How did I get here?

On June 14th, 2011, I made the following note to myself in my journal:

I bought a new touring bike last weekend and I really want to start taking trips.

Well, just about 8 years later, I’ve finally done my first legitimate bike tour and it was everything I could ever hope for and more. I’m hooked. This was a trip 8 years in the making.

The road to get here was long and winding. In the first few years after buying my bike, I mainly used it for banging around the city (San Francisco) and it served its purpose perfectly, slicing through the rough city streets like butter. In those years, I took a few day trips and even one overnight trip – but would hardly consider it a bike tour. In 2013, I was planning on a coastal bike-packing trip from Seattle to San Francisco – but unfortunately, a nagging injury developed into something more serious and I was forced to cancel the bike trip and instead I rented a former police cruiser and did an old fashioned national park road trip around the state of Washington reading “Bicycle Diaries” by David Byrne, listening to Talking Heads, doing a ton of camping/photography and taking full advantage of the progressive laws of the great state of Washington.

The injury left me out of commission for several years and in 2016 I fled the U.S. in search of adventure and higher meaning. The bike stayed home. We would be apart for less than 2 years before I could no longer bear the distance between us and decided to take her apart, put her in a box and bring her to Bilbao with me on a plane.

Six months ago, I started riding more seriously and realized that years of physical therapy and my newly discovered love of swimming have prepared my body nicely to have the proper technique to pedal to my heart’s content without aggravating my labrum-deficient hip.

It was time to make the dream happen and do a real bike tour.

I made the plan: Bus from Bilbao to Irun. Train from Irun to Toulouse. Begin bike tour there, loosely follow a Camino de Santiago that passes through Toulouse and make my way back to Bilbao. 50 km a day. I acquired camping gear. Purchased tickets. Did some test rides. Good to go.

Day 1: Toulouse to Carcassonne (107 km)

My alarm went off at 5:30 AM in Bilbao and I immediately jumped out of bed. There was still packing to be done. The bike journey from Toulouse to Bilbo began that day. After an hour of feverish organizing and packing, I departed for the short 10 min bike ride to the bus station. 2 hours later, I was arriving in Irun, right at the border – and I had an extremely tight connection with my train. The bus was delayed due to an uncharacteristic traffic jam and it was a race against the clock to make the 1.5km sprint across the border to the French train station. Adrenaline was flowing through my veins as I booked it at top speed, racing for the border – I felt like an outlaw, escaping the police for the promised land of another country.

I arrived with 10 minutes to spare. From my apartment to another country with a completely different language and culture – in 3 hours – as an American, the proximity of European countries never ceases to amaze me. It’s one of the things I love about living here… you’re always a plane/train/bus ride away to an exotic destination.

After 2 comfortable trains, I was in Toulouse. My Couchsurfing host’s apartment was a 5 min ride from the station. I was warmly greeted and shown around. She was super friendly and a fantastic host. The place was awesome, reminded me of my spot in Oakland – big backyard, garden, overgrown weeds, hammock, communal vibes. French charm.

I spent a day wandering around the city, sampling delicious baked goods, eating an amazing bagel (they’re trendy here) and doing last-minute errands (more camping gas, tubes, food). Toulouse is a cool city; young, a bit gritty, bohemian cafes and bars, vintage vibes. It reminds me a bit of Oakland – but French. The last night we went to an electronic music event on the park – fun vibes in the sun.

On the second day, it was time to officially begin pedaling. The plan had already changed – I decided to start the journey by heading in the opposite direction of Bilbao, down the Canal du Midi – a canal that connects Bordeaux with the Mediterranean and was historically used as a wine shipping route. Nowadays it’s a popular recreational destination, with a bike lane and plenty of cyclists, walkers and boaters. The idea was to follow the canal and cut south to connect to the French Camino de Santiago, La Voie des Piemonts, which passes through the Pyrenees and leads to the typical french route in Saint-Jean-pied-de-port.

Things started off bumpy. My hip had been bothering me from too many unhealthy activities and my back was out of alignment. I felt stiff and awkward on the bike. The canal bike path was busy, there was lots of construction and I made a few wrong turns. After about 30 minutes, the city started to fade, my body warmed up and I started enjoying the ride. The canal is stunning; tree-lined for most of the way, shaded and beautiful views of the water and surrounding nature. The deeper I went along the canal, the stronger my desire was to stay the course. It was so peaceful, green and serene. It was nearly empty as well, maybe one cyclist for every 10km.

I had originally planned for 50km/day – but when I reached that mark, I had no intention of stopping. The hip felt great and despite the heat, I was energized. After recharging the batteries in the sleepy town of Castelnaudary (quiche Lorraine, cheese bread and the most delicious chocolaty croissant ever created), I decided to push through to the historic city of Carcassonne – the official start of the Piemonts Camino.

