http://www.tntdevereux.demon.co.uk/santiago/
In September 2001, my brother Chris mentioned that he was making a cycling pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in May/June of the following year, and would I like to ride with him. I realised his last week would coincide with my school's summer half term (I am a teacher), so I could ride the last few hundred miles with him. It meant my wife and youngest son would have the pleasure of each other's company for the week in the middle of his GCSE's, but nevertheless, Teresa encouraged me to make the journey!
Why?
Chris's wife, Jane, had breast cancer from 1997, and was making a good recovery; Chris wanted to do the pilgrimage in thanksgiving. In June 2001, our Mum died, and we both wanted to make the pilgrimage in her memory. Chris decided to raise money for research into childhood cancers at the Royal Marsden Hospital in London by being sponsored, and I wanted to help with this. I also wanted to raise funds for a Palestinian Human Rights organization, Al Haq, which I had heard about from a friend who knows about its work. Alongside these serious and worthy reasons, I was looking forward to a long ride with my brother- I haven't been on a bike tour since 1977!
Learning some Spanish!
In January, I bought the BBC's course, "Espana Viva", two tapes and a text book (ISBN 0-563-21493-7). Though I never got very far with the text book, the tapes were always with me in the car, and occasionally, I used them while cycling to and from work. In the middle of an English winter, learning the language was an affirmation that the trip really was going to happen! Even the rudimentary knowledge I acquired was worthwhile.
Getting Fit
In September 2001 I was not particularly fit - a lazy boozy holiday in Ibiza had helped expand my waistline, and my swimming in the Mediterranean had been more flotation than exercise. My main forms of exercise are usually running and cycling, but I had been neglecting both! I worked as a teacher at a school 12 miles from home, so my plan was to increase my occasional commute to three or four times a week. I did this fairly gently over the months; before Christmas, I continued to use my recumbent tricycle, but in the new year, concentrated on using two wheels, and reminding my body what a saddle feels like! The more awkward thing for me was adjusting from the comfortable, head in line with back, position of the recumbent, to the low back, head upright position of my road bike. I eased the transition by having the handlebars quite high at first, on both road bike and mountain bike, and lowering them as the weeks passed. With June approached, I was achieving my target of 4 commutes weekly, and when the bike had been fitted with its new wheels, gears, etc, I made sure that I went on at least one 50+ mile ride with lots of hills. Though I could not ride as fast as my companion (and not just because he had a carbon fibre lightweight), I was comfortable climbing the hills - the lower gears were doing their job, allowing me to sit and pedal. As I write this, I'm wondering whether this really was the only longish ride I did; I recall taking the long, over the moors route home a couple of times (25 miles), but I don't think I did anything else!! I had hoped to get my weight down to 80 kg, but from a post holiday high of 90 kg, it stuck at 84 kg for the months before the ride. By the start of the trip, I felt comfortable with my fitness - I knew I had strength and stamina, though my speed was comfortable rather than fast.
Spiritual Preparation
The journey was to be a pilgrimage, so as well as preparing the bike, and getting myself physically fit, I felt I needed some spiritual preparation. My parish, St Joseph's, Pudsey, was running an Open Retreat in Lent, where instead of going away for a retreat for a day or a weekend, you go for a couple of hours, once a week, for six weeks. I found this period of prayer and reflection very helpful; over the weeks, the support of other members of group was most welcome.
The tricky thing for me was to get myself and bike reliably to a place in Spain where I could meet my brother, and not be too close to Santiago!! When I arranged my plane in January, I was aiming to meet him in Leon. I could not get a Saturday flight, so booked for Friday. This was handy, as Chris beat his schedule! When he sent me his revised route, Burgos looked more likely. The week before I left, I was making plans to rendevous in the little town of Santo Domingo de la Calzada which doesn't even have a railway station! Finally, in a prearranged phone call two days before I left, we agreed on Sahagun - small, with a station, and conveniently placed between Burgos and Leon.
