Now, everyone warned us about the crazy drivers in Spain, but we found out for ourselves. There was only one way to get to Pamplona, which was on a narrow but fast two lane highway that cut through the rolling winery hillsides of Navarra, one of the premier winemaking regions of the country. It would've been nice to stop for wine tastings, but there seemed to be no easy way to exit the highway where cars were zooming past us at 90 miles an hour. Jim's bike would not go faster than 65 mph without spewing streams of oil all over me as I rode in back. And mine shook so violently when I hit 65 that I was afraid it'd start tankslapping and spin me out of control.

By the time we got to Pamplona, navigated terrorizing traffic circles, and found a hotel despite having no map. We were exhausted. Our faces were covered with bugs and grime as we checked into the four star Hotel Europa. Despite our scary biker appearance, the service was excellent and we highly recommend this hotel.

Pamplona is a gritty city, and it has its charm, but there is little that would call us back during warmer summer months, especially during the Festival of San Fermin/The Running of the Bulls. Unless you're stupid enough to run with bulls or you like paying three times more for the same tiny hotel room, stay far far away during summer. Better to see a similar festival in other smaller towns of Spain.

Residents seemed sick and tired of tourists overtaking their town. And you would be too if you had daily encounters with busloads of camera laden, bermuda short wearin', non-Spanish speaking foreign dweebs overtaking the town and often badly behaved. We empathized with the locals, after living in San Francisco for many years. Still to them we were just typical Americans, so it was without much hesitation that we left Pamplona after a day.