Earlier in the day, I met a friendly Irish guy working in a cafe along the canal – he gave me some important advice: after Castelnaudary, skip the canal portion because it’s a rough dirt road and take the D6113 – it’s exposed but not too much traffic and way faster than the canal. I trusted him – he had done a 5 month the European bike tour (something I’d like to do one day) – so I followed his advice. According to Google, I had 2.5 hours to go. It was the middle of the day and damn hot. But I felt great; the hip was fully lubricated and my legs were like pistons, burning those delicious french pastries like high-quality gasoline. The road was smooth, mostly flat or downhill and the wind was at my back (literally and figuratively). The road was busier than expected but it was wide enough and most cars passed at a safe distance. I stopped a bunch for water and stretching – but before I knew it, I was arriving in Carcassonne and my Garmin showed 107km. Not a bad first day.

Day 2: Carcassonne to Fanjeaux (37km)

I spent my first night in a hostel in the historic fortress-village on the hillside. I decided to skip the camping option on the outskirts of town (mostly due to exhaustion and the extreme temperatures), plus the opportunity to sleep in a medieval city was too good to pass up.

The hostel was giant but empty and scorching in my room. Maybe camping would have been better – closer to the fresh air and breeze! The fortified village reminded me of La Guardia un La Rioja – basically a fort on top of a hill. Pretty neat. It was rather touristy though, filled with expensive restaurants and wandering tourists.

After spending a sweaty night in the oven of a dorm room, I woke up early to take advantage of the free breakfast. At 7 AM I was already helping myself to thirds of cereal (Cocoa Puffs), bread with generous rations of butter/jam and orange juice. I had some pedaling in store for me, you need to put gas in the machine!

At about 9 am, I was fed, packed and ready to go. It was already alarmingly hot.

The first 15 km weren’t bad. Nice roads and a cool breeze. Rolling hills, vineyards, agricultural fields. The quintessential image of the European countryside.

I reached the town of Montreal – is that where the Canadian city name comes from?! The next stop was Fanjeaux – another ancient Pueblo perched on a hill.

My GPS showed 5km to reach it, but I sighed in dread as I caught sight of the town – it was indeed on top of a hill and the road in was straight, long and completely exposed to the unforgiving sun. I gulped down the last of my water, inhaled some nuts/raisins for extra fuel and focused on the task at hand.

The climb was brutal and I could feel my insides cooking. Sweat was pouring down my face and creating a slurry of sunscreen slime which stung as it seeped into my eyes.

I stopped several times to stretch, cool down and make sure I wasn’t dying. When I finally reached the top, I promptly located a patch of shade and water fountained and proceeded to lay in the shade for 45 minutes. The time was 11 AM and I glanced at the town thermometer: 42 degrees C and rising. My plan was to rest, refuel and revaluate my destination in a few hours. The original plan was to traverse 80km to a mountain village but at that moment it was looking nearly impossible.

After refueling with delicious french baked goods and resting in the shade, I realized that merely existing under a tree was causing my great distress, exhaustion and effort. Pedaling in the sun would be a death sentence. I located the nearest camping – 2km away – and prepared to make the last leg of the journey to shaded salvation.

The ride to the camping was brutal. I started off with 2 full bottles of water but after about 500 meters, they were both nearly empty.

The “2km” ride seemed more like 25 and all uphill – but eventually I made it to the camping oasis tucked away in the countryside and straddling a beautiful tree-lined lake. Surrounding us were fields of sunflowers for as far as the eye could see. Idyllic.

There were a handful of French senior citizens at the site but it was essentially empty. I spent the rest of day building my shelter, laying in the shade, wandering around, taking photos, stretching and simply enjoying the picturesque setting.

As the sun set, I realized how much I miss camping. The rituals of building shelter, making food, existing closer to nature and escaping the confines of modern-day living. Connecting with nature, with friends, with yourself. It’s nourishment for the soul. It was my first night camping since I moved to Spain 3 years ago – why it took me so long to get back into it? A wise person once said to me: it’s not how far you stray from the path but rather how quickly you find your way back. As time goes on, I feel like I’m not only finding my way back to the path, I’m also learning how to create my own path and to walk my own Camino.

Day 3: Fanjeaux to Le Mas-d’Azil (88km)

My alarm jars me awake. It’s 5 AM and still dark outside. Time to get moving and pedal some KMs before the heat crushes me.

75 minutes later I’m on the road. (Coffee, de-tenting, packing and organizing take time).

It’s cloudy, misty, overcast and cool. Incredible contrast from the day before.

I punch into my phone the next pueblo on the Camino – it’s off the main drag and not the most efficient route to my ultimate destination but that’s not the point. I’m doing El Camino por pueblos! The scenery is stunning, misty fields of agriculture. Bucolic countryside. Quaint pueblos. Similar to the pueblos in Spain but different, distinct. The back road cycling is THE BEST. Hardly any traffic, perfectly paved roads, rolling countryside. This is why bike touring exists.

My first official stop is in the beautiful town of Mirepoix. It’s around 7:30 and I don’t expect to find much life; but to my surprise, the local boulangerie is open and I have one of the best baked good I’ve ever experienced: a chocolate-croissant-but-shaped-like-a-rectangle concoction of culinary perfection. A morning visit to a boulangerie is now a requirement for any proper day of French cycle touring.

