So I wind down the mountains, happy as a lark and singing “she’ll be coming round the mountains” with made up verses that don’t bear repeating here. The morning dawns cold and damp. So it’s on with the rain suit again. It takes me a while to get back to main roads, due in no small part to the fact I don’t really know where I am. Finally I’m oriented and heading ever south. I’ve elected to use the Aragnouet/Bielsa tunnel. I think it’s the second highest pass into Spain. Please don’t go on to me about passes such as the Tourmalet, - they’re higher but they don’t go to Spain, they stay within France.

But first I have to suffer murder attempt one of the trip. Heading at a reasonable speed up a clear straight road a young chap in a post van is compelled to overtake me and strains past at full throttle. His rear bumper has just passed my front wheel when he simultaneously slams on the brakes and indicating right veers across me. Yes he’s turning right down that side road that we’re almost upon. I manage to haul on the anchors and avoid the inevitable, just. On a trip like this you have to reckon on a few mad moments, so I just have to reflect that this was one of them and I survived it. On we go..

Once past Lannemezan the road starts to rise and snake and the villages and surroundings start to take on an alpine feel. In the damp and mist they are brooding and atmospheric. I stop at Arreau to picture the general feel and the meltwater swelling the river, even this early in the year.

Before long the last French village is left behind and now the hairpins are getting tighter – soon I’m down to first gear at each corner and the angle of the bends are matched by the vertical radius. It’s testing stuff to go round one whilst a Spanish lorry is bearing down upon you from above. Fortunately this only happens once as the road is practically deserted.

Higher and higher and now I’m into a full snowscape, luckily it is meltwater coursing down the road towards me, much preferable to it being covered in ice, though I’m surprised it’s not, - for it is definitely chilly and my fingers are feeling it. Rather than stop and put on extra layers I press on hoping that I’ll be over the other side before I freeze solid.

I’m up at 1800 odd metres (Ben Nevis is 1344) before I spy the tunnel entrance. It’s very long and uncompromisingly built. It has a constant gradient, losing 200m over 3km and is made from two arrow straight sections connected by a small kink. I trundle into the tunnel and burble down the whole length in fifth on the overrun, flipping the visor to hear the exhaust burble off the walls.

Coming out the other side it’s another country but feels more like a new world. I continue burbling ever downwards and before long the rain is gone, the sky lightening and the temperature easing considerably. Everything including the topograghy and flora are typically Spanish and just so strikingly different from what I was in before I entered the tunnel. It could have been a looking glass.

So I wind down the mountains, happy as a lark and singing “she’ll be coming round the mountains” with made up verses that don’t bear repeating here.

From time to time I pass by pretty villages, with all the trees bearing the bright green message of spring

In other place the river is filling flood plains with beautiful torquoise floods fresh from the mountain slopes

An hour or two more of joyful trundling and I’m in the Catalan city of Leida. I’m visitng the HU contact for the area Luis Oromi. He has an impressive BMW and Harley dealership and is a devoted motorcyclist, having crossed Africa in 49 days on a Beemer. Amongst other things he helps me with a screw for one of the carburettor dashpots

and finally leads me out of town to the C-12 road to the coast, on which he and friends bike down to the coast on a Sunday to Amposta to lunch on the best seafood paella in the whole country, before the glorious ride back home. Thanks for your help Luis!

Before I reach Amposta it’s drawing late and I pull over in a town, find a bar and ask around for a hotel. The result is less than impressive but adequate and looking on the upside the cheapest accommodation I’ve had for a while. It’s also the first night I don’t feel comfortable enough to leave some of my gear on the bike so off it all comes. Before I crash out for the night I resolve to arrange my next nights accommodation in the morning before setting out and to make sure it’s a classy joint..