Spain

From Ponferrada we made our way to what is known as the most mystical spot on the Camino, O Cebreiro, a Celtic settlement 1300 meters up in the mountains. First the foothills led us to the town of Villafranca Del Bierzo where we stopped at a restaurant that we remembered from our time there three years ago, mainly because of the homemade Aguadiente that we were served there, and we were able to talk the same owner into breaking out his homemade brew to warm us against the impending rain storm. The rain began to fall steadily after our departure from Villafranca as we began to roll through some beautiful little river towns tucked back in among the forest against the foothills of Cebreiro. Eventuall, however, the rain, the semi-trucks, and the wind became more than we could stand and the only rational being amongst us (Deborah), suggested that we remove ourselves from that state of being, so we found a small Pension in a one horse town called Vega del Valcarce and ended up cooking the last of our pasta, chorizo, and rice over our camp stove, as there was not a restaurant, cafe, or bar open within a dry walking distance. We also enjoyed an expensive bottle of wine (4euros) before turning in for the night.

When we awoke the kind townsfolk of Vega del Valcarce, and one old fellow specifically, informed us that the day ahead of us was sure to be nice and dry, or at least better than the previous day...I guess the old guy´s trick knee wasn´t working that day! We began the serious climb some 800 meters in six kilometers and as we did it began to drizzle. As we hit Pedrafita do Cebreiro with only four kilometers left to go the wind turned the drizzle into stinging rain that assaulted us from all sides as we made our way up the last but steepest part of the climb. Finally in O Cebreiro Nathan walked into the first bar he saw and with water dripping from everywhere was quickly escorted to a bowl of soup and a hot cup of coffee by the kindly owners of the establishment. After two cups of coffee and that bowl of soup, Nathan went out to look for Allen and Deborah who were making their way up the mountain slightly behind Nathan. After searching the town, Nathan and Allen were reunited at the Alto do Cebreiro sign where they had posed for a picture after topping the mountain three years ago, and the three travelers made their way back to the bar and had a wonderful three course lunch safe from the elements at last. All good things, however, must come to an end, and soon enough we were making our way away from Cebreiro. Alto do Cebreiro is somewhat misleading as it is not the end of the climb, there are three peaks that follow, each higher than Cebreiro until you hit a long switchback downhill into Triacastella. Nathan had consumed too much espresso at the top of Cebreiro and wasn´t feeling well, Deborah was exhausted from the climb, and Allen had taken to singing a song about the pains he was experiencing, but the three quickly descended into the whipping wind and to the warmth of a hobit house like refugio at the bottom of the hill.

Awaking with only two days ride left into Santiago the three travelers awoke to sunshine breaking through the clouds and the first day of real sun since Nathan and Allen had arrived in Logroño. On this day the rain gear, the long cycling pants, and the unpleasant feeling of being wet and cold were washed away by the sunshine. On this day we pushed through rolling hills which seemed to climb up and up and up into the blue sky until the city of Portomarin where we enjoyed one of the better Spainish meals yet as we sat on the balcony overlooking the river and the resovoir with not a cloud in the sky! The day did turn rather hot and the three travelers stopped in at a roadside bar and shared drinks with an Irishman who had been trying to get to the Camino since 1986 and had finally succeeded, perhaps, our Irish friend suggested, our next cycling adventure should be from Irish pub to Irish pub....WHO´S IN? The last part of our day ended with a ride through what Deborah catorgarized as one of the most beautiful areas she has ever seen. The road meandered through a number of quiet little towns where one old man showed us his herd of cattle and his prized bull Navaro who had sired some twenty offspring in his day, and in another town where three men sat singing Spanish lovesongs at the top of their well tuned lungs. We rode into the sunset, and ended our penultimate day in Palas de Rei. As we watched the last bit of sun dissappear over the horizon we knew that somewhere out their Santiago was in reach!

The ride into Santiago is all downhill, at least once you hit the boundaries of the city, before that it was rolling hills and plenty of sunshine until you climb the Monte de Gozo and round the corner at which point the spires of the cathedral become visible for the first time. Finally, the object itself, the tomb that launches thousands of pilgrims every year, the dream, was in sight. The Three friends coasted down the hill, stopped for a photo opp at the first sign indicating entry to the city of Santiago, and as is now tradition lit cigars and rolled into town all the way to the heart of the old city. The old city twists its way through a whirlwind of small stone streets and shops selling all manner of pilgrimage gear until finally, you burst our into the cathedral square. We drove straight to the center of the square, dismounted our trusty bikes and flopped down in the square, where we lay for hours, looking up at Santiago smiling down at us from a bright blue sky! Setting foot in the cathedral square after such an amazing journey was by far one of the most fulfilling experiences of our lives, words simply cannot do it justice...

