Construction of the Cinca hydroelectric scheme in the Pyrenees began as World War One came to a close and wouldn’t be completed until 1932, due to the immense challenges created by the terrain.
The story goes that once water was flowing from the new reservoir high in the mountains, workers would cycle the canal route – which in places runs over 1,000m above sea level and several hundred above the valley floor – to ensure the aqueduct was free of obstructions.
If this is indeed the case, then this trail has seen wheels turning on it for at least 91 years, possibly even longer, making it one of the world’s oldest off-road bike paths.
That’s why my riding companion Doug McDonald and I are here in the north-eastern Aragon region of Spain – to ride the trail and find out whether there’s any truth in the claim.
Prey we make it
Our ride starts on the shore of Embalse de Pineta, a reservoir above the small town of Bielsa.
The water here is like glass, reflecting the peaks beyond and the bluebird sky above. This is where the Canal del Cinca starts, and our ride, too.
The route involves large concrete box pipes and rock-cut tunnels, so the path that follows the aqueduct often has no sight of the water.
In places, the older aqueduct can be seen, the mortar walls slowly succumbing to almost a century of dealing with Mother Nature and Father Time.
Initially, the going is fast and easy – a level run through a cutting – and we’re riding on top of the box pipework hidden under a thick layer of pine needle mulch that deadens the sound of our tyres.
Tree cover is in our favour here as the high summer sun makes its presence felt, the thick canopy of Scots pines cling to the ever-steepening valley walls, and soon, the aqueduct is the only level ground on offer.
The further we go, the more the broad concrete slabs are left behind as the water makes its way through solid rock, only to reappear.
Now, the path becomes bench-cut singletrack with very little room for error. With the water no longer in sight, the path contours the hill, and steep ravine traverses keep the blood pumping.
Any fall and the Eurasian griffon vultures – with their 2.8m wingspans – will be soaring overhead looking to make light work of us. The chat fizzles out as we concentrate hard on what’s in front of our wheels.
Pucker up
Our focus peaks as the mountainside steepens to a sheer cliff, bright white in the hot morning sun, and the trail – showing signs of the light railway built through solid rock for the construction – teeters above a few hundred metres of fresh air.
When I peer out of the ‘window’ cut in one of the tunnels, I take a sharp intake of breath. I’m not afraid of heights, but I do have a healthy respect for them.
Just to hammer the point home, we look up to see a handful of vultures floating on thermals above… time to move on.
The next section of trail has been obliterated by a large landslide, so we take our time, picking our way across the slip, and are happy when we’re back on the solid ground beyond.
We’re in the trees again now, and happen across the ruins of the workers’ housing, built in possibly the only place it could have been – along the 14km stretch beyond where the aqueduct appears and then vanishes once more into the mountain.
It’s obvious that work is being done on the hydroelectric system, because the sluices are open and the water has all but run dry.
While the original aluminium smelter built some 14km downstream no longer operates, the scheme produces an average of 366 million kilowatts per hour. Almost a century later, it’s still providing the goods.
Before long, we see why the tunnel was required – we’re once again hugging the cliffs on a rock-cut balcony trail in a definite no-fall zone.
As we pause on the high point of the water’s route to the smelter below, Doug tells me this trail was one of the first incorporated into the Zona Zero Pirineos project, started in nearby Aínsa in 2011 and aimed at reviving and improving Pyreneen trails for the use of mountain bikers, hikers and other nature lovers.
That makes it one of the longest-standing MTB trails in this area.
On the warpath
During the Spanish Civil War, the Republicans held out against the Francoists in Bielsa and the surrounding mountains.
The terrain made it ideal for defence, combined with the terrible weather of the late-winter of 1938.
Around 7,000 men of the 43rd Division stood against the 14,000 of the Nationalists after the Republican front collapsed.
Bielsa was bombed and all but destroyed, with the modern town rebuilt with the materials left over, giving it a unique vibe, with old-style buildings built much later than they look.
The Republicans, with better local knowledge, were able to use the canal to move men and material for the war effort, away from the prying eyes of the Nationalists.
This route, and others, would also be used to evacuate over the border into France once it became obvious that continuing the fight was going to be a fruitless endeavour.
The battle itself was of limited importance, but the resistance of the 43rd against overwhelming opposition was a major boost to the Republican forces.
It’s hard to imagine the peace here being drowned out by the drone of Italian and German bombers, the thud and crump of artillery, and the din of battle, but some 90 years ago that was the reality for those in the Alto Cinca Valley.
We retrace our steps, wary of clipping the opposite pedal this time, full of appreciation for the history that this massive engineering project is steeped in, from its arduous construction to its role in the civil war and on to its importance to the Zona Zero project.
For the most part, this track is one of the best ways to get up and down the Pineta Valley, away from the winding road below.
If you can manage the vertigo well, you’ll be fine, but anyone afraid of heights should look elsewhere – this one has a high pucker factor.
While the climbs and descents are mostly shallow, they’re punctuated by steep, washed-out gully traverses, and in one spot the path has had to be rebuilt following multiple landslips.
It’s a route that requires ultimate concentration in places, at the height of summer, so we can only begin to imagine riding a three-speed, sit-up-and-beg bike along here in winter, or any other time of the year.
It’s not something either of us is in a hurry to replicate, whether or not the story is true.
Fact or fiction?
My local contacts have trawled the archives and, unfortunately, the images that survived the destruction of Bielsa in the late 1930s don’t include any people riding bikes.
So, for now, we’re left with just the rumour that people did, in fact, do so along this canal.
Could it just be one of those urban legends that keeps doing the rounds?
Despite the lack of documented evidence, I’m going to hold onto the notion that men would ride their bikes along this trail.
The route carries obvious risks even on a hot, sunny day on a modern full-sus, and the thought of riding it on an old-fashioned bike as the mercury started to dip doesn’t even bear thinking about.
But someone had to ensure that water was running freely along the aqueduct, and if that person was in the habit of cycling to work, it’s not too much of a stretch to think that they might use their bike for this task, too.
After all, health and safety regulations were still decades away at this point. Hats off to them.
