When will we return?

     We feel stupid and do not know quite what to do. In Sangüesa we were told that we would find a campground in Lumbier for about 12 euros, and although it seemed somewhat expensive, we decided to stop there, do laundry, take a shower and have the luxury of getting up a little later, and letting our tent dry completely. But now the guy at the desk tells us that it is 20 euros. It hurts our souls to spend on one night the same as we have spent in one week, but we are tired and it is already very late, so laziness does the rest and we accept. At least we can stay there until after lunch, and so we can spend some time, because we are not expected by our host in Pamplona for two days, which is just 50 kilometers away. By the time we leave the campsite we are convinced that it was not worth it. 

     We foolishly climb a steep mountain believing that way it would be easier to find a place to camp for the night, only to find the horizon too steep and a dirt road littered with stones. Overwhelming logic tells us that near the river we find a better place, so that in ten minutes we undo what we have gained in an hour and we are back on the national highway. It will not be long before the headwind once again wins the battle and we give up for the day after just two hours of pedaling. The next day we arrived to Pamplona in the afternoon, thus ending the thrilling race in which the winning horse is the slowest. In Pamplona once again we have to wait, our host does not arrive until ten at night and we are already eating in the Arga park at two in the afternoon. Good thing it is an enjoyable afternoon in the company of the king of Sangüesa. 

     We're back with nostalgia to the place where we lived last year. We are here to do some paperwork that cannot be easily done (the tax return online in Navarra is an invention of the devil). Angel lets us stay at his house four days until we succeed. The last day we're in Pamplona a Japanese man arrives at Angel´s house. He wants to do St. James´ Way by bike, but without a bike. He has come with only a couple of backpacks and has to buy the rest, including saddlebags, helmet, tools. Because Angel has to work, we are lucky to remember the past when we were the ones who we gave shelter to travelers, and we guide Tetsuya through the city to our favorite store, Bigarren Eskua (mean resale in Basque). It was there where we went over a year ago asking about a handlebar throttle and where we ended up deciding to order a couple of new bikes to travel around the world. How well these two brothers have treated us! 

     After all this time sleeping in a warm bed, it´s an effort to get moving again: the danger of getting comfortable in civilization. Our next goal is Ainhoa, or so we thought. When we arrive in Zubiri, we look at the map that they gave us in the tourist office (which, incidentally, we will take only a couple of hours to lose). There I find the easiest way to cross the Pyrenees is not through Ainhoa​​, and I comment this to Gabriel, he thought I wanted to go through that French town just because it has the same name as me. But at this point we are not going to backtrack, let alone go along the crowded coast, so we eat all the fruit that we can and get enough strength to climb the Artesiaga pass. At first it is extremely comfortable, hardly any cars and the scenery is very beautiful. But the last kilometer is too hard for me. The only record of resistance that I could beat in my life has been a file from the sixteenth century, not on a bike. It occurs to us the idea of ​​using a rope and a couple of carabiners to try to tie the two bikes and have Gabi tow me. A mistake, we both almost fall to the ground. So, finally, Gabi does the last thousand meters twice, first with his bike and then with my saddlebags. 

    The descent into the valley of Baztán is a different story. We descend a gentle slope that takes us without realizing it  (literally) to Elizondo. There we stay with Joseba. We arrived to his house very early; we have never finished a stage at six o'clock. We knock at his door and he is not in, but we have no way of getting in touch with him because he does not have a mobile or a landline. We wait a little bit, walk around the village and return home. No one. We some card games and try our luck again. Two hours later with still no sign of life and we begin to worry, thinking that we must find some shelter in the village to sleep. When we had already made ​​up our minds, he appears leisurely strolling through the square with a friend and asks us if we are us. We had written a confusing message that had made him understand that we would arrive the next day. But we still had time to enjoy a nice dinner and an interesting conversation with some nice Baztán cider. Joseba helps us to plan the route that will take us across to France. We don´t know whether it will be better to climb the Otsondo pass or the less hard Izpegi. On the map there are only a few meters of difference in altitude, but Otsondo seems an almost straight line whereas Izpegi looks like a snake with arthritis. At the tourist office we had been assured that Izpegi could be hell to climb up on a bike, but it is the option Joseba recommends to us. And so we continue to add knowledge to the list of lessons: "Do not trust the description of a mountain pass made ​​by a person who has just gone up by car." Certainly Izpegi is a pass to climb motorized slowly, with too many curves and very poor visibility. But it is a delight on a bike, with a very accessible slope that is gradually done without a superhuman effort. 

Slowly we climb the 690 meters of Izpegi, which in French said  670 (sic) from d'Ispeguy. On one side is a Navarran valley and on the other, France. 20 days and 800 miles later, we say goodbye to Spain leaving a question in the air: when we will return? 

The King of Sangüesa

- And I tiled the floor of the cabin. 

     Some call him the King of Sangüesa   He has cycled to thousands of places and talked to all the locals that  would listen to him. It is well known that he has prevented numerous fights in the village festivals where he has been, as he himself recognizes, all too often. The bike helps him to curb his alcoholism, he is aware that cycling drunk is danger to himself and others, and those others are what matter most to him  in this life. 

- With these hands I've saved lives. I have done heart massages and I have saved people in accidents. I saved my brother when our car rolled over, he jumped out the window and went into a ravine. 

     The King of Sangüesa also knows how to lay tiles. He proudly shows his parents´ house in the village which his brothers disparagingly call “the cabin”  and whose floor he tiled. Between photos he remembers his years of military service, which he did as a volunteer for the Red Cross, a course in plumbing and his adventures in the largest plantation of medicinal herbs of Navarra. Suddenly, pulls out two bottles from the backpack, which he always carries while bicycling. 

- Look, this is a plantain ointment. It is for wounds. And this right here is rosemary, which serves for muscle aches. I make them. The plantain one has to be macerate for a year. They tell me it is not correct to speak of ointment as ointments are creams and these are liquids. I use the nettle one on my hair and I'm the only one of my brothers who is not bald. 

     The King of Sangüesa proudly wears his curly hair loose, giving it its characteristic appearance. A huge pendant that emulates the head of a ram and belonged to a deceased friend makes him unmistakable for walkers along the Arga. Caritas  manages his money and he lives in a supervised home. 

- From what I pay for rent, 5 euros are for things around the house, but I have to buy the toilet paper. Sometimes, when someone says that something hurts him, that he has had an accident, that he is going to the physio and that the pills do nothing for him, I give him a massage and heal him. But ... do not think badly, huh? That  when I give a massage I just do what I have to do. Once I did a test and it turns out that all men are not equal, they told me that sex did not come out in the test. The Witchdoctor taught me how to give massages and now I sell my ointments (because my parents tell me that this is also work because before I gave them away) but I don´t charge for the massages. I teach people to give massages like those that The Witchdoctor taught me. 

     The King of Sangüesa recalls his youth, when he won several competitions with his cycling team. He was a born athlete, who  took a liking to cycling and judo. The Witchdoctor was the team physio, a renowned doctor who wanted to sign up with the first team in which Indurain participated. But people who heal with herbs are also called wizards, and they recognize each other even before talking. He knows many teachers, of whