THE MANY (MIS) ADVENTURES OF DR.N. THUSIAST

That after all is the basis for this ongoing saga...

A Rua was a perfect small city for a rest stop. I had been riding much of Europe for months now, between this year and last. It was proving to be quite the experience. Since my teens, buying the BMW R-60/5, I had dreamt of riding in Germany, France, Czechoslovakia, Hungary. It had taken 38 years to get here. In that time I had been fortunate and gutsy enough to have embarked on many interim dreams. Motorcycle Instructor 18 years. Bike shop owner 10 yrs. MX/road racer 15 years, Baja Vet... 12 years. Father... ongoing!

Many of my friends (and I have a great many great friends) feel I lead some kind of "charmed" life. I hear constantly how fortunate I am, how "lucky" to have a great career, how "brave" I am to set out on these quests. Well, guess what? I do have a fabulous life! Great kids, lots of variety, many romances, owned hundreds of bikes, travelled a small part of this Earth, have had many new experiences (some I wish never to repeat, like the heart attacks) I am very appreciative.

Just this past week, thru the wonders of the Internet and Facebook (the CIA should have such a tool) I was contacted by a man, whom I shared a lot of those experiences with. Rob and I go back to our PEI days. He worked with me at my shops, going first from one to the other to the other. He was a good manager and a better friend. No need to get into details here, but he showed courage where other lesser men would have succumbed to temptation or fear. After nearly 15 years, he contacted me last week, and I'm glad he did. Rob mentioned like many have, how he has often wondered what it would be like to follow your dreams, live the life...

The thing is this... anyone can do this. The secret is to believe it. Think about it. It's certainly not Rocket Science. Let me give you guys a hint. Get an idea. Dream about it, anything at all. Then talk to yourself in the mirror. Telling yourself that you can do this. While waiting for the light to turn... Once you have the vision in ur head, let your very best and most trusted friends in on it, one at a time. They will encourage you. After awhile, it will be so rooted that even when you mention it to the naysayers, the non-believers (in themselves) it will be so deep, so real for you, that no one, not high tide, nor family, nor winter blizzard will deter you.

I have many capital T Truths that influence my life. Like for example: you are either a Happy person, or you are an unhappy person. You are either caring or uncaring by nature. You are either selfish or unselfish, you are either a lover or not. Can these traits be altered? Of course, every day we face situations that make us unhappy at the time, but... does this mean we are unhappy individuals? Of course not. The capital T truth of the matter is that happy people can feel unhappy at times. Unselfish people can feel selfish at times, you may love someone or something, yet at times feel like you hate it. (I've had a few bikes like that!!! Ha ha.) My point is this: We are who we are. We can choose and pick, we can have ideas and dreams and desires... Remember, once the decision is made, the doing becomes easy.

I was 20 kms West of A Rua heading for the Portuguese border. My trip meter was showing 190km travelled since my last fuel stop. The Divvie easily has a range of 300+km on it's 17 L fuel capacity, but I like to gas up around 200-220km. I was rounding one bend after another, on a perfect riding day (in reality anytime you're on a bike and feel your pulse, it's a pretty good day) when I came across a solitary gas station literally in the middle of nowhere. I rode by, then for some reason changed my mind and slowed, did a U turn and pulled up to the pump. I young man came over, and we filled my tank. He spoke no English, but once again, my rudimentary Baja Spanish was sufficient. I learned he rode a bike himself, what type, I didn't find out, an Aprilia though likely a 50 judging by his age. As I am getting ready to mount, he begins pointing at my engine. I walk around to the right side of the bike and see a gaping hole in the top of the crankcase! (gasps from the audience here.) I had neglected to replace my oil filler cap in A Rua that morning!!! The first thought thru my noggin was how I would find something to plug the filler until I could find a dealer that carried the part, and really... no one carries oil filler caps, so I knew right away, that whatever I did, would have to last until my rtn to HU. Squatting down for a closer look, I spot it! Wedged between the upper crankcase and the vent hose, it is sitting there grinning like a Chesire cat at me.

"Peekaboo..." it says! "Had you going didn't I."

I took a moment, thanked the Universe yet again, for sending me this good Kharma. It is times like these, the little moments in my life that I am the most appreciative. Make no mistake here gang, it is Kharma. You feel it too, good bad or very UGLY... it is something we put out there with every decision that we make, every action or inaction we take, with every thought we project. Never mind that slick piece of marketing labelled as the "Secret". Kharma is no secret, positive thought is NO secret.