So Friday 31st May saw me setting off to London by car, the bike with its bulky packaging taking up much of the space behind the front seats. Leeds to Heathrow is pretty straightforward, M1, then M25. I broke the journey to phone CTC to arrange insurance - a little item which had kept slipping down the "to do" list! The M25 was busy but moving, and I reached the airport long stay car park with no difficulties. I did a final luggage sort out (small Spanish phrase book makes the trip, bulky Spanish text book stays in the car..) before walking to the bus stop. Strapping the panniers together was a good idea; having a shoulder bag as well as a handlebar bag was essential to carry all my stuff but three bags and one parcelled bike are too much for two arms! Checking in and boarding at Heathrow were fine. From my seat, I could see the baggage being loaded into the luggage bay, so I knew my bike was at least on the plane! I enjoyed the flight - people were speaking Spanish and I could understand them!! (sometimes!)
Madrid
After touchdown, I was pleased to be reunited with my panniers and bike. I thought the next phase of the journey was by underground to Madrid Chamartin railway station, but it was actually along what felt like several miles of walkways and travelators.... I realised that this was the bit I should have been sponsored for! Lugging everything was hard work - so en route to the airport's metro station, I was pleased to try out my Spanish and buy a beer and sandwich. Fortified, I reached the underground station, and found out that the metro trip was easier than I had expected - the line had been extended since I'd taken a map from the internet the previous week! I only needed to make one change, not two. At the railway station, I headed for the information desk, and sweetly asked "Hablo Ingles?" The helpful lady explained that there was no train from Valladolid to Sahagun, arriving 3.52am, despite what I'd seen on the internet! But there was one from Burgos, leaving 6.38, arriving 8.02. So all I needed was to contact Chris, to let him know he didn't need to lose his beauty sleep to meet me. I phoned - number not available!! Aaargh! Even though the number had worked from England, maybe it could do with a +44 prefix. That was the answer! It was great to speak to Chris, and let him know when I'd arrive. Time for more beer, and more sandwiches - readily available from the bar in the station.
The Train
I was careful to make sure I really did know which platform I needed, having heard of travellers caught out by last minute platform changes. All was straightforward, though, and at 22.30 I was putting the bike on the lower bunk, and me on the upper one. I asked the cheerful carriage attendant to wake me half an hour before we arrived in Burgos (3.15 am), and he did. I had a lovely few hours sleep - there's something especially soothing about the sound of train wheels on rails....
I washed and dressed and got me and the luggage off the train, then settled into the waiting room. In Spanish, waiting room is "la sala de espera"- "room of hope"..... I unpacked the bike from its cardboard and bubble wrap home, leaving it just in its bike bag, then tried to get some more sleep. A passing policeman stopped to explain I was welcome to sleep, but not on the cardboard from the bike box! When the booking office opened, I realised that my way of pronouncing Sahagun was completely unintelligible to the clerk. However, pointing at the name written down worked. The station café served a good strong espresso, then it was time to wait on the platform. The train arrived promptly, and the somewhat less bulky bike was easy to manoeuvre into the corridor, and the sun was shining. After an hour or so, I changed into cycling gear (yes, even though I'm over 50, lycra!!!). When the train stopped, there was Chris waiting on the platform, looking suitably tanned, fit and healthy. We were very pleased to see each other.
