The Pyrenees Ate My Bottom Bracket

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THis is Part two of my entry(see Cinque Terre, Not wheelchair accessable, sept. 1st 2006)......

Goats

More Goats

and Goat Herders,

How we love their mustaches.

How we like their cloaks

and their canes.

And the goat bells ring through the mountains....

The pyrenees ate my bottom bracket, the last bite that broke it. Rockies, Alps, Alpenines, all were crossed and left behind. The Pyrenees and I, we stuck together, east to west, along their southern realm. At times I was high upon their heads and then they pulled away as I slid down their rocky thighs to the bottom of their toes. But back I would go, groping upwards. Up and down the mountains, in and out of the mountains, from green windy peaks to dry rolling hills of red and white sandstone. Hills like red Tortoises. Mountains like golden gorrillas. And castles made of sand, churches made of stone, and endless climbs and decents in the 110 degree heat. Spanish flies want to live in my eyeballs ants between my toes, and somehow, bedbugs in my sleeping bag. Challenged, yet thoroughly rewarded were these mountains. The cities of Girona, Huesca, and now Pamplona were pleasant breaks from the wilderness and the small town life of Northern Spain.

Pamplona without the bulls is like french fries without ketchup,but its still a pleasant and beautiful city and the ghost of Hemingway and his old haunts are still here, well preserved.

Im taking a train to Bordeaux from here and making my way back to Paris for the last hoorah.

I have attatched a route map of my trip so far, about 2500 miles in europe.

My time is nearing. This life is almost over. September 20th I fly home in my winged coffin at 30,000 feet. Undead, I return to the afterlife.


steve

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