Waiting in line at the border to cross from Spain into the principality of Andorra, where people seem to go to shop duty-free amidst the scenic Pyrenees. The Andorrans did not care one whit who came into their country, but the Spanish were creating a bit of a jam on the other side checking trunks to see if anyone bought one too many bottles or cartons of tax-free vice. I zoomed by the drivers on my bike and entered Andorra and its lifestyles-of- the-rich-and-famous Ferrari boutiques without delay. While I passed on the duty-free luxuries, I did go hog wild at the supermarkets so that I could later prepare camp meals fit for royalty. The night before I hit the border an old Spaniard threw rocks at me in the campsite when I was setting up in the darkness. When I started walking toward him to find out what the story was he said he thought I was a "Gato." I understood the mistaken identity. (7/27/04) *

The hills are alive in Andorra, with the sound of music (supporting chorus)! Come on, is this not a gorgeous - even though puny - nation? Andorra came along at exactly the right point in my travels, and I took to hiking in the hills for a couple of days. The only sounds I heard, other than the faint echo of Julia Andrews in the back of my mind, was the humming of insects, the gurgling of mountain streams, or the crashing of waterfalls. I broke my camera at a waterfall, but I was like the Buddha calmly observing the universe take back and reclaim what it briefly provided. Thanks for the memories Andorra. (7/29/04) *

I stayed in a small village in Andorra called Canillo - but this is a photo of Ordino, another small town that I passed through while cycling to a trail head. These clock and bell towers were in all the Andorran villages, and the bell was gonging every half hour - even to sound out 2:30 in the morning. It all seemed very Swiss to me. I camped the whole time in Andorra, and there were some monstrous night time mountain thunder storms, with the skies breaking in bolts of electricity overhead. There was a lovely English couple camped next to me who would offer me coffee every evening. (7/28/04)

Just having conquered the highest road pass in the Pyrenees at 2,408 meters in elevation (7,898 feet) on the way to Pas de la Casa and the French border. The road had a ton of switchbacks so the grades were not too terrible (but they were not a joke either). I got lots of honks and thumbs up from the French entering the country. They seem to like cycle tourers. The ride down was amazing, and I seriously spent over an hour and a half in an uninterrupted coast down the French Pyrenees. It was a little chilly, but that was o.k., because France knocked my socks off - but more on that later. (7/30/04)