We walked to where he was staying, a room over a bar, and I reassembled the bike. I was relieved that everything was unbroken, (the obsessional packing had done its job) and soon had the mudguards, wheels, gear mech and bars all back together and working. I packed up the spare hubs, straps and cycle bag into a parcel, ready to send to myself in Santiago. We breakfasted on coffee and rolls, then with the bike fully loaded, I wobbled along to the Post Office. A German couple, hikers, were also sending a post restante package. I needed to my passport number, for I D on collection, and the parcel was packed in a neat fold-up box, which even included sticky tape to secure it. Without the extra weight, the bike felt steadier, and by ten o'clock we were on the road, the A231. It was a beautiful day, the road was wide, with a metre or so of cycle way on the side. As with most of the journey, there was very little traffic. The countryside was pretty flat, and it was easy riding. It was just so pleasant, bowling along at 20+ kph, in the sunshine. I plastered myself with factor 30 sun block, not wishing to get burnt! Riding behind Chris, I noticed his rear tyre had a kink in it. When we checked it, we found a deep cut across the outer cover. We needed a replacement, as it could blow out any time. We reached a little town, Mantilla de las Mulas, where we needed to find a bike shop, and I asked three women (granny, mother, teenage daughter). They didn't know but they asked in nearby shops until they found out. I wonder whether a Spanish tourist in Pudsey (where I live near Leeds) would be so well treated!! The shop (open even though it was well past 1 pm) sold agricultural gear, motor bikes, and cycles. After a search in the storeroom, the owner produced a tyre of the correct size, the last one in stock! We decided to fit it later. Just by the bike shop was a bar, and it was time for cervesa e bocarrillo (beer & sandwiches). We had 15 miles left before getting into Leon, and Chris upped the pace a few miles outside the city, in an attempt to get there before everything closed for the afternoon. I could just about hang on to his wheel going up the hill outside Leon (at an impressive speed of 25+ kph - well it impressed me, anyway!), but as usual, he was fitter than me!! Alas, we were too late - we reached the big square with the cathedral on one side, and found the tourist office, but it was closed. Following a drink and snack, we set off looking for rooms, and after meandering around for half an hour, settled on a double room above a bar, quite close to the city centre. The bikes were safely locked up to banisters in the hallway.
After a shower, we strolled back to the centre to try to find somewhere I could get a credencial. This is a pilgrim record which allows use of pilgrim facilities, and serves as proof that one is a bone fide pilgrim (see http://www.csj.org.uk/passport.htm). I had intended to get one before leaving home, and had emailed the Confraternity of St James, but too close to my departure date...
Chris knew of a convent which ran a refugio (pilgrim hostel) which might be able to help, so I asked a couple of elderly ladies which way to the street we needed. They looked at me with evident concern - beard, pony-tail, jeans, and were obviously worried that I was about to mug them for drug money, when Chris asked if they knew where the convent in that street was. Instantly, I was transformed from lowlife to Jesus (the sandals doubtless fostered this image), and of course, they knew where convent was ... Once there, we queued with other pilgrims to see the person in charge. Chris discussed motivations for the pilgrimage with some Americans, I just queued. Eventually, our turn came, and despite not having any proper ID (passport safely in our room!), thus disrupting the bureaucracy, I was issued with my credencial. (Its secular equivalent would be a Youth Hostel card, with lots of space for stamps from hostels, churches and tourist information centres.) I did not realise at the time how important it was to have obtained the pilgrim record - without it, we couldn't have stayed in three of the refugios, and I would have missed out on meeting other pilgrims. We returned to the cathedral for evening mass, which was being said in a side chapel - a few pilgrims, but mostly locals. I have no recollection of what or where we ate that evening (but I don't remember being hungry, so we must have had something!) Perhaps because I was tired, or maybe just sheer clumsiness, but I dropped one of Chris's little cameras three times over the course of this day, but he still let me use it. Clearly this is a measure of how saintly and patient he has become, as in his younger days, he would have been considerably upset by my carelessness! We had a fairly early night, and slept well, except when the revellers were leaving a nearby nightclub, and playing boy racers with their cars.(Well it was a fiesta weekend - Corpus Christi.) This was at 5 am.....
At about 7 we got up, had a banana breakfast, packed up, and put the panniers on the bikes. Chris of course was well practiced by now, but it took me a little longer. I hadn't quite sorted out where things should go, but I had decided that my sandals had to be highly accessible - my roadie cycling shoes, red and sleek, were very very tricky to walk in!
By 8.30, we were heading west, on the main road (N120) towards Astorga. The weather was sunny, and the road was good. By half past ten we were there, and saw children, dressed up for the occasion (quasi bridals outfits for the girls), heading for the cathedral with their parents. They were making their first communion, so it was a really special occasion.
We pressed on, taking the small road, the 330, which heads up through the Montes de Leon. We had a view of the mountains ahead, with the walkers path alongside.
The sun was giving way to clouds, and we could see a storm ahead, which turned the sky a fantastic colour, a livid purple.(as you can see..)
