bicicletaloca

It was hard to leave the beautiful fortress on the hill this morning, it really was. And hard as we try, we can’t seem to get going before almost 10. The last 3 hotels have had some killer breakfast buffets with all kinds of fruit and fresh croissants. We finally took off and rode right along the ocean, heading south, and I got to watch the waves crashing against the rocks, and look up at the cloud formations. The ride was flat. It really was. There was a headwind though, so there was a workout element and the smell of the ocean was blowing right into my nose. I didn’t mind that. We covered 35 km at a reasonable pace. A German Shepard was my Animal Totem. I’ve seen at least one German Shepard per day here, usually more, that is THE dog of choice in these parts. We stopped at one bar where naturally everyone there got into an animated discussion about dock location and ferry times to Portugal. We found our ferry stop around 12 noon and by 1pm we were in Portugal and splitting a sandwich in an outdoor cafe. The vibe here is Spanish-like, but different. I can’t put my finger on a description of it yet. I think they talk even faster and the architecture is more clustered. We got back on the bikes because we had another 21 kilometers to get to Viana Do Castelo. The headwind was now hard going. It felt like someone was pressing their hand against my forehead as I rode. I put on my jacket, because it was overcast and chilly even though we were riding hard. It was kind of like having a fever– when you’re cold but also sweating down your back. The roads were quiet, very few cars. The clouds were low and grey over the farmlands and the wind was blowing and drumming in my ears. It made me think of the early scenes in The Wizard of Oz. After an hour, very occasional raindrops showed up, like a single giant teardrop landing on your lip. Another half hour and we were in full drizzle, which was exhilarating as we burned down the road. We got to Viana, and Gabriel began asking people for directions in Portu-Spanish. Once again, we ended up pedaling through the city (if you need a Staples, they do have one there) and out the other side to get to our hotel.
This hotel is a stone country manor surrounded by beautiful gardens. There are grape vines weaving through the trellis above you. Walnut trees, orange trees, lemon trees. A giant pond and fountain. It was like coming upon someone’s country house. There were no signs for reception or anything like that. Eventually we just knocked on a door. I’m not even sure it was the front door. A woman peeked through the curtain. Gabriel: “Hi, we have a reservation?” Curtain drops. A few minutes then another woman comes out and says nothing, just stares at us. Gabriel is speaking in Spanish: “We have a reservation for tonight. Gabriel Prieto.” The lady spoke then but she didn’t really speak Spanish so we’re back to Portuguese with me pretty much clueless and Gabriel trying to keep up. There was much discussion about are we sure our reservation was for today? and how many nights? and a bit of initial suspicion about us arriving on bikes. But eventually she warmed up to us and gave us the tour of the place. She was the oddest lady, and she kept taking pauses in her speech and just looking at us. And I thought for a second, is this really a hotel or did we suddenly show up and now she’s just improvising? There was zero sign that anyone else was staying there. I almost got the giggles then but I thought, Ranj, don’t do it. As she showed us around, she referred to her sister several times and I thought, that was the woman in window. My mind goes all Baby Jane / Grey Gardens. By the end of the tour I think she had taken a shine to us. She gave us her phone number to call if we needed anything “Because otherwise its just my sister…” Our room is like a little guesthouse, beautifully appointed actually, and it has a number on it and a key so its all legit. It kind of smells like you would expect a 17th century stone building to smell – a touch damp like a wine cellar. “Some-sing else?” Our hostess said and just stood there, staring at us. “Is Ok? Some-sing else?” No this is perfect, thank you. We took quick showers– hot water took awhile but did arrive — and then pedaled our bikes into the old city. There is so much cobblestone action here. God help a woman on a bike. Of course by then it was 3:30 and of course we’re starving and everything is closed. Unless you want a pastry. Patisseries are everywhere as are cute little clothing and jewelry boutiques. Who knew? We stopped to ask the fat Freddy Mercury where we could find a restaurant. He was nice but so insistent about his recommendation.”The food there is VERY GOOD!” He was pointing adamantly at Gabriel’s chest as he said it, almost touching it. I thought: oh god we’re gonna get beat up. It took us a while to find something open but we ended up eating this seafood stew that was AMAZING. The weather is still kind of chilly and overcast so it was perfect. Then, at our waiter’s urging, Gabriel ran over to a patisserie to get something called Bolas de Berlin, which is their specialty. Kind of tastes like a donut filled with lemon cream if you ask me but then when’s the last time I had that? omg BAKED GOODS!

