Shoreside of a reservoir in the Pyrenees.
Ian, our guide, a tough Englishman, pointing in the direction we're heading. He and his wife gave up the rat race to have a lifestyle where they could spend more time with their young son.
Mix of double and single track. Some very tight.
Small town for lunch.
With what you may call narrow streets.
Bread and toast always comes rubbed, or ready to rub, with fresh tomato.
Lovely salmon pate.
I have the rabbit.
The dining room is like a cave. I have no idea how old it is. I think the staff refuses to speak anything but Catalan, but Ian's Spanish is enough to get us what we want.
Just before lunch, Karen took a tumble on a steep decent, getting caught in a rut, and hurt her ankle. 7 days later we determine with X rays that it's actually a break. But she is hard as nails and rides out the day. 9 days later she'll get a plate with 7 screws. Here Ian stops to check in with her.
Some of the narrower track.
I don't believe we have enlisted, but we have been issued Army tires. Sweet.
The soil is much like Colorado--decomposed granite--but the foliage is heavier.
Not a bad view from our hotel's balcony.