We paused to put on waterproofs, but after a little while, stopped to take them off; the storm had passed us by. We passed through the village of Rabanal, where the CSJ run a refugio, and then, the road began to climb quite steeply, and I was very glad to have low gears. We stopped briefly at the abandoned village of Foncebadon - interesting, and a rest from climbing! Then we carried on - the road continued to climb, and I was pedalling at a steady 7 kph in the 29 inch gear.
We reached the Cruce de Ferro, at 1500 metres, higher than anywhere in Britain (and not quite the top of the climb!). It is a tall cross of iron a with huge pile of stones around it. The stones are brought by pilgrims, from their home, and represent the burden of their sins. The height of the pile suggests either lots of sinful pilgrims, or lots of unburdened ones! Chris was standing looking up at the cross, and I was just about to say something irreverent when I realised he was praying. I knew that he and Jane had had a very tough five years, and said something to acknowledge this. It was special being together at that place at that time.
After we'd put our stones on the pile (Chris scandalised me by just picking up a nearby stone and putting that on!) we took photos, and chatted with a Spanish pilgrim who was walking. Chris made him very happy by the gift of a film- he'd run out.
We also talked to three Dutch cyclists who we had previously passed while they were walking up. They had come all the way from Holland, on their bikes which were very much roadsters, solid, R16;sit up and beg' riding position, and laden with luggage. I was impressed!
Our lunch was bread, delicious cheese, and fruit, and thus fortified, we tackled the last three kilometres to the summit, before beginning our descent. This was narrow, with some proper hairpins, and it was as we were swiftly approaching one of these that Chris yelled at me to slow down. I braked hard, and saw that the storm we'd seen earlier had washed rocks and gravel right across the road, just on the corner! Hitting that lot at any speed would have guaranteed a crash! So we took the rest of the downhill fairly gently, especially through the village of El Acebo (cobbles - and the site of at least one cycling pilgrim fatality). Our stop for the night was in a small, pleasant refugio in Riego de Ambros. We were welcomed by the young warden, and having chosen bunks in the dormitory, we did some clothes washing, and I checked my bike for anything loose, then oiled both machines. There were only a few other pilgrims staying, including a French girl who was suffering a great deal with her feet. We went through the pretty village to a restaurant for a cheap and very pleasant R16;pilgrim meal'. The waitress was concerned that I should have enough to eat, despite being vegetarian. She succeeded admirably. It was great to chat and reminisce with Chris - ordinary life can be so much rush rush, busy busy, that it was good to be stepping aside from all that for the duration of the journey, and have time for some brotherly bonding. For some reason, as we enjoyed the second bottle of wine, I got it into my head that Chris needed to be protected from drinking too much, so I made sure there wasn't too much left for him.... Later, after a winding walk back to the refugio, with only one or two wrong turns, it was really difficult climbing up into my bunk - maybe all that wine wasn't quite such a good idea....
Morning arrived, and apart from feeling somewhat muzzy, I was fairly unscathed by my overindulgence. We did not make an early start, and had done less than ten km before stopping to buy bottled water, biscuits and Mars bars. Looking at Chris's back tyre, it was obvious that it needed to be replaced - the kink had worsened, and it was bulging threateningly. The tyre swap didn't take long, and unable to just throw the old tyre away (they were a present from his daughter Hannah), Chris strapped it to his rear carrier. (Chris has subsequently mounted the bulge portion of the tyre on a small plaque in his loo!) It was quite hot, and we saw a number of other pilgrims on foot. One chap, who was quite elderly, was carrying a massive lopsided rucksack, and making painfully slow progress. We rode on, stopping by a roadside water fountain to top up our bottles. I had a couple of 500ml bottles, and this was the day I realized that even though they had a nice Bob Jackson Cycles logo, they were just too small! Chris lent me a fold up bottle, which took another litre. We reached the town of Villafranca del Bierzo, had our credencials stamped in the tourist office, and bought bananas and oranges.
Then we visited the church of Santiago (up a short steep hill). Here, pilgrims who were too ill to complete their journey could be granted the same benefits as those who reached Santiago.
