Updated from
http://www.RideDOT.com/rtw/193.html
It just won't stop raining in the south of France. We wanted to see a little bit more of this country before heading to warmer climates. Neda had researched a great medieval town called Carcassonne, not too far away but the forecast showed heavy rainfall for the next few days. Not good weather to explore castles or go riding around. It'll have to wait for another time.
Preparing to leave France. In the rain...
I feel like we're just single-cell organisms responding to stimuli. Too cold? Too wet? With no sentient thought or plan, we just swing our flagella and move somewhere drier and warmer.
Pit stop in Perpignan
On our last night in France, someone stole my motorcycle cover. Or so I thought. The next morning, we hopped on our bikes and headed to the border. We were immediately kicked around by strong cross-winds that threatened to blow our motorcycles off the side of the road. I was hit worse than Neda because of how much luggage I've piled on the back of my bike: my side-profile looks like a giant sail. It was so bad, we had to get off the highway and putter ahead on the backroads riding 20km/h under the speed limit with our 4-way flashers on.
I realized then that my motorcycle cover wasn't stolen. It was the wind that whipped it off last night. I felt really bad about blaming some random French person for something that didn't actually happen, meanwhile some tree is probably wearing a really expensive rip-stop nylon winter jacket right now...
I hate losing stuff, especially the things you can only get online. Where do we even get it shipped to when we're on the move all the time?
Skirting south of the foothills of the Pyrenees
Once we got west of the Pyrenees, it was like someone waved a magic wand and the skies cleared instantly. It was a colour that we hadn't seen for a very long time. Neda's mood was visibly improving. Perhaps it was the weather. Perhaps the Nutella mourning period was over. Maybe it was because her stomach is feeling a lot better and she doesn't have any more washroom emergencies, but the instant we crossed the Spanish border, it was like she came back to life. Like she was reset. Re-animated. Rebooted.
She radioed me: "I can speak Spanish again!" Ah, that's the real reason.
I think with all the Français she was feeling a bit removed from everything. Now she was finally able to break out of her cocoon and be herself. Time for me to relax and let her drive the bus once again.
A new tankbag hobby
Neda gave all the seashells she was collecting in her tankbag to her niece. She's moved on to collecting leaves now. This one is from Switzerland. Somehow, I don't think her collection is going to survive intact as long as the seashells did...
We've stopped in a sea-side town of Calella, about half-an-hour outside of Barcelona
And just like amoebas, the minute the conditions start becoming favorable we stop moving and enjoy the sunshine and lack of rain. Calella is a weekend beach destination for a lot of Barcelonans, and is absolutely packed with tourists in the summer, but now we're in the off-season and it's a ghost-town during the week. Nice and peaceful, just the way we like it.
Can you imagine this beach packed to gills in the summer?