Allen and Deborah have flown home this morning and now I am off to parts unknown...

Weary Travelers...

Having left Logroño, we had three days to make the nearly two hundred miles to Leon in time to meet Allen´s girlfriend Deborah. Our first day out of Logroño took us through Santo Domingo de la Calzada which Nathan actually got to ride into this time (some will remember that the last entry into Santo Domingo was a two mile walk for Nathan after Allen had inadvertently taken his air pump and Nathan was unable to repair a busted tire), Nathan enjoyed the ride in this time. A quick lunch, a nod to our old haunts, and once again we were on our way on quiet if bug filled country roads to Villafranca Montes de Oca where we spent the night, choosing not to climb the Montes de Oca until the next morning.

The Montes de Oca begin with a brief climb of a 6% grade until you reach a set of rolling hills which you rapidly descend, cruse up as far as you can, pedal the rest of the way and then repeat, until you reach a long downhill into Burgos. Our mileage into Burgos was miraculously finished before breakfast as we were able to wake literally at the crack of dawn, with the help of the other anxious pilgrims in the hostel of course, and in Burgos we looked forward to doing some laundry and enjoying the beauty of a city that meant so much to us on the last trip. We quickly discovered that in the entire city of Burgos there was no laundry to be had, so we resolved to smell a little bit more, contemplated moving to Burgos to open a laundry of our own, and ate a quick breakfast to the tune of striking factory workers demonstrating in the background.

The further we got from Burgos, the worse the weather began to get, and By the time we were just 10 miles from our destination the sun had completely disappeared. Suddenly the wind began to blow with tremendous force and the heavens opened up and dumped rain for about five minutes while we hid underneath a tree trying to break out our rain gear, which had migrated its way to the bottom of our bags as we had become complacent in the sunshine that had guided us across throughout the trip. By the time we were dressed appropriately the rain had stopped, the wind died down, and then...a crack of tunder and a bolt of lightening in the distance as the next storm, this one bigger than the last warned us of its impending arrival. We took the hint, hopped on our bikes and burned up the remianing miles to Fromista as quickly as possible. We did manage to outrun that storm, and 72 miles after our day began we were able to get back to enjoying the very cheap and very tasty Vino Tinto!

When we awoke the next morning, it was evident that we would be running from the storms all day as we made the final push into Leon. Allen, however, promised that we would not get caught in a rainstorm today, and he was right! As we rode across the meseta we were able to look around as far as the eye could see across the flatlands and view Mother Nature in all her fury. While we were bucking a very strong wind that came from every direction seemingly, the storms, a dozen or so in all and of varying sizes surrounded us but did not release their fury upon us. It was, however, extremely cold, and by the time we were fifteen kilometers out of Leon we needed to stop for some warmth, in the form of a nice size glass of some homemade Aguadiente. Now, we asked for just a shot of the gasoline like Aguadiente, but the nice woman, undoubtedly sensing the chill inside us poured two large glasses nearly half full of the stuff, needless to say not only did it warm us up, it made the last of our 78 mile day into Leon painless! When we were last in Leon we sat in the central square near the cathedral watching reunion after reunion of pilgrims, old friends, and children, this time we had a reunion of our own, especially meaningful for Allen, suddenly around the corner came Allen´s girlfriend Deborah!

