I wouldn’t say things are fully back to normal (I probably need another few hours on the table for that) but, all in all, I feel pretty good this morning so I guess the pain was worth it. We’re definitely on the home stretch now so even though the alarm clock still goes off way too early, once we hit the trail and see the distance markers quickly counting down towards zero, spirits run high.

We bolted out of Palais de Rei to get ahead of the crowds so the is a necessary stop in a quiet little village a few miles in for café con leches, croissants, and a couple glasses of freshly-squeezed OJ. The guidebooks say to get at least two stamps a day on this section as they can get a little picky when it comes time to issue the compostela, so we make sure to get one of those as well.

The horde has defeinitely thinned out and we can go for fairly long portions is relative silence. Every so often we come across a cluster of bodies though, including a few who you can’t help but acknowledge their level of commitment. Respect.

We knock off a couple more towns before finally rolling into Boente. There is something about this stop that must show up in the German guide books as there are more Germans at our albergue than I have seen anywhere on the camino (and we’re not even staying at the German albergue with the huge beer garden on the other side of town).

After a short break by the concrete cube they call a pool, I head to the patio to take care of a few conference calls back home only to find one of my AirPods has gone rogue. Big shout out to the Pension KM66 in Palais de Rei for tracking that down and sending it in a car to Boente at no charge. I guess that nun back on the meseta really did bless this journey.

With the extra 4 miles we did yesterday we are a little staggered now from the mass of humanity following the normal itinerary, so have an hour or so head start on them today. It is actually overcast for a change, so with lower temperatures and much smaller crowds, it is pretty good day to be a pilgrim.

We do get a little rain part way through and have to break out the waterproof jackets for only the second time but, given how dry it has been, it’s hard to be too upset about that.

Our stop for the evening is in Palais de Rei, a reasonably sized city where Nick and I are finally able to get some massages. I’ve been twisted into some pretty unusual shapes by some freakishly strong ladies in Thailand, but I’m not sure anything feels quite as painful as this. I have to assume it is all for the best as clearly there were some issues that needed attention, but all we can do now is cross our fingers and hope everything still works in the morning.

What an amazing country. I feel bad that I didn’t notice it yesterday but knowing we were on our way, some kind locals put up a welcome mural of none other than our beloved Efe Bomba. Gestures like this really do lift our spirits and keep us pushing on to the end.

Something feels different about the trail today. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but looking at these two pictures, one from back on the meseta and one from this morning on the way out of town, there’s been a subtle change.

As i mentioned before, Sarria is the closest city to where a person needs to walk from to earn a compostela so it is also the most popular place for those starting on the camino. I knew this coming in and was prepared for things to get busier but never in my wildest dreams did I expect this. It feels like the long walk back to parking lot after Disneyland closes.

After weeks of near solitude, the noise this many people generate assaults the senses and I have a moment of panic that this is but a sample of what the next 5 days holds. Then I remember our first 20 miles days and, looking down at all the shiny new boots and the blisters they have in store, I get the feeling things might start to open back up fairly quickly.

Sure enough, by the time we close in on Portomarin, the typical stop for this stage, we’re able to find some quiet pockets in between clusters of people that started together this morning.

It is encouraging, but even though we can move faster than the horde, they have already booked up all the available rooms and the closest one we are able to find means another 4 miles. Efe Bomba seems displeased, but I think she’s just upset she didn’t spot this fine, free hat before Nick. Such a sophisticated look. The lice are totally worth it.

Gonzar is but a speck of a town but it comes in the nick of time as, any further, and we’d be looking at a repeat of last year’s Finisterre protest where certain individuals simply sat down in the middle of the trail and refused to go a step further. Just under 50,000 steps is a new record for her though. Not too shabby.

Last day on the bikes and I’m not that sorry to see them go. There’s the pure discomfort, although we have that mostly figured out, but I realize that I miss being able to just zone out like you can when you are on foot. And I miss just talking with the boys. We chat a bit when we stop to rest or take pictures, but it isn’t the same.

Most of all though, I miss watching them spend time together. I have dozens of pictures of them walking side by side, talking about whatever brothers talk about when things are simple and their wholes lives are in front of them, and I know they may never have moments like these again. My feet can’t wait for this adventure to end, but my heart wants it to go on forever.

