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| A Grand Escape | |||||||||
The first rule of an Edelweiss tour is reassuringly simple: You are never lost. “And in our case,” the tour guide added just prior to departing Barcelona, “as long as you don’t cross a border, you know you’re somewhere in Spain.” He had a point. And with that calming rationale wisely imparted to assuage any angst we intrepid adventurers might have, armed with an array of detailed maps, we were let loose upon Spain. We were 15 strong—one guide and seven
couples astride eight BMWs. For the moment, as we threaded our way through the
morning streets of Barcelona, we were temporary strangers on the brink of
friendships that would be forged during the two-week, 1,700-mile journey ahead.
As we broke free of the city, we journeyed inland. We were immediately
introduced to the uncluttered, twisting roads that would carry us through the
heart of the Pyrenees mountain range that straddles the French border from the
Mediterranean all the way to the Atlantic. Ascending into the mountains, the
guide’s words continued to resonate through my thoughts, nurturing the
realization that we had all slipped from our various tethers and were now wholly
committed to being “somewhere in Spain.” (Click image to enlarge)After several weeks of anticipation—evenings spent poring over the road maps and pertinent materials Edelweiss had sent us in advance of our trip—my lady and I were embarking on one of the company’s most exclusive offerings, the Royal Spanish Castle Tour. As the name implies, the tour’s theme is travel through some of Spain’s history in a rolling tapestry of medieval villages, Gothic cathedrals, and ancient castles, laced together by a variety of beautiful, motorcycle-friendly roads that are, for the most part, delightfully devoid of automobiles and traffic. Picturesque, winding roads like these straddle the Pyrennees from the
Mediterranean Sea to the Atlantic Ocean and attract all brands of bikes. (Click image to enlarge)Over the ensuing two weeks, we would eat our way from Barcelona to the Atlantic coast through assorted paellas, salads, meat dishes, pastries, soups, sandwiches, tapas and cheeses. And in the evenings, after the motorcycles were parked, plenty of beer and wine helped to loosen stories and laughter from our traveling companions. The circuitous route would take us into the Pyrenees to Seo de Urgel, the mountain village of Arties, through the famous streets of Pamplona, and on to Argomaniz, finally delivering us into the historical Atlantic coastal city of Santillana del Mar. The return trip would take us through Rioja, the beautiful city of Zaragoza, with its massive cathedral, and on to the restored castle of Cardona before eventually returning us several thousand kilometers—and many memories—later, back to Barcelona. Photograph by Amber Watson. (Click image to enlarge)There is a wonderful irresponsibility to going on an organized tour where every detail has been arranged—the route, the restaurants, the hotels, and the motorcycles. It is the essence of what a vacation should be: free of stress and hassles. Even the afternoon coffee stops—an essential Spanish routine—are scouted in advance. It didn’t take long for us to acquire a taste for that midday cortado (basically a double espresso with a dash of warm milk) to give us a caffeine jolt to get us through the day’s remaining miles. At one mountain village, the local bar had a signature blend for this creation, adding a touch of sugar and chocolate, just the thing when waiting out the sometimes temperamental weather. It was the bartender, indicating the clearing skies as he poured his prized creation, who told me an old saying that rang true: “If you don’t like the weather in Spain, just wait 10 minutes.”
Travelling through the postcards of Spain’s history. (Click images to enlarge) Accommodations on the Royal tours are predominantly paradors—monasteries that have been converted to luxury hotels with modern amenities, yet retaining their old-world charm. There was even a sleepover in a restored castle. The Royal tours have a romantic flair that makes them perfect for couples. The scout, forever invisibly moving ahead of the tour in the support vehicle, arrives at the evening’s hotel ahead of the group and gets everyone checked in. All you need to do is pick up your key and head to your room, where your bags will be waiting for you. These nice touches become a welcome alternative to scrounging around in an unfamiliar town late at night trying to find decent lodging and a satisfying meal. Also, by utilizing the chase vehicle to carry luggage, riders and passengers are free of the additional weight and hassle of packing and unpacking bikes each day. This is one motorcycle trip on which you can bring more clothes than fit in your saddlebags. Although Edelweiss tours are steeped in sightseeing, cultural
highlights, and fine cuisine, the company understands its clientele are
motorcycle enthusiasts and designs every tour to include plenty of riding, with
an emphasis on finding routes well suited for motorcycles. The riding pace is
leisurely—with everyone riding at his own comfort level—and covers between 80
and 200 miles a day. Edelweiss encourages its tour participants to ride on their
own, if desired, for some private time and to seek out experiences and places
not in the tour book. Just let the guides know you are going your own way for
the day and you’re set. They won’t get worried unless you fail to show up for
dinner. There are several free days during the tour to allow people to lounge,
shop, or explore—though usually there were enough willing souls (read
“fanatics”) who chose to go riding. Strangely
enough, not only the castles and museums or the brilliant, big sights and sounds
color the mind with indelible memories of foreign places. Quite often, it is the
simple, seemingly forgettable aspects of travel that stay with you, carrying
their own fond appeal—a refueling stop at a roadside petrol station; sipping a
Limonata in a peacefully quiet moment by the side of the road; a fleeting
conversation with a local in a small village. The memories continue to coalesce
and resurface, unchecked, long after the experience has passed. It’s these magic
little elements of seeming insignificance that conspire to whisk you back to a
day, somewhere in Spain. |