Since today is technically a rest day, we ride less than 100 miles and head back to the chateau from here.  Fortunately, though, it is not the end of the day, but only a welcome stop to change into clothing more suited for the hot afternoon sun.  Several of us decide to get back on the bikes and go into Carcasonne for something to eat and a visit to La Cite, a restored medieval citadel just on the outskirts of the city.

We grab small sandwiches, quiche, figs and olives at a small shop in the old part of the city, and then ride just a few blocks up a hill to La Cite.  Being on a bike has its advantages, and one of our companions leads us right up to the main gate, where there is parking for motorcycles.

La Cite is quite remarkable and one of France’s top tourist attractions.  A fortress within a fortress, the miniature city can only be entered by crossing a drawbridge. Complete with turrets and towers, La Cite looks every bit like you might imagine a medieval town should.  There are among other things many shops, narrow alleys, a cathedral and a chateau, which is preserved today as a museum.  We toured the chateau to see what life was like at the town’s zenith in the 12th century.  There were many rooms to walk through where we saw paintings and murals, terra cotta pieces and fragments from the cathedral.  We also walked along the tops of the outer walls, which connect the towers surrounding the chateau.  Here we saw numerous stations that were used by look outs to spot approaching enemies and from which they could fire canons or crossbows.

Leaving La Cite, a much smaller group of us set out on a small adventure to find one or two local vineyards.  While we passed several that looked promising, they were either too far down a gravel road (not great for motorcycles) or simply not open.  However, there was one near our chateau that was still open, so we stopped for a short visit and to sample the local wines.  We thoroughly enjoyed the experience with our friends as well as visiting with the owner, who could not speak English.  Just as in my other encounters with locals, she was delightful, however, and we had a marvelous time.

Dinner tonight was at the chateau restaurant.  I could not resist having the foix gras again, but chose the escargot, duck breast and strawberry soup this time.  If it’s possible, tonight’s dinner was even better than last night’s.  I will miss the magic of the chateau when we leave tomorrow.

The road out of town leads us directly into forests complete with winding turns and a dense overhang of trees.  The shade is welcome, and these roads remind me of Highway 23 in Northwest Arkansas – the well known Pig Trail, so named because years ago it used to be a primary road for students and others making their way to the University of Arkansas, home of the Razorbacks.

Raye and I have ridden the Pig Trail — which is a National Scenic Byway well worth coming to Arkansas to ride — on our motorcycles many times.  It can’t be beat for hairpin turns and stunning mountain scenery.  Spring and fall are spectacular, and we have met many motorcyclists from other states who come to ride the Pig Trail and the surrounding roads on weekends these times of year.  It is one ride that should not be missed.

We stop at a roadside overlook at Roc Suzadou, a peak in the region that stands 730 meters – over 2,000 feet – high.  It offers a splendid view of the entire valley below and other peaks nearby. A u-shaped stone wall standing about three feet high offers visitors an unusual way of orienting — various points of interest are painted and glazed onto several large slabs of cream-colored ceramic tile laid on top of the wall.  The artistry serves the natural beauty well, and we enjoy using it to determine where we are.

This is the best day so far as our journey takes us through much of the region to see, well, vineyards and 13th century towns.  I am thrilled.  The morning is cool and beautiful, and we make our way through one of the prettiest little towns yet – Trebes, which sits on the banks of a river.  Boats float slowly along filled with passengers enjoying the countryside as we zoom by doing the same.  This looks like a great place to come back to and spend more time.

Riding through countless vineyards, we stop at Minerve, a small village surrounded on three sides by a gorge, no doubt making it easy to defend during times of battle.  In fact, the town is famous for a seven-week siege in 1210 brought on by a particularly cruel ruler named Simon de Montfort.  He was determined to wipe out a separatist Christian sect called the Cathars.  The Languedoc region was home to the Cathars because it was a remote area difficult to reach from more populated parts of France.  Unfortunately the Cathars were eventually massacred in huge numbers in the early part of the century, and during the battle of Minerve, 140 Cathars were burned at the stake.  It is hard to imagine such warfare in this peaceful town.

We park our bikes on the edge of town and walk across a high bridge spanning the gorge below.  While everyone else finds an outdoor café, I move through town taking numerous photos of windows and doorways.  I also find some lovely gifts including hand towels, small painted boxes and tiny animals carved out of metal.  The proprietor is very kind and though she speaks no English and I speak no French, we find we can communicate in German, which I know a little of.  This actually works quite well, and I am charmed by her smile and care for me.

