Camino on the Camino

A soulful bike adventure across Spain and into Portugal — mud, mishaps, friendship, and meaning, all at a tortoise’s pace.

What’s my story? Well, I guess there are a few things to know about me which are relevant to this story:

• I adore my friends.
• I strongly identify with the tortoise: I prefer to travel slowly and carry my home.
• I don't, however, like to carry my bike. When I go for a bike ride, I want to ride my bike.
• For so many reasons, I do not like to fly.

So, when it became clear that my dear friend, Isobel, and her growing family were going to be living in Portugal for the foreseeable, I started to work out how I could go and see them - without taking a flight.

Being a proud owner of a Sonder Camino, fondly named Buzz, it did not take long before a route was developing through the north of Spain, along the Camino de Santiago, before turning left and heading south into Portugal, towards my friend Iso and her family. Riding the Camino on the Camino also sounded pretty neat!

Leaving Portsmouth on the ferry and heading to Santander was the first part of the adventure. Luckily the weather was clear and as we sailed by the French coast I happily looked out from the on-deck training bike, reminiscing about a trip Buzz, my sister and I took along the Eurovelo Route 1 the previous summer. In the evening I rolled out my sleeping mat in the sleeping room (I’d booked a seat rather than a cabin and opted for setting up camp on the floor) and snuggled down for a rest. Tomorrow was going to be a big day!

Arriving at Santander, I joined a group of cyclists that I’d met on the ferry to make our way out of the confusing one-way systems of the city. Having their company through this conundrum was great. After we parted I began to climb. And climb. And climb.

Admittedly, another driver for this trip was to take the Camino on an adventure that involved more gravel. I knew the bike was capable of this terrain, and I wanted to test myself too. Although I now know that I was not prepared for how Komoot defines ‘gravel’; which includes rocks, boulders and muddy cliff edges... I could not tell you how many times I cursed those ‘gnarly tech bros’ who seemed to think that this would be fun, as I lugged my fully, inappropriately ladened bike up the muddy hillside or came to a river to cross, despite passing a perfectly good bridge a mile beforehand!

Knowing the challenge I was taking on, my dear sister made me a playlist which I soon tuned into my ears. Five instructed me to “get on up, when you’re down” and “take a good look” at the impressive mountain scenery, and importantly to “keep on moving”. All Saints, however, telling me “don’t go chasing waterfalls” was less helpful. The rain was falling, the mud was flowing, and I had made my choices! All I kept thinking was: “You’ve bitten off more than you can chew here”.

Regardless, I kept biting. And kept chewing. And the first day did come to an end. I set up my tent at the campsite I’d booked, took a much needed hot shower and ultimately felt proud of the distance that I’d covered and the tenacity that I have to get through such a challenge.

Day 2, and I was ready to take whatever came at me in my stride. Except the lake that Komoot thought it would be a laugh to send me through. Eventually, however, I found the good stuff. Gravel tracks, the sun was out, and I was indeed moving! The vast vultures were constant companions, and despite ending the day cruising into Carrión de los Condes, I wasn’t ready for them to pick at my wasted body just yet. This was the fun bit!

It was day 3 when I finally saw other people and travellers. I had reached the Camino, and I must admit that I instantly began to well up with emotion. It felt clear to me that the level of luggage being carried by pilgrims equated the emotional weight they were carrying. Those heavily laden with scruffy packs, moving with a slow contemplation were easily recognisable against those springing along with daypacks and fresh gear.

How did I fit into this? As a bike-user I did feel separate, and did indeed use separate spaces where appropriate, to give walkers the space they are entitled to. And yet, I was on a journey too. A journey that could have been a 3 hour flight, leaving more time with my friends, rather than a 10 day journey on my own. Hmm... some reflecting to be done on this, but not now. Komoot has just led me away from the Camino path into an overgrown hedgerow.

Emerging from the hedgerow were Valeria, her father and their bikes who I’d trustingly followed. Despite not understanding a word of Italian, cursing Komoot seems to translate across languages!

And I must say, in this instance, I am grateful for this moment, as it bonded the 3 of us and we rode together for the rest of the day, working out the route logistics together. We had a very similar view on when was, or was not, appropriate to be on the Camino route and when we should find an alternative. Riding in company was a great joy, and I found a deep connection with Valeria as we shared our experiences of lockdown. She spoke of learning about the swallows roosting in her hometown near Turin, and the complex journeys they took. With a shared interest in birds and journeys, we swapped Italian/English names of the birds we saw and have kept in touch ever since with stories of our adventures we’re on.

