Too soon we have to leave this haven, and our ride from here descends out of the mountains through busy towns and on bigger roads.  The promise of the coast awaits and everyone is eager to see the famous Costa Brava, the Catalonian coastline along the Mediterranean Sea.  This should be quite a contrast from what we have seen the rest of the trip, and our guide promises us the switchbacks along the coast are as good if not better than yesterday’s challenging mountain passes.

Finally we reach the coast and stop for lunch in a bustling tourist city.  Several of us decided to treat ourselves to a lunch of paella at a beautiful yacht club.  The food was artistic and sumptuous.  The setting was relaxing and divine.  A real treat.

From here, the coastline ride begins.  The Costa Brava stretches from the border of France and Spain south about 125 miles to the port of Blanes.  Costa Brava means wild coast, and by the looks of the rocky cliffs and rugged surf, it has earned its name.  Frankly, it reminds me of the Pacific Coast Highway in California -- same natural attraction that has nothing to do with man and everything to do with God.  This is a huge tourist draw for Catalonia.  We are truly excited to be here.

The highway is a series of unending switchbacks that necessitates a slower speed but unquestionably creates a faster heartbeat.  I can tell Raye is excited about the ride, but like all the other drivers, he is concentrating on the road, the speed, the turns, the traffic.  I, on the other hand, am mesmerized by the azure blue water and crashing surf.  Since I am riding on the back, I am treated to a shoreline show of splendor, and I make my best efforts to capture some pictures so Raye and the others can see this region.  We make one stop from a perfect scenic overlook. It is hard to get us back on the bikes – from here we know the ride is coming to a close and we must get on a major highway to make it back to Barcelona before sunset.

This part of the ride back is filled with traffic, wind, and an unexpected rain.  Seems fitting as we say good bye to the mountains and now the coast.  I loved Barcelona a week ago, but honestly I am sad to return to this amazing city because it marks the end of our trip.  We pull wearily into the hotel, check in, and most of us collapse for a quick nap.  It has been a long day of riding, and we have one last dinner together before parting ways.

Tonight is a celebration, and everyone is filled with stories, hugs and promises of staying in touch.  We salute our guides and enjoy piano playing by Charles.  Raye and I head for bed before too late as our flight leaves fairly early from the airport.  I can hardly wait to see the kids, but I will miss these new friends incredibly.

It is a bittersweet evening.

Our room has no phone, so Raye and I walk into town to find a payphone and call our children for the day.  Due to the time change, we can’t seem to catch them or my dad, who is undoubtedly ferrying them around somewhere this afternoon.  By my calculation, they are just out of school, so I am disappointed we can’t get through.  I do get the office, though, and am glad to hear the familiar, friendly greeting of Rose, our team assistant, as she answers the phone.  As I suspected, things have gone remarkably well without me this week.  I told myself many times while experiencing the angst of being officially unplugged for the past several days, I shouldn’t worry.  I am blessed to work alongside incredibly bright, talented, dedicated professionals.  If I’ve done a good job of leading them, there shouldn’t be a lot they really need me for that they can’t figure out on their own.

My spirits lifted from the conversation with my colleagues, we head back to get cleaned up for dinner.  Over the past several days, I have occasionally borrowed a camera from Kirk, one of our traveling companions, since I have had some trouble charging my battery completely.  This afternoon, he downloads the pictures I took today, and then puts a large selection of these photos — as well as many of his own — on a memory stick for me.  I am enchanted as I click through many of his shots, particularly the ones of people.  He has a great eye and his photos demonstrate his natural ability.  I am surprised to see there are several of me.  I don’t remember seeing him take these, but looking through them I clearly remember the moments he captured.  I am so honored he thought to do this because, of course, I am never in any of my shots.

I love taking pictures of all the sights in the Pyrenees, but like Kirk, I have intentionally taken many pictures of our new friends in an effort to capture the magic of the moment.  The entire group from South Africa was a delightful surprise — we got seven special people as a package: Graham and Helen, Paul and Isabelle, Phillip and Arlene, and Norm.  Raye and I take great pleasure in just watching them together — friendships like theirs are rare indeed, and it is clear how much they love each other.  We are happy to be along with them on this trip as we feel like they generously adopted us into their circle, and we are better for it.

I bring my computer down to dinner tonight to begin loading pictures from the memory stick while we’re eating.  Food holds little interest for me — I set it aside and am enjoying watching the pictures as they appear on the screen in slideshow style.  Before long, several of our group have gathered around.  Since most are riders and only a few of us are back-of-the-bike passengers, their focus has been on the road this past week instead of on these remarkable surroundings.  Whenever I’m not on my own bike, I love to take pictures for just this reason.  I want Raye to see how beautiful it all is in case he missed it, and he always seems to enjoy looking at pictures after a ride.

Apparently this is the way the others feel, too.  Just as I experienced a few moments ago looking through Kirk’s photos, they seem to be reliving the sounds, the smells, the completely-alive sensations we all felt -- and that can only truly be experienced while riding a motorcycle.  Highlights of the trip flood back with each new shot.  Smiles and laughter all around.  I am glad I could give them this small gift as something special to take back with them, and I promise photo CDs and a link to my blog when I return home.

Later that evening I reach Mackenzie, our daughter, on her cell phone.  Without fail, it is easier to reach a teenager on their cell than it is to get their attention in person.  Day or night, they always answer for fear of missing a call or text from a friend.  In two rings, I hear a hopeful hello on the other end of the line.  It is a joy to hear her youthful voice.  We chat briefly about school, her first football game to cheer at the night before, what uniform they wore, who won.  Quickly the conversation turns to our upcoming return.  “Mom, you’ve been gone forever.”  Although I know she is happy to hear from me, her voice takes on a distinct longing.  “Back before you know it,” I assure her with as upbeat a tone as I can muster.  As fond as I am of our new friends, there is nothing like being with your family, and I feel a chilly emptiness around me. As I hang up, my loneliness is palpable.  I wonder if it is for her as well.

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.