When you die they surround you,
when it hits you get up, you walk it off,
but they still come at you. They
mean well, they'll tell you
You look fine, a stitch here, a few on the eye, one on the nose,
after that, you'll look fine.
When people stop in their busy mornings to care for you,
there is something much more than the man who hit you.
He does not matter, but the man who gave you a towel, a granola bar,
and a bottle of water--he matters, and spit your misguided misgivings,
but he now matters more now that you can make, for he helped a traveler,
the traveler lived, and lookout, mountain, there is no sacrifice today,
my legs have seen Belgium and Portugal and I was given clearance
in the night in Braga, and I drink brandy free.
What struck you? The desert, my brother, it is dry.

Banyuls-sur-Mer

Head winds of Pyrénées-Orientales

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The riding along N260 and D914 was brutal--not because of the climbing, which was brutal--but because of the gale-force head and cross winds. They would last until the next day, when they would suddenly disappear. I should have saved that for later, but I will build up more momentum as the story goes, and hopefully post some video. But despite having good legs, a good bike, and the best of intentions, the winds made it very tough. Constant strong wind affects the hearing and normal pacing instinct. You expect that you will travel a reasonable distance after a reasonable amount of effort. When you do not travel a reasonable amount, you begin to take issue with the wind. When you begin to take issue with a force of nature which acts independently of your bike journey, you have a potentially serious problem. Fortunately, the wind stopped after two days. I don't know what harm I would have tried to inflict on the wind, but I might have tried.

Did I mention the tunnel? Before I expired in Banyuls-sur-Mer, I encountered two tunnels--one 600 meters long and one about 100 meters in length. I was doing poorly in the hot, windy, beautiful climb, and then suddenly I saw a large mountain standing in the way of my path. "Oh, no," I thought, " certainly they don't want me to climb that now, it wouldn't be fair." And then the tunnel appeared. Nice tunnel.

After the tunnel, I reached the French border. I tried to take a video and was nearly blown over. I am 180 pounds, have a 26 pound bicycle, and have 25 pounds of gear. Nearly blown over a dozen times. Strong wind, and strongest as I passed the French border, as if they had wanted me to stay back, stay in Spain.

On the way to France 5/26/09

The shores are beautiful. I don't know what keeps them there. Wind, vineyards, there is sun.

On the way to France

Girona-Banyuls-sur-Mer

It is a lovely ride. The Spanish roadside is lonely (N260, D914 as it crosses into France), even upon reaching the ocean, which is untouched, blessed with headwinds and vineyards. I expired at Banyuls-sur-Mer, and it occurs to me now my trip began and ended upon my crossing the French border. It was beautiful and difficult. I should have headed to the Basque region of Spain from there, headed North into a part of Spain I had never explored. Instead I covered familiar terrain. The remainder of this trip and these photos will thus be lamentable.