Allen, Nathan, and the Road to Santiago

From Triacastela we have at most 2 days riding to Santiago and we are starting to feel the itch, so we left Triacastela and headed into the foothills of O Cebreiro. Now by this point we were certain that our climbing days were over, little did we know that the foothills would test our patience, our sanity, and our friendship more than some of the more intimidating climbs ever could have.

Another day of rain, and 3 major foothills into Palas de Rey...We encountered some of the most beautiful country on the trip, mountain valleys, vineyards, the sunshine peaking through the tempest, truly beautiful, but seemingly never ending.

The day began by our attempting to find a shortcut through the foothills rather than over them, beware the yellow arrow, it turns out that the yellow arrow which guided us the whole way was also a bit of the devil itself as it got us lost more than once. We ended up going through what can at best be described as a hamlet, down muddy tracks and cow dung strewn paths, until the pyrenees reared its ugly head at us again, there it was in front of us, no more road, only a rocky path straigh up hill, and for only the second time on our journey, better heads prevailed and we turned back to find the road.

We made our way up and down the foothills to Portomarin, a beautiful city where it once again began to pour on us as we crossed through this small river valley. The rain was so intense that if for only a moment, the gutters themselves turned into raging rivers, and we decided that our typical refuge was in order, a bar with hot soup and plenty of warm coffee. A note, Galacian soup is a wonderful thing! Then, just as we left to tackle what would the final foothill, and the final leg of our penultimate day, there he was again, Frits with a smile and a handshake as he settled in for the night and we pressed on.

The final 25km of the day turned out to be the most trying 25 kilometers, as we were tired, again, wet, again, and ready for rest. We hit a sign saying that we only had 89km left to Santiago, and at that sign, the road split, and we again took what amounted to a shortcut. This shortcut took us through some amazing countryside, and our biggest regret is that we were too tired, too frustrated, and in too big of a hurry to reach our destination for the night, that we took far to few pictures.

At one point, Nathan had ridden ahead and gotten off his bike, needing a rest before the final push. As Allen came around the corner, Nathan and Allen looked at one another with an understanding, and understanding that said if either of us says anything to the other about anything, we were sure to come to blows...at nearly the same moment, we realized that we were finally communicating without speaking, smiles came across our faces and we proceeded down the last stretch.

Palas de Rei provided all of the wine and good food needed to cap off such a day, and our rooms had large windows which faced both Santiago, although not yet visible, and the setting sun. We were ready for our last ride!

We left Rabanal del Camino and continued the final push up to Cruz de Ferro, it was an invigorating climb, but a manageable one given our many days of riding up to this point. Cruz de Ferro was the summit of the 3rd major mountain range, and the place where you officially left both the Meseta, and your inner demons behind.

Many people carried rocks from home and left them on this rock pile at Cruz de Ferro symbolizing the change that was occuring in them as they journeyed along the camino to Santiago. It was another spot for reflection, and the symbolic leaving behind of one's old self in preparation for the arrival in Santiago.

Allen left behind the shell that had been tied to his paniers since St. Jean Pied de Port, and felt as though every fear one may experience in life, including the fear of death, could be transcended. Nathan, left a rock he had carried since the Pyrenees, and had his rear breaks tightenend by yet another Hollander before embarcing on the treacherous descent from Cruz de Ferro, and as a result, was finally able to leave the Pyrenees behind.

The cycling book we carried best describes the way down from Cruz de Ferro..."the road descends almost 1000m in about 12km. It is very steep in places, with blind hairpin bends. Make sure your brakes are in good order and avoid overheating the rims..." Treacherous indeed, yet exhilarating! By the time we reached Ponferrada and the bottom of the descent, our hands and wrists ached from squeezing the brakes so hard, the rims were generating enough heat to burn to the touch and to warm our frozen fingers, and our brakes were little more than stubbs, a troubling thought given that we had many more descents to tackle.

When we left off, our heros were sitting in an internet cafe in Astorga as a storm brewed outside, little did we know that the devil was about to rear its ugly head yet again.