I am sure plenty of people reading this will understand the magic of friendships formed in a moment on a cycle trip.

Even if you are not on a spiritual journey along the Camino, it would be easy to be persuaded otherwise. One morning, I rode towards what I first thought was perhaps a mirage - a refuge with fresh fruit, cakes, nuts, tea, coffee, juice, hammocks, musical instruments... whatever you needed in that moment. And all for whatever you could offer in donation. My heart swelled with delight, my stomach filled with sustenance and my soul was stilled with the kindness of the individuals that host this sanctuary.

This came at a perfect moment as this prefaced another day of big climbing. Thankfully, as I headed up, the air cooled and the quiet Spanish road meandered slowly up the hill at a pace that I found tough, but manageable and enjoyable. It was a great day - I felt strong, felt happy to be on this journey and sailed down to the next campsite where I instantly bought a lime Calipo to refresh me. For dinner, the host brought me a plate of roast potatoes in addition to the pizza I’d ordered - how tired did I look exactly?!

The following day was one of those that upset point 3 listed above... I took Buzz for a really long walk. The hills were just too steep for me to ride, perhaps in general, but especially on my tired legs!

At first, this felt OK. The sun was out and I settled in, called my sister for a chat, and to obey Five’s demands- keep moving. After a couple of hours of walking uphill however, it was getting a bit old. A brief stop to chat to a retired woman who had cycled from Belgium was wonderful, until she left me as she zoomed up the hill on her e-bike (she’d cleverly couriered her bags along the Camino). Regardless, I eventually managed to climb back on my bike and push us up the hill to the top. And, hilariously, I expelled a loud “f**king ayyyeeee!” at the summit. Something I have never said before, or since!

Sitting at the top, I intersected the Camino path and ate some lunch looking at the view. The thing I will take away from this moment, was that every single person passing through stopped to check if I was OK. One of these was a guy who struggled up the hill on a bike. He’d broken his foot walking the Camino, so had hired a bike to finish it, despite rarely cycling! The kindness of people - regardless of their nationality, race, reason for being there - was so evident. After joining in a rendition of Eye of the Tiger at the top of our voices with some Aussie pilgrims, I packed up and set off.

You know what they say: ‘what goes up, must come down’. And I went down. And down. And down. My shoulders and forearms were screaming along with my brakes and whilst approaching a T-junction I realised I had severely worn them down, limiting their effectiveness. In addition, with all the walking, a screw on my cleat had come loose whilst the other was fused in. I felt like poor Black Beauty after his shoe came loose running, scared, through the woods.

Buzz and I hobbled into Santiago de Compostela, both with loose screws physically and mentally, and ready for a rest and scrub up.

Admittedly, I had fallen slightly behind my schedule during the week, so I took the train to Vigo to catch up a bit. This provided me with another beautiful interaction: with Antoine, a young French man who was cycling around Europe making a film about energy consumption, who had also been defeated by the hills in Galicia. We had much in common and rode the next couple of days together, discussing our places in the ‘washing machine of life’, hilariously finding ourselves dancing to covers of ‘Don’t go breaking my heart’ and ‘Man! I feel like a woman!’ along with the elderly couples in the tiny town of O Porriño, at a late-night fiesta, before crossing into Portugal.

I’d made it - ridden to Portugal! But I was not there yet. After some glorious cycle ways that Antione and I splashed along, we met the stormy coast. And the sand dunes. Again, walking Buzz through damp sand was not exactly my idea of a joyous cycle tour, so after a bit of rerouting and research, I managed to get back onto some rideable surfaces.

I said I would come back to how I identify as a traveller, and the purpose of my journey - and here it is: the reason I engage in bike tours is because I love the freedom of the bike and I love a physical challenge. I long for the simplicity of needs on a bike tour: (i) find things to eat, (ii) find somewhere to sleep, (iii) keep moving, one pedal stroke at a time. I suppose some might say ‘Go nice places, do good things’!

I wear a bangle at all times, depicting a tortoise and a hare, which was given to my parents after a hip operation. As mentioned, I identify with the tortoise. I will never be the fastest, and I am not interested in being so. But I want to experience the differences of temperature, the gradients of terrain, hear birds and see wildlife in hedgerows. I want to be able to stop and speak to others having their own slower adventures and feel comfortable to spend this time with them.

This journey in particular was to get to see my friend. So, at this point, I asked myself why I was pushing Buzz through wet sand on my own rather than getting to spend more time with Isobel and her gang. It didn’t take long for me to send her a message: Can I arrive a couple of days early? Of course it was.