by Liz

Miles : 48. Ascent : 3,130’.

Running total : 973 miles.

After breakfast in the family-run hotel this morning I asked about the baby in a manger in the corner of the dining room. Señora Carmén explained it’s Jesús Christo, that he used to come out just at Christmas but now he stays out all year round. We smiled, nodded and agreed amicably – why not?

We set out at 9.30. In the land of a thousand blocks of flats, an elderly couple were hanging out laundry together on their balcony. A nearby sloping orchard laden with fruit was framed by red-tinged maple leaves. Over the top of a steep grassy slope beside the road pumpkins and butternut squash spilled from a hidden vegetable plot. Instead of acorns under our wheels we mostly now have sweet chestnuts, the soft spikes not causing any damage to the tyres. 

I loved being up in the Pyrenees again this morning, stunning views and cow and sheep bells are really my thing. But my favourite moment of the day occurred during the last stretch of downhill through the mountains. A small red squirrel with long pointed ears skipped across the road in front of me with a nut for its winter store. It scurried up a tree and watched me suspiciously while I took a picture. It was a magical treat of a moment and made my day. 

There is a great deal of industry in northern Spain. Small scale industriousness in which every spare space is packed with vegetables, fruit trees or chickens, but mostly all three. And big scale industries. I embraced the industrial estates we rode through yesterday, grew fond of them even, but we’ve ridden through so many today it was a bit much even for me. Large scale industry with the Pyrenees as backdrop made a striking scene today. 

I’ve enjoyed some interesting conversations with Spanish people in the past two days, around the weather in northern Spain in October (a little wet) and how it varies from the rest of Spain (floods), and about what it takes for a marriage to last 50 years (a lot of patience). It’s been a happy surprise to find that I can speak and be understood, 42 years after abandoning my Spanish studies following a linguistic flop of a trip to Spain in 1983. 

We are heading for Bilbao tonight. Today is our last full day’s cycling. There are feelings about this in the camp. Philip doesn’t want to stop. I want to look at where next… we could start EV1 at Nordkapp, where it originates, and follow it in stages to the Algarve, where it ends. Or investigate one of the other EV routes that crisscross mainland Europe. The possibilities may not be endless but there are a lot of options. 

The last miles of the day were hard won, along a fast, busy road (hairy) then a dual carriageway (better, at least vehicles didn’t have to squeeze past us, though some did anyway). The narrow shoulder petered in and out. Then weaving our way through the crowded streets of Bilbao. Each mile seemed to last at least three. 

Tonight we get a taste of a city apartment. It’s in the old town and we’ve manhandled Philip’s bike up three flights of stairs (the lift is teeny tiny and mine just fitted, tilted upright). We’re going to pack differently for tomorrow, instead of things we need in the day in one pannier and things we need at night in the other, it will be things we need on the ferry and things we don’t. What’s certain is that, once packed, we won’t have a clue where anything is. Which will be interesting.