We were now back on a main road, the NV1, and it varied from pleasant to otherwise, according to whether the new motorway, often on spectacular stilts, had been built. Fifteen kilometres from Villafranca, we turned back onto the old road and started to climb. Somewhere on this road, Chris gave me some salt, which I ate to counteract the effects of the heat, a tip he'd found useful cycling in Malasia, and in the Andes. Chris warned me that this was a long long hill; he was right! It was proper climbing - the terrain changed from fields and woods, to mountains with just grass for covering. As we passed a farm on the lower slopes, there was a moment of high drama - a lorry thundered by, avoiding a farmer on one side and a cow on the other, but a puppy (aahhh) dashed across - and made it! See photo below.
The road continued onwards and very distinctly upwards - we overtook a number of walking cyclists, including a German husband and wife, who looked to be in their sixties - she was about half a mile behind him. We passed the three Dutch cyclists (two women and one man) who we'd met the day before.
When we got to Pedrafita (1109 metres), we had a quick stop for a drink and snack, and as the weather was looking a little doubtful, put on our cycling jackets. The main road dropped down to Galicia, but we turned left to continue our climb to O Cebreiro. It looked like 3 or 4 km on the map, but it felt like 20! At one point, Chris was a dot in the distance, I'd used all my water, and with my jacket on, was getting very hot. My speed dropped to 6 kph, and I just wanted to give up! The moment passed, Chris waited for me with water and Mars bar, and we pedalled on. We finally reached O Cebreiro, and made our way to the refugio. It was crowded, and we put our bags on a pair of bunks, in a tiny dormitory with four double bunks squeezed in, then joined the queue to book in. We may have done that the other way round.... but it was all fairly anarchic, so bagging bunks first would have been quite sensible! This was where I first encountered the pilgrim hierarchy for myself - walkers are at the top, and cyclists are underneath! So we were told that if there were still bunks unfilled by walkers at 8 pm, we could have them, if not, we were welcome to the common room floor.... Possession being 9/10ths of the law, we hoped to retain our bunks!
Chris had been sending articles to his local paper (here is the first one, here is the second), and we went to the common room so he could write and send his latest report. (here) He was using his tiny Palm Pilot with a fold out QWERTY keyboard plugged in. Then he used the infrared link to his mobile to email it to the newspaper. While this high tech wizardry was taking place, I crashed out across three battered lumpy chairs and was sleeping like a baby in minutes. Perhaps not exactly like a baby, because I was snoring loudly - Chris apologised to the other pilgrims in the room. I don't think they were too bothered - when I woke up, he was explaining to a gathering of the curious how the technology all worked, in French and a little Spanish. On a Practical Pilgrim Day run by CSJ, the walkers vs cyclists issue, and a possibly related one, a certain antipathy to modern technology (mobiles, radios, walkmans, etc) emerged. There seems to be a feeling that the more arduous the journey, the more meritorious. Chris and I would imagine ever more odd ways to make the pilgrimage; we quite liked the idea of skateboarding, and travelling by stone curricle also appealed (naturally, you'd have to carry the curricle when you weren't crossing water.) Really, I think people should just make the pilgrimage that suits them - whether it is long, short, on foot, by bike, with/without support (eg van to transport their luggage). But there are rules about who gets a Compostela, the certificate issued to pilgrims. Walkers and pilgrims on horseback must have completed at least the last 100km and cyclists the last 200 km, in one stretch, to qualify. (More from http://www.csj.org.uk/compostela.htm)
Once Chris's article was sent, we looked around O Cebreiro, a small village with some pallozas, very old thatched round houses. The church is squat but beautiful, and was the site of an ancient miracle - the wine at Mass changed to blood, a tribute to the faith of a parishioner, and a reproof to the disbelieving priest. After meeting our spiritual needs, our thoughts turned to food and drink - we discovered a bar, and had a beer - I was almost too tired to enjoy it! As we left the bar, the fine weather had gone, and clouds were swirling around. We ate a good three course pilgrim meal at a restaurant, and I treated the wine with due caution! As we walked back to the refugio, mist enveloped us. Even though it wasn't very late, the other inhabitants of our dormitory were all tucked up in bed. In the night, I woke up and identified at least two snorers (out of only eight pilgrims!) Clearly, there may have been one more when I was asleep......