The pace is consistent but leisurely. I’m stopping for photos, stretches, snacks, selfies, interesting churches and whatever else catches my eye. Sin prisa. The days are long, time plentiful and obligations minimal.

For lunch, I stop in the sleepy town of Pamiers. It has a funky Eugene, Oregon vibe to it: hippie-looking people, lush scenery, eclectic market in the town square.

I load up on groceries and make myself a delicious sandwich. It was time to take a break from the quiches and croissant diet.

After lunch, the clouds burned off and the piercing sun showed it’s face. The destination of the day was a village in the foothills of the Pyrenees – and the climbing began. I continued with the pueblo to pueblo route planning and cycled through some of the most incredible scenery yet. Soul crushing ascents were more than worth the 10-minute descent through sweeping fields of green.

I finally arrived at the campground – completely knackered. I enjoyed the rest of the day relaxing by the river, going for a swim, laying and staring at trees in a state of welcomed lethargy and chatting with my neighbors. Up until that point, my main interaction with people was pointing to baked goods, smiling like a goon and dropping a horribly pronounced “merci”. At the campground I finally met some English speakers: a friendly newly married Dutch couple with adorable little girls traveling around in a brightly painted van. They invited me to have a snack of pasta and we relaxed in the shade while we exchanged travel stories. They’re traveling through France for 2 months; with a 3 and 4-year-old girls!

Sñeaking of other meeting other people – I haven’t seen a single pilgrim on this Camino – not even another touring cyclist (going in any direction). This Camino is clearly not very trafficked – a hidden gem if you ask me.

I went to bed without a clear plan for the next day. Sobre la marcha.

Day 4: Le Mas-d’Azil to Castellon-en-Couserans (68KM – 1,026M Climbing)

I went to bed with no real plan – figured I’d wake up when I wake up and start pedaling – see where the day takes me. At 5:30 AM my internal alarm clock went off and I was on the road by 7. I ate a healthy breakfast of generous portions of rabbit paté smeared on a massive baguette, followed by the obligatory boulangerie stop for a delicious chocolate-creme baked good.

On my way out of town, I came across Le Grotte du Mas d’Azil a massive cave with the road running directly through it. There’s also a giant waterfall that leads into a rushing river and it’s completely surrounded by lush Forrest – simply magical, magnificent – and unexpected. The surprises have been one of the best parts of bike touring – you never know what you’ll come across.

There would be no sun that day – the brooding and mysterious mist was very welcomed and set the tone perfectly for the mountainous landscape.

I arrived in the medium-sized town of St. Girons – stunning, crumbling architecture and full of personality. I spent a few hours in town errands/re-supplying and right before I left I stocked up on much-needed fruit to balance my consumption of delicious baked goods.

Thirty minutes after departing, I realized I had gone 90 degrees in the wrong direction. After consulting the map and pondering my options, I decided to continue in the same direction and simply take the scenic route – which consisted in summitting a massive hill to visit a forgotten village. Life happens when you take adventures, right? The road was one of the most perfect cycling roads I’ve been on – 0 cars, nicely paved, thin and surrounded by Jurassic-Park-esque scenery. The climb was hard but the payoff was worth it – the village was magical and the descent lasted for 30 minutes and passed through some of the most pristine scenery I had seen so far on the trip.

It was time to find a camping spot for the night – I meandered through a few villages in the valley and randomly came across a dude that yelled something at me in French. I responded in English and it turned out he was an English dude, Samuel, who lives in the tiny village and grows strawberries for a living. He quickly informed me he had been drinking all day and invited me in for a drink. At this point, I was desperate for human communication – I hadn’t seen a single pilgrim on the road and I don’t speak French – I appreciate my alone time but after 4 days you start to crave social contact. He seemed harmless enough so I went into his house for a glass of wine. He was very hospitable – offered to house me for the night and cook me a meal. It was a rustic spot and he gave me the tour – however, I had to decline his invitation to visit the basement – it was straight out of Silence of the Lambs – he had to move the couch to open the door and the steep ladder led to complete darkness. The guy was a bit wacky and seemed harmless but no way would I agree to visit his basement layer. He had an interesting life – an Afghan war veteran who moved to France with 5 euros and lived in the mountains for months. There was something about him dating an older french woman and somehow he acquired a dilapidated house in a forgotten french village and makes a living selling strawberries and zucchini to his neighbors. Yeah, good decision not visiting the basement…

I made an excuse to leave and then cruised to the next town for a wet night at the municipal campsite. “Camping municipal” sounds bad in English but it is still better than any campsite I’ve been to in the US. French campsites are the best – lots of showers, big sinks for washing dishes, large plots, electrical hookups and sometimes even WiFi and pools. Camping, baked goods, magical villages, delicious cheese – add it to the list of things the French do better than anyone else.