Arrival time in Viano Do Castelo: 2:30 pm local time. It’s an hour earlier here

Today was the opposite of yesterday. That’s one thing I love about these rides. You never know what each day is going to bring. We left around 10:45 cos we knew we had a short one today to Bayona (or Baiona)–alt spellings, I’m telling you. We found a beautiful coastal road, but that kept leading us down offshoot roads, so we kept getting lost. We asked directions 5 times and got 5 completely different answers, the last one resulting in a heated disagreement among the road workers we were talking to. I thought someone was gonna throw a punch. This constant direction-asking is going to be fun in Portugal, I’m thinking, where we technically don’t speak the language. So we ended up covering the same streets back and forth a few times.They were lovely streets though, just skimming the ocean.There were a few short but do-able climbs. And you know what, we’ve passed day 4 so physically its just a teeny weeny bit easier. Every year I’ve noticed that on day 4 my body just decides its getting in the game and we’re doing this. Or maybe certain pain receptors are shutting down with a plan to hand me a major bill in old age. Anyway, it was at one of our asking-for-directions moments that there were a couple of groups of people out on the street. And they’d informed us that we’d gone the wrong way so we had to turn around and go back up a pretty steep road. There was alot going on. I had to turn around and downshift. A car was trying to pull out. There wasn’t room for everything to happen at the same time. So guess what? Yes. I got flustered and fell off my bike. Some guy ran over to help me. I was fine. Then an old lady tried to offer me medicine for my cuts. I had no cuts. It was barely a fall honestly but it was a whole event. A whole neighborhood event. We finally got out of there and I howled laughing at myself doing that again. Gabriel has been laughing about it all day.

We finally got on the right road again. In the space of a couple hours I think we’d only gotten maybe 5 km from our starting point. We stopped at a bar to pee where they were playing Depeche Mode which was very homey and comforting. Then we checked out an old cathedral which was still sporting a plaque from the Franco (fascist) era, so that was not comforting. As we continued on, we got on what was basically a bike path by the sea: easy, simple, flat. The beach sand was the color of flan and the ocean was a stormy green. The sky was very pale blue with the sun just starting to insist its way through the clouds. It was a glorious ride. As we entered Bayona you could see a huge fortress on the cliff. A fortress which happens to be our hotel. The view is spectacular and you can walk all around the fortress wall and feel very Game of Thrones. The window in our room juts out over the ocean and I fell asleep to the sound of waves crashing.

Tomorrow will be tough. 80 km. Plus a ferry ride. Heading into PORTUGAL. (Also it might rain.)

Arrival time in Bayona: 1:15pm.

Footnote on Why:
A few people have emailed me and said Ranj–WHY do you do this? It sounds awful! And I guess that’s my fault because I complain so much in this blog. The blog is my outlet so you get to read every self-pitying detail. Sorry about that. But here’s an explanation.
1) Adventure. I love not knowing what each day will bring. I partly blame my parents for this because I had a somewhat unconventional upbringing. And we travelled alot. So its all their fault for setting my adventure bar pretty high.
2) The satisfaction of achieving a goal. Like: lets bike to Lisbon! And then actually doing it. There are so many goals I set during the year that kind of just fall to the wayside. If I can do this at least I’ve achieved one.
3) Its just a practice. Like some people meditate or hold a yoga pose. Its hard, but you do it so you can get better and stronger. I don’t do it for pleasure, although hopefully there is pleasure surrounding it. If you know me, you know I enjoy plenty of comfort and hedonism in the rest of my life. These yearly trips are not intended for that so don’t worry. The intention is simply to grow and to see details I would have otherwise missed. By the way, please feel free to quote me on all this tomorrow when I’m suffering again.

I woke up this morning and the first thing I discovered was that I broke my flip flop. Not a good start cos they’re the only shoes I have. Zip-Ties cannot help this, though maybe SuperGlue can. No time to deal with it though, gotta get to the bike store. The bike store, after having to ask directions there a dozen times from a dozen disinterested pedestrians, was open and ready for our business. No more zip ties! Well one we kept on there just for nostalgia. And now I have a brand new bike chain!

We got on the road, after bike store, around 10:45.  The ride was so ugly and awful, I’m just being honest.

