It is not possible to pedal at these hours

I arrive at Plaça Espanya at two, with the Ferrocarrils from the Manresa line, and the tourist, returning from Montserrat, rushes down the escalators. We go out into the street. A blast of hot air. The solar heat is so intense that when you breathe you feel the heat entering your lungs. The image of the square is completely different, because the streets are blocked due to the Tour de France, which will pass by there, on the way to Montjuïc. Two men and a woman, dressed in yellow-volunteer, wait in the very weak and only shade of an awning. They give me a map that says: "Gran Départ Barcelona 2026", with the subtitle, "Everything you need to know to enjoy the 113th edition of the Tour de France 2026". They explain to me that the Tour cyclists are expected to pass around five, and that before that there will be a promotional caravan. Since I arrived early, because the chronicler always follows Kapucinsky's advice, I enter the shopping center with the idea of buying a notebook and a pen and, above all, of obtaining the necessary calories. Oh, air conditioning, I would dedicate an ode to you.

The place where there are notebooks and pens, in there, is ALE-HOP. I really like notebooks, I always buy them, but it's impossible to choose one in this store without seeming like a poser, because they all have phrases. There's one, with flowers, that says: "Confía en el proceso". On another, with coffee-with-milk colored stripes, it says, in cursive: "Today will be grrrrrrrrrreat". The one further away, with little flowers, they've written: "Vibra bonita". Not one plain, not one in Cubarsí's language. In the end, I keep one, with lilac water where there's a small, golden label, but at least small, where it reads "Blooming day by day". The pens, the same. Not one without glitter. And all at ransom prices.

In the street there isn't a soul yet. I go down to the lower floor, where Fnac and places to eat are. Taco Bell, Farggi or Boka, which advertises as halal, and in fact has some women – with their husbands, of course – covered from head to toe. The cold doesn't get in there, the fryers reign. I go up, I go out into the street. It's windy. It seems like they've turned on the fan's "breeze mode". I wonder: "Do I have time to practice?" Yes, I do. So, I'll practice being a Catalan speaker. I go to a tapas bar (formula) with a terrace. I order "a Caesar salad". Ah, this pronunciation, with an open e and a deaf s kills my interlocutor, who before asked me if I also wanted a "little coffee". I have time to practice. Then I describe what "salad" means. The complicated words are "lettuce" and "chicken". I describe what "chicken" means. The complicated words are "beak" and "feathers". In the end (the chronicler's time is also not unlimited) with my finger, I point to the photo, so optimistic in terms of volume, of the dish.

I pay for the salad containing the feathered, beaked animal that goes cock-a-doodle-doo (in Spanish quiquiriquí) and I approach the fences, which are already full of some fans. Christian García, the historic and beloved sports journalist from TV3, calls me, who was in the area on Saturday vip with his brother. “I am your special envoy, ready to tell you about the catering,” he tells me, laughing. He knows I like these things a lot. Christian, who was a big cycling fan, suffers from Stargardt's disease, which means he doesn't see very well now. “I don't see worse every day, I see differently every day,” he always says. And that's the sentence I would put in a notebook. “With my vision, seeing bikes on TV, which are in a way static, works well for me,” he says. I always tell him he has to manage to ride a tandem. “Hey, as soon as I arrived – he explains to me –, since I was invited by the Movistar team, we entered a village spectacular". And pay attention that the village has a name: The Senyera.

I open my eyes like two bicycle wheels. The French have named “The flag” to the area vip? I'm about to take off my hat - which I'm wearing - as a sign of respect. "The champagne they've given us is Montaudon brand, the ham is from Guijuelo, Juan Manuel brand, and pay attention, they've brought us anchovies. I asked where they were from. From l'Escala!"

Quarter past four. In the street, the brave ones wait under the sun. The cyclists will have no choice but to pedal, but it's not the right time. There are people waiting, in front of the barriers, with a bicycle next to them. Caps, water bottles... On this map they've given us, with the mayor's greeting, they tell us: 'Hydrate yourselves'. I look at the crowd and think: 'Dehydrate yourselves'. Ten minutes before five, cars start passing with bicycles on top. People applaud and shout. 'Ueeeeeeeé'. It's like a King's procession, it's clear that the bikes, shiny, are just to tease. 'Long live the Mossos d'Esquadra!', a young man shouts, when he sees the cars (from the Guardia Urbana) pass. 'Come on! Cheer on the Mossos too, we're very bored!', he shouts. I'd say that now, as I write these lines, they are attending to him for acute heatstroke. The cyclists arrive, they pass and head towards the mountain. People applaud, without the energy to record, and run to take refuge in the shopping center. Then, more cars pass with bicycles on top and a cyclist, the last one, among them. Poor boy, who could he be? He's the last one, the one who just passed when the workers are already arriving to remove the barriers and re-establish traffic. On the sidewalk, another cyclist. This one is from Glovo.