Day 5: Castellon-en-Couserans to Aspet (40KM, 770M Climbing)

The day was slow to start. Wet night. Bad sleep. Exhausted from massive hills the day before.

The broken record continues: lush forests, incredible views, picturesque villages. After a few hours of pedaling, I stopped in a small town that felt like it belonged in the swiss alps.

I had a coffee at the only place in town – a hotel/restaurant. The one guy working there seemed really annoyed that he had to serve me a coffee and was aghast that I asked if he spoke Spanish or English: “No! French.” It was one of the few experiences I’ve had that fulfill the stereotype of the French being rude/arrogant – 99% of the French I’ve interacted with have been really nice.

After an hour of taking in the vibes of the small town, enjoying my coffee and constructing a beautiful sandwich, I continued the journey upwards – spending the next few hours summiting ‘Col de Portet-d’Aspet’, a 1,000m+ mountain. For extra motivation, I started playing music from my phone, simply using the built-in speaker. It gave me a ton of energy and broke up the monotony of pedaling. Next time, I want to bring a Bluetooth speaker so that I can enjoy it even more!

The scenery was stunning – it felt like I was in a cloud forest of Panama, especially on the descent. Super wet, misty and lush. The descent was a bit nerve-wracking – my brakes are due to be replaced, it was super steep and the ground was wet. I made it to the bottom without any mechanical failures but was exhausted mentally and physically.

At this point I had only got 40km and felt like I SHOULD keep going, but the only thing I wanted to do was eat and rest. In the end, I listened to my body, went to a supermarket to stock up on goods and found the campsite in town – a beautiful spot along the river surrounded by trees and gardens.

After eating, I felt way better. For meals, I’ve been eating a grain [quinoa, pasta, rice] with a canned protein [tuna, beans, lentils]. For flavor, I use baggies of spices that I brought, dried chicken broth tabs, mustard or oil. The system works well – it’s quick to make with a simple stove setup, the food doesn’t expire, it’s available everywhere and can be surprisingly tasty.

I realized that I hadn’t been eating enough – nutrition on a bike is tricky – you’re burning so many calories that you need to compensate by eating more. It’s insane how you immediately notice that you have more energy after consuming nutrient-rich delicious snacks like a banana doused in Nutella.

I spent the afternoon building camp, swimming in the river, washing my clothes and relaxing. Swimming in natural rivers or lakes is the best – especially on a hot day after doing physical exercise. Once again, the campsite was nearly empty and there was not a single other pilgrim in sight. My original plan was to follow a Camino de Santiago that passes through France so that I’d have a chance to meet other people – and not just be a random dude on a bike, cycling through France by himself. But, I had no idea that the Camino I picked is not very trafficked at all. The only real signs of it being a Camino where random villages that had signposts indicating the direction and distance to the next stop on the Camino. It was a different experience than expected, but I was able to find my own enjoyment and beauty from the solitude. My hope was that when the Camino joined with the mythical, and most popular Camino Frances in St. Jean-Pie-du-Port, there would finally be a much more robust Camino vibe with plenty of other pilgrims to meet. For now, my main social interaction would be talking to myself on the bike and having simple conversations in English with French people working at the campsites.

I had an excellent night of sleep. I took the time to set up the tent properly – it takes some tweaking to get the lines with the proper tension and placement. The tent is super lightweight – it only requires 6 stakes and a hiking pole to stake. I’m very happy with it and looking forward to using it on future adventures.

Day 6: Aspet to Lourdes (99KM and 1,200M Climbing)

Woke up before dawn feeling well-rested, healthy and full of energy. By this point, I had developed a well-honed morning routine of taking down camp and preparing for the day. With military-like precision and focus I stuffed my sleeping bag into it’s sac, rolled up the mat, prepared coffee, took down the tent and packed my things in bags. It’s a process that takes over an hour. It’s a bit cumbersome at times and frustrating because I had too much stuff to fit inside the bags – each day I improvise a very scientific process of bungee-cording the hell out of the back of my bike to attach all my crap.

Anyway, I was planning a big day knew I needed fuel for the trip. I had a delicious breakfast of a baguette smeared with rabbit pate. The bread here is simply amazing – and even the pate was incredible despite being a cheaper store brand.

I was off and pedaling before dark – chowing down on cookies for extra energy. As I mentioned before, it’s crazy how noticeable the effect of eating food is when you’re on a bicycle – you get an instant kick of extra energy.

Before lunch, I had already done 40-50kms and was in desperate need of some real food. I was in the middle of nowhere, but found a small village on the route with a single store open. I bought ingredients for a sandwich: avocado, delicious french cheese, amazing french baguette and incredible jamon. I proceeded to create one of the best sandwiches in my life – I’d consider it a work of art. I added all the above ingredients plus the rabbit pate and olive oil. Pretty sure I had a religious experience while consuming this divine creation. It helped that I was ravenous after hours of pedaling.