As I have experienced all along on this trip, if you are willing to talk with people in spite of the language  barrier, you will have some pleasant surprises.  Bolstered by my encounter with the shop owner, I stop as we are leaving the café to speak with a woman who appears to be drawing the scene.  It turns out she is from Ireland and while my friends have been sitting there, she has  quickly drawn them.  She is very friendly and wanted to know where we are from and where we are headed.  “Minerve is a wonderful place for a holiday, don’t you think?”  she says to me.  I assure her that I have fallen in love with France as well.  She talks about her observations of the country, all the while casually but masterfully applying soft water colors to her sketch.  I can begin to see the people – our group — come to life where only silhouettes once were, much like this trip seems to be doing for all of us.

Thinking of them, I realize they have all headed back to the bikes now.   I quickly say good bye and begin jogging through the small town, looking down the tiny streets for a glimpse of the group.  Since I wandered in to the town on my own, I really don’t know any other way out than the way I came, so I decide to retrace my steps and go the way I know.

In just a few moments, from a distance I see our group crossing the bridge, almost back to the bikes, and I catch them fairly easily.  We put our helmets back on and bring the engines back to life.  Suddenly, a wave of regret sweeps over me.  In my rush to find the group, I missed out on a one-of-a-kind opportunity to purchase that painting – or at least get her contact information to strike the deal once we were stateside again.  I would have loved this priceless memento, and it would have been worth far more to me than to her, and far more than any price she might have named.

A lesson to remember: take time to recognize what’s in front of you.  Rushing through life, you’ll miss too many masterpieces.

It was an effort to get back on the bikes, but once going we find ourselves now descending out of the highest peaks, where it has been fairly chilly all day.  The hills are greening up a lot and the afternoon sun warms our faces.  The countryside becomes more rolling, and we begin to see vineyards around nearly every turn.  I am surprised by this as I didn’t realize we would find French wine country this far south.  It makes sense, however, since Spain also has many vineyards even further south.  I discover later we have entered the hilly terrain of the Corbie’res, which is known for its wine and castles. You can learn more about this region at www.lezignan-corbieres.fr/tourisme.

The French towns we pass through – Belcaire, Quillan, Couiza, Limoux and Pomas – and all the tiny villages in between are all quintessentially European like those you have seen in postcards.  Lace curtained windows, narrow streets, flower boxes, scooters, weathered shutters and wooden doorways.  It’s all here in abundance.  Since I am so taken by doors and windows, I find myself eager to photograph as many of these particularly picturesque settings as soon as we hop off somewhere.

Finally we pull into Cavanac, a tiny town just five kilometers outside of Carcassonne, which is a major city in the Languedoc-Roussillon region.  With just a few small buildings and of course a church, the town is dominated by a large stone chateau, which turns out to be our lodging for the next two nights.  It is an awesome place with ivy covered stone walls, iron gates, a gravel courtyard, a spiral stone staircase with a banister carved from a single tree trunk, a game room with a snooker table — there is even a knight’s armor standing in the corner of the reception area.  The rooms have no numbers, just names of flowers.  Ours is the Belle de Nuit and the key to the room comes attached to a very heavy round metal fob with the name of the room inscribed on it.  Everything about this place seems authentic and amazing.  Our canopied bed never looked so good, though, as we peel off our riding attire and kick back for a little while.  The only drawback for me: no Internet.  So for the next several days, I won’t be connected.  Raye is delighted with this development, and with no other real option, I decide this was meant to be and just go with it.  Whatever there is can wait.

On the grounds of the chateau is a pool and pool house, which most of us find our way to.  We’re still hot from the afternoon ride, and a dip sounds just perfect.  Since nearly all of us are here, we spread the map out on a poolside table and plot the trip for the next day.  Today whet my appetite for France, so I am really looking forward to seeing more of it.

