It was a day of 2
halves with a sting in the tail. I’m writing this in the bar of a hotel at
nearly closing time of 1am so will finish this tomorrow (Monday).
The day started off sunny
with a bitter crosswind, labouring up into the mountains eventually reaching nearly
1300m. I had now left Galicia and was in the province of Zamora so it felt like
I’d really left home at last. The N525 just stopped at one point and all
traffic was forced to use the A52, except cyclists who had to use the old road.
This was very pretty but wound around the contours of the hills so I was
covering a lot of kilometers without actually getting much closer to my
destination. In the afternoon the wind dropped, and I had a nice sunny descent
out of the mountains and back on the N525. The road into Benavente is one of
those that is straight all the way to the new well-maintained road is amazing,
sometimes I don’t see a car for 20 minutes, they’ve all taken the motorway.
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| My arty photo |
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| This could have been in the Welsh valleys, slate roofs and all. |
I pulled up at dusk
after 83 km and pitched the tent on some open no-man’s land about 300m from the
road. A couple of hours later everything was set up under a clear starry night.
The ice-melt on the tent from this morning had refrozen again but my hot-water
bottle was already tucked inside my sleeping bag and my risotto supper was
bubbling away. I saw a car headlights stop at the start of the track and I just
knew it was the police. The Guarda Civil seemed to be everywhere, earlier today
on a garage forecourt they had been searching a group of construction workers
for ‘wacky baccy’.
Anyway, the lights
just stayed there until re-enforcements arrived and then they set off towards
me, eventually pinning me like a rabbit in their headlights. The conversation
went something like this:
“Unintelligible
Spanish”
“I’m English” (This I believe, explains
why I’m there and exonerates me from any blame).
“Passport”
“You can’t camp here”
“Sorry.
I’ll be on my way in the morning”
“Go now. There is auberge
3km ahead. It’s free. Just go to the ‘Bar Central’ and ask for the key”
“OK officer”.
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| Breaking camp after the eviction |
Now you can’t just chuck
everything on the bike and go……it takes time to pack everything away in it’s
place. During my visit the risotto had managed to weld itself to the bottom of
the pan as well. Also, and this is a winter camping point that I had not
previously considered, when wet all the sliding joints in the alloy tent poles
freeze up so you can’t get them apart without warming each joint.
I finally get going
about 9pm and find the Bar Central. My glasses fog up as I walk into the warmth
and I can’t see a thing. Another conversation:
“Good evening, I’m
English and the police told me I could get the keys to the auberge here”.
“Are
you a peregrine (pilgrim)” (I haven’t mentioned that I have been tracking in
reverse the Caminho to Santiago, probably from Madrid)
“No” This was
definitely the wrong answer.
“I’m sorry, it’s only
for pilgrims. There is a hotel 17km down the road.”
I slug down a ‘café solo’
to perk me up and set off into the night.
I’m actually bowling along
quite nicely in the inky blackness, listening to Eric Clapton’s ‘Unplugged’
album on my boogie box and considering doing the 36km to Benavente. However, it’s
nearly midnight and common sense prevails.
At the check-in the
receptionist says “It’s 25 euros for the night, are you a pilgrim?”
“Oh
yes” I reply as emphatically as I can.
“In that case you get
a 5 euro discount”
Bargain. So that’s
how I ended up drinking San Miguel in a snug hotel at nearly 1am.
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| Qu. How many items can you charge off your USB ports before your notepad power supply blows up? |
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