The day was cloudy so the heat/sun didn’t prevent me from continuing in the middle of the day. I pedaled for hours, passing through varied landscape of the French countryside. I put on the soundtrack of Final Fantasy VII, an RPG video game that I played as a kid [also the best game ever created]. The game is essentially an epic story of a protagonist that travels to new worlds, fighting evil spirits and questing for an answer to his existence – the soundtrack was a perfect companion to my adventure; exploring foreign lands, arriving at small villages, replenishing my health with sleep and food. It helped power me through the rest of the day.

My destination was Lourdes and about 20 km outside the city I came across a cyclist and we started chatting. I had seen her earlier in the day and turns out she was doing a day trip, lives in Lourdes and she and her husband are cycling junkies. After 5 minutes of conversation, she offered to host and feed me for the night – without even considering it for a moment, I agreed! I was craving social interaction and a home-cooked meal, shower and clean clothes sounded amazing. Ingrid and her husband Lorenzo, were amazing hosts. She washed my clothes, made an amazing dinner and Lorenzo helped me lube my chain and patiently showed me how to test if the chain needs replacement [mine is on the last legs of it’s life]. The experience was wonderful; it was awesome to share a meal and experience with locals and exchange cycling stories and future plans. I was craving some social interaction and it was just what I needed. The dinner was delicious – ingredients from their local garden – everything fresh and healthy. The next day, I departed feeling well-rested, energized and refreshed. To top it off, Ingrid gifted me an extra pair of sunglasses that were much needed! It was a fantastic experience.

Day 7: Lourdes to Oloron Sainte Marie (68 KM, 673M Climbing)

I had a nice breakfast with Ingrid and by 8 AM I was on my way. As I was leaving she insisted I take her extra sunglasses since I didn’t have any! What a generous person. I’ll definitely pay the hospitality forward to another cyclist – we need to look out for each other!

Lourdes is an interesting place. It’s nestled in a beautiful valley, surrounded by green mountains and has many beautiful, historic cathedrals. Surrounding the main cathedral are 100’s of hotels and hoards of tourists from all over the world – making a religious pilgrimage to the cathedral. Something about God speaking to a nun – didn’t quite catch the story. It felt like Disneyland! Tour groups, tourist trinkets, hoards of buses. It was a shock to see so many people after an essentially empty and solitary Camino. Passing the cathedral is when I finally started to see some clear signage indicating the Camino. Up until that point, the only visual indications wee tiny plaques in small towns.

In 20 minutes I was in nature again and away from the tourist nightmare. The ride was beautiful, varied landscape, green, a bit drier and hotter than the deep mountains. A bit of a lake Tahoe in summer vibe.

A few hours into the ride I came across one of the only other cycle tourists I encountered on the trip – David from Andalucía. He was a character – loaded to the max with 5 panniers, a box in the back and his 11-year-old dog! He passionately described to me his vision for the trip which is basically a 2-year inter-Europe sojourn. He’s hitting tons of peaks and going at a relaxed pace – the dog forces him to take it slow but he enjoys the tranquil rhythm. It was fun to connect with another biker. At this point – I had been alone with my thoughts for 7 days – I practically jumped off my bike in excitement when I saw him. I don’t mind the solitude – in fact, I welcome it – but after 4-5 days I definitely start craving social interaction. At this point, I was essentially on a beeline to St. Jean-pie-du-port – the Mecca of Camino villages – it’s where all the french Camino’s converge and where the majority of Spain pilgrims begin their journey. There would sure to be pilgrims there!

David recommended a fantastic riverside picnic spot to have lunch and wait out the heat. I did just that from 2-5pm in the afternoon – made food, swam in the river and took a mini-siesta.

The afternoon ride was generally flat and the overcast weather saved me from the sun. In two hours I was cruising into the historic town of Oloron Sainte Marie which has a really cool vibe to it – lots of neat decaying buildings, it’s nestled along a river and surrounded by mountains. I arrived at the camping as they were closing but was able to nab a spot and buy two cold beers. I put on Tom Petty and drank the beers as I was setting up my tent – pretty sure I was the only one there celebrating July 4th. Feliz cumpleaños América!

Day 8 : Oloron Sainte Marie to San Juan Pie de Puerto (77 KM, 855M Climbing)

Slow morning. Chatted with some fellow bicycle tourists – a couple (Swede and Frenchman) who were traveling around the Pyrenees hitting massive peaks. They were loaded with gear – front and back panniers and needed to fix their brakes because of so many descents.

Boulangerie on the outskirts of town. I was extra hungry this morning and needed to carb up for the 80+ km day I had in store for me. Ate a delicious grilled cheese type delicacy and a decadent sweet chocolate thingie.

The riding was beautiful – but by the 8th day, I started to feel a bit burnt out on another day sitting on a bike for 8 hours straight. I was out of the mountains and the scorching weather returned. 3 hours later I arrived in the first real Basque town on my trip: Mauleon-Licharre. It has a dusty, wild west vibe – but with a Basque touch of course. It was midday and I was desperate for water but couldn’t find a fountain anywhere! I eventually landed at a very local bar filled with old men drinking. The bartender was super nice; spoke Spanish with me, filled up my bottles, stamped my passport and when I tried to pay for my pica (beer and lemonade) he wouldn’t let me!

