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.

After our final hearty breakfast of the trip, we head out Saturday morning for our ride to the Mediterranean coastline and then back to Barcelona.   With each passing mile we leave the Pyrenees behind us.

Our first break is the last place we stop in the mountains, and as it turns out, this becomes one of my favorite places of the entire trip.  It is the tiny town of Beget, built alongside a mountain stream with true cobblestone streets and terraces that function as the main pathways through town.  Because of they are so narrow and are cut into the side of the mountain, walking is the only means of getting around.  We mistake a sign in the middle of town as one that allows motorcycles, but our guides explain to us that any sign rimmed in red means “no” and that they do not have signs in Europe with a big slash through them like we have in America.  Too bad; we were ready to bring our bikes through the streets.  They couldn’t have been any harder than the roads we had ridden yesterday.

We walk through the town, across two bridges and down to the stream.  There are many doors and windows that catch my eye, and I take numerous pictures.  Several of us spot a small inn with the rates posted for a room – only 17 Euros a night.  Currently that’s about $25.  I am already making plans to return to this slice of heaven.  This is the kind of place I imagine hiding away in for six months to write a book.  It is peaceful, remote, inspirational and incredibly visual.  I take as many pictures as I can, determined one of these will become my new screen saver.  It would take a place like this to bump the picture of the Alps I have on my laptop now.

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.

Sunday in Barcelona was a day of rest, literally, as we slept late and tried to continue adjusting to the seven-hour time difference.  We ventured out for a late brunch and found everyone else moving at a slower pace as well.

After another walk down La Rambla, we found several outdoor cafés to choose from in the Placa de Real, one of more than a dozen ancient squares we had seen over the past two days.  We took a seat and couldn’t resist ordering tapas again.  The setting was lovely, with cobblestones underfoot and a fountain in the center of the plaza.  The buildings surrounding us were filled with flower-covered balconies overlooking the plaza below.

While we enjoyed the laziness of the morning, our thoughts turn to the upcoming motorcycle trip through the Pyrenees Mountains.  After checking out of Hotel Regina, www.reginahotel.com, we taxied to our next hotel to meet up with our motorcycle tour group, organized by Edelweiss Bikes, www.edelweissbike.com.

This evening we learned the rules of the road, got an overview of the trip, enjoyed a dinner buffet, a decaf espresso and got to know a few of the other tour members.  There is a group here from South Africa, another contingent of friends from California, a sweet couple from Germany, another German fellow who only speaks German, our two guides and us. I like everyone already, and they seem as excited about the trip as we are.

I head for bed tonight hoping this trip is just as grand as our Alps tour two years ago.  We shall see.

Spent the evening packing for our upcoming motorcycle trip.  Ten days through the Pyreenes Mountains in northern Spain and southern France. Should be magnificent, as our motorcycle trip two years ago through the Alps certainly was.  Most important items to take: laptop, batteries, cords, iPod, camera.

I will miss the kids the most.  They are 15 (almost) and 11, and we are right there with them in virtually all they are doing.  I wouldn’t miss any of it — great time of life.  My daughter tonight said “Who will I talk to while you’re gone?”  Three of the four grandparents will be waiting on them hand and foot, but nontheless it touched my heart.  We agreed: no new boyfriends, no great sleep-overs with friends or exciting developments of any kind — I don’t want to miss a thing!  Basically, don’t live while I’m gone.

How in the world am I going to handle empty nest?