Hi diddly doo neighbor!
Along the river Ebro, Matthew and I dodged dexterously embedded rocks in the pathway to under the bridge. Siesta was over, biking was over, and a calm camp area was found. We were at peace with the world in Spain until… Matt ate all the cookies! Disgusted, angered, and in a fever pitch of rage I searched for the cookies. They were no where to be found. It is more likely that they were forgotten in the super market back in the last city. That, or Matt ate all the cookies! When all hopes of cookies were dashed we settled into a dinner of canned ravioli and bread. Sleep was hard to come by as my mind was playing, over and over, the incident of the lost cookies.
The next day brought us just outside of Utebo to Jose’s, a warmshowers host living out in the countryside. Our bridge troll days behind us and the faith of the possibility of cookies in the future got us to Jose’s with just a little bit of biking on the European equivalent to the “interstate”.
Jose invited his lady friend over for lunch with us because she is learning English and we are native speakers. We could hardly get a peep out of her, though her laughter seemed to fill the room with a warming brightness. Our stay at Jose’s was wonderful and filled sharing stories and new ideas. Hence, in the future when I become bionic with a new hip, I am going to attempt the Transcontinental Race! An unsupported bicycle race from London to Istanbul in 15 days. I’ll let you all in on it when I attempt this feat of cycling prowess.
Jose directed Matt and I into the desert the next day, also the only mountains around. Though, filled with fresh squeezed orange juice, cake, and bananas for breakfast, nothing seemed impossible. Thus, 100 kilometers to where the only lake around didn’t seem to taxing. Ravioli and bread for dinner, plus, you guessed it, COOKIES WITH NUTELLA for desert. Plus the last of Jose’s home made apple cake and Matt and I were sleeping comfortably to the sounds of wild boars.
Back on our time travelling Delorian Trek 520’s, we wound our way to Pep’s place in Alcarras, Spain. Here, we chatted with Pep’s grandmother who knew no English. It was a fascinating conversation and brought bubbles of non-lingual joy to our bellies of mirth and laughter. The day was saved when Pep’s children came home from school and translated that we should wait 20 minutes for their dad to come home.
After some juggling in the yard we met Pep and his wife Yolanda (maybe that is spelled with a J). It was a brief encounter, but a good one. We got the directions to their cottage just outside of Alcarras. Back on our time machines with just 4.5 kilometers to go, the day was winding down.
Pep met us at his cottage, turned on the gas and water and let us be the kings of the country castle. We hung out with the ducks, geese, chickens, dogs, and one bunny. We cooked and had a Basque country drink (.60 Euro wine mixed with Coca-cola). We rested easy, breezy, biker-boys style. Thank you so much Pep for allowing us the use of your beautiful cottage! It was a pleasure to be in such a relaxing environment.
We are about 40 miles from 1,000 miles on our journey. 3 days outside of reaching Barcelona. The sun is high, the wind at our backs (unless I just jinxed us), and broad smiles of genuine wellness spread across our hairy mugs. Before I depart, I will say what I always do. Please share, comment, and play some disc golf. If you so desire, donate to our cause and help out the arthritis community! http://www.walktocurearthritis.milwaukee.kintera.org/arthritisbikes