I thanked this youngster that was likely only 16 or 17, dug out a Canadian pin from my pack and handed it to him. His good Kharma was rewarded with my good Kharma.

The region was mountainous, not like the Pyrenees, these were older more rounded, lower... experienced mountains. Valleys were reservoirs for sea blue lakes, held back by low dams. It was green, the Oceans' influence obvious here. No matter where the Ocean is, you will always find Earth's life in it's trees, it's greenery. It's multitude of color, the flowers, the bird life, the animals. God I wish we took better care of this Planet! It really is a "Garden of Eden"

I loved the undulating road I was on. Little traffic, what there was was local. My speed was low, sometimes reaching 100 kph. Most times I just was on Cruise mode, between 60 and 80k! Soaking up the air the atmosphere, the sunshine. Eyes in awe of what they had been witnessing thru the miles I had covered.

I couldn't help but think how fortunate I am, indeed.

The crossing into Portugal was like all EU countries, smooth and flawless, borders now 'non-existant' just a simple sign in blue, the country name, surrounded by gold stars. Gold Stars are good aren't they? Whether pasted to the top of your grade two assignment or ridden around a Vintage road race track, Gold Stars are welcome anytime. We never think bad about GS's.

Portugal is a long narrow country. I had so much wanted to come 'round the coast'. How come we never seem to have enough time to do even a fraction of what we set out to do, why is that?

I took the most obscure, sinewy, wiggly lines on my map. When I couldn't find these... I would ask other riders or local folk. They always knew where to send me. Today those lines wound my way thru the the Serra Do Geres and Serra Do Baroso's.

I could smell the Atlantic now. Salt air was teasing my nostrils... the temperature that had been in the high 90's, and low 100's was dropping with each passing kilometer. North of Porto, I ended up somehow on the Autostrada without anyway to get off. Never mind, it was only 50k now and I would have the Atlantic before me. Taking the off ramp from the IC1 for Viano do Castelo, I was both excited and very calm. Somehow, this would be the culmination of this journey. Both and ending and yet another beginning.

The terrain here is hilly and muscular. You can just sense what this land has lived thru during the millenia. Every meter the tires covered, my anticipation grew until at last, one more rise and then the long gradual descent. And, there it was...

Gray skies, cooling temperatures and waves that had come from Halifax. A long ass way as I like to say. I imagined what the sailors accompanying Columbus on the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria must have felt, sailing out THERE! Into that thundering, endless seeming, foreboding VOID...

There was nothing between me and that Ocean now except a rocky beach a hundred meters wide. My altimeter showed 20'. I had a look and thought, pretty dam close.

Parking Piroska on a wide new sidewalk in an obvious resort community, I dug out my Olympus camera and Panasonic video to record this moment in time. It was 5 15 in the afternoon, 72.8 degrees F, June 02, 2009. I had conquered Europe! From HU to Romania in the east, The streets and monuments of Berlin in the North, the splendor and ancient history of Athens in the south, now the Atlantic coast of Portugal in the very West of the Continent. It hadn't taken 3 weeks to get here... it had taken 38 years, a very different 600cc motorcycle beneath me, a whole lot of dreams in between, but here I now stood.

Can you imagine how I felt...?

WHAT an Incredible day that was!

AFTER that, ahem... delay in the morning, things went rather well I'd say. The weather was perfect for riding in light gear, no need for the fleece nor the 'lectric vest.

FROM Oliana I rode West then North, then West again. Zaragoza, Soria, Burgos, Leon.

NEARLY 1000kms later I was passing thru Ponferrada. Just a few kilometers short of

A Rua, and after nearly 15000 kms of riding from Hungary, to Berlin, to Athens to Espana, except for two obscure instances in Albania, (that were just plain weird. I was pulled over by legal looking, uniformed Police driving decrepit run down civvie cars!) I had not had so much as a speeding ticket.

NOW, I found myself along with a dozen or so motorcyclists, pulled over to the side of the road at a Police checkpoint. The officer approached me and requested my papers, and then proceeded to explain that I was being required to have a breathalizer test administered. Now, this is the very first time in my life I have been requested to do so, and I am certainly not familiar with the Law in Spain, but looking around me, I saw riders huffing and puffing! I opened the package, filled my lungs, and Blew...! Zero, nada, goosegg! Have I mentioned that Europe has no tolerance for drinking drivers and obviously, riders.