We gather in the courtyard after showers and fresh clothes for a pre-dinner visit and to wait for the restaurant to open about 8:30.  Apparently it is well known throughout the area, and we are joined at this time by many locals.  The show kitchen is well stocked, lined with colorful tiles and copper cookware, and centered around an open-flame grill.  It looks as though it has been in operation for hundreds of years.  This is a four-course meal, and we have the difficult task of choosing from a wide variety of items for nearly every course.  A charming young waitress with short dark hair and an interesting tattoo on her shoulder takes on our table of about 25 people and recites in thickly French-accented English the many options to choose from.  Everyone begins with a surprise on the house – a sweet peach liqueur served in a small sugar-crusted cup.  For my first course, I select chilled foix gras on crushed ice with truffles, seafood bisque, filet of beef, and finally crème brulee with espresso.  Raye enjoys escargot, hot foix gras with a fixed sauce, beef kidney and an apple tart.

Our conversation with our friends is stimulating and engaging.  There are so many interesting sides to our companions.  I learn much more about high finance and investment banking, the political and economic challenges facing South Africa, and what it was like to serve as an intern for some of our country’s highest ranking elected officials.  Wonderful experiences that are made all the better with each storyteller’s unique perspective and learning.

Several of us linger easily past midnight for more conversation and stories.  Eventually, we head for bed still in awe that we are sleeping in a French chateau.

Continuing on through Andorra, we drive through several ski resort towns that look a lot like Breckenridge in Colorado.  This is a high end destination, no doubt, but one of our riding companions who grew up in England tells us it has not always been expensive.  He used to enjoy family vacations here as a child, and it was beautiful but not so always so posh.  Only in recent years has it become quite expensive to own land or a vacation home in Andorra.

We cross the border into France, our third country of the day, and after another hour or so of riding, stop for lunch at a restaurant named La Bexane in a picturesque mountain village called Pays de Sault.  It sits along the Plateau de Sault near Col du Chioula and is surrounded by forests on all sides.

Across the street from our restaurant is a small watering trough with mountain water running freely from a faucet mounted on a weathered metal box.  Several of our friends use the cold water to cool their faces and necks.  We have seen fountains or small watering sources like this located usually in the heart of small towns everywhere.  Many years ago, this is probably how townspeople gathered water for their daily needs if they did not have access to a stream or well otherwise.  A few of us also wander down the road toward a small farm to get a closer look at a donkey eating his lunch along the roadside.  In spite of his rather mangy coat, he has a friendly face and enjoys a good scratching on his nose.

Lunch at La Bexane is delicious – a meat plate with salad, cheese and foix gras as a starter followed by the special of the day, a huge portion of pork in a brown sauce made with Dijon mustard, vinaigrette and no doubt plenty of butter.  Add in a pile of fries.  We were stuffed, and I admit I only made it about half way through the special before I gave up.  Our guide kept telling us to save room for the real meal of the day, which awaited us at our hotel this evening, and I planned on enjoying that if I could manage to save room.  Once again, an older couple ran the place and were just delightful hosts.  Throughout the meal they stopped by to check on us making sure we were comfortable.  We opened the sliding glass doors from the dining room onto the porch and the mountainside beyond.  The breeze was marvelous.

The crisp morning air helps us shake off the last bit of sleepiness as we share breakfast with our friends (and Can Boix the cat). We load our luggage onto the tour van and we talk of the ride ahead. Today we have to leave paradise in Peramola, but our guides assure us the best is yet to come.

The roads lead north toward Andorra, a small country sandwiched in between northern Spain and the south of France. Nestled high in the Pyrenees peaks, this 170-square-mile country patiently waits for us as we wind our way higher and higher toward the border. We stop long enough for our guide to explain to the border patrol that the 12 bikes behind him are with a tour group.

Once waved through, we begin passing shopping center after shopping center. Andorra’s tax-free status makes it a popular place for purchasing anything from perfume to pottery. So we stop for a few minutes to wander the shops in the heart of town. Unfortunately the dollar’s currently weak status against the Euro makes everything that looks promising look less so. I am determined to find some gifts for family and friends, but I am certain better opportunities lie ahead.

With no bargains found, we decide to make better use of our rest time here in Andorra by having an espresso outside a small café on the edge of town. These types of tiny establishments are fast becoming welcome breaks for us — not just for the coffee or to rest our legs, but to meet and be served by the proprietors, who are often, it appears, older married couples. They run very clean, charming restaurants that are sometimes no larger than the size of most America kitchens with a counter or bar, and perhaps one or two small tables and chairs. This time of year, most people eat outside, where there is a bit more seating in an outdoor café type setting. Even still, our group tends to take over most of the available seating at these stops, moving tables and chairs together so we can visit. It is becoming increasingly clear that everyone is enjoying the time together, and bonds are beginning to form. We laugh a lot and take many pictures of each other. Even the proprietors seem to enjoy our stopping off on this journey through the Pyrenees.

