The Final Day!

Paul´s dinner in Melide with our four Spanish friends must have been quite an event. I am told, because by this point, I was sound asleep. They went to a local restaurant know for its pulpo...octopus. Apparently, a 70-something year old woman smashes the octopus with a mallet. There appears to be some technique that goes along with this procedure that this woman possesses. Mash it too hard and it´s ruined, not hard enough and it doesn´t taste very good. According to Paul, dinner was actually quite good. And as usual, there was quite a lot of drinking involved. Since I was not there, I became the object of a lot of toasts by our friends. Paul says they bent their elbows quite a bit toasting me. I think any excuse would have sufficed.

The next morning started much like it ended. It had rained all night and showed no sign of letting up. We went downstairs for breakfast. Our friends Fernando, Jose, Jose Maria and Francisco were already eating and trying to decide what to do. They were on a tight schedule. They had to a 7:30 flight that evening out of Santiago back to Barcelona. Jose had a flat tire so they quickly changed it, hoping the rain would let up. It didn´t. With 50 kilometers left to Santiago, they decided to take a bus in, rather than risk their flight. They asked us to join them, but Paul and I begged off. After riding so far on our own power, we did not want to make the last leg of our journey by bus.

We wished our new friends well and said we hoped to see them once again, perhaps in Barcelona. As they took off, Paul and I nursed our coffees while we decided what to do. The night´s rest had done me a world of good. My legs definitely felt better. But I did not relish riding my bike in the pouring rain. We talked over our options. We could spend the day in Melide and hope the weather cleared the next day. However that came with no guarentee. We could just go and try to push ahead. I did not like that option. As we sat without making a decision, the rain started to slow down. We waited another half an hour. The rain appeared to be letting up, so we decided to try to reach Arzua, about 15 kilometers away. We would make a final call there. Once we passed Arzua, there would be no stopping without turning back and neither of us wanted to go backwards.

We packed up our bikes in the drizzle and started walking through town. We stopped at a small store and bought some rain ponchos. I also had a garbage bag with me, so I crafted a rain coat out of it and put it under my jacket and put the rain poncho over my jacket. It did not feel as cool as the day before, so Paul and I pushed off towards Arzua.

The biking did not feel too bad. My legs seemed to be holding out okay. The only problem was on the downhills. When you were moving slowly, the rain felt like a drizzle. When you picked up speed on the downhill, the rain felt like a driving storm. It made it hard to see. Because of the rain, we opted to stay on the road, which I hated. The traffic flew by at un-godly speeds and everywhere were the reminders of those drivers that didn´t quite make the turns. Littered next to the road were the smashed and broken remains of the markers that were supposed to show where the edge of the road lay. I definitely did not feel safe riding along side the road with the occasional hubcap and shattered glass also decorating the journey.

When we reached Arzua, the rain subsided. Paul and I made the call to push on ahead to Santiago. We looked at our map and decided to try some of the camino a little further up the road. We left our point of no return and headed off for the final stretch.

We wound our way through some of the camino path. Although it had rained, the ground was not too soft, so even though it was a little slower going than on the road, I felt a lot safer. I was also starting to have some brake trouble. My back ones were not holding to well and my front one kept popping out. Before every downhill, I had to check to make sure the front brake was attached.

As we rode on, the day actually became rather pleasant. The rain stopped and the sun attempted to break through the clouds. As we peddled on the camino, we passed various pilgrims along the way and wished them a ¨buen camino.¨ The path was surrounded with eucalyptus groves, ferns and ivies everywhere. It was beautiful riding.

We decided to stop for lunch at a little bar by the side of the road, where the camino crossed over. While eating, we met a lovely American woman who was one day away from completing her camino. She had been walking for 29 days and the next day would be in Santiago. We enjoyed chatting with her and hearing of her plans. After the camino and a vacation, she would be spending the next 7 months or so traveling through Asia and other foreign locales. We wished her well and told her we might see her in Santiago and would enjoy a celebratory drink should we see her again.

It seemed as if we only had about another 10 kilometers to go. But it seemed to take us forever. We arrived at the Monte de Gozo, where every pilgrim first sets eyes on the city of Santiago. After more than 10 days on the road, peddling more than 700 kilometers, it definitely was a welcome sight. We spent some time exploring. There was a giant monument commemorating John Paul II and his trip to Santiago in 1993. We also savored the fact that our evening would end with no more biking!

We headed off down the hill. Paul quickly reached the bottom and I gingerly followed as the hill was steep. We turned the corner and reached another downhill. Again, I stopped to check my front brakes and continued on down. However, even though I had connected the brakes, the first time I pulled on them, they popped out! Now at this point, I continued to pick up speed downhill. I had a death grip on the back brakes to no avail. The bike was not slowing down. At the bottom of the hill was a house. To the right was a drop off and to the left, a patch of grass with trees. My only thought was to get the bike to slow down. I dropped my right foot and started trying to drag it to slow down, but my biking sandal kept jumping off the road. I started to turn towards the grass in the hopes that if I had to crash it would cushion the blow. All I kept thinking was how ridiculous to come so far just to crash before I actually arrived in Santiago. I jammed my foot down again and managed to keep it down on the ground. The bike started slowing down. I finally came to a stop. I must say that I have never been so scared in my whole life. That free-falling, out of control feeling was absolutely terrifying. Trying to figure out a way to crash was not something I hope to ever experience again.

I got off my bike and started walking down the hill. Paul was waiting for down some steps. I told him what happened and said I preferred to walk the rest of the way into town.

Our arrival into Santiago was a bit of a let down. The entry into the city was absolutely torn up. The roads, the side walks...everything was one big mess. We were both amazed at how unpleasant the city appeared. With this being a Jubilee year and a record number of pilgrims expected, we couldn´t believe that this would be a year they would decide to do major renovations. We wound our way through the chaos.

We kept looking for the yellow arrows which would land us at our ultimate destination...the Cathedral of Santiago. We finally found the directions for the old quarters of town and made our way through the winding tiny streets. This area started to redeem the image of the city. The old streets were beautiful. We finally wended our way down a large set of stairs under a bridge. We passed a young man playing a bagpipe. As we learned on our journey, Galicia has a very strong celtic background and it is reflected in its music and design.

The bottom of the stairs opened up into a large plaza and as we turned in, we found ourselves in front of the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. We had arrived at our destination.