Though our number had changed, the weather did not, and we awoke to a drizzle in Leon which turned into a torrential downpour, conveniently, however, just after we had ducked inside a cafe for lunch and to escape this very storm which we had watched growing on the horizon. Shelter not a minute too soon! When we resumed, we made our way to Hospital de Obrigo and immediately upon entering the village we were transported back in time to Medieval Times! The city is famous for a long bridge joining the villages of Puente de Obrigo and Hospital de Obrigo at whcih a medieval Knight had sworn to break 300 lances of the finest knights of Spain in order to win the heart of his love, who had up to that point scorned him! Every year, the villages conduct a recreation of this event in the form of a jousting competition, medieval faire and medieval dress. It seemed that every occupant of the city dressed up as dame, knights, appothacaries, crusaders etc., and people came from miles around to participate in the spectacle. The three travelers spent one night together in Hospital sampling the food and exploring the street fair, and we ran into the man who is the face of the Camino, dressed in the traditional pilgrim´s robe, a broad brimmed hat, the Camino shell, and carrying the staff and goard whcih are the symbols of the pilgrim, he joyfully explained to us that he had been walking the camino since 1971 and perhaps he had gone a bit crazy, but he explained to us that he likes the Camino because no matter where you are from, everyone´s heart is the same color and nowhere has that been more evident to him than in his thirty-eight years of contact with other pilgrims! Everyone he said has their own camino to walk in life, but here everyone shares a part of that with everyone else rather than hurrying through and forgetting to take the time to be open to life´s experiences! A good lesson! Nathan stayed on here for two days before catching up with Allen and Deborah who had ridden ahead one day prior in anticipation of having to climb the highest peak on the Camino, Cruz de Fero. Nathan spent his night alone in Hospital talking with 3 Germans, 1 Swiss, and the 2 Hospitaleros over 40´s of San Miguel about everyone´s purpose for doing the camino, which ranged from I like to walk to more spiritual goals!

Cruz de Fero is simply a pile of rocks that has accumulated over time, with a cross at the top, but the meaning there is so much more. Climbing to Cruz de Fero, the highest point on the Camino at 1550 meters is the beginning of the preparation for one´s arrival into Santiago. Traditionally one brings a rock from home, carries it with them on the journey and deposits it, along with all of their mental, and spritual baggage at the top of this mountain and then starts the last 220 kilometers to Santiago anew! One dare not stay too long at the top, however, for fear of freezing to death, yes, there is still snow up there in June, and the wind was biting cold. On the way down we stopped at the village (if it can be called such) of Manjarin, population 9 people who run a simple Refugio for weary pilgrims, offer hot tea as a respite to the frozen traveler, and our speculation...guard the actual location of THE Holy Grail, it seems that there was some unspoken order of Templars or Crusaders who populates this little town...curious!

Today we leave Ponferrada for O Cebriero after a night with the Hostellero from Hell, a man who informed us strictly that doors were locked at 10:30 and lights out at 10:45, never mind that we had yet to eat, that wasn´t his problem! A very nice woman from Texas who gave us Chorizo, bread, and beer nuts to calm our rumbling stomachs!

Off to the last climb now!

Our day off in Barcelona amounted to an exploration of the works of Anonini Gaudi including La Sagrada Familia as well as his house which is situated in a beautiful little park where we spent hours relaxing under the shade of the local trees enjoying the breeze and a rest to our very tired legs. The rest of our day in Barcelona seemed to consist solely of riding the bus turistic around the city as we were simply too tired to get off at any of the interesting sites, including the home of FC Barcelona...

As it turned out we were a day early to Barcelona, had we stayed we might have taken part of the celebration of Barca´s victory in Rome over Manchester United and danced in the streets until all hours of the night...but...as is usually the case the fates had other plans for us.

Our departure from our beachside campsite outside of Barcelona was marred by the first injury of our trip. Allen, while riding down a boardwalk near the beach, got his front tire stuck in between the boards, forward momentum did not stop with the tire however, and Nathan watched as Allen hurtled headlong into the railing fearing a broken neck or worse, a fall to the beach...No such fate was in the cards for Allen, however, who using his Aikido skills was able to break his fall and not his neck! So instead of escaping Barcelona with a hangover from celebrating Barca´s victory, we escaped with a few scrapes and a sore knee. Still, when Barca´s victory was complete the air around our campsite literally exploded in celebration.