AS I'm putting my docs away safely (chuckle) in my jacket pocket, I realize how extremely tired I am.

I had no idea at this point I had covered this much ground, but it had been just such a perfect day. Ahem... well apart from the passport issue!

RIDING Spain is such a favorite. Lots of bikes, friendly people, Great scenery. Superb pavement, not a single toll road all day...

SINCE my first trip there (read CDN Biker December 2002 issue) when Lisa and I had gone over to visit with Holly while she was attending University in Valencia, I have longed to return. On that trip my plans had been to ride an old vintage Spanish Bultaco or Montesa, only to find that those bikes were in museums or private collections... We settled for a couple of Kymcos in 125cc displacement, a Harleyesque little Custom and a scooter. The lack of velocity only meant we could explore the tiniest villages. Would have been nice though to have a little more power.

TODAY, I had more power in my Diversion 600 and it had carried me 966 kilometers on the day!

A Rua proved to be a very good choice. A room right in town at the Hotel Espada for 24Euros with breakfast, a cafe/bar only a few blocks away with a coin operated computer, and, very hot weather. Shorts and T shirt hot weather.

SIPPING a cold Cuna (a small draft beer) at the 4 Camiones, I had an opportunity to catch up on emails from home. One Euro for one hour.

THE best deal I found in all of Europe.

SPAIN is still relatively inexpensive, at least when compared to central Europe. Gasoline averaged 1.05-1.10E per liter, accomodations about 60% of France or Italy, food was very cheap and good and... very friendly, helpful, joyful people.

IN my wanderings around the central part of the city, I found (and fed) some very hungry little gatitos, had more than a few espressos, did my laundry and soaked up the atmosphere of North West Spain.

HAVE I mentioned at all how much

I LOVE ESPANA!

TOOK a couple of days off to veg, catch up on journal, take some pics and do a little body maintenance.

AFTER finishing my last Travis McGee, I packed my gear, added the first oil into Piroska's crankcase since beggining the ride, and packed her up for the dash thru Portugal to the Atlantic coast.

I was less than 4 hours away now...

DAMMIT!!!

I was nearly a hundred kilometers from Oliana when, during an instinctive pat of my left jacket pocket, I realized IT wasn't there. Hard on the brakes, over to the shoulder of C-14, even before I began going thru my pockets and then the tank bag, I knew... I'd left my documents at the Hotel True, very likely on the front counter. In the scramble of leaving and having to ask for my passport from the elderly matron, which she retrieved from the box under the counter, paying my bill via Visa and packing my things... I had committed the cardinal road sin.


NOW What? Well it took me just 1 second to answer that question for myself. I had to go back. There was no other logical choice. We Capricorns are the descendents of Vulcans, who had in some centuries past, caused the creation of the Pyramids East and West, our brains work in logic, and logic was telling me that without a phone number, or a phone... I had to make a U turn here and now, and head back. Now I have to tell you, I hate going back. I don't like doing it in relationships, and I don't like doing it on the road. But in this case, it wasn't a simple matter of calling and having the docs sent ahead. Nope... I waited for a break in the bit of traffic I had just moments before, passed and wheeled Piroska around in low gear.

IT was a beautiful morning, sun shining brightly, the perfect road, wide sweepers easily taken in high gear. Good visibility, excellent pavement. I had been travelling at 120-130kph since leaving Oliana, passing vehicles with ease, rarely having to twist the throttle further. I had passed thru several towns of varying size and now found myself increasing my velocity substantially. Except for a quick fuel stop, I was getting dangerously low, my speedo rarely dipped below 120 and frequently saw 140-170. My concern was that perhaps someone had picked up my plastic zip lock, that I kept my International Drivers document and Passport in, or it had been found by the elderly matron and delivered to the Police for... well whatever they do with such things.

IN either case, that would pose a substantial problem. Now those of you that know me well, know... I never panic! After all, once I'd left the stuff there, it was up to fate right? About 12 k out, a car went by flashing his lights. I slowed to 100. After 2-3 km I was beginning to inch up again, when I spotted the the black and white, pulled up on a little side road. He was pointed East, but I didn't take any chances. My next few kilometers was at a 110 kph pace. I didnt need a ticket and having to explain where my DL and Passport were.