Highway roads–yucky urban cement, steel, exhaust. Small airless apartments with laundry hanging out the window. Basically where the majority of the world lives. We passed a couple on a tandem bicycle going in the other direction. They must have been high on opiates because I don’t know how any couple could pedal the same bicycle carrying 50 pounds of weight and not end in highway double murder / suicide but that’s just me. Temperature today was 88 degrees Fahrenheit.  After about 3 hours we finally got to Vigo. Which is a PIT. I mean, its like the worst city ever except you’re biking through it so its even worse. Calcutta style. Cars, pedestrians, buses, exhaust, everyone fighting for their tiny bit of street territory. Gabriel says I’m exaggerating here so ok. Not Calcutta. There were no farm animals. But I mean, the heat alone… In the city center, we stopped at a cafe / bar. Its one of those cities where even though you are sitting outside at a table three centimeters from your bike, you fear it may be stolen out from under you. This place is end times. So we laid our bikes down flat on the sidewalk as a deterrent and I’ll tell you why its a deterrent. You’d have to be Superman to pick up one of those bikes with any fluidity at all. With the panniers attached (that’s an extra 30 pounds), and the way its all awkwardly distributed in the back, I can barely lift my bike up from a lying position at all in the best of circumstances. So I’d really like to see some thief try to grab one of our bikes and run down the street. I’d cheer them on. I really would. As we started goint again, we were suddenly riding up up up a loooong street that was so crazy steep. (12%, for bike geeks). I neared a woman at a bus stop. She had stepped away, so she was way to my left. The bus stop was to my right. I had plenty of room to go through. I believe my trajectory was quite clear to anyone who might have been watching. But at the last second the woman–possessed by some suicidal demon perhaps–stepped back toward me into my path. I had to do a major heart stopping swerve maneuver not to hit her.

It took at least an hour to get through the city and out the other side to our hotel which is…a Palace By The Sea. The ocean backs right up to it and its stunning. Gabriel once again hit the jackpot. He actually has done a miraculous job planning this trip. Some days are just gonna be bad roads, you know? But so worth it when you get there. I never found a totem animal today so I chose one of the big marble lions that are posed at the front of the lobby. There’s a pool and a spa here, we’ll see if we get to those. The best part of our gorgeous hotel room is the big sunny stone balcony because that means clothes washing! Because the most important part of clothes washing is…wait for it…clothes drying! Which is what a sunny balcony is for. So everything got washed as soon as we got to the room. Then I ate a big plate of brie and wine over the ocean while listening to the Peanuts theme (?) so I’m totally happy. This hotel is the one of the most beautiful I’ve ever stayed in. Hotel Pazo Los Escudos. And actually the old part of Vigo is supposed to be amazing so I take back all my judgement. Its just a city. Everything is perspective.

Arrival time in Vigo: 2:15pm

Bullet Points:
Never trust me about exactly where we are. I screwed it up again. We were in Cambados not Combarro. I swear they change the signs around.
Totem animal: an orange and white tabby cat posting up in the middle of a vineyard. Yes, that would be my animal.
The ride was flat. And only felt unbearably hot the 2 times we had to sit on the side of the road for 45 minutes under the noonday sun and repair bicycle chains. (His then mine).
We are now officially held together by spit and zip-ties and must hit the local bike shop as soon as it opens.
We passed a beautiful small red fox, freshly dead on the road. Sad. When you’re riding all these days and hours you find symbolism in these things. The fox isn’t dead, he’s in transition. Symbol of transition. 
We are at another Parador now. Someone is scoring with the accommodations!
Arrival time in Pontevedra with mechanical stops: 2:13pm

