D-Day - Departure Day!

After all the planning and packing, the day of arrival is here. Tom and I are headed to the airport with bags in tow and a little bit of nerves along for the trip. It should take us about 24 hours of travel from our door to our arrival in Madrid. We'll rest there overnight, before heading off to Pamplona by train, taking a bus to Roncesvalles on the Spanish border and then a cabbing over the Pyrenees to St. Jean Pied du Port. If all goes according to plan, we will start our journey on Friday. As wi-fi permits, I will keep this blog updated!

Getting Ready

Just a little under a month before Tom and I leave for our Trip to Spain. We are both excited and looking forward to the challenge ahead. I look forward to keeping this on-line blog of our journey.
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Sent from a PDA - please excuse any typos.

Almost Done!

When we awoke just outside Sarria, we realized our trip was almost over. We went to breakfast to figure out our route for the day, since our search for a hotel took us out of our way. At the table next to us, we met a gentleman from Barcelona who was also biking to Santiago, but while we hoped to finish in two more days, he would be arriving that evening. He would be biking 150 kilometers to achieve that goal. He told us we could follow an alternate route so we would not have to double back to Sarria and avoid some climbs. We looked at our maps and decided to follow his advice. We should have followed him. We turned onto what we thought was the suggested turnoff. We encountered a climb but felt assured it wouldn't be a long one. It would be the last thing we would be sure of for most of the morning. As we continued to climb and then eventually push our way, we realized we were going over a mountain. How big we did not know. We were too far committed to turn around so we kept on going up. The good news was that there was absolutely no traffic and the scenery was just beautiful. Along the way, Paul and I had a lively discussion about whether the Spanish gentleman decided to pull one over on two Americans or whether we took a wrong turn. Wanting to believe the best, we chose that we just turned onto an unmarked road. At one point into our several hour sojourn up the mountain, we were able to ride. It was a good thing because as we were passing a field of sheep, we encountered a large pack of very protective barking and growling sheep dogs in a variety of sizes and degrees of ferocity. It was the little ones trying to nip at my feet that made me the most nervous. We pedaled faster trying to outrun them while we heard a male voice shouting from behind a brick wall. We weren't doing so good at getting away when suddenly out of the field came our rescuer in the form of a petite wizened old woman brandishing a long staff. She began waving the stick furiously and yelling loudly at the dogs. The dogs quickly backed down. Paul and I got out there fast but later we wished we had gotten a picture of the old woman. She looked like something out of National Geographic. She had no teeth, she was wearing her
apron over her work clothes and her hair under a scarf. I was amazed by how fast she ran out of the field to call the dogs off because she was so tiny and looked emaciated. On our way again, we went back to climbing. Eventually, we reached the summit. We knew this because it's where the communication tower stood and all the trees were gone. All told, I think we climbed for about ten kilometers over several hours. And we still weren't sure where we were since it was clear we were on an unmarked road. Once at the summit, we started heading down. We thought we could see our destination off in the distance. St every fork in the road we headed towards what we thought was our goal. After descending somewhat blindly, what should we see but two peregrinos walking toward us and our shining beacon, the yellow arrow on the side of a building which also had a Grateful Dead Graffiti on it. Boy, were we relieved. We followed the camino down and after having spent a rather quiet morning disturbed only by the howling dogs, it was a little disconcerting all of a sudden to be caught up in a traffic jam of walking pilgrims, bikers and especially cows! At one point, we passed a group of pilgrims, but were caught with about a dozen other bike riders behind a herd of cattle being driven down the road by their mistress, who just kind of shrugged her shoulders as if to say, who knows when you'll get to pass. One of the bike groups was a little more aggressive and managed to spook the cows into letting us pass. We eventually arrived at our pre-destined lunch spot where we took a long-anticipated break. We sat and ordered lunch and then flew into panic mode...Paul could not find his BlackBerry. Now, this is a big deal. Aside from being our lifeline back home, it was also allowing us to communicate within Spain. We frantically called the hotel we left hours before only to be told by the hardest working man in Spain that we didn't leave it there. We immediately set to pulling everything out of our panniers to see if it got mixed in with our clothes. We still didn't find it. After resigning ourselves to its loss, we checked Paul's bike trunk bag one more time and low and behold, we found it hiding in a pocket where we had been certain it could not have been. Paul says we had a hard climb out of our stop, Portomarin, but to be honest, all the climbs are beginning to blur. My recollection is that the rest of the day was uneventful as we pedalled to our evening destination, Palas de Rei. After our debacle of the previous day, we had called ahead to make a reservation for the night. Only when we arrived at our hotel, they had no reservation and no room. I was very upset. I showed them Paul's phone and the log which proved I had called them the day before. When the man looked at the number, he indicated although I had called a hotel with their name, it was not their number. I called the number only to be told the hotel we wanted was a few blocks away. Problem solved and we were done for the night,

The Big Climb!

