I got more than I bargained for yesterday on my weekly ride along Carretera de les Aigües in Barcelona’s pine-scented Collserola mountains.
A group of men were launching little airplanes into the open sky, performing loop-the-loops and spiralling pirouettes with great skill and grace.
Occasionally they’d swoop down right in front of us at a million miles per hour, mere inches from taking our heads off.
I lay my bike on the ground and joined the group, easing myself among them with smiles of appreciation. It was such a thrill to watch, another reminder of why this is my favourite place in Barcelona. You never quite know what you’ll find.
Last time I spotted two wild boars snouting their way through the dusty scrub, their long tusks snagging on heavy branches and snapping them like twigs.
Another time, when I was riding here alone in the black of night with just a narrow beam of light to guide me, one of these beasts galloped across the track right in front of me, snarling and hoofing the sunbaked soil into a haze.
This is some city alright.