We got up at 6, and were on our way by 7. With the cramped dormitory, and some pilgrims still sleeping, it was easier to pack in the corridor. My panniers were lighter than ever - the weather meant that I was wearing winter cycling leggings, two jackets (one warm, one waterproof), and gloves with cycling mitts underneath. I couldn't find my best glasses, so used my spare pair. After fruitless searching, I decided to abandon them - maybe they were in a recess of the panniers. (They weren't!) The weather reminded me of holidays spent in the Welsh mountains - fog, and cold. We needed to have our lights on. I was happy with my back light - five fat flashing LEDs, but the one at the front was emitting a feeble glimmer. So it was just as well there was very little traffic. O Cebreiro is at 1300 m, and the road dipped for a few kilometres, and then rose to El Poyo, 1337m. Somewhere along this part of the route is a big statue of St James, looking determinedly towards Santiago.. We rode the descent very gingerly - the fog was giving us 50 m visibility, not enough to get any proper speed up. Gripping the brake levers hard started to get quite uncomfortable. Eventually, we were below the clouds, so we could speed up a bit, though it was raining by now. When we reached Triacastela, we stopped to defrost with a big coffee and some chocolate, then had another of each! We continued the descent, soon reaching Samos, where Chris stopped suddenly, so I braked hard too. The road surface changed from grippy tarmac to slippy concrete, and as the front wheel skidded off to the left, I fell off to the right, then me and bike slid on for a few yards together. I got to my feet, and apart from a grazed thigh, and holes in leggings and glove, I was fine. The padding of the extra clothing was very welcome! The bike was OK too. I was touched that the driver of the car behind, and some pedestrians, instantly came over to see how I was. The reason for stopping was to get a credencial stamp from the monastery, so we did this, then carried on through the rain. I felt sorry for the bedraggled walkers, who often wore black capes that covered them and their rucksacks - groups of walkers looked like a column of some strange black biped beetle. As we passed other pilgrims, walkers or cyclists, we generally wished them "Buon camino" or encourage them with "Ultreia!" (Onward!). Climbing one of the hills on this day, we overtook the German couple again, and Chris was able to chat to them in German. They had cycled all the way from the Pyrenees. As we were passing them for the second time, they clearly travelled slower than us, but kept at it for longer!
After reaching Sarria, there was more climbing, but then at last, a descent where we could go as fast as gravity and our nerves dictated. There were some fabulous stretches, where I topped 60 kph, so it was a bit tricky when my foot unclipped from my SPD on one of the quick bits. I got it back in with not too much difficulty. Chris has more experience of fast downhills than I have (he's done L'Etape du Tour several times), so I was quite happy for him to be in front! Much of the town of the Portomarin, at the foot of this 9 km downhill, had been moved and rebuilt, as a reservoir flooded the original town. More climbing followed, then we found ourselves on narrow country lanes. We met a group of half a dozen US pilgrim cyclists, and rode with them for a while. They were on an organized trip, with their baggage transported between overnight stops. So with our panniers, we were higher up the pilgrim hierarchy!!! Not that I believe in pilgrim hierarchies... Hannah (Chris's middle daughter, and my god child) had been walking the Camino (and was already in Santiago), and had recommended the refugio at Ligonde. We couldn't find it!! We found one run by a US evangelical group, but a) it wasn't quite open and b) it wasn't the one we were looking for. A couple of kilometres beyond what we thought was Ligonde, 500 metres beyond a café, on the right, we found it! Again, we were told on arrival that we could only have beds if walkers didn't need them, but they didn't, and again the offer of a common room floor was there if needed. The German couple turned up later in the afternoon, but there were no spare bunks, so they pedalled on. I was very impressed by their cheerful and stoical attitude - there was a town with accommodation not far away, but the rain was still pouring down. The pilgrims were a very international bunch - Spanish, English, German-Welsh, and one French lad who seemed to be suffering from some sort of manic mental illness. Some of us decided to cook a meal, so we brought ingredients from the house next door (and I mean house, not shop!). The Italian and I cooked, me doing the chopping, him doing all the clever stuff, like exquisite garlic bread. Neither of us spoke each others language, but we managed with French, and gestures. Perhaps I should have mentioned the copious quantities of wine we bought from next door - I'm sure that helped the communication.... The meal was great - there are times when I am really happy to be a European, and this was one of them! We swapped lots of pilgrim anecdotes - Katja, traveling alone, had had to fend off amorous male pilgrims on a number of occasions!! The Spaniards moved on from wine to some sort of spirit, and invited me to join them... I can't remember what it was called, but it was nice... I recall Chris giving me some sort of warning, but alas I ignored it. Sometime later in the night, it occurred to me that too much alcohol has distinctly undesirable consequences, and that at my age, I ought to know better......