ARRIVING, at the True, she recognized me and bagan jabbering in machine gun Spanish, none of which I could follow, and disapearing into an alcove office, I saw here retrieve my baggie from a safe. I hugged her and kissed both her cheeks, I could have proposed to her, I was so relieved!

BACK on the road again... heading in the direction of Zaragoza, tip toeing past the still patient police car.

THRU Ponts and Artesa de Segre for the 3rd time that morning, I pulled off in rising heat at Vilanova de le Barca for a coke and to strip some clothes. My watch was reading nearly noon and over 100F!

WHILE sipping cola from a tiny glass bottle, I got to watch a little MotoGP. Racing in Spain and Euro as a whole, is big time sport. I couldn't get close to the TV sitting on a pedestal behind the bar, from the crowd of men and a few women watching Pedrosa locked in battle with Rossi.

POURING over my maps like some battlefield Colonel, I was thinking I might head up A-2 thru Zaragoza and then, while enroute decide whether to head North to Pamplona or Bilbao. I still hadn't made up my mind if I would forget the West coast completely and head to Normandy, or... alternately, pass on the Channel coast and splash in the Atlantic. My circle tour of the western European continent was not going to happen in the time frame I had allotted for this trip. My constraint was time, and time was quickly marching by. For anyone contemplating such an adventure as mine, I repeat... pick a country or region, and see as much as you can in 3 weeks. We could have very easily spent 3 weeks in Northern Italy! I had planned on a 12000km trek thru Western Europe and even allowing for minimal downtime, it just wasn't going to happen.

RIDING the N-11 parrelling the Autostrada until the outskirts of Zaragoza, I contemplated.

AT the final entrance before reaching the city, I hopped back onto the AP-2, the Peage, and bypassed the city. In Spain, most autoroutes are free, however... the peage routes, as in France, are toll.

THERE were several route choices but as unpredictably as I often operate, I wheeled onto the N-122 heading to Borja.

WEST!!!


THAT'S right... I was heading west towards the Atlantic. The lure of the Ocean was too strong. I was going to Portugal!!!

BIKES...

v STROM 650

Istria

Diversion 600 with hard luggage.

Swiss rider.

Vintage Moto Guzzi 50 on a busy downtown street, nearly got killed taking this picture!!!

Virago 535, once a very popular bike in Euro...

Almost a mirror image 600.

Lots of big displacement TDMs, this is a 900 with sticky rubber.

Scorpa trials bike. A/C 4 stroke not sure of the displacment, small though, maybe 175cc.

V4 Magna 750 Elba

Katoom 950 Adventure.

Tons of these various vintages. This is the famous Africa Twin.

Sports tourers everywhere!

Triumph started the naked Streetfighter and they're still going strong.

Elba...

Piaggo APE. A workhorse in every town and city in Italy. Scooter engine, two cycle, smokey little three wheeled beast!!!

Very unusual BMW twin streetfigther.

New friends on a MultiStrada, near Bologna.

Desmo RT 250.

Vintage Vespas.

Incredible following for these scooters all over Europe.

Scarebeo. A 50 in this case.

Story continues soon...............................................................

HAPPY CANADA DAY CANADA!!!

BREEZY

AND sunny weather greeted me Saturday morning. It had been a full week since I had arrived in Azille. I was now on the road to Andorra, in the Pyrenees separating France from Spain. As usual I steered the Divvie clear of major highways, preferring to follow the more scenic, more curvaceous, older routes.





Since leaving Hungary 3 weeks ago, I had clocked more than 3000 kms on my Little Red. Other than the persistant clicking noise which I had isolated to the drivetrain, that had appeared right after the install of the new chain and sprockets, there had been no problems whatsoever.

She started immediately on full choke. Like some SuperModels diets, was using gasoline at a frugal rate of approximately 3.5 L / 100Km or in English... consistently averaging 60-65 MPG. Gas prices were typically about $1.30 Euro's or $2.20 cents a litre in CDN currency so this was much appreciated.

I can hear you guys laughing now!!!

Although I was checking oil regularly, the engine was consuming none at all. There was a little misting and a few drops from the oil filter sometimes after a hard run in hot weather, which I put down to a slight wisp at the rubber seal. Nothing at all that I was concerned about.




Some of you have asked about the bike I am riding...