Galicia is everything that Castilla y León is not. There’s no wheat, the terrain has some contours, and trees outnumber people. We make a stop in O Cebreiro for breakfast before starting our push up and over the ridge that separates us from Sarria. There is some interesting history in O Cebreiro and some other time I could see spending a day here understanding it all but the forecast is for 104 degrees today and we need to keep moving.

We cross the summit fairly early, knowing the worst is now behind us.

The miles we do have left today are almost all downhill and we’re able to beat Efe Bomba’s bus into Sarria, drop off our bikes, and hide out in our air conditioned apartment for a few hours before heading over to the station to meet her. Given how dry it has been the ash raining from the sky is a little disconcerting, but nobody here seems bothered by so it so maybe it happens every Sunday.

Looking ahead, it appears this heat wave is finally ending so the next (and last) 60 miles or so should be comparatively pleasant. The timing is perfect as walking this section is the minimum required to get a compostela and Efe Bomba is dead set on sticking with us the whole way. There are a few pretty long days in there but think she’ll be just fine.

Today is a bit of a good news, bad news story. First the good news. Butt shirts are once again making hours on a bike tolerable and, by sticking to the road, we’ve managed to keep Arandaño Joe from deserting. Best of all, though, is that we somehow managed to find ourselves on a secondary route that circles around the first hill on our map rather than climbing up and over it. This is like winning the lottery as we’re able to cruise through the first 25 miles of this leg.

The bad news is there is no such secondary route around the second hill and the climb is brutal. The temperatures aren’t as high as they have been, but the humidity is awful and sweat is soon pouring down our faces. Which attracts the flies. Oh, the flies.

For two hours all we can do is push our bikes uphill, breathing through our mouths only when necessary to keep the number of flies ingested to a minimum. Efe Bomba meets us on the road and walks us in the last few yards. Our small albergue (La Laguna is so small that there is only one) is a sight for sore eyes

Pilgrim activity is starting to pick up as we get closer to Santiago and accommodations are getting harder to find. Our goal was O Cebreiro, a bit further up and across the border in Galicia, but they are all booked up and we see people coming back down the hill towards us hoping to find some space for the night.

It’s nice enough, although nothing we do gets the air moving through our room to try and cool it down. Efe Bomba is able to find a quiet corner on the tile floor to catch some shut eye but it’s just oo hot for me and I retreat outside passing time with a cold drink and watching the locals wander by our front door (I said it was a small town).

We focus so much on each day, how far we need to go, how many hills we need to climb, what the weather looks like, and so on, that we forget just how much we have accomplished. I remember looking at the map I have on my phone the first few days feeling like the little white dot was hardly moving. I gave up after a while as, after a hard day (which is most of them), it could be a bit disheartening.

However, when Sam asked us how we were making out and I sent him this screenshot, I did a bit of a double take. Holy crap! Are we really almost done?

I figured that somewhere outside of Pamplona, once my calf muscles that were so locked up I thought my Achilles tendons might tear apart finally loosened up, that the most painful days were behind me. Nope. My ass is beyond sore and just standing up out of bed has my things screaming. Once Arandaño Joe found out that you can take a bike on the bus you couldn’t buy that kid a ticket fast enough. So, it is just Nick and I up again this morning, some unintelligible mumbling coming from under the covers as we shut the hotel room door behind us.

The goal today is Ponferrada, roughly 30 miles away and on the other side of a pretty meaty hill. We’ve made a couple of pretty critical adjustments to avoid a repeat of yesterday. First, I have a t-shirt wadded up and stuffed down the back of my shorts. It looks like I’m wearing a diaper but it’s the only way I can bear sitting down (along with 400mg of ibuprofen to dull the pain receptors). And equally important, we’ve agreed to stick to the road where the going is far smoother. It’s no pleasure cruise but, with a few breaks, we manage to grind up and over the summit.

Near the top is an iron cross where many pilgrims stop and place a rock that they have brought with them from home. It is a little less conspicuous than we imagined and by the time we learned about it we were already well into our journey so no rocks from home for us. Maybe next time.