Barcelona to our campsite in Cunit was a tough climb along the water´s edge but we ate well that night, home cooked spaghetti and meatballs over our camp stove and slept well outside of earshot of the rushing highway. From Cunit, however, we experienced the hardest day yet where we climbed for over fifty miles on three good knees! Nearing the end of the day, around 8pm, we rolled into a town that shall hereafter be known simply as Aguadiente and found that they had nowhere for us to sleep and that the next town was another fifteen kilometeres. Allen, simply unable to continue spinning his pedal on one good leg looked at Nathan and told him to go and order him a shot of the strongest stuff in the village. Two shots of homebrewed Aguadiente shots later the two were again climbing. Nearing the crest of the hill, now in the darkness, Nathan shouted out that over the crest of the hill the sun was shining, the roads were all down hill, and the wind would be at our backs...the land of milk and honey...AND IT WAS! (This is no joke people, it happened just like this) We crested the hill, the sun hit our faces and down we coasted into the sunset. As the sun disappeared one beacon of light was left, a light set atop the steeple of the church in Las Borges Blanques, a light calling out to all weary travelers! A man with a dog guided us to the hostel, the hostel woman guided us to the best food of the trip and simply put, once we hit the crest of that hill, everything was OK!

The next morning, Allen decided that his knee needed time to heal and so having located the train station and a bar to wait in, Allen and Nathan parted ways and Nathan continued riding.

The ride from Las Borges Blanques was HOT, a series of sun drenched backroads up onto mesetas across and down again and Nathan went through 6 liters of water until stopping at a gas station to refuel...Nathan looked up and saw the way onto the mesa, what turned out to be a Grapevine like, hour and a half climb in the heat, that was rewarded by an eight mile cruz downhill. The mesa wasn´t entirely a mesa and included more ups and downs and Nathan started to understand what if felt like to be a windshield as he was pelted with local insects until he finally arrived at the last town in the middle of nowhere, the name of which has been forgotten to time!

Rising the next day Nathan endured what was to be his last day of solo riding into Zaragoza! Another hot day, the hottest of the trip led Nathan to stop at the turist office in Zaragoza, whcih was easy to find as it was right next to the spires of the local basilica which he had been riding towards for most of the morning as they were visible from miles away! The tourist people told Nathan that Logroño, where Nathan and Allen were to meet, was still two days ride away, Nathan didn´t believe them until he checked the internet, and found out that not only was Logroño two days ride, but that Allen was actually IN Zaragoza! Nathan went to the hostel, got the last bed, which was a blessing and a curse given the loud group next door, and woke a now beardless Allen from a dead sleep! Reunited, the two enjoyed a music filled Saturday night in Zaragoza and stayed up much too late!

The P(l)ains of Zaragoza are very simply HOT AND WINDY, and rather than our typical 10 to 15 miles per hour average speed, we made 6mph yelling headlong into the wind that blew in our faces all day no matter whcih direction we turned, when we yelled, the wind yelled louder...when we cussed, the wind cussed louder, and after only 43miles the wind won! We crept into Funstinaña and were rewareded for our effort by a loud ovation of applause from the town (literally)!

Finally able to battle the wind, we made 69 miles the next day into a still blowing wind to Logroño where we awoke simply unable to continue riding after an exhausting 100 miles. We are in the last throws of a day off in Logroño where we spent the day sleeping and at the HydroThereapy Institute of Logroño. Tomorrow Burgos!

When last we crossed from France to Spain in 2006 we spent most of our day walking our heavily loaded bicycles up the Pyranees only to reach the top at the end of the day as the wind started to whip and the rain started to fall...Crossing from Perpignan to Spain this time was wonderful! A short climb through the Pyranees Orientals in the sunshine and we found ourselves looking at the Spanish border. We stopped, had one last French sandwhich, and crossed.

Spain met us with warm sunshine, a long downhill, and a number of prostitutes lining the highway as we coasted down from our Pyranean adventure! But as it goes, soon we found ourselves riding against a strong head wind that slowed us down considerably and once again pushing ourselves over hills under a strong sun, the dry heat forced us to make an effort of strong will in order to continue riding. The prostitues appeared to be cheering for us as we made it to the top of each hill, most likely they were just soliciting another weary traveller, and we did not stop to find out! Arriving in Figueres we stopped for a rest at the Dali Museum, the place of his birth, and had a great time exploring Dali´s earliest works and those towards the end of his life in 1989. From Figueres we went to Gerona.

Gerona is a large city with many cobble stone alley ways lined with shops. We found oursevles without much assistance as it was the middle of Siesta. After a cold beer and some tapas we began to seach for a place to stay for the night, no campsites once again, and for the first time since the journey began we were LOST. not until after 10 pm did we finally find a hotel room for the night which we gratefully accepted and went to bed.

Gerona to just outside Barcelona was around 65 miles of solid riding and today we will explore the city of Barcelona and take a much needed day of rest.