It was not about the ride today. 
Ok I wept in the plaza de Santiago yesterday cos I was hungry and tired but also because I was surrounded by strangers who had completed their pilgrimage, whatever it meant to them and whatever obstacles they had overcome to get there. The impact was palatable. Then later I wept when I got on the internet and read about the Supreme Court’s decisions yesterday. What a joyful day for America. By the way Scalia and Thomas- eat shit you dirty bastards. And to top it off, there was Obama singing Amazing Grace honoring the Charleston victims. Anyway, I just wanted to take a moment about all that is of real importance.
And thank you everyone for leaving comments on this blog. I love you friends!
As we tried to leave Santiago we discovered another small mechanical issue with my bike. And without going into trying to explain it, I’ll just say that it since there was no bike shop in the city to help us, Gabriel put together a solution with zip-ties, which I’ve said before and I’ll say again are truly amazing things and I wish I had invented them. So we got on the road around 10. We had to backtrack some because we were now heading back to the coast. Gabriel warned me: “Its going to be hot today, almost 90 degrees so you better drink water. And by the way our hotel tonight is not that nice.” Its not that we seek out not-nice hotels, its just that sometimes the towns we stop in don’t have many options, so over the years we’ve stayed in let’s just say “a range.” So we rode, and it was mostly ugly like yesterday, and hot. It was kinda flat I guess. I’ll give it that. But I did experience many moments of thinking: I’m struggling to find anything at all enjoyable in this right now. Gabriel was riding ahead of me and kept grabbing his water bottle and thrusting it out in a hand gesture that meant: Drink Water! He’s big on the hand gestures this year. Especially gestures to passing cars that either mean: “Pass us, I command you!” or “Back off, we’re coming through.” He is self proclaimed king of the carretera.
At noon there was exactly one merciful breeze that blew through. I knew it was 12pm exactly because church bells rang at the same moment. Other than that the air was suffocatingly hot and smelled like exhaust. There were no flowers and no animals. There were a few trees that I felt very sorry for. Gabriel said: “We’re going to have a real problem today if you don’t eat one of these” as he thrust an energy goo in my face. So I ate one of those. Finally, finally we rounded a corner and suddenly there was the ocean. I smelled it then I saw it. And just as I thought we still had 20 more miserable kilometers to go, we entered a cute little village called Cambaros and pulled up to the Parador there. (The Paradors are the luxury hotels in Spain built from old castles. They only have them in certain historical cities but if there is one where you are, that’s where you want to stay). Gabriel said, “We’re here.” “What?” “Ha ha ha. I got you. I got you good.” 
We had only ridden for like 3 hours. Nothing.
Arrival time in Combarro. 1:30pm. 

9:30am. The sun was out this morning and making everything sparkle. The air was brisk and invigorating as we got started. But that was the first hour. After that, the air got hotter and the scenery got kinda ugly. We turned inland toward Santiago and I’m not saying we were riding on highways exactly, but we were kind of riding on highways. (Big shoulders, for those who worry). Carreteras. And there was a lot of pedalling up. Not super steep, but just an upward slog. The first place we stopped, for a coffee around 11am, was a bar with a few men and a bartender all talking loudly like they do. I don’t think a woman had ever stepped in there before. There seems to be a good bit of lumber industry happening here, so it was those type guys or maybe truck drivers or shipyard workers. Lots of cigarettes and big calloused hands. Gabriel and I each had a coffee served with a greasy churro which was rather grossly delicious. As I paid at the bar, Gabriel walked out and as he hit the door he all of a sudden ripped the biggest loudest fart. I mean crazy. Naturally these guys didn’t notice or could possibly care less. I, on the other hand, completely lost it and doubled over laughing in my barstool because it was just such a perfect punctuation to that place. Speaking of entrances and exits, a funny and wonderful thing I’ve noticed about Galicia is that whenever anyone enters a restaurant or bar they call out: “Buenos Dias!” no matter whether they know anyone there or not. Just a booming “Buenos Dias!” to the world. (And someone always answers back). I think I might start doing that in the U.S when I go to Starbucks.
We did ride through a few farmlands and big open fields. And every time you go through a village you hear roosters crowing. Everyone, gotta have a rooster. In one big meadow–and I can’t describe how completely out in the middle of nowhere this was–there was a giant barn with a sign: “Club Dubai Erotica Show” with the silhouette of a naked woman on it. Unfortunately it was daytime and the doors were shut, cos I really honestly would have liked to have caught that show. A couple days ago we passed a sign pointing us to “Paco’s Chica Fiesta!”, which is another one I’m extremely bummed to have missed. Back on the highway, we actually passed another couple on bikes with panniers. They were not only wearing their Safety Orange reflective vests, which I admit we wore for about 2 days of our first bike trip then ditched, but also had some other reflective material placed over their panniers. But…they weren’t wearing their helmets. Their helmets were strapped to their sides. So I mean…? Choices.
We did not stop for lunch. Around 1:00 I was so hungry (skipped my energy goo) but more than that I had to pee, so we stopped at another bar type place. They didn’t have a bathroom because it wasn’t really a bar–although there were men drinking beer and coffee at the counter like a bar–it was more of a general store I guess. Mostly they sold cigarettes of every brand imaginable, but also giant bags of charcoal, sacks of rice, some dusty Kinder bars, and other things one might need come the Apocalypse or the Zombie Invasion. I walked across the carretera to a gas station to use their ladies room where there was a sign hanging that said: A Todos Nos Gustan Los Banos Limpios and had an illustration of a woman in a business suit and a woman in ripped tights and sunglasses. Just to remind us: from the professional lady to the punk rock gal–we are all united in our preference for clean bathrooms! So true!  
I’d been looking for my totem animal all day and finally there he was in the form of a German Shepard puppy tied up outside the General Store / Bar. He wasn’t really little, he was that puppy age where he hasn’t grown into his giant ears and paws yet and he was all joy and licks and so excited simply that he exists and you exist and you’re petting him. As we left his old guy owner came out and that happy pair walked off together, which made me happy.
Ten more kilometers and we got to Santiago, dodged buses and cars through the city center, and finally toward the Catedral de Santiago, as walkers and pilgrims converged around us. I was ravenous. All I wanted to do was eat–anything, anywhere, whatever they had–but Gabriel said “First I want to take a picture in front of the Cathedral with our bikes.” Ok fine. So we bumped over cobblestones in the tourist area, dodging souvenir sellers, wandering tourists, and people eating at outdoor cafes. The walk streets were packed, and just so not bicycle friendly or appropriate. I somehow managed not to careen into anyone. We finally pedaled into the Cathedral Square and you could just feel the celebratory atmosphere. Music was playing from somewhere. Dozens of Camino walkers were arriving and throwing their arms up in victory. Backpacker kids were plopped in the middle of the plaza, eating their bread and cheese. Cyclists like us had thrown down their bikes and were lying on their backs on the stones. The giant Catedral de Santiago towered over all of us. It was truly magnificent. And right then I was so blown away– by the people who had walked for weeks to get there and had finally arrived, the pilgrims who had walked there for the last thousand years, and I guess just the undeniable awesomeness of the place–I starting crying in the middle of the square. Or maybe it was because I was so unbelievably hungry. Anyway, we took some pictures and then found our hotel, right off the square, which is a converted 17th Century Franciscan Monastery and where you can eat in the arched stone dining room exactly as the monks ate. Clearly the monks ate well because I then had the best Cream of White Asparagus soup of my life. Love monks.