On my way out of town, I got lost and my phone didn’t have service so I asked a friendly-looking lady for help. She only spoke Basque and French – first time knowing Basque would have actually been useful! In the end, she was nice enough to escort me out of town for a few km and point me in the right direction. Que maja!

It was about 1 pm and super hot. The plan was to get to the next village 5km away and take a midday break to avoid the heat. It would be 40km and I was only halfway done. I arrived at the village and found a nice grassy area next to a picnic tablet (similar to the day before). It would be my home for the next 6 hours. I did a lot of laying, ate a giant meal of pasta, lentils, cured meats and bread, took a dip in the river, caught up on journaling and phone stuff and generally lazed about in the shade. My tarp has been coming in handy for laying on the grass – it’s original purpose was a footprint for the tent but I’m realizing it’s a multifunctional tool. Anyway, at around 6 pm I started packing up – still had a 40km ride with plenty of uphill. It was still 30 degrees C – but I needed to get going to avoid biking in the dark. I was NOT looking forward to it.

What proceeded was one of the most mentally challenging portions of the journey. It was hot. I was tired. Full of pasta. The last thing I wanted to do was pedal. Of course, the first 45 minutes were a slow climb to 500 meters. It was miserable. It was then that I decided to take a zero the next day (0km pedaled) and enjoy the Camino de Santiago mecca that is St. Jean Pie de Port.

I finally arrived at the campground – a rustic site nestled in between farms about 2 km outside of town. I went to bed exhausted and excited to have a day of rest and potentially meet other pilgrims for the first time on this journey.

Day 10: Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port a Roncesvalles (33km – 1,134m Climbing)

I took my first day off yesterday. After 9 straight days of moving locations and cycling every day, it was time for a rest. The sense of adventure and excitement is appealing, but after awhile it gets a bit repetitive and tedious. It’s necessary to rest and do something other than pedal on a bike. Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port was the perfect place to recharge the batteries and relax.

The town is located at the foothills of the Pyrenees and holds important historical significance, being the ancient capital of the Basque province of Lower Navarre as well as the convergence of all the Caminos that pass through France. Nowadays, it’s the most popular place to begin the most popular route to Santiago: El Camino Frances. For that reason, there are tons of Camino resources, albergues, tourist shops and pilgrims. It’s a quaint village with a beautiful cobblestone old town.

I spent the morning wandering around the town and met some interesting people. In one sports shop, I found a fantastic map of all the Caminos that pass through Europe as well as Smartwool socks; the best pair of socks in existence. I have 3 pairs that I brought with me to Spain and they have been my main socks for the past 3 years. The owners were friendly and we chatted about how great wool gear is. Later on, I wandered into the “mission control” of the Camino; essentially an information office for all things Camino. It’s where the majority of pilgrims start their journey, so it was a bustling place; I chatted with a friendly lady from North Carolina who loves the Camino and came here to volunteer for a week. The job consists of giving out information, answering questions and helping pilgrims begin their journey. It sounds like a really cool opportunity and being a Camino junkie myself, the seed has been planted for the next summer to possibly volunteer there.

The next day, it was time to continue the journey and summit the mythical mountain pass that separates France and “Spain” (don’t call it Spain to locals, it’s Navarra). As usual, I began the journey early to beat the heat – but it would not be necessary that day as I was cloaked in a blanket of fog and mist for the entire journey. I followed the detailed route for bikes that I was given at the Camino information center – it called for exiting the main road and following some backroads. This turned out to be a disastrous decision. The ground was super wet and in some parts extremely steep. I reached a point where it was literally impossible to continue on my bike – I had no traction, no speed and the incline was too extreme. I had to completely dismount all my bags, repack things and then walk my load up the hill by hand, then return for my bike. A bit of a rough start to the day. I vowed to stay on the main road from then on.

I was already low on energy and stopped at a bizarre shopping mall located on the border in the middle of the mountains. One minute I was on a remote mountainous road surrounded by intense forest and the next I was seeing what appeared to be a shopping mall and a bunch of outlets. It was right on the border, so I assumed it had something to do with taxes and being able to sell goods more cheaply. I found a familiar-looking restaurant/bar and knew that I had crossed the border. I loaded up on a cortado, bocadillo and chocolate thingie and then made the mistake of asking “Are we in Spain now?” and the server quickly corrected me, “Estamos en NAVARRA!”. [Facepalm] In the Basque Country some people can be offended if you use the “S-word” when referring to their land. Feeling like a dumb tourist, I continued on my way…

I continued to climb and met my second cyclo-tourist of the entire trip; a German guy who was doing a trans-Pyrenees hiking/biking trip (not the Camino) and I pedaled with him for a bit. It was nice to have a companion (even if it was only for a few hours) and he set a fast past for me to keep up with. After hours and hours of slowly ascending through the mist, we arrived at the top. The views were non-existent as we were embedded in the middle of a cloud. It should be noted at this point that the scenery was some of the most intense, cloud-forest, jungle-esque scenery I’ve seen. It was gnarley. I felt like I was in the cloud forrests of Panama or Olimpic National Park in Washington. Extremely mountainous and wild landscape.

