Run 2:01:00 [3] 24.0 km (5:03 / km)
Nothing like a bit of information to set up a decent run. You wouldn't expect such information to come in a bar but it did, in the form of a topographic map on the wall of the sports bar where I went to watch Barcelona's Champions League game last night - this revealed that there was a route heading up to the Els Ports national park which looked promising, with only 3km of more substantial road to traverse to get to it.
I thought this was worth a punt and headed out in that direction, and was pleasantly surprised that the main road, while it had some traffic (even at 6.30), also had a decent verge which makes all the difference. Near-continuous gentle to moderate climbing once outside the Tortosa city limits (about 300m in 8k all up), up a steady slope, mostly through farms (and occasionally unnervingly-loud-in-the-dark dogs) but also a bizarre interlude in the form of a monument to the Spanish property bust, a subdivision in the middle of nowhere with new roads and street lights but almost no buildings. As I got closer to the mountains they gradually revealed themselves with the rising sun, as a rocky, scrubby range vaguely reminiscent of the Flinders Ranges. (This also prompted me, possibly slightly unfairly, to think of Tortosa as Port Augusta with more interesting buildings).
Turned around at the national park entrance, the point at which the road turns from steady slope to hors categorie steep (from there it climbs 1100m in 8km). 40 minutes of continuous downhill from there was easy on the engine, not so easy on the muscles - I might pay for this tomorrow - past a mixture of the local equivalent of Bill Jones' Broadcast Australia ute on its way to the masts on top of the mountain and farm cars which were the local equivalent of the Central Australian Kingswoods that the roadworthy inspectors turn a blind eye to as long as they're only driven to Alice and back. Had to work pretty hard on the flat once back in town, with a short detour past the meteorological observatory in the name of getting the time up past 2 hours.
There was also some astronomical excitement in the form of the brightest meteor I can remember seeing, although it fell short of my personal-best for during-run astronomical excitement, the spectacular aurora display one evening in Winchester in March 1989, which turned out to be the furthest south it had been seen since the 1930s. (The solar flare which caused the 1989 event is probably best remembered for knocking out a large part of eastern North America's power grid).
Definitely nice to get out of town properly on a morning which lifted my mood considerably.