Frankly I have found the Catalonians generally very inviting and helpful regardless of my terrible attempts at speaking Catalan or Castilian (Spanish). So ordering and paying at restaurants is not that difficult and always comes with a smile and a friendly “ci,” which of course means yes. We have also learned the simple courtesy of saying “buenos dias” (good day) when greeting someone, and “gracias” (thank you) when leaving. So far, it has paid off in great service and an enjoyable meal at nearly every place we’ve been.

The most unexpected part of the day actually came after we returned from the ride. Raye and I hiked into the canyon behind our hotel. We followed a stream all the way back to the point it comes up out of the ground in a spring called Font Viva. It was a beautiful, intimate spring set far back into the rocks, and we were delighted to actually find it. The water was as cold as ice and clear as glass. We could see smooth round rocks of all sizes lying beneath the surface, and a leaf floating slowly along the water’s edge. In the stillness of the canyon, we could hear a tiny sound emanating from the water as it spilled over a few of the rocks and into a small pool below. So peaceful. I thought about some of the pristine waterways in Arkansas that are well known and well loved by many, both for recreation as well as relaxation. We are blessed to live in a part of the country that is home to such natural beauty. Riding motorcycles through it is one of our greatest pleasures.

After a hot shower and a quick check of email, once again we gather with our companions on the deck overlooking the farmland surrounding the hotel as well as the valley beyond. It is yet another stunning sunset, and we unwind from the day until it is nearly gone before moving inside for dinner. The food is all locally grown or caught, depending on what you ordered. I enjoyed another fantastic meal of foix gras, veal stew, cream cake and espresso. The cabernet is from a local vineyard, and we are all very impressed with its quality. One of our friends from California has quite the palate as well as the nose for great wine. With his blessing, we all declare it a find and are determined to take home some of this hearty, robust Spanish wine, Castell Del Remei 2005 Gotim Bru.

Sleep comes easily for Raye, but I cannot rest. I stand out on our balcony this evening and drink it all in. Even under the stars, this is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. In fact, the Pyrenees countryside shines more brightly at night. I finally lie down quietly singing a song that seems well suited for the moment: “It’s a wonderful night for a moondance…” Leave it to Van Morrison to know just what to say.

I’ll confess morning came too early for us. We were still quite tired from last night’s conversation, but we ate a typical hearty European breakfast of cheese, prosciutto, soft boiled eggs, baguettes and espresso. As we were eating on the outdoor terrace, we had a visitor to the table: the hotel cat, who is appropriately named Can Boix. He was a little cagy at first, but he could tell pretty quickly I was a cat person. I fully expect another visit tomorrow morning at the rate he was enjoying the little nibbles of cheese I slipped to him.

We set out on a 125-mile loop through Col de Nargo, Isona, Col de Balloxis, Tremp, La Seu de Urgello, Adrall and back again to Peramola. These roads were narrow, one-lane and filled from one end to the other with S-curves that took us back and forth in a rhythmic motion. We found ourselves leaning from side to side all day on the bike, some times nearly scraping the ground in the tightest curves. Riding on roads like these, you have to stay focused on what you’re doing at all times and think every time you enter a turn. Especially on the right-hand curves, you have no hope of knowing if anything is coming from the opposite direction, so it is particularly important to start the turns wide so you can apex very late into the turn. This keeps the bike as far in as possible in the blindest part of the curve. Quite challenging for the rider, and even though I have wondered if I would rather have been riding my own bike, I am certain it would have been very difficult for me to pull this many turns off without making a major mistake. Which in the mountains, is not something you want to do.

Lunch finds us at the top of a mountain pass, where we enjoy baguettes, cheese and prosciutto, which we picked up at a roadside gas station with a small market. The views here are beautiful, and for the first time, I see a similarity between the Pyrenees and the Alps. Both have dramatic peaks and valleys, both have lush green hillsides, both have tiny villages hanging off the mountainside, both have a chill in the air, both were clearly drawn by God’s hand.

I am also enjoying photographing several of our fellow riders and watching how they handle their bikes. Not surprisingly, many times during our breaks the conversation turns to motorcycles. We learn what everyone else rides at home, and what they enjoy about the bikes they are riding here. It’s great fun connecting with people when you speak the same language. What you do or where you live matters so little when you discover a common love of motorcycles.