A bit of a grey day, and my body unwilling to work very hard at first, in protest against the night before - but we made a fairly gentle start, which was down hill anyway (losing a couple of hundred metres in the first ten kilometres). The route had no monster hills, but plenty of little ones - two or three miles up, then down again, and so on - we were cutting across a number of river valleys. By now, we were on a main road, the N547, and frequently passed foot pilgrims. We stopped at a café in Melide, and though it was early for elevenses, we decided to have an omelette. Due to a language mix up, three omelettes appeared! They were nice but solid. High speeds were out of the question for the next few miles, until our stomachs had regained their normal size....
As we rode up one hill, we caught up an Italian couple on a tandem; we also saw a couple of Dutch pilgrims on mopeds; riding a moped several hundred kilometres takes a heroic amount of dedication!
A little before lunch, Chris clocked up his 1000 miles, so we stopped for photos.
Further on, we came to a big roundabout, and took the road to Santiago. It was a very wide dual carriageway... and then it dawned on us that we were on a motorway! We gingerly crossed it, climbing the barriers, and got over a fence. This brought us to a small road encircling the airport, which led in the right direction. It was a strange day, because previously, we'd pressed on to our overnight stop, but on this day, we didn't want to arrive in Santiago until Jane had flown in from London. Hannah was coordinating operations, so we sent and received texts. It was time for lunch. We stopped at a bar about 10 km outside the city, enjoyed a beer, and a game of snooker. Then the call came from Hannah - Jane had arrived, time to get to Obradoiro Square, and the cathedral. We sped off, then I noticed something odd about Chris, and I realised he wasn't wearing his helmet! I went back to get it; I wasn't prepared to let him go for it, unprotected! As we rode down to the city, I took extra special care to ride safely, keeping further behind Chris than usual. It turned out we were both worried about having a last minute crash after all the miles we'd covered. It was odd cycling in city traffic, after all the rural roads, and then suddenly, we were in Obradoiro Square, and there were Jane, Hannah and Paul, her boyfriend.
There is a stone shell in the middle of the square, the traditional end of the pilgrimage. Reaching it was a very emotional moment. As we hugged each other, there were tears in my eyes - it was great to see Jane, Hannah and Paul - my mum would have been proud of her boys for completing the journey! While Paul looked after the bikes, the rest of us went inside to say hi to St James in the traditional manner.
There are a couple of things a pilgrim has to do on reaching Santiago cathedral; first, just inside the main doors, you kiss St James on the head, well, his statue's head, anyway, which is quite low, so you put your hands on a column as you bend down, and you find that you are resting your hands in hand shaped hollows, formed by the thousands of pilgrims who have done the same thing before you. I felt a solidarity down the centuries. Then, we made our way to the high altar . Another statue, another greeting - you go up behind the high altar, and rest your hands on his shoulders. They are smoothed by the touch of many hands. When I held the statue, I offered a prayer of thanks for a safe and wonderful journey. Next stop was to visit the office near the Cathedral for our Compostela. This is a certificate awarded to pilgrims on completion of their journey. (More from http://www.csj.org.uk/compostela.htm) It was good to meet the three cyclists from Holland, who had also completed their pilgrimage.
I booked into the same accommodation as Hannah and Paul, just a few yards from the Cathedral; my room was very cheap (10 euros), but had no windows. But the crucial thing was, my bike could stay safely in a basement room. Meanwhile, Chris and Jane booked into a rather more upmarket establishment. After cleaning up, we returned to the Cathedral for the 7 pm Mass. It was a quick affair, and we were lucky to see the huge incense thurible in action. It is about four feet high, and weighs 80 kg. A team of eight men swing it into action, and it swoops through a 180 degree arc, on a cable about 40 metres long. Seeing it is pure theatre; I am not sure what it has to do with religion! I can't remember much about the meal that night, but I think it involved pizza and wine...
