’s a coffee machine, sofas and curated reading. It’s chic, in an unpretentious way.
In the eight months it took Gerard, the owner, to refurbish the place, some things have been made new, others made good. Everything was left for him, he tells us, and not everything was replaced: “Anything that’s dark brown was probably already here.”
The rooms have big, comfy beds and new furnishings, but downstairs the tiled toilet is deliciously retro, and some of the dining chairs, though all newly painted, are more solid than others. The big, deep pool is pristine and cool, and there is sun and shade for roasting or lounging. There are outdoor games, and an indoor studio. It is, unreservedly, a nice place to spend some time.
We have two guides from tour operator Eat Sleep Cycle, which has partnered with the hotel for this trip. Josep is a wiry local of indeterminate age, and seemingly known to everyone even remotely involved with bikes in the region. He lives in a twelfth-century castle in a neighbouring town. His grandparents fought on opposite sides of the Spanish Civil War. His dad was the crane operator responsible for lifting the leggy elephant statues into Salvador Dalí’s castle garden in Púbol. He told us many stories, and were I to recount them all here I wouldn’t do them justice, and we wouldn’t have room for anything else.
Arno is a big amiable Belgian who fell in love with Girona fifteen years ago and made it his home: “We cried the first time we had to go back to Belgium”, he told us. Later in the week as the plane touches down in a cloudy and vacant Bristol Airport, I feel similar pangs.
Josep and Arno take turns riding, and driving the van. The van is largely full of ice, and water, and pop, and snacks. And, on occasion, when the meals get too big and too long, and the return leg too unpalatable, of bikes, and riders. This is a holiday, not a training camp, and there’s always the option of a ride instead of a ride. There are two of our number who’ve come out with no intention of doing any cycling, and Off Grid is a fine place indeed to spend a relaxing few days away from most of the distractions of modern life. There is WiFi, of course, but the pace is deliberately slow. There are no TVs in the rooms. Yoga sessions have been laid on for anyone not riding, and massage, and an hour of sleep therapy. If you want to travel with a partner or friend who’s not really interested in riding, there are many, many worse places to be. You could even grab one of the resident e-bikes if you wanted to stretch your legs a bit.
Day two is in some ways day one. The transfer to the hotel, out of the city in the searing afternoon sun, is largely forgettable; indeed, when on day three we’re presented with the same climb from Besalú that we completed on the first ride, none of us can remember anything about it, except that it was hot.
Rides start early, though not as early as I’ll have them start when I’m made king. It’s not a long day, only 50km, but out of the gate we’re into our work: Two hundred metres of coasting and then we hit the climb to Mare de Déu Del Mont, ‘mother of God of the mountain’, named for the shrine located at the top. It’s a climb that sets the tone for much of the week: there are not many folks about, and the roads, shaded by oak and beech forests, are quiet and serpentine. When there is shade, the mornings are cool and the climbing is enjoyable. When the canopy breaks, and the day heats up, I’m forced to concede that some of the time I spent eating this year might have been better spent cycling.
At just over a kilometre high, Déu Del Mont isn’t a huge mountain, and that’s the nature of the climbing in the area. But it’s a solid hour or so in the saddle for me, less for the lighter riders amongst our six-strong group, starting on a sharply rising and undulating back road before joining the main drag that offers a bit of respite before it ramps up to the radio towers and the building that houses the restaurant and cafe.
The views from the top are spectacular: up to Canigou mountain on the French side to the north, down to Banyoles lake in the south. Griffon vultures laze on the thermals below us in the steep valley. We descend what most locals would consider to be the main climb, retracing our route and then carrying on down as the climb morphs from technical and challenging into a fast, wide, valley road to Cabanelles and the turn for home, and thoughts of refuelling.
Eating at Off Grid is a communal affair, sharing a table with Gerard and his son, and other guests and friends that come and go as the week progresses. Zu, the chef, never misses a beat and the food is plentiful, and varied, and delicious. Every night it’s a battle to not fill up on delicious pan con tomate before the actual meal arrives, a battle that I sometimes lose.
Each meal is different, with plenty of local produce and something for everyone. The week culminates in a barbecue and pool party with locals and friends on the last night. I’m in bed by the time the party actually moves to the pool; Tom the DJ, earlier in the week, has led the hour-long sleep therapy session. Part of his work these days is producing soundscapes for relaxation apps, but he was forged in the 90s club scene, and reverts easily back to keeping everyone up.
The third day’s ride rolls out Northeast further into the hills, past the extraordinary town of Castellfollit de la Roca, sat atop a sheer fifty-metre basalt crag, with the houses bustling all the way to the very edge. From Oix the road rises sharply, 4km of steady 10% gradients as an opening gambit, before dropping down to Beget for the longest climb of the day, 12km through Rocabruna to the Coll de la Boixeda. Weaving past our support van, stuck in a stalemate with a French campervan on a road nowhere near wide enough for the two to coexist. Up four tightly-stacked hairpins to escape the valley before a meandering climb both beautiful and challenging.