We knew the bike in North America as the Seca II. Although we only had it a few short years, and (never did get the 900 shaft driven version,) I bought one new in 93. A forward inclined, 2 valve per cylinder, DOHC (double overhead cam) air cooled 4 cylinder fed by 4 downdraft carbs. A solid steel frame with modern geometry, good quality tires and ample brakes. The single disc on those fine front legs was the size of a medium pizza and plenty strong. The motor itself puts out about 60 crankshaft horsepower and the Italian pipes added perhaps 3 or 4 real BHP and maybe another 10 in imaginary power, they sounded so sweet.

Not loud but just a little bit angry. The 600 Diversion and it's Big Brother 900, were immensely popular over here, a huge sales success for Yamaha. Even though mine was nearly 17 years old, which in the motorcycle World where a "600" changes every 18 minutes it seems, made it terribly dated, I didn't give a hoot. Lusting after the latest and greatest was like changing girlfriends every 6 months. Exciting maybe... but expensive, tiring and ultimately, unsatisfying.

Nope, like MY latest, the Divvie was a very fine girl indeed! I was lucky to have her, and I knew that.

People say that singles and twins and triples sound different, and having all those bikes in my garage at home, I can agree. My T Bird with it's 'off road pipes' sounds positively "nasty" when I'm on the gas.

A four though... has a unique sound all its own. This little Diversion with it's Made in Italy Busso pipes, sounded like, hmmm... a 60's California surfer girl, that has just smoked her first joint! A little loud and crazy maybe, but a whole lot of fun...

Realistically Kis Piroska had a 'top speed' well over the Ton, likely close to 200 KPH. Last year, I had ridden the German Autobahn for a distance, glued to the tank bag, elbows tucked, with the clock showing 190! For those of you wondering, I had ridden Piroska thru dozens of European Radar signals that identify your speed. Great fun Wot! By the way... contrary to popular belief, European Autobahns, Stradas, Pias, and Vias... do have speed limits. In most countries they are posted at 130kph. Of course, the traffice flows somewhat faster than that in reality. I rarely exceeded 140 for any long stretches.

Most times my cruising speeds varied between 90 and 120kph. The engine need not be flogged. Redline is a very decent 9500rpm. From 3500 up, she pulled quite well and rarely did I need to downshift from sixth to pass someone. With it's lowered Euro gearing, 120 kph equated to 6000 RPM.

If required, a gentle push on the gearshifter once or twice, gave me more than enough passing power for any situation I encountered. The engine was very smooth with only some slight buzzing at speeds of 80 kph in top gear. (3500 rpm or so) The seating was 'sports tour' and very comfortable even at lower speeds, the 17 L tank fit well between my legs and the perch although completely stock, more than adequate for the 400 km average days I was riding.

Surprise!!!

At Quillan, I got lost. The highway I thought I was on,

(D 613) was in reality 30 km north of my actual position on D 118.

Yes, yes... Har har from the GPS boys.

My three comments on that are as follows, there is still a lot of Romantic appeal to reading fine lines on a tank bag mounted map.

Getting lost was by no means a "bad" experience. IN fact it allowed me to make contact with many people I may never have otherwise.

The third reason is unprintable.

NO matter, I had planned on entering Andorra from the North East, but instead came up thru Mont Louis from the south. By this time I had passed from the foothills (mountains to them) and was entering the true mountains. I could see gathering rain clouds in the distance hanging over the peaks. The temperature, that for most of the day, had been hovering in the 80 and 90's, was now steadily dropping. It would get into the low 60's and even dipped into the 50's briefly at one point.

Andorra is an interesting country. Totally mountainous, tiny, tourist oriented. An anomaly here in Western Europe, where countries like France and Spain were rather large in contrast.

Green... very green. I fed Piroska and myself shortly after crossing the border, and was climbing. The mountains were close but the valleys wide. I opted for the overland route, rather than the optional tunnel. (the Europeans love tunnelling by the way!) A good choice. The scenery was utterly spectacular. The overland portion was perhaps 5 times the length and colder, but far more interesting that a hole bored with precision thru the mountain. We climbed to over 7800' within a few short kilometers of stacked switchbacks, more open than some I'd ridden elsewhere. Here I was able to ride faster and smoother in a higher gear, the engine gradually dropping in power and needing a little more revs to keep the uphill pace.

Obviously winter oriented, ski lodges and runs were everywhere. I snapped a few pictures at the summit, snow melt from dirty snow, running under my tires. A group of riders on Beemers waived from their perch a few meters away and higher.

Older riders again.

