Day 11 - Ponferrada - O'Ceberio

The day started very slowly as I was definitely not on form. We took a meandering route out of town, taking in a fair bit of the Camino track. I could really have done with being on smooth tarmac as I felt so ill, but on our attempt to get back on the road an old lady yelled at us from a window that we were going the wrong way and wouldn’t leave us alone until we turned back onto the track. We passed an old couple ploughing their field with an ox; something that I just didn’t imagine would happen in Spain.

I realised just how slowly I was going when we were overtaken by a walker! He stopped to chat whilst we bought stamps at a small village, and we parted company as he followed the track and we got back on the road. We passed by several vineyards before we arrived at Villafranca del Bierzo, where we met up with four people from the Netherlands who had cycled from home. They were keen to exchange route notes for the final section and to compare maps with Lou. They planned to be in Santiago Saturday, but as I didn’t know what day it was, that wasn’t very helpful for me!

We strolled around but the church was shut and we’d already seen the castle on the way in. We sat down by the church door and each had unintentional naps. By that time my stomach was feeling a bit better, but still very tender. We went to a bar and I drank water until I nearly burst. I was so thirsty as I’d struggled to take even a gulp of water all morning without feeling sick. I topped that off with magdelenas a miel, a Twinkie type sponge, honey flavoured, without the filling.

It was almost 5pm when the temperature dropped to below 32°C in the bar and we decided to set off. It was a bit of a fiddly road to find out of town. I was frightened that we would have to cycle through a 9km tunnel, but it was a good steady climb on a smooth road with plenty of shade. We stopped to buy cherries from a man in the back of a van, although I didn’t dare eat any. Soon we were on the village roads to Vega, and were therefore compelled to sing ‘Viva Las Vegas’.

I was starting to feel really rough. I wasn’t hungry although I knew I should be as my legs just weren’t holding me up. I had a cereal bar, one half first then the other half a kilometre later. It was staying put but making me feel nauseous. The heat wasn’t helping. My watch registered my skin temperature as 42°C, not recommended.

The first refuge was ‘completo’, and the chap advised us to carry on 3km up to the next. There was a pension sign so we tried that – also ‘completo’ but we could sleep in the gym at the schoolhouse. We decided to try further up the road, and if we didn’t find anywhere we would come back. I was feeling bad – light headed and dizzy with no internal temperature control.

At the next refuge Lou went in to check availability whilst the bikes held me up. The alburgue had space and offered dinner – woohoo!

It was even hotter inside in the barn attic bunks we got. The nicely refurbished room downstairs was for walkers only! I tried lying down but felt worse, so I had a cool shower which helped, as did dinner which was all divine – gaspacho, feta and tuna salad, pesto linguini and crème Catalan with jugs of cheap red wine - but I stuck to small portions for safety. A quick stroll down the road for some air and in bed by 9:30 despite chickens fighting in the road and cows mooing as a kid drove them along.

Go to: O'Ceberio to Portomarin

Day 10 - Astorga - Ponferrada

We got on the road late at 8:30. It was a steep climb. Strangely we found ourselves caught up with all sorts of other cyclists, notably a team of six Italians, an older French couple who seemed to have packed everything they owned, and an older German chap, Harold, who became our ‘Dad for the day’. I first spoke to him when he was stood by the road, sweating profusely, as I thought he needed help. I asked if he was OK. He said, “fine, it’s shady here”. I pedalled on and later Lou walked with him up the mountain.

As we reached Foncebadon which our big, fat, granny pants book says is abandoned but actually has a refuge with a bar and café. I stopped there to wait for Lou and Harold arrived, calling out to walkers “Agua?” and as he looked knackered I quickly offered him a spare bottle I had in my panniers. He said he didn’t need it, he just wanted to check that he could get fresh water before he threw the hot stuff out. Lou caught us up and after an emergency cigarette break we set off together for the top. The first top! There were two – unfair. The first was marked by a pile of projectile sweating cyclists and a couple of chipper chaps from a Basque cycling club who had overtaken us many times along the route.

Another climb, the first on which I’d got off and walked, partly because we met up with the Madrid guy from the previous evening and I’d stopped to talk to him. From there we cycled on to the Cruz de Ferro, a cross on a pile of rocks, left by pilgrims as a symbol of unburdening themselves of sins and asking God for forgiveness. Oddly there’s no need to carry the rock or even a pebble there in any kind of penance, you just pick one up there and throw it on. That seemed rather shallow to me. The pile is older than the cross and the Christian tradition, but no-one seems to know how or why it started.

I poured on the last of the wine from Irache and sat and looked for a while in a moment of reflection for everyone who has helped us on our way. There have been lots of them, from Captain Birdseye at St Jean, through all sorts of direction givers, translators, bike fixers and accommodation finders.

The Italian bike team had lots of fun taking comedy photos whilst a couple of other folk adopted meditation positions that they appeared to be taking way too seriously, and they adopted seriously sanctimonious attitudes towards everyone else.

Down an alarmingly steep descent and we took a break to cool the rims, but too late. As we got ready to move on Harold’s tyre burst. The rim heat had melted a hole in the inner tube. We waited with him while he fixed it. It seemed mean to leave him, although every passing cyclist offered help and he had 2kg of tools to work with, but no tape, so we were of some use as he could fix his odometer with Lou’s insulating tape.

I’d been looking forward to the descent but it was horrible. It was absolutely terrifying. We stopped frequently to cool the brakes and rims, but it was tough to stay below 20mph and my fingers hurt from all the braking. We wound our way down to El Acebo where Harold wanted to wash his hands and we stopped for lunch. It was the best sandwich in the world – yesterday’s spicy tuna mix bocadillos, dipped in egg and deep fried, served tepid.

Descending then on cobbled streets was dodgy but not as dodgy as the super speed descent through the hairpin bends. Terror. When we got down to Molinaseca there were people swimming in the river. It was dammed at one end to allow enough water to build up for swimming. I took off my shoes and vest, leaving on my cycling shorts and bikini top, and went in very gingerly. It was icy cold and the cobbles were dangerously slippery. Lou’s ear meant that she could only paddle, but Harold was off and away, whittering about childhood holidays by the Rhine. He hadn’t been able to swim as a little boy and had always wanted to swim in a river, this was his first chance.

Into Ponferrada where we said goodbye to Harold. We booked into a schmanzy hotel in a quiet square, with a great balcony for laundry drying. Unfortunately it was only quiet because it was siesta time, and turned out to be the main square. There was a statue right in front of the hotel that people wanted to have their photo taken with, so everyone’s photos had our underwear in. We even saw some people taking their photos deliberately at an angle to be sure to get our laundry in shot.

We strolled about looking for somewhere to eat, but nothing until 8:30. After a drink in the Chelsea Bar, a strange take on an English Sixties theme bar we walked up to the Knights Templar Castle, which was impressive, but we were tired and the ruins were badly marked up so it was difficult to understand what was what. Then it started to hail, great big chunks of ice that hurt when they hit, although it was still warm.

The Basilica was quite unpleasant and had ‘candles’ that you lit by putting € in the slot and then a bulb came on for a time allotted according to how much money you had paid. I left, outraged.

We headed back to the hotel for tea, lots of tea – squid in ink, prawns, mussels, and mushrooms, washed down with yet more rosada. I regretted that the moment I woke up when the seafood fought back. I sat in the bathroom feeling shivery and cold and hot and faint – not a good mix. Luckily we’d packed Imodium, which did the trick.

Go to: Ponferrada to O'Ceberio