After descending for 10 minutes, we were already at our destination of Roncesvalles – more of a Camino outpost than an actual town. It has a historic church and a famous 300 person albergue for pilgrims. I stopped to have a snack and debate my next move. Up until this point, I had not met a single pilgrim. I was craving social interaction and wanted a taste of the Camino culture. But at the same time, I was a cyclist with a bunch of camping gear. My original plan was to stay in the albergue to immerse myself in the Camino experience, but now that the moment had come, I was having doubts. With all my gear, would I even fit in the albergue? It sounded more like an ordeal, to unpack everything, carry it in, try to find space, etc. There was a bunch of construction around the albergue, so even getting the bike and gear to the entrance would be an ordeal. In the end, I decided against it – that I’m a cyclist and I just didn’t fit in with the concept of staying in an albergue (the majority of people there are walkers). I decided to go to the next town where there is a camping spot and I would be sure to meet some fellow pilgrims.

Fast forward 30 minutes, I arrive at the camping spot and it looks like another place filled with kids and families, not another pilgrim in sight. I struck out again! At this point, I started to come to the realization that doing the Camino by bike is a completely different experience than walking. This logically makes sense and many people have told me this, but I was finally experiencing it for myself. Bicycle touring is awesome but it’s completely distinct from the Camino walking experience. You don’t interact with pilgrims in the same way because you move at different speeds and you literally don’t even take the same road (unless you have a mountain bike). I realized that I was trying to fit the concept of the Camino into my bike trip and it wasn’t working. I was getting frustrated but then started to just accept that it’s own experience and to appreciate the beauty for what it was.

Day 11: Roncesvalles to Logroño (142km – 1,607M Climbing)

The day ended a bit too early yesterday. I only did 30-something km’s and felt like I missed out on the Camino experience (of meeting other pilgrims). I vowed to make the next day worth it. The new goal was to make it to Logroño by the following day to visit my Spanish birthplace (the first town I lived in) as well as my good buddy Matt, a fellow American refugee of the same age that has also seen the light of living in Europe.

It rained the night before and my tent held up nicely – I was warm and dry all night. I felt motivated and ready to crush some KM’s that day – by 6:30 AM, I was pushing my bike out of there, with the stretch goal of Estella, a sizeable town on the Camino which would put me at around 90KM for the day.

The first 40km flew by, mostly downhill and nice scenery, as I descended from the mountains through the north of Navarra towards the famous city of Pamplona. It took me about an hour to get into Pamplona; Google maps kept leading me on wacky routes but I eventually made it. I could have skipped the city completely, but there was no way I would go around it; the famous festival of San Fermines was happening that week; it’s essentially the most famous thing about Spain in Amerca: the Running of the Bulls. It’s actually the first thing I ever remember learning about Spain when I was in 7th grade in Mrs. Scazzafava’s class. I remember her relating some horror story of how a runner got gored through his abdomen; she seemed to be highly against the tradition. Anyway, it has always held a mythical place in my brain as this icon of Spanish culture. That vision has changed over the years that I’ve lived here and a few years ago I went for the first time and saw the bulls run in the morning. Anyway, I wanted to check it out again, this time on bicycle.

I spent a few hours wandering around, chatting with people, taking some photos and fueling up on carbs. During the middle of the day, the party is a bit more mellow but there’s still tons of energy in the air; lot’s of people dressed in white and red, wandering the streets, having drinks to get the party started and enjoying the festivities.

After refueling, it was time to continue the journey. The sun was still out, but clouds were looming. I felt refreshed after carbing up on a ton of food and a cortado to give me that extra spark of energy. I pushed on and on, body feeling strong and mind focused on the goal. It was after Pamplona that I realized that I could possibly make it to Logroño that day. I messaged Matt to let him know to possibly expect me later that day (barring mechanical failure or human injury).

After a few hours, I was crossing into familiar territory of El Camino Frances – I have essentially walked it from Jaca to Burgos, so I’m familiar with the towns. Once again, I stopped at the mythical Wine fountain of Irache – it’s a winery on the Camino and attached to the building is a fountain that dispenses wine. I stopped for a drink and reflected on past memories of the last time I visited the fountain – how things have changed since then.

The next 3-4 hours were a blur of pedaling and intense focus on the goal; get to Logroño. The forecast called for electrical storms and it was not wrong – I had Matt google “can you get struck by lightning on a bicycle” and he told me not to worry. I could hear thunder and lightning but it hadn’t started to rain yet. I was about 90 minutes from Logroño when I reached a fork in the road; I could go on a more direct route (with less elevation gain) or I could go on the official Camino route passing through a historic village. Without thinking, I opted for the more direct route. This would be a terrible choice in retrospect and would begin one of the worst stretches of my trip.

