Are you lucky?

Those are the instructions given to mariners sailing to the New World - I only wish my navigation was so simple. Somedays I have brilliant sucess and other days dismal failure. Yesturday I experienced both. I ask for direction at a gas station on the edge of a city, the Spanish are generous with time and kindness in helping wayward strangers, however, it is like memorising the hand signals of an orhester conductor or perhaps, a priest giving a blessing. More then an hour later I bike past the same gas station after a stint on the motorway.
Then in the evening I need to find a village not marked on the map, then find the house of a woman named Angel to get the key to the hostel. I expected to be there by 4pm, but I had a series of punctures. I´m ruthless in reducing the weight on the bike, I hyrate at a bar instead of refilling my water bottle and can,t find the pin-hole puncture in the growing darkness without water. The yellow arrows painted on the road or walls cannot be seen in the darkness, despite all this I´m safe and warm in the hostel by 7pm.
Tomorrow I leave the bike at auberge at San Vincente, near Sandander, and set off to walk the Camino along the coast for two weeks.

On the beach at the end of the world

Last night I camped on a wild beach, the last in Europe, the waves thundered and the wind howled. Then I climbed a mountain high above the cliffs in the pre-dawn light to catch the sunrise like the Druids who gathered here eons ago. Giant breakers crashed on the shore and I swam, or rather was tumbled in the surf, the water was surprising warm, but then I´ve been soaked to the skin so often that warmth is just a memory. A Polish girl I met on the beach came to dinner with a bottle of wine, fresh water flowed out of  a rock ourcrop and driftwood fueled a cooking fire.

Gravity and Gravitas

The middle section of the Camino de Santiago is on top of the mesa thru medival villages - Decameron country - with the sharp ring of church bells reminisant of spaghetti westerns. The trail down is like a narrow dry river bed. I stop for a beer mid-morning and at noon to get my pilgrim´s passport stamped (more about that later). I hurtle down the trail bouncing off rocks and ledge,the panniers provide ballast and I have the authority of gravity yelling ¨Buen Comino¨to startled perigrinos; somedays I´m just a bad-assed pilgrim with hell hounds on my trail. Stayed the night at a Benedictine monestry, a plainclothes monk handled the paperwork, no kitchen so discreet beer and bagette behind a wall.
Made it to Santiago, the 800km offroad was a blast, will stay here for three days to eat and sleep.

The Druid String and Black Diamond Biking

Dropped Ikm over 15km, the bike became skiis as we flew down the switchback turns. In the valley was a Templar castle built with a piece of string. The ´Druid String´has thirteen knots each equidistant apart and then these are sub-divided into 12 equidistant apart segments, with this basic ruler many geometric problems were solned. It was with this device the Templars built their castles. As I peddle I try and remember long forgottem theorems because I like the idea of going to work with a piece of string in my pocket.

Camino de Santiago

Each day rolls into the next, I have to write down where I am , the day and the date, this morning I´m in an ancient farm house about 50km west of Leon. It is like travel might have been centuries ago, the path is marked by various signs, generally faded yellow arrows. I go until dusk and then am welcome into  a hostel for 'pergrinos'. Every nationality and age gathers around the kitchen table, the conversations are as diverse as the people, sometimes it´s a crazy impromt party , the next chats on Templars and tapas, the snack that comes with the afternoon beer stop. The trail is also as varied, we had clay so deep it seized the wheels solid, washed it for in a fountain, then there might be a wild downhill spin.

A party and two wipe outs

Pamploma. There was a spontanious party at last night¨s  pilgrim¨s  refuge. It began when Mary from Scotland played Celtic tunes, then out  came the spoons and harmonica. Everyone had a story to tell and a song to sing. Ava, 19, had walked on her own from  Austria, Vincent and his girlfriend had travelled from the South Pacific, a mix of Europeans kept the action  going and the wine flowing.
Then, today I had two spectactular wipe-outs. The track was barely two feet wide and wet clay, I lost balance bouncing over rock ledges, the bike flipped over me as we tumbled down the embankment, panniers and bushes broke the fall. It´s a real adventure following the scallop shell route markers that guide one through ancient castles, along river banks and woodland paths.

Boldly going where no bike should go.

I,m at 4000ft and should be in an airplane instead I,m pushing the bike into the clouds. The Lepoeder Pass is at 1427m and there,s a howling gale, luckily it,s not rain or snow or this would be dodgy, as it is I push twenty steps then take a breather hoping my heart wont burst out of my chest like in the Alien movie. Stayed the night at the Roncevaux monestry, Napoleon was a relatively recent guest, Charlemagne and Richard the Lionheart whooped it up here too. The trail has been in use since the 10th Century and shows it, much bouncing over jagged bedrock. Essentially it´s a 800km off-road bike ride relying on the signs marking the pilgrim route to Santiago de Compostella.