Arrival time in Santiago de Compostela 2:30 pm.  

I’m going to start this by apologizing because Gabriel has called me out on the fact that I keep messing up the names of places where we are. I know its pathetic, but here are my excuses. 1) I’m so tired and loopy by the time we get somewhere I really don’t care what the town is called or where it is on a map 2) alot of the names of places here are derived from the regional language and not traditional Spanish which I’m used to so I can’t remember them. I can’t remember most words after we’ve ridden all day actually. But more on that later. Anyway, apologies for calling Muxia Muria or whatever I called it. Right now we are in A Pobra do Caramiñal and I know that’s right cos I fu&*^ng googled it. 
Today we left at 9:08am and arrived here at a perfectly reasonable 3:26pm. There was one hour around 12pm when we pulled over for directions and maybe a snack which turned into lunch, but other than that we were riding. And it was kinda flat. Except for the one mountain.That was after lunch. But I was prepared for it because last night Gabriel, pouring over his maps, peered at me over his reading glasses and said ominously: “Tomorrow there will be mountains.” Um… for serious? I thought we went over this yesterday. This year’s ride was supposed to be FLAT. He had also warned me yesterday as we got up and loaded the bikes: “I’m going to be a man of few words today.” Ok Babe, no problem. 
We woke up at 7 ish, (this time Gabriel was the one hitting the snooze button). He had crashed out easily and early the night before, but I had been up and down until around 2am, having to pee every half hour because of all the water I drank last night in my attempt to re-hydrate. So on his part it was a case of getting too much sleep, and he couldn’t wake up. We had a croissant and cafe con leche for breakfast, provided by the hotel proprietor who was also the cook, bartender, and everything else. He couldn’t have been nicer. People in this region speak Spanish with a beautiful musical accent, it sounds like Italian. Of course they also speak the Galician regional language which we don’t understand a word of, and has alot of “x”s in it, like the Basque. Another thing I learned, as I’m riding through this very green coastal region, is that many Irish settled here. Galicia. Gaelic. Explains why we rode past a group of people playing bagpipes as they walked down the street. 
The Totem Animal for today was a Jack Russell Terrier we passed that was barking and digging excitedly into the earth. We only passed him, so unfortunately I’ll never know what treasure he was digging for. After a couple of hours and into a forest-y area, Gabriel advised me I should eat a packet of energy goo. I really don’t like those things 1) because they are so freaking sweet and sticky and 2) because I don’t really like food that isn’t food. But Gabriel is a believer in “one every hour” like it says on the packet and technically he’s right I’m sure. But I usually skip some hours. “You never eat them and then you get all tired.” Gabriel said, all disapproving. Thought bubble: Um, maybe I get “all tired” because we are riding uphill for 6 freaking hours. But I left that one alone. We did stop around 12 at a hotel restaurant and split a plate of chicken, salad and french fries. There was a cooking show on TV with a famous Basque chef and we, the bartender, and the one other guy in the place were totally glued. The Chef was spouting words of utter wisdom like: “You must eat slowly.” And “Children who are not taught to eat well will have social problems later.” Dude, you’re so right.
The coast was misty as we continued on and littered with dozens of tiny fishing boats, each with one solo man standing and casting his line. I kept thinking of The Old Man and The Sea, which I admit is the only Hemingway book I’ve read, but its a great freaking book. Back to not remembering words. As I’m riding I see farmers carrying things like scythes. And its one of those words that you never use, so I think (in my loopy state) is that the right word? A scythe. A mollusk. What are these words? And then I count to 10 in French and then recite some of a Shakespeare monologue and just generally trip out on language in general. You have to pass the time somehow. Until I notice how much my ass / knees / shoulders hurt and I go: Don’t think about it. Look at the pretty flowers. Don’t think about the highly unwanted crotch rub you’re experiencing right now. 
We got up our mountain, and back down. And finally arrived in A Pobra Do Caramiñal around 3. Lots of shipyards here, but still beautiful. We had to ask directions to our hotel from one crusty shipyard worker, and as Gabriel was talking to him I did just fall off my bike. Just randomly from a standing position. Its something that just happens sometimes, the mechanics and balance go haywire. Like life. I was fine. The guy saw me of course, cos these things never happen when no one’s looking. But we found our hotel and had hours to lay around until dinner. 