Paul and I awoke with great anticipation for the big climb up to O Cebriero. It's a straight climb of about 10 kilometers. On our last trip, I remember it being a brutal day of pushing my bike uphill for four or five hours. It was very cool and the mountain was covered in mist. Paul waited for quite a while at the top while I slowly made my way up the mountain. On this trip, either I was in better shape (again, I like to think the ten extra pounds I am carrying are all muscle) or the angels and my dad were pushing me up the mountain. The day was not nearly as hard as I expected and I arrived at the top about 45 minutes after Paul. I only had to push my bike twice and for only short periods. I was astounded as was Paul. Perhaps I had trained better than I thought. We took in the sights at the top and celebrated with those we met as we climbed up together. It is something joyous to celebrate a shared effort with complete strangers who become instant friends as you climb together. What Paul and I had forgotten is that the arrival at O Cebriero is not the end. It marks the beginning of Galicia, which is a region of lots of ups and downs. The area is very hilly so there is no real respite from a hard day's ride. Following another set of climbs, we finally began our descent into Galicia. Paul took the downhill carefully as he was nervous about the performance of his bike. The back wheel was rattling something awful and he had to loosen his brakes to make the climb. Our goal for the night was Samos, a small town with an impressive monastery and a 900 year old church that is quite a sight to see. It's a good thing we saw it on our last trip because there was not a room to be found in Samos. After our long day of climbing, we were forced to continue onto the next town. We felt reasonably assured we would find something there since it was a larger city. We couldn't have been more wrong. Like Mary and Joseph, we went on a hunt for a room, only to be told time and again, there was no room. We were very nervous at this point. It was getting late and we were tired. After getting a list of numbers to call, we finally found a place 5 kilometers out the city. With trepidation, we had no choice but bike on. As we pedaled on, first downhill and then up, we started wondering whether five really meant ten kilometers and if we were ever going to arrive. We did and quickly settled in for the night. Our clerk who checked us in, became our candidate for the hardest working man in Spain. After we cleaned up, we headed down to the bar for a drink. It turns out he was also on bartending duty. As the restaurant filled up with the dinner crowd, it became clear that he was also the waiter. In between orders at the bar and in the dining room, he also answered the phone and continued to check in arriving guests. When he took our dinner order, I jokingly asked if he was also cooking. With a bemused smile, he said sometimes. When we went down to breakfast the next morning, there he was again.

The Shortest Day

We left Ponferrada for what would be our shortest ride yet. Our next destination was only 26 kilometers away. However, it was a beautiful day. We are in the heart of the Bierrzo wine valley. It is lush and filled with gorgeous rolling hills filled with vines. We followed the camino trail through the vineyards soaking in the green hills and blue skies. As we made our entrance into Villafranca, Paul started noticing a problem with his bike. His gears seemed to be slipping, especially on climbs. It was in this same city four years ago that Paul had to have his bike repaired. After we checked into a our hotel de jour, we took his bike to the local bike shop. We explained the problem and the owner said he would take a look at it but to come back later as he was leaving for lunch. We did the same and then we set off to explore the tiny town. Villafranca sits nestled at the base of the mountains which separate the provinces of Leon and Galicia. Those mountains were our goal for tomorrow. For tonight. We just wanted a good meal. Unfortunately, that was not to be the case. We thought we had chosen well and the evening started off well. Sitting next to us were the first Americans we have met on the camino. Chris and Nora were a young couple from New York who were walking the Camino for the second time. They had done the first half last year and were finishing up this year. They were a delightful couple to chat with while
Waiting for service which was slow even for Spanish standards. We finally received our meals which frankly we both thought was the worst of our trip so far. We had ordered steaks with a sauce, which had been our standard dinner on the trip.Our's were covered in such a thick sauce which I think was meant to disguise how undercooked the meat was. I don't mind rare, but this was a 1/2 inch slab that was raw. When I complained, our snooty young heroin-addicted looking waiter, informed me that it was prepared as it should be. I was too tired to argue with him. But Paul and I were not happy. We paid our bill grudgingly and headed off to get some rest. Tomorrow, the big climb of the Camino beckoned.