The day included three visits to the Iberian Airways office, with Hannah. I'd decided that I wanted to get home as soon as possible, and it seemed that as my return flight booked for Sunday couldn't be altered, my best bet was a flight to London on Friday, 7.30 am, at the cheap pilgrim rate (208 Euros), changing planes in Barcelona, as there were no direct flights. (Cheap flights for pilgrims returning home from Santiago are a benefit of having a Compostela). We also visited a cycle shop which wraps and transports bikes and riders to the airport. (Chris reports the wrapping is too minimalist for anyone actually wanting to protect their cycle from bumps and scratches.) We made sure we went to the pilgrim Mass, (held every day at 12 noon.) This was a more prayerful occasion than the previous evening's, and the singing was led by a nun with a wonderful voice. Pilgrims gave the readings, and it was an uplifting affair. During the offertory, I was remembering friends and well wishers in my prayers. Chris was being more thorough - lots of people, some in England, some along the way, had asked him to pray for them, so he was going through a list - a long list!
Once the flight had been arranged, I packed up the bike, without the bubble wrap and cardboard box this time, just the bike bag. We had an excellent meal at one of Santiago's fish restaurants (well I'm not always a very strict veggie). When we left, I walked to where I'd to get the taxi for the airport in the morning, and checked that there would be some taxis there at 5.30 am - I had consulted my Spanish phrase book especially. On my way back, I passed a bar where Hannah and Paul were having a beer, so I joined them, then got back to my room just before midnight. I finished packing, then went through the essentials - tickets, money, passport.... A little problem - no passport! I knew I'd had it in the restaurant, so I hurried back there. I hadn't looked up the relevant Spanish phrase, but when I said passport, the barman got it down from a shelf - I could have hugged him! (But being English, of course I didn't....) Somehow, the streets looked so much more jolly than on the way to the restaurant!
I slept soundly until 5 am.
The alarm clock did its job, the taxis were at the taxi rank, and the check-in at the airport was straightforward. Flights were fine, my bike and baggage reappeared at Heathrow. I had great difficulty finding my car in the car park, - it took about half an hour. I dumped all my luggage while looking for it. Memo to self: note which section it's in next time! The trek up the motorway was OK though I did have to stop a couple of times for a snooze. It was great to be back home, with some special memories. Would I make the trip again? Yes, but I'd like to ride with my wife on our tandem!
Sponsor Money
When it was all collected, I raised £1000, split between the two causes - the Royal Marsden Hospital's child cancer research, (to see Chris's rather nice sponsor appeal sheet, click here ) and the Palestinian Human Rights organization, Al Haq. The amount was much more than I'd anticipated - colleagues and fellow parishioners were very generous. I sent a cheque for £500 to Chris - he far exceeded his £5000 target, reaching £10 000.I met Khader Rantisi, from Al Haq, when he was visiting England in July, so was able to give him the other share of the sponsor money.
Looking back...
As I write this in 2003, I am trying to think about what it all meant. Just as the ornate, gilded cathedral gave the medieval pilgrims (and us) a glimpse of the wonder of heaven, the pilgrimage echoes the journey of life. There are highs and lows, with help given and received along the way. I recall a ride Chris and I made one day forty years ago, as schoolboys; we rode our heavyweight tandem the 90+ miles from our home in London to Brighton, and back. With some 25 miles still to go, I was done in! Chris pedalled for both of us until getting near home reinvigorated me. His 'angel of mercy' moment on this trip was on the unending climb up to O Cebreiro, when he waited for me with water and food as I inched towards the top. On our life journey, no-one can make the suffering vanish, but they can make it bearable. And at the end, despite our faults and frailties, we reach our goal.
But the life/pilgrimage analogy can break down - you only get one go at life, but you can go on a pilgrimage many times! I had hoped to go back this summer, but that is looking unlikely. However, I am sure that it will be possible sometime, and it will be great - the riding, the fellowship, and the spiritual journey. See you on the road?
Tim Devereux
April 2003