We complete the day’s route by riding through several other shorter mountain passes, through tunnels carved into the mountains themselves, and then following a gorge with a river running through it back to Peramola. This is the El Segre River. Along its banks are churches, farms, small towns and tiny roads winding up toward the base of the mountains. This is clearly the Catalonian Pyrenees, which has hosted countless visitors before us and no doubt countless to come. Places like this are why vacations were invented.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with twisties – tight turns – leading us through the base of the Pyrenees Mountains. Today we just got our legs under us, so we only rode about 150 miles. We had a rest stop at a motorcycle museum that all the guys really loved. Then by early evening we arrived in a tiny town called Peramola, near a cross-roads that leads further into the Pyrenees. On the edge of town was our hotel, the Can Boix. www.canboix.cat.

This charming European hotel was a welcome site for us. There is a small church on the property, which is actually a farm, a vine-covered walkway, plenty of amenities like tennis courts and a pool – even a helicopter landing pad, which gives you an idea of its popularity as well as its remote location. Our rooms are very spacious, have hardwood floors, marble bathrooms and the view into the valley from our balcony is postcard-perfect. The hotel has a delightful history, built by the Pallares family in the early 1900s to attract families on holiday from the larger cities in the region. The Pallares family still runs it today, and the land has been in their family since the 1700s.

We spent the evening becoming much better acquainted with our fellow riders and found ourselves still laughing and talking well after 1 a.m. Of course European dinners don’t even begin until 8:30 or 9 p.m., so it’s not as bad as it seems. Plus, our companions are bright, engaging and accomplished individuals each in their own right, and our conversations about their work, their families, their lives — and most importantly their riding experiences! — was a pure joy. We met a Wall Street investment banker, an Oxford law student, a CEO, several attorneys, a successful real estate entrepreneur, an orthodontist, an endodontist (root canals) from California who is really a vintner-to-be, a construction superintendent, a gentleman who runs a plastics company, a lovely lady who used to work in public relations believe it or not, and several other unique and enjoyable individuals. On top of all that, one of our guides plays guitar and sings, so we were serenaded during our after-dinner espressos.

I leave dinner with a gratefulness about our companions. If you are very lucky in life, you might meet a few people like this, but rarely all at once and in such a magical setting like Europe. You come on the trip for the ride, so having a shot at making new friends like this is just a bonus. I think we scored big time.

This morning Raye and I woke up early in anticipation of the trip.  Thinking we would be first to breakfast, we found several of our traveling companions already sampling the spread and drinking espresso, obviously eager to ride as well.  I remember how much I enjoy European food and focused most of my attention on the French baguettes, fresh sausage, prosciutto and a variety of cheeses.  I was completely taken with the self-serve espresso machine and confess I had four cups.  Like I needed juicing up.

We headed out from Barcelona about 8:30 a.m. (that’s 1:30 a.m. central time in Arkansas, but who’s counting…).  We are on a Ducati ST3, which obviously has a lot of power but unfortunately for me, no top box or back rest.  After fighting the traffic of the city, thankfully we veered off the highway and onto the first of many winding mountain roads.  This one took us to the famous mountain of Montserrat, home to the Benedictine abbey, Santa Maria de Montserrat, which of course is named for the mountain.  Montserrat means “jagged mountain” in Catalan, the language spoken along with Spanish here in the province of Catalonia.  Once you see this dramatic setting, you will understand the name. The stark, rounded mountains are very unusual and memorable.

The abbey is serene and as beautiful as its setting.  There are a number of walkways and a set of stairs leading up the side of the mountain to the main courtyard.  A long, large building serves as a place of residence for the monks.  Next to it are several small outlying buildings and then, of course, the cathedral.  No pictures are allowed in the sanctuary.  While we were visiting, a service was in progress, so we quietly stood in the back and just watched for a few minutes.  The marble floors in the courtyard are works of art in their own right, so I quickly photographed them from various angles and in different lights.   I took up card-making last year, and these pictures should help inspire several new ideas.

Near the buildings visitors can see a Holy Grotto, which is a spot where local people claim to have seen visions centuries ago.  Montserrat is also well known for “the black Madonna,” a statue of the Virgin Mary carved out of dark wood.

Click here to listen to the monastery church bells ringing or the boys’ choir singing.  We heard the bells, missed the boys.  But it was an incredible destination to experience nonetheless.