Part 39 - Going Solo, Pyrenees Mountains, late Sept 2019

Europe Blog – Part 39

I read a lot about solo travel. Some writers said it is the only way to get an authentic cultural experience. They claimed being alone and vulnerable caused a traveller to be more approachable; that local people would be more inclined invite a solo traveller into their home. A solo traveller is also forced to pay attention and to work harder; there is no chance to let a travel partner do the talking. They also said that feelings of loneliness would pass.

Along the Wild Atlantic Way

After seeing Isabelle off in Dublin for her flight home I rode back to Motofeirme near Cork, the motorcycle storage business that Martin Hurley runs. Martin kindly let me stay in his bunkhouse for two nights while I waited for my ferry booking to France. During that short stay I rode another piece of the Wild Atlantic Way, the southwest corner. I stopped at the Lucitania Monument to eat my lunch. After lunch I met a bunk-mate from Motofeirme, Carlos, on the road and together we visited a salmon smoking business in the village of Union Hall. Carlos, an Australian, was considering starting up a salmon smoker and packager in Tasmania. He hoped to visit numerous smokehouses to get ideas.

Lucitania Monument

A Teaching Monastery on the Way to Union Hall

The motorbikes were the last twelve vehicles to board the overnight ferry on the 21^st of September 2019. A restful night in a private room separated a tasty tuna salad and a full English breakfast. Pleasant music had played over the PA at 5 am to wake everyone. It was still dark in Roscoff, France when the last twelve vehicles rumbled down the ramp onto dry land.

The fourth campground I tried was open. I settled into a little “Camping Municipal” in Pons. It was clean and quiet and only cost 9 Euros. I looked forward to better prices for everything after two months on the British Isles. The climate change was agreeable too. Under a clear sky and air that was 21 degrees I was greeted pleasantly by an older man when I arrived at the campground after 6 pm. French words came easily out of my mouth. They felt natural. I was going to like France.

My bike wouldn’t restart at a fuel station in Pons the next morning. The bike had been dry, out of the rain, for a few days. The ignition mechanism couldn’t possibly have been wet. I took the battery out from its cubby and discovered the negative terminal had vibrated loose again. It had been loose the last time I had to perform a “battery reset”. The first time I thought it was a coincidence. This time the wires leading to the terminal were warm and there also appeared to be soot present. Clearly, there had been some arching going on, probably due to the loose terminal. Maybe I had discovered the real cause of the bike’s troubles. I reset the battery and tightened down the negative terminal a little more firmly than usual.

I rode south through farm country on September 23^rd. As I got closer to Bordeaux, the huge expanses of corn and wheat fields changed to vineyards then corn appeared again. Mechanized agribusiness on a massive scale was alive and well in France. I rode south for hours through alternating patches of rain and clear skies. Two constants during that time were a slow rise in temperature and a fully functioning motorcycle, despite the rain.

It was cool and drizzly when I arrived at Camping Municipal Estaing, elevation 1200 meters. The campground was inside the French Pyrenees National Park beside Lac Estaing at the end of a charming mountain road. A sign on the approach to the lake had warned of the “Barriere Canadienne”, cattle grate that one needed to cross. The final few kilometers required careful attention to the bovine beauties that shared the road with vehicles. The campground was closed but I followed the lead of four French camper-vans by squatting for a night among the trees. Frost covered my tent the next morning but the tranquility had been wonderful.

Lac Estaing Camping Municipal

Looking up the Estaing Valley

First of Many Crossings into Spain

Lunch Stop

I stopped for two days at a campground in the mountains to write a blog episode. On September 26^th I rode over mountains, past castles and through medieval villages down to Barcelona and the Mediterranean Sea. The language changed to Catalonian, a dialect I failed to adapt to. Driving styles changed too. Gone were the strict rule-following patterns found in northern Europe; however, driving styles fell well short of the “Wild West” feel Isabelle and I had encountered on some South American roads. I settled into a nice beach resort, “Camping Tres Estrellas” to await George’s arrival.

Mountain Scene in the French Pyrenees

On the Road to Lac Estaing

Scene in the French Pyrenees

Riding past Medieval Villages and Castles

Even Tiny Castles

Lunch Stop

Looking down at the Paved Road near a 2000 meter Pass

I originally met George in Ecuador at Rose Cottage, a charming mountain-side hotel outside Otavalo. George’s family owned the place and George had been running it for a few months when Isabelle and I stumbled in during the spring of 2017. The short version of the story went like this: just outside Otavalo, Isabelle encountered a muddy patch while riding on a cobbled road, she fell and broke her ankle. George was really kind and helped with getting medical treatment for Isabelle. He subsequently arranged a ride for Isa and I to move to Quito, two hours to the south, for her recovery. The three of us became fast friends. George learned to ride off-road and fell in love with it. At Isabelle’s insistence, George and I went on several riding adventures in remote parts of Ecuador during her recovery.