Arrival time: 3:26pm. 75 km.

It was not flat.
We woke up at 7am and Gabriel jumped out of bed to assemble the bikes. I on the other hand, pulled the covers over my head and begged for an extra hour. Eventually I got up, feeling guilty about all the packing and tool-wielding to be done. Unfortunately though, there was no breakfast to be found at the hotel. Or anywhere in the village at that hour, which I discovered as I stumbled around from one cerrado cafeteria to another looking for some take out coffee. The minute we got on the road, we found that one of Gabriel’s tires was flat, so we pulled over to change it. Coffee was then obtained, but next was the discovery of a mechanical difficulty on my bike which required a new screw and size of wrench that we didn’t have. As luck would have it, a triad of other bikers appeared, and they did have many-sized wrenches, so now although we still needed a different screw, they hacked together a temporary workable solution. 

 After all that, we finally started pedaling just before 10am. The day was overcast but not cold. The scenery was farmlands and an occasional glimpse of the ocean–gorgeous– but the ride was NOT FLAT. I mean yes, there were patches of flat and even some downhill stretches, but overall–overall being a 6 1/2 hour ride–overall it was uphill. Not crazy Alps mountains necesarily, but definitely uphill by any normal human standards. The scenery was beautiful though. Blue, white and purple hydrangeas burst out everywhere you looked. There were also alot of dogs. Pet dogs, stray dogs (or at least dogs freely roaming the country roads, maybe they weren’t stray). Every farmhouse contained at least 5, of all different shapes and breeds, and as we rode by they’d spill out the front door, barking at us and smiling happily, like some kind of Disney movie. Today’s totem animal(s), though, were 3 sheep who took a great interest in us, and ran up as close as their courage would allow and baahed in our face. The three moved absolutely in tandem like a flock of birds as they alternately ran up to us and then suddenly thought better of it and took off. This happened more than once as we passed them several times looking for their farmer owner so we could ask directions.