The road was completely isolated in the beginning – at least 20km without a single village nearby. I silently prayed that this wouldn’t be the point where my chain broke or I got my first flat (I was long overdue for a bike issue). The scenery was ugly and flat. It began to rain. I continued with the singular focus of reaching Logroño – there was simply no other option.

I finally started seeing signs for Logroño and that’s when I entered the industrial hell. I had only heard about this part of Logroño – I wouldn’t even consider it part of the town – it’s on the extreme outskirts. Lots of cars, traffic and factories bellowing pollution and smoke into the atmosphere. It was dumping rain at this point, I was soaked and stressed from all the cars roaring by.

I pushed on and on, cursing myself for taking this dreaded route into the city. I FINALLY entered the city, passing the cemetery and the ancient bridge crossing the Ebro river and arriving in the city. I took a quick photo and then made my way to the tourist office to get a stamp in my pilgrim passport – I earned this one. When I finally arrived at Matt’s place, I glanced down at my Garmin – 142KM – the longest ride I’d ever taken in a bike – and loaded with gear. I was a walking zombie, completely destroyed, but also feeling elated and energized on reaching my goal and moving myself such a far distance. I had come a long way from having hip problems, surgery and years of recovery. It was great to see my friend Matt and we celebrated with some delicious burgers and fries. Without a doubt, the next day would be a 0 – a day of rest and no cycling.

Day 13: Logroño to Villanañe, Álava (93KM, 781M Climbing)

My day off was great; I caught up with Matt, lounged about, had a nice, lazy day. There was a swing dancing event in town and my legs were surprisingly functional after the 142km ride the prior day! It was awesome to have some extended social interaction with a close friend after nearly two weeks where my closest companion was my long haul trucker (my bicycle).

I stubbornly wanted to complete the journey back to Bilbao, via bicycle. There would be no taking a bus; that’s cheating. My body and spirit were exhausted with cycling though. Nonetheless, I ventured out at around 11:30 AM from Logroño with the goal of stopping at a campsite halfway between Logroño and Bilbao – putting the distance for the day at around 90km.

It was a huge mistake to leave so late and cycle during the hottest part of the day. The day was scorching hot, the road completely exposed and filled with cars whizzing by. I had a shoulder, so I felt safe, but it was very unpleasant. The sun sucks the energy out of you and makes it a constant uphill battle to continue. I took frequent breaks and ate a lot of junk food (cookies, ice cream, gas station packaged goods). It took all of my energy to keep the desire to pedal alive. I only took a handful of photos that day – no energy would be wasted ok creative pursuits – only moving my legs in a repetitive fashion to propel me to my destination.

I stopped in the dusty village of Cenicero to refuel and met a lovely lady who has a tiny snack/bread shop. She warmly asked me about the journey, told me she’s always wanted to do the Camino and let me sample her delicious baked goods. We chatted about the Camino for a while, she told me about her family and when it came time to leave she insisted we hug it out. It was a bright spot in an otherwise grueling day of cycling and too much sun.

I pushed on through the oven of the Ebro valley and traversed the small city of Miranda del Ebro. At this point, I was highly annoyed with everything and it came to a head when I was out of water, found a fountain but it was bone dry. I cursed my bad luck and continued onward, eventually buying some sugar water at a gas station. (aquarius).

I eventually started to escape the heat, the sun started to set and I cruised the final 20km to the remote camping location near some national parks. The scenery began to improve as I entered my adopted Homeland of Euskadi. The camping was ok, but overpriced and I was crammed into a spot surrounded by a fence and camper vans. I was so exhausted that I didn’t even care. I was tucked into my sleeping bag before the sun went down, dozing off to sleep. I vowed to get up as early as possible to avoid the blazing heat the next day. The final day loomed; I had nearly achieved my goal of cycling home from France.

Day 14: Home

The final day was a bit of a disaster.

It started off just fine; I woke up before the sun came up and was off and pedaling as it was rising.

I had a feeling that something was going to happen; a flat tire or a broken chain. Up until that point, I had had good luck on the bike – no mechanical failures. As I was descending over the Orduña pass, I noticed a weird sound in my chain and looked down and saw a tiny piece hanging off of it. Uh oh. Two minutes later, the chain snapped. Without a chain, you can’t pedal. Great.

My only option would be to push the bike to the top of the pass and ride it down. There were no cars on the road so hitching a ride would be unlikely.

A few hours later, I summited the peak and enjoyed the views of the gorgeous Orduña valley below. It looked like Jurassic Park – I expected some pterodactyls to start flying by me. I hopped back on the bike and rode the mountain all the way down to the Orduña train station in the valley below. Defeated, I loaded the bike on the train – in an hour I would be arriving in Bilbao.

It could have been much worse, and I was lucky that the chain didn’t break the previous day – it would have been a lot more complicated logistically to go anywhere.

I was ready for the trip to be over and very grateful for all the adventures I had. I’ll definitely be bike touring again in the future. It’s truly a wonderful way to travel and see the world.