Two Wheel Blogs

My morning began with a key slipping into the lock of my hotel room door, and a strange man walking into my room at 6:30am. He whispered "Pardon!" and backed out into the hall, tiptoeing down the hall as quiet as a mouse. What the heck? Hard to sleep after that.

I have never been very good at taking the straight road and today was no exception. In elementary school, when all my friends played the flute, I had to play the saxaphone even though I wasn´t tall enough to carry it. I had to drag it to the school bus. Junior year of college, I couldn´t go to Oxford for a semester abroad like all my friends. I had to do a year in India, so I could be as far from my boyfriend as I could get without taking the Space Shuttle. From Puigcerda to where I am tonight, there is a nice 30km road over the mountains. But no...I had to go see Andorra. All because my Spanish wasn´t good enough to ask someone what makes Andorra so special as to be its own country. Some knowledgable Spaniard could have saved me a lot of pain.

It was an absolutely perfect ride - until about 4:30pm. The road followed a gorgeous river valley along the chalky, enormous Pyrenees for about 50k. Ancient stone walls were abloom with red poppies, and wild roses hung over the road. If I had taken as many photos as the day warranted, I would still be alongside the road somewhere.

Andorra was all the drama I expected. It was a snaking line of upscale development in the bottom of a jawdropping canyon, with lush walls and waterfalls looming impossibly high on both sides. All I could think was "There´s no way out of this place but up." And so it was.

I started climbing at about 4. It just kept going up and up. AND UP AND UP! Twenty k? thirty? Who knows. All I knew was that my tush was getting unbelievably sore. My quads were fine, my lungs strong and my energy great. But how do you train your body for saddle rub day in and day out without having a saddle rub you day in and day out? And if you do that, who works two jobs and raises two children and does the laundry? My fanny has been on the saddle a total of an hour a day, three days a week. There was no preparing for this.

The sign said 15k to the summit. Had I simply ignored all this dramatic topography on my map?

The cirq of peaks was spectacular, a wide open bowl with ski lifts in every direction. No end in sight and oh, the pain...I was starting to feel a little well of panic in my throat. Would I be bleeding by the top?

Just then, a taxi drove by. No kidding. I tossed him a wave as if I were standing on a Manhattan street corner, more as a joke than expecting a ride. He flipped a u-turn and came back. Allah! Baghvan! Kali! Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Green Tara! I didn´t realize I had been praying until the prayer was answered. 15k (and a brutal 20€) later, my bike and I were at the top of the pass. Glory be! Not a single apologetic bone in my body either.

I cruised the sweet downhill to Pas de la Casa, checked into a hotel (only 4€ more than the cab ride - with a free breakfast!), and collapsed as the exhaustion hit. While I rested and phoned my family, it began to rain and is still coming down hard. My Kona is in the room with me tonight, and I find myself talking to her like a lover. She needs a name, since this is her inaugural ride. Rioja. And not because of the color of my tail either. Because of the poppies and the canyon walls and the goddesses on high who summoned a taxi for me in my moment of need. Rioja.

Tomorrow is another 35km climb. I hope a little hemp oil and a good night of sleep can cure what ails me. I am supposed to be in Meschers, northwest of Bordeaux, by Wednesday. I can´t really picture it right now without the help of a locomotive.