Day After Christmas

     Riding through Burgos in early morning mist was exhilarating. Speed is so much faster than walking. Those yellow Camino arrows come up much quicker and are easy to miss. You realize that signs are catered more towards the walkers than the cyclist. Arrows even had us going through one way streets. It wasn't long before we caught up with walkers that started two hours ahead of us. We rode 42 km to the town of Castrojeriz before we even realized it.

     The following morning, Laura and I had grand plans. If everything went so well yesterday on our warm up ride, we certainly can ratchet things up a bit today. I had a bag sent forward for the day and all told my bike still weighed a good 70 pounds with panniers, backpack and steel parts. The instant we hopped on our bikes, we realized something was amiss. The early morning mist was not as exhilarating. My sit bones were sore, my handlebar communicated every tiny crevice through my palms . Someone had stolen my handlebar grip and replaced my saddle with a string of barbed wire. If we were looking to abuse the next body parts, I had quickly found them.

     Just 2 km out of town, we were quickly assaulted with this monstrosity of a dirt climb. A 12% average gradient that went on forever. Of course all my weight was being carried on my rear wheel and I was careful not to grip my bars to keep from ending up like a turtle in its back. Still my front wheel wandered and hopped in the air quite a few times. Eons of eternity passed before we finally reached the top. High fives and kisses were exchanged as if we had just evaded death. Still Laura was nervous because of the downhill just on the other side. I said, 'You mean the average windy 18% grade with the corrugated cement of a meatgrinder they call a road? Just don't use your brakes too much or you'll lose traction and your brakes will overheat and fail but it is not much to worry about. I think!'  Tires skidded a bit, heart pounded a lot but we made it with our skin intact.

     What didn't remain intact were my nerves. They all seemed to have migrated directly to my rear end. While at the bike shop, I was too macho to accept a pull over gel cover. I should have noticed the Spanish snicker when the mechanic quickly agreed to remove it. I mistakenly took it as approval gesture between two male cohorts. Perhaps I misunderstood the words masochistic with machismo, they almost have the same letters.

     That misunderstanding pounded its true meaning for all 73 kilometers to the town of Terradillos de Templarios where my overconfidence had sent our bag. Live and learn. What doesn't kill you only makes you weaker so it can try and kill you the next day.