The fun isn’t quite over as even though the back half of the ride is all downhill, it is a steep descent and the cliffs make the cost of missing a corner is pretty significant. We ride the brakes almost the entire way down, the burning smell a reminder to stop from time to time to let them cool.

Near the bottom is the village of Molinaseca. It’s tiny, just one long street it seems, but right on the river at the end of big, old bridge. We pull here for a rest and a few pictures before the final push into Ponferrada.

Ponferrada doesn’t seem to get much ink in the guide books so I don’t have particularly high hopes for this stop, but it turns out to have something for everyone. There aren’t a lot of cities in Spain that have Marriotts but, lo and behold, this is one of them. Then there is the thousand year old Templar castle, built as an outpost to protect pilgrims like us on their way to Santiago de Compostela. There is some debate in our small group as to which building holds more significance.

My positive experience with the butt shirt has convinced Joey to mount back up tomorrow. It is a two climb day so a bold decision on his part, but misery loves company so we’re glad to have him rejoining the squad.

Just when I thought walking a marathon during a heat wave was as bad as it could get, day one of our bike adventure says, “hold my beer”.

For context, none of really ride bikes. Efe Bomba has too many nerve problems so isn’t even attempting it. Nick rides a few miles to school and back (on days he actually makes it to class), and the closest Arandaño Joe and I get to a bike is brushing by one hanging in garage on our way to the car. We don’t have proper shorts or proper shoes. So what could possible go wrong signing up to ride 100 miles through the mountains?

For days we’ve watched bikers cruising by on downhill slopes, a cooling breeze in their faces, thinking how much easier that must be than walking. I even felt a little dirty ripping by my fellow pilgrims this morning on the smooth streets of León. What a difference an hour makes. By mile five, my ass is broken. I’m too proud to ask for the old man jelly seat at the bike shop so now I’m shifted over onto one cheek, bouncing along a rocky trail wondering how I’m even going to make it to our next stop in Astorga much less all the way to Sarria.

The downhills are indeed a pleasant change of pace, but the cost of pushing up the hills fast enough to keep from falling over sideways, helmet trapping in the heat until sweat is pouring down your face is simply not worth it. Not even close.

Out of food, out of water, I’m as close to seeing my spirit animal as I probably ever have been. Joey is miserable. Nick has to talk a good game since this was his dumb idea but I’ve seen him looking better. Just then we see it. It the absolute middle of nowhere, a hippie outpost, complete with water, lemonade, fresh fruit, and cookies. Donations accepted, and by the pile of bills and coins, we’re not the only ones who were in desperate need of refueling.

By the time we drag ourselves into Astorga, slowly pushing our bikes up the final hill, it is just crossing into the single digits. Other than us, the square in front of our hotel is devoid of living things. Efe Bomba has arrived ahead of us and transformed our rooms into a small paradise, with cold drinks, snacks, and, most importantly, cranked up air conditioning. We are beyond happy to ditch our bikes in the garage and slowly try to rebuild our shattered spirits.

Unfortunately, our story doesn’t end here with a good soak in the tub and comfortable night’s sleep as, just our luck, Astorga has some “must see” attractions. So after a quick nap it is time to rally up and cowboy walk across town.

First on the list is the cathedral, a sanctuary of cool stone in the oppressive heat. We’ve seen quite a few of these already and the impact is getting less each time, but those in charge have done a pretty good job here of making things a little more like a museum, with a detailed audioguide to explain the history of all the various nooks and crannies.

Next to the cathedral is the Palacio Episcopal de Astorga, constructed by the church to house church offices and the bishop’s residence. What makes this one unique is that it was designed by Gaudi (although it was finished by another architect who added some distinctly non-Gaudi elements).

All that’s left is finding a place to sit (why does that have to hurt so much?) and have a little dinner before turning in for the night. Pizza again, as that seems to be our go to break from bocadillos and tortillas.

We’re feeling extra tender today from a night of roasting low and slow but still able to find the energy for a relaxed day out on the town. Except for Arandaño Joe, that is, who still has a few toxins he wants to sweat out.

There is a farmer’s market in the square out front of our apartment, which is a perfect stop for some highly-treasured fresh fruit.

That is followed up with a café con leche, slowly for a change, and not simply thrown back in a rush to get on the trail.