Now it’s time to rekindle my love-hate relationship with the climb profiles on modern GPS units: I want to know what the climb’s like, what’s coming, and I don’t want to know there is a demoralising 10km left to go. In the end I ponder the profile, note that there’s a long flat bit through the village and that it definitely isn’t the top, turn it off, and settle in.
By the time I relent on the upper slopes and sneak a look, there’s only 800m to go; I decide this is well-judged, although the last ramp nearly kills me. At the top there’s a German camper kicking out euro rock classics as we neck sugary drinks, and dribble coolbox water on our roasting body parts. All the ice has melted…
The pre-ride talk was of finding sandwiches, a quick halfway meal, but Josep directs us to a cafe on an industrial estate. It’s the very definition of local – the place the folks at the heating engineer next door and the mechanic next to that will be heading on a weekday lunchtime for their menú del día. Everyone speaks Catalan; in fact it’s largely unclear all week whether having a conversational amount of Spanish is considered good form, or not.
I didn’t really understand before I came how fiercely independent the region is; while us Brits were mostly rooting for Spain in the World Cup final, having been dumped out by Argentina, Josep tells us that in the bars of his home town of Medinyà the exact opposite was true.
We order: it’s the kind of place where you order the two courses, and when the first course comes you know you’re not going to need, or want, two, but by then you’re committed. Some of the group opt for dessert as well, and the lift home, and miss both arguably the best bit of the ride – the thrilling, switchback-laden descent to Sant Salvador de Bianya – and also the worst bit, back along the valley on bigger, flatter roads, into a roaring headwind, uncomfortably full and knowing the next feast is only a few hours away. I won’t lose weight on this trip!
Oix and Beget turns out to be our longest day in the saddle. In theory day four is longer at 146km, but we’re riding downhill to the sea and having lunch at the Mooma cider brewery, and there’s precisely zero interest from anyone in the 70km uphill return leg in the afternoon sun.
West of our base the land flattens out towards the sea, the roads rolling through farmland and getting wider, and busier. At this time of year, the coast is very much the focus: many local restaurants inland don’t open at lunchtime, because everyone’s gone to the beach, including the people that run the restaurants. We ride on the beach access roads and along the cyclepath that runs between the dunes. Past the ruins of the city of Empúries, dating back to pre-Roman times, and the tourist land train, a more modern addition.
By the time we roll into Mooma there’s just time to muscle in on the end of the cider tasting before we sit down for another fantastic meal, secure in the knowledge that the bikes are already in the back of the van, and café legs will not be an issue.
The last day is the ride back towards the city, but also the famous climb: Rocacorba, the one you do when you go to Girona.
From the lakeside at Banyoles the twin radio towers are in full view and look punishingly high and distant, even though you’re only fifteen clicks from the top, and five of those are the flat run-in to the bridge where the climb begins, or at least the Strava segment does. A road built to serve the infrastructure at the summit, it doesn’t have any through traffic, and on a Monday in July we have the place to ourselves. Once again, a look at the profile – an easy bit, a flat bit, a harder bit, another flat bit, a really hard bit – and it’s time to get the work done.
For the one and only time in the week I justify bringing power pedals for any other reason than them just being road pedals, and thus the correct aesthetic. I pick 280 watts as a number I can aspire to for an hour, given that’s about how long the climb will take me. The rule of thumb is: look at the fastest pro time, double that, add a bit, and that’s my wheelhouse. Jayco’s Paul Double (who is also from Winchester) has done it in 26 minutes and change; ironic that I’ll be more than twice Double’s time.
The heat has tailed off to an extent through the week, and we’re on the slopes fairly early, and there’s a welcome amount of shade. But even so, plenty of the water I’m carrying ends up on me rather than in me. By the second flat bit you’re at the first radio tower, and even though I know with absolute certainty that the road goes to the second one, still far above me – they literally built the road for it – a part of me is hoping that the climb finishes before that. Spoiler alert for anyone thinking of going up Rocacorba: it doesn’t, and the last bit is grippy, on a road that’s falling apart enough to make the descent back down quite the adventure. I sneak under the hour by a minute or so. It’s a little while before I can face a sugary drink, sitting on the hang glider launch ramp.
Back to Banyoles for a refuel by the lakeside and it’s time for the group to go its separate ways, with flights to catch and trains and taxis to juggle.
My last hurrah is the ride back into Girona, partly along gently undulating B-roads and partly on what’s more or less a motorway – “All the tours do it, it’s fine” – on a generous hard shoulder. A fond farewell to the Basso SV bike that’s been my companion for the week, a final Fanta Limón, and now maybe it’s time for that Calippo. In all the fun I’d forgotten about it…
The next Off Grid In Motion retreats are: 23–27 October 2026, 13–17 May, 22–26 July and 8–12 October 2027.
From €1,900pp for cyclists and €1,400pp for non-cyclists, including four nights’ accommodation on a full board basis and all activities. Based on two sharing. Bike hire can be arranged: www.offgridcycle.com
Big thanks to Gerard and all of the team at Off Grid, and Josep, Arno, Axel and the team at Eat Sleep Cycle. Thanks to Olly, Rich, Caroline, Chris, Emma and Jack for great company and turns in the wind out on the road.