IN fact most of the touring riders I encountered were at least my age. Made me think that Motorcycling is fast becoming a "hobby" for the seasoned rider. I wondered if that was due to the high cost of riding a bike in Europe. Purchase price equipment, gasoline etc.

After a short stint in the Principe of Andorre... I came to the gates of Spain. The crossing on the Andorran side, is covered by an expansive roof, snow coverage perhaps?

Pulled over by a very tall (6'13"?) Andorran official, he ask for my papers. While in the process of digging thru my jacket, he notices my Maple Leaf decal I had attached to Piroska's windshield. In perfect English he asks if I am CDN. I answer in the affirmative and he waves his hand, smiling, to move on. "No need for the papers."

I am grateful... the few times I have had to haul out all my documents, has been time consuming and occasionally confusing.

After all, the motorcycle I bought in Hungary... doesn't actually "belong" to me on paper. As a 'foreigner' I can't own a vehicle in HU.

What people do in these situations is have a trusted someone, a family member in my case, own the bike, insure it and then give you written authorization to ride it. I had read this years ago in Peter Moore's excellent "Vroom with a View" a Romantic tale of an Aussie riding an old Vespa 125 in Tuscany. (Ahhh yes... Tuscany) From my understanding, this is the case in much of Europe, so if you are planning on riding here, and not renting a bike, make sure you find these things out in advance. One other point, if you are thinking of riding a rental bike into some of Eastern Europe or the Balkans, be very certain that the rental agency will allow such a venture!

A word or three on that point. I've had some inquiries since beginning this Blog (still like the sound of that) about riding here. For the most part Europe is very safe, and VERY motorcycle friendly. I would reccomend though, hard luggage. I never had any problems with theft, but it was always a concern with my soft bags. Besides... it's easier to carry.

Never was I treated badly, I was allowed and encouraged to move up whenever lineups appeared. There was no waiting, using up fuel and overheating at lights or traffic jams. You can park wherever you find space, be it on a public sidewalk next to your table, city parks, or under that shade tree. Cars are far more aware of you and not only tolerant, but helpful in moving you along thru traffic. In Athens, while getting directions from some motorcycle Cops, I asked whether there were any traffic rules? Of course they said, but quickly added "Just be aware of what other cyclists are doing, keep with them, otherwise we will be called out to untangle you from someones bumper!"

In pretty much every city and town I encountered... drivers move aside to permit you to pass. Many a time I simply rode down the center line while vehicles in both directions parted the waves so to speak, allowing us motorcyclists to advance.

Like I say, that has been my Favorite part of riding the Continent!

What a drag it will be to return to Canada, and have to stand there in traffic, on those ultra wide lanes, waiting for a fender bender or traffic light to clear. Try and keep traffic moving at least a little at home, by riding to the front of a lane to the light, and you will have a dozen drivers calling the Polizie with your license plate number

"Yeah... I wanna report a crazy biker weaving thru traffic dangerously..."

This while they're busy A) yapping/texting on their Blackberries, B) putting on make-up while drinking a Tim Horton's half N half Grande, C) or speeding thru a playground zone whilst doing the above!

Sigh...

We have a lot to learn about moving traffic efficiently in NA. One of my friends remarked to me after last year, "Traffic in most of the world is designed to move, to flow. In NA, it's designed to STOP!"

How true!

Crossing into Spain 50 meters later required me to dig out my passport and docs... sigh...

I pulled off the roadway within clear view of the gates and had an apple. The temperature had shot up into the 80's once again and before the day would be done... into the low 100 range.

Instantly you can tell the difference between Spain, Andorra and France. It is low scrub here, dry and hot.

The slow ride thru the day had tired me out.

It's early, barely 5 pm, but I decide that I would pull off in a decent sized city and chill for the evening. Get some groceries, have a cafe, maybe do some walking. Soon after riding thru the stunning Gorges D'Organya, I come across the Hotel True. At 36.75 Euros, it looks pretty good to me. Quaint. clean, with it's own dining room and outdoor cafe. A fabulous view of the Pyrenees I had just ridden, it's perfectly located in the center of Oliano, right on rte C-14.

I was tired even though my day's mileage was barely past 300kms.

When the elderly proprietor placed my Passport and documents under the counter, I knew that was a mistake. They always ask for your passport, and we fill out a travellers card, but... I insist on getting it back. This time I was too tired and his English was much poorer than my Spanish.

I let it slip...