A good part of this ride is on the Camino de Santiago, which is a centuries old pilgrimage road to the place where the Apostle James is supposedly buried. Alot of people walk this route every summer for religious reasons, or just cos its cool. We passed many thick-legged walkers stooped under giant backpacks, walking sticks in hand. I like the idea that we’re on a pilgrimage route. We are literally riding a spiritual path. Good. 
Since we didn’t have breakfast, after a couple of hours I stopped to dig around in my bike bag for a Kind bar or something. We had already powered up a couple of hills. I found one thank God. Around 1:30 we stopped for lunch and had fish and salad and potatoes by the ocean. Back on the bikes at 2:30, we pushed on. By 4:00 or so my upper back was throbbing and I was getting loopy. We rode through a dozen villages, and in one Gabriel spotted (randomly) an auto parts store and went in to see if they had that elusive size screw we need. I laid my bike on the sidewalk and sat down in front of the store. It was still overcast but the sidewalk was warm and I thought: this is the perfect place to take a little nap. They did have our screw so one problem solved there. At that point I asked Gabriel: “How many more kilometers?” “I think about…maybe 20?” Gabriel is such a bad liar. I knew it had to be much more. The good thing was that then we started to veer towards the ocean again. The beaches were flat white sand and the water was turquoise and indigo. On one of the beaches I spotted a giant green lizard, but then realized I was hallucinating cos now it was hour five.
That was also the point when I started to hear myself groaning out loud (“Why God, Why?!”) as we climbed another hill. (Spiritual path). “You said it would be FLAAAATT” I groaned to Gabriel as we stopped to pee down a cliff. “YOU SAID IT WOULD BE FLAT.” We saw a sign for Muria then, actually I couldn’t read it at first but I could see that the number was a double digit. Please let that first number be a ONE, I thought. But it wasn’t. It was a two. Muria 28. Twenty eight more kilometers. Actually it wasn’t though, because our hotel was in Cartona which was slightly closer. Ten more kilometers on and Gabriel pulled over to a cafe, ran up to the bar, and slammed an espresso. I followed suit and upon hearing the good news from the bartender that we only had 5 km more to go, I did a one minute plank on the sidewalk outside the cafe because somewhere in that last hour I had (lost my mind) and also decided something: I WILL BE STRONG. THIS RIDE WILL MAKE ME STRONGER. I stood up out of my seat and pumped up the last hill to the hotel like it was the end of the Tour de France, with Gabriel cheering me on. And then I collapsed.
Arrival time in Carona 6:20pm.

The alarm went off at 6am. No one in Spain is up at that hour. No one. But we were up and off to the airport. Not without breakfast though. Don’t even think about leaving Carmen’s house without breakfast. Not unless you want to make an old lady cry. So Carmen fed us, and we drove for a sleepy hour. I was nauseous the whole time, just cos I ate too early, and just cos. The floors at the Barcelona airport don’t help either. They’re black, shiny, and completely reflective which makes the whole place seem like a trippy house of mirrors. We had our 2 bikes and our 4 panniers, all of which require 2 carts to push everything around before you check in. This year we have our bikes disassembled and packed in giant black bags. No more cardboard boxes for us. The downside of this classing-up is that we are going to have to roll up and carry these heavy canvas bags with us on the bikes all the way to Lisbon. They’re each the size of a 2 person tent, and I only wish they were that light.And so began Gabriel and my Airport Arguing: 1) where the exit ramp is to return the rental car; 2) which check in line to stand in; 3)whether the strap can be left on the bike bag or needs to be removed before placing on the luggage belt; 4) whether security will allow you to carry on a razor and a pair of nail scissors. (They will. I lost that one); 5) who is or is not carrying their passport in a safe place on their person where they will not lose it; 6) who is or is not being bossy / oversensitive / angry for no reason. All of which ended in a cafe with Gabriel saying: “I need a break from you” and me turning on my heels and parking myself at the OTHER cafe, directly opposite from his, where we could each drink our cafe con leches and glare at each other from across the reflective floor. Still nauseous, my goal for the day became clear: Let me just get through it without barfing into my own lap.

Two hour flight to La Coruna. We somehow had Vueling “Excellence” status, which basically means you get priority boarding and their crappy wine is free. We arrived in Coruna, then commandeered two cab drivers (we needed two cabs because of our giant bikes) to take us to the bus station. There at the bus station we had an hour and a half to kill, and where of course there is no “Excellent” status ever, unless of course you count finding a clean bit of bench to sit on, which I did. And I did count it excellent. Gabriel popped off to the bar / cafe / store whatever it was next to the off-track betting place, and bought us a bottle of wine which we sipped out of souvenir shot glasses bought for the purpose while we waited. Why? because its midday in Spain and we’re 20-year-olds backpacking through Europe. No wait that’s not it. Because its midday in Spain and what else are you gonna do at the bus station for 2 hours besides drink wine out of a paper bag and chat with old ladies, which we also did.
The actual bus ride was another 3 hours or so. The first hour and a half was through some sheer ugly industrial city scenery. After that, we got out and toward the countryside and coast so views improved. Finally got to Muxia and now we’re back to “Excellent” status with our hotel, which is charming and close to the beach. Lugging the two bikes and 4 panniers the half mile from the bus stop to the hotel wasn’t so enjoyable but we needed the exercise and my stomachache was long gone. 
I should absolutely be asleep now since tomorrow we have to wake up early, assemble the bikes, and ride the 75 kilometers to Muros. Nite nite.