In the Spanish Pyrenees

The Mediterranean Sea was still warm but it was the end of September, well past high season. The endless sand and gentle surf of nearby beaches were almost without people. Camping Tres Estrellas was located 8 minutes from the airport. That was why I picked it. It had luxuries that included a restaurant, grocery store and a pool. A guarded gate opened onto the inviting beachfront. Added to that were endless sunshine and 25 degree temperatures. Waiting a couple of days for George to arrive seemed pretty easy.

Beach at Tres Estrellas

George at the Bike Rental Shop in Barcelona

St Lorenc de Morunys

I picked up George from the Barcelona airport and drove him to the Hertz outlet downtown. There he rented a brand new BMW F750GS. Two hours later we were in the mountains. We explored some mountain tracks but turned back when the tracks became too steep and the surface too loose. My loaded travel bike felt like a whale in the loose stuff. We ended up in a village named St Lorenc de Morunys. It was a delightful place with a medieval centre. Our hotel had secure parking in a tiny locked garage. We were astounded to discover that we had to wait for restaurants to open at 9 pm before we could eat. We wandered around for half an hour in the old town. We eventually reserved a table at a small place just off the central plaza.

Remote Spanish Village

In the Spanish Pyrenees

The next day’s riding was filled with beautiful canyons and countless tight switchback corners. We explored some fun dirt tracks and turned around if things became too tough for loaded big bikes. Neither of us fell. That evening we rode into a larger town called Vielha. Larger but no less charming, our hotel sat beside the stream that flowed through town. Parking was in a secure garage 250 meters away. The town was filled with cyclists and GS riders when we checked into the hotel Riu Nere. At nine o’clock restaurants filled up with hungry, freshly showered two-wheeled riders.

Checking Conditions Ahead

Viehla

Hotel River Nere in Viehla

Spanish Villages on Craggy Mounds

"Let's check out this trail."

George and I repeated the happy pattern of riding, eating and sleeping for a couple more days. We traced several Tour de France routes stopping at all the famous mountain passes. Roads were a happy variety of smooth, rough, sealed and loose. The weather was always perfect and the scenery varied and interesting. We stopped to take a lot of photos. We visited dramatic canyons in national parks and tiny villages on craggy points. Everywhere we saw few vehicles; those we did see were mostly GS bikes like ours. We guessed that it was the variety of road conditions that kept GS riders happy and others away.

Spectacular Canyons

Lunch-stop in Unknown Village

Countless Photo Stops

Pyrenees Scene

We spent our second last night in Andorra City. The boom town glittered with chrome, glass and steel. Crosswalk surfaces lit up with embedded green lights on the walk signal. The city teemed with young healthy looking adults moving about rapidly on foot.

Church Below Ruins of Medieval Castle

The Church

The Castle Ruins

Lunch Stop

Exploring off the Main Road

In the morning George and I rode a mountain loop to the northeast of the city, just for fun. Crossing back into Spain was effortless; we were simply waved through at Customs. Some twisty roads and scenic mountain passes brought us slowly in the direction of Barcelona but soon we opted for the motorway to get us back to Camping Tres Estrellas in time to prepare for the game.

Interesting Geomorphology

Ever wondered, "What happens in the off-season?"

Along the Tour de France Routes

High Pass Overlook

Lunch Stop in Gosol

Picasso Spent 3 Months in This Tiny Remote Village for Uninterrupted Work

Picasso's study of this church pointed him toward cubism

That night we teamed up with Patrick, a camping neighbor at Tres Estrellas, to take a cab to the football match between Milan and Barcelona. The game was held at Nou Camp Stadium, the largest in Europe. Lionel Mesi played that night, his first game back after an injury. Mesi played brilliantly and Barcelona won the match. It had been especially fun to see the game with such a huge and passionate crowd, George included!

One Hundred Thousand Spectators at Nou Camp Stadium

I gave George a ride to the airport early the next morning. It had been a fun week of riding and being in George’s easy company. Thanks for a great week George. All the best wishes for your upcoming marriage!

Thanks for a Great Week of Riding

George, In His Element