Millipede migration and wind farm forests - 08 Sept, 90km

Today started out flat, and got gradually hillier. Now, not far outside Burgos, the landscape´s gently rolling hills. It´s quite nice to have some variation, though I bitterly observed that whatever hills there are, my road seemed to go over them - as the motorway cruised along on a level I puffed and panted up above it and flew beneath it, cursing the traffic.

It´s been a while since I spoke English.
Portugal was nice, people more or less understood me - I didn´t appreciate it then though, as I had Hannah and Nick to yammer to. Now they´re gone and I´m in Spain, the most intimate conversation I´ve had has been ´where´s the water fountain´or ´Wales. no not England, Wales. Yeah, you probably don´t know it..´

Which is probably why, among the mirages flooding the road ahead I´ve been seeing phantom cyclists- legging it to catch up as they disappear.

The number of real cyclists I´ve bee seeing is going up, though, as I´m pretty much on the Camino de Santiago- the pilgrims route that runs from Santiago de Compostella to... well everywhere as far as I can tell. I´m going to have to find out more about it as according to my housemate Suzanne you can get hostels for 2-3 euro a night, and that´s worth it to stay dry!

The cyclists I´ve seen all seem to take themselves very seriously, in their universal skintight fluoro uniform with the impermeable glasses, heads down, only about half replied to my enthusiastic Hola!´s.

But anyway, I´m happy. My chest is better enough for me to sing again, though not belt it ut like before. It´ll come.

The sun´s out and as it goes down I´m sheltering in a poplar wood, by the Urbel river. The nearby motorway sounds like an ocean if I fuzz my ears, a trick a good friend taught me.