My mother-in-law will outlive us all. That is one truth I can always cling to. Carmen is 86 years old, lost a daughter to cancer a few months ago, and still carries her own groceries up two flights of stairs (28 steps. Veinteocho. She counts them out loud for us). She still starts cooking lunch at nine in the morning–red peppers, green beans, potatoes, always on the stove. You could not possibly eat enough to satisfy her need to feed you. She bullies you into breakfast before you can even take that morning pee. A child of the Spanish Civil War, with memories of hunger, she bursts into tears when she realizes she overbought bananas, and now some have gone bad and will have to be tossed. “Los platanos!” she weeps as she thrusts them helplessly toward the heavens.
Tourism seems to be back up on the Spanish coast this year. The Russians are coming, actually they’re here, along with the Brits and lots of other pale-faced types eager to cook their skin like its 1985. They’ve come to the right place. The sun is out and the beach is gorgeous. Our regular tweaky waiter at Cafe Central is less tweaky this year. He’s gained a little weight and cut his hair short. He seems to twitch less now. The north african guys still line up on the beachfront walk, their counterfeit Chanel and Ray Bans packed into duffle bags which they will quickly unpack and spread out as soon as the Policia turn their backs and move on. This packing and unpacking, police looking then not looking, is a dance that happens throughout the day, every day. No one deviates from the routine. 
This year Carmen’s neighbor Antonio, a spritely old man always accompanied by his tiny white terrier on a leash, has been ubiquitous. He’s got a family dispute over property going on, and knows that one of Carmen’s sons is a lawyer. There has been much animated discussion and gesticulation about the details. Partly because in Spain everything is a THING. There are no small throwaway points or observations. Every time we walk down to the little restaurant owned by the Indian family– where you can get anything at all hours from full English breakfast to chicken curry to doner kebab–Antonio seems to be there, ready to further discuss his legal situation. It’s become kind of a game of Where’s Waldo as just when you thought you’ve shaken him he suddenly pops his head around the supermarket aisle as you’re innocently buying a Popsicle.
Yesterday, we made our yearly visit to see Gabriel’s brother Javi and his family for Sunday afternoon paella in the backyard. Javi as usual unapologetically greeted us stark naked, pool cleaning tools in hand. I averted my prudish American eyes and beelined for the kitchen with Javi’s wife Ana, Carmen, and my niece Ines. Gabriel joined Javi for the pool cleaning, and as I watched from the porch, sipping my water, eventually saw Gabriel strip naked as well before flinging the pool net over his shoulder. What is this, an epidemic? Must get nude around the pool? Its not like he didn’t have his bathing suit with him. Incidentally my nephew Fernando did manage to keep his shorts on so apparently some are immune to the compulsion. 
A couple of nights ago another nephew– there are many nephews, and they’re all so cool and ridiculously good looking, if mostly unemployed due to the depressing Spanish economy– took us to a Coachella style outdoor concert. We arrived there at midnight, a tad early for Spain, but I was impressed that we made it there at all. Cos at midnight in the US I’m usually already well into my second REM cycle. The good thing is in Spain they let you sleep in as late as you want, and then you get to take a nap after lunch as well. So I was ready to rock. The concert wasn’t that exciting but I got to watch a lot of young people stagger around drunk as their friends held them up. Ah memories.
So life here pretty much remains the same as last year. As for our bike ride, I really don’t know what to expect. We are riding from Galicia, northern Spain, to Lisbon, Portugal. The plan this year is that the ride will be easier. As in flatter. (What, no Alps?) But then I’m aware of how foolish it is to plan on something being easy… I hope, however, that I can make this blog entertaining, because if all I have to say every day is: nice ride, beautiful scenery, pass the wine…well. I’m sure you’ll get bored. But hang in with me and we’ll see if something exciting happens. This year has been a ride for me already. Believe it or not, turns out biking is the easy part.
Tomorrow we get up at the crack of dawn to take a plane to a taxi to a bus to La Coruna in Galicia. All dragging our bikes behind us. I don’t know how I’m going to fall asleep at a reasonable hour now that I’m on Spain late-night concert time. Right now, the light over the ocean is turning pink and gold as we sit at the Cafe Central, tweaky waiter standing by. There’s a playscape on the beach in front of me, and as parents sit and sip their wine, I watch the kids squeal and swing from the bars like monkeys. 
Tomorrow Galicia.