Day 16 - 27 Kilometres

Up and over the Effin´Pyrenees!! That´s right, we crossed the Pyrenees. On foot. Cz has some words on that.

Along the way we were offered stunning views in every direction. As the path wound through grazing lands, sheep, horses, and cattle had, and took advantage of, the right of way.

We saw many pilgrims, but it never felt crowded, and everyone, without exception was incredibly friendly. No matter what nationality, everyone learned Bonjour! and Bon camino! on the french side of the Pyrenees, and Hola!, Buenos dias!, Buen Camino! on the Spanish side. We were all wanderers in a common adventure, and greeted each other as such.

People also looked out for each other. If we stopped, we were asked if everything was OK, and an Italian Cyclist even shared his Arnica cream, in the hopes of easing Cz´s leg cramps.

At the end of the day, we tucked into the "Pelegrinos especial", the pilgrims´ dinner offered at the local hotel restaurant. Most villages have this offer; 6-8 Euro, plus the presentation of the ever-useful Pilgrim´s Passport buys a place at a communal table with bread, wine, and a hot dinner. We were seated with a group of grandparent-aged men and women from Valencia who spoke no English. We gimped along with our high-school Spanish, and they laughed at our bad grammar, fussed over Cz for being too skinny (including refilling his soup bowl any time it seemed close to empty), and over me for my sunburn (with many admonishments to wear lots of suncream and a long-sleeve shirt, and then maybe it would turn into a lovely tan).

We had an altogether lovely time, and bean soup, fish, french fries and yoghurt have never, ever tasted so good. There´s something to be said for crossing a mountain (did I mention we crossed the Pyrenees?!) for whetting one´s appetite.

Overall, it was a hard day of hiking, but a good reminder of both the incredible beauty of the world, and the kindness of strangers...




An (inexperienced) Pilgrim´s Perspective (cz)

One thing you become acutely aware of when undertaking a modern day pilgrimage is the baggage you carry on the road, both in the physical and the mental sense. Physical in the stuff in your backpack (did you really need to bring that hair dryer or the PSP?) or in your physical health, as in are you fit to undertake the pilgrimage whose first day makes you go through a 27 km hike over the Pyrenees. Mental in the state of mind or overall attitude when on the pilgrimage (you can count this by the amount of times you may have wanted to give up or cursed whatever Maker you believe in every time you tripped on a rock or gotten a leg cramp - not really a good start on a Pilgrimage).

For those of you who aren´t aware, I hate walking. The reason I hate walking is that I have weak ankles - ankles that by just looking at them have the tendency to twist and roll and sprain themselves over the smallest thing. It is possible that this is very cyclical - that by not walking more it lead to weak ankles and weak ankles tend to not make me want to walk any further than I have to. Whatever the reason, this Pilgrimage may not have been the best idea - if not for the fact that Jess was going to do it, so I checked it off to spousal support (though she doesn´t really need it).

They say the first day of the route is the hardest since it is 27 km up the Pyrenees and down it. An older man with breathing problems could accomplish the leg in 12 hours. The first 10 km and my thighs were already burning. By 15 km and I was cursing under my breath (when I could catch it, which was not very often). By 20 km I was in a very foul mood due to both my legs being in pain and the fact that the path was rocky and unsteady in footing - then we get to the ankles going out from under me. I counted about 6 times before finally giving up counting any time my leg gave out on me an only counted it if I landed on my butt. By the last 2 km I was truly wondering why the hell I was on this Pilgrimage and cursing the road for what it was doing to my legs and my morale. There were points in the route that Jess had to support my weight in order for me to continue moving, whether it was towing me up, pushing me up, or using herself as brakes when descending. This is on top of having to carry her own 20 lbs. pack. Of course I was far from being appreciative of this - I´d say I was downright rude and impossible to deal with. Imagine an 8 year old having a temper tantrum - now transfer the physical tantrum and imagine a 30ish man quietly fighting every step of the way instead of accepting the help being given...and being passive aggressive while doing it. Got that image? Right, awfully supportive of me.

If the first day was suppose to be the hardest, the second day out was far worse...Muscles I have never intended on using were all cramped up, plus a few that I didn´t know existed decided to scream. I was so stiff and in pain that the 6.5 km we completed were by far the most painful. Although the physical part was quite gruelling, the hardest part to swallow were the mental fights that I lost - of trying to push through the pain. I fooled myself into thinking that it was my legs that were giving up, but really it was because I didn´t have the will or the discipline to keep going, that it was really me giving up. We holed up at the nearest refugio after only having gone for 3 hours with the idea of giving my legs a day to recover. I was totally defeated.

I didn´t really know what I would be like the next day. Didn´t know if my legs would have the rest it needed to continue, but really it was my headspace that I was more uncertain of. I don´t like rolling on my ankles and I don´t like being defeated - usually my stubborness kicks in and that is when I push on, but in this case it sent it packing. My low self esteem at this point was feeding on itself, saying that I just wasn´t trained to do this, so why even bother.

Then Jess said something to me after I had finished berating myself, my attitude, my will, and my weak ankles that sort of stuck. She said, ¨It´s probably easy for someone who knows he is physically fit to do this pilgrimage, but much, much harder on someone who knows they aren´t...and still do it.¨

So the third day we set off to walk the 16 km we skipped out on the day before. It was probably as hard on my body as the first day (although the terrain was much more forgiving). My legs still cramped and ached, and we went slow in certain sections. I found myself a walking stick (actually, it found me...I think those are the best kind) that was crooked but had the right places for my left hand to grab and Jess supported me when the road got a bit precarious in terms of loose rocks or uneven ground since I was hyperconscious about rolling on my ankles. I tripped a few times, I cursed myself a couple of times, my legs were still cramping but the muscles were being conditioned for this sort of thing, and when we got into Zubiri, I was extremely happy to have accomplished the small feat (no pun intended, really).

The only thing on this Pilgrimage is you, the road, and what you bring to it. Somehow, you figure out a way to lighten your load or find a way to carry it. I´m glad to have brought my wife (and her unusual simian strength)...she seems to have found a way to do both with me.