From there we just wander. Through the old city. Past some Roman ruins. Through the vibrant downtown core. Eventually we find ourselves by the Convent of San Marcos, part of which has been converted to a luxury hotel that, after a couple of weeks sleeping in albergues, has one of us drooling.

The rest of the building is still accessible to humble pilgrims so we have to check it out.

Just when it seems the day can’t get any better…

That’s the look of pure happiness, and it tears me up inside having to break the news that it isn’t like the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese and no, you can’t swim in the chips.

By this point, Joey has finished his cleanse so we head off to pick up our mode of transportation for the next few days. Of course, there is nowhere to lock them up overnight so the first order of businesses is hauling them up 5 flights of narrow stairs and stashing them in a tiny attic/penthouse. Not a particularly encouraging start.

After some dinner it is actually dark outside, something we haven’t seen for a very long time. It stays light here until well past 10:00 pm and to make our early starts, my bedtime is normally well before that (right after Matlock).

It has been a nice break having no plan and nowhere that we needed to be. We like León and are glad we took a bit of extra time here. There is still is still a lot of meat left on the camino bone though (almost 200 miles) so we know we need to get moving.

Big day on the trail today as, León, the next big city is in our sights. Arandaño Joe is on the grind today but no Efe Bomba. When it comes to spending time walking or spending it shopping she has her limits.

We booked a great apartment on the Plaza Mayor, right in the middle of the old city. It is listed as a penthouse which, in practice, means 5th floor attic in a building with no elevtor converted to a living space. Things could be worse though. Spain could be in the middle of a heat wave, in which case, an attic sounds like possibly the worst place to be. Wait, what? Spain is in the middle of a heat wave?

Alright, it’s not quite that bad. There is a small, portable air conditioner like you’d buy at a Home Depot and if you close all the doors and windows, turn off all the lights, and crank it up as high as it goes, the Little Air Conditioner That Could can keep one small, dark room of the apartment at a livable temperature.

If we’re going to be uncomfortable anyway, it may as well be outside. The upside to leaving so early each day is that, even after hiking 15 miles, there is still plenty of time left to explore. León seems to have much more going for it than either Pamplona or Burgos. Even outside of the old city aside, there are plenty of interesting buildings, public parks, fountains, artworks, and, of course, ice cream shops.

After a lunch of much appreciated Indian food (I haven’t seen rice in weeks!) we head over to Casa Botines, one of just a handful of Gaudi-designed buildings outside of Catalonia. It isn’t much compared to what Nick will see when he gets to Barcelona, but it is still an impressive introduction and, as an added bonus, is air conditioned.

From there we head over to the cathedral, another great place to duck out from 100 degree heat. Like Burgos, this is another giant Gothic-style building somehow funded and constructed at a time the city had only 5,000 inhabitants (about the same size Dawson Creek was when we got a McDonalds).

We have made a game-time decision to do the next section to Sarria on bikes so that we can have a rest day here in León and still make it to Santiago de Compostela in time for our flight to Italy. In retrospect, that would have been a much better decision in Burgos as the terrain from there to here was quite flat. Instead, because we’re stupid, we’ve waited until we’re headed back into the mountains.

For now, it’s huddle time back in the safe room.

We’ve got our routine here – up before dawn, quick snack before hitting the road, followed by something a bit more substantial a few miles down the road. Today, as a change of pace from the lukewarm Spanish Omelette and prepackaged croissants we treat ourselves to smoothies. Still lukewarm, but the food pyramid here skips the middle layer so any fruit or vegetable is a bit of a treat.

It’s another scorcher today – 25 degrees above normal for this time of year – but this part of the trail is reasonably well treed so just when you feel like you can’t go any further, a patch of shade is usually not too far in the distance.

I notice a lot of puzzling signs on our travels and often wonder what sequence of events led the powers that be to decide some visual guidance was is order. One would think not filling a drinking glass from a urinal was common knowledge but, lo and behold, there is a sign warning against that in the Paris airport. Likewise, since there is a village every few miles here with at least one functioning bathroom, why do people need to be told not to poop on the trail and walk away? Quite the conundrum indeed, and all I can say is that while I try to work it out in my mind, I am definitely paying closer attention to where I step.