As we left Astorga a chill settled into the air, the rain began to fall, and the wind began to whip. As we had been riding only a short time, we were determined to press on, so we settled onto our trusty steeds, tilted our heads against the wind, and rode slowly out of Astorga. So began our climb up the 3rd major climb up to Cruz de Ferro. In comparison to the Pyrenees the climb to Cruz de Ferro would have been a joy, but as we rode, we noticed that the water was steadily building up in our shoes, and the chill in the air was slowly creeping into our bones. We came to an intersection just outside of El Ganso where a farmer who was out fixing his fence, stopped his work long enough to tell us of the dangers that lurked ahead. The farmer told us that the weather was about to get very bad, and that we were crazy to go on any further...We had no choice but to continue on as we had done barely 15 miles. When we reached El Ganso, the wind was blowing like nothing we had experienced thus far, and the rain had finally broken us, so we stopped at a little one room bar on the side of the road.

The Bar in El Ganso was run by two little old Spanish women, one of whom had some desire to be Dutch instead as she was wearing wooden clogs. The bar had only one other patron, an old man, who looked as though the journey had taken its toll only on his feet which were heavily bandaged. The old man sat with a quiet dignity and feasted, thereby renewing his body's will to continue. Inspired by his hunger, and his determination, we too ate our fill of fine spanish soup, chorizo, and eggs, not to mention plenty of cafe con leche. When we finished, we walked outside and the rain had subsided, so we continued on to Rabanal del Camino, the final staging point before the climb to Cruz de Ferro.

It was only that night that we learned that the whipping wind and bone chilling rain was the remnants of Hurrican Gordon, which was smashing into Northwestern Spain as we rode...

A brief update before we tackle the mountains and the storm that is slowly growing outside.

The last three days of riding have been straight across the Meseta from Burgos where the sun first smiled upon us to Leon, which is an amazing city and deserves another visit, but that is for another time.

The weather has been beautiful, the sun continued to smile down on us and both our troubles and the miles poured off our backs. Allen and his kneee came to terms and we sped across the Meseta at a pace that made Nathan very happy!

We ran into Antonio and his retired Sweedish Sailor friend who did not drink water, but rather he drank what he called gasoline, a red wine and cola mix that had sustained him 7,000 kilometers and 5 months on the road...it made our stomachs a bit queasy.

Frits appeared again at a roadside cafe in Burgo Ranero, and he convinced us to stay the night at a very nice hostal there. We don´t remember much of that night in Burgo Ranero, we were drinking with Fritz, and 2 other Hollanders. The beer and the laughter flowed freely, one of the Hollanders fixed Nathan´s back wheel for the price of a small glass of beer, and as we sat down to dinner, Frits realized that he wasn´t handling his vino too well and called it a night.

Allen wants to thank Natasha for an inspiring conversation.

From Leon, our destination was Hospital de Obrigo, as it was still early in the day. We left Leon and the Wind reared its ugly head...the next 31 kilometers went by very slowly, the wind roared, Nathan roared back at the wind, and we arrived in Hospital de Obrigo in time to watch the sun set over the puente (bridge) de obrigo.

Little did we know that it was the last sunset we would see, today, the 21st, the storms have returned, we are currently in Astorga about to tackle the 1st of two days of mountains, the rain is holding back thus far, but the wind is also holding back our progress...

And now...Frits...

I´m happy that I meet two lovely and friendly guys from L.A and Santa Barbara. I am from Holland a little town with only 1500 people. We have talking a lot and drinking and of course cycling.
I apreaciate the inspiration to cycle camino.

Pictured here is Antonio, the 71yr old Italian Priest direct from Rome. Antonio cycled from Rome, over the alps, through France, and across spain before he had a heart attack 1 week before we met him. Antonio, not to be restricted by the ways of man hooked himself up to a heart monitor and continued on his way. You could say that Antonio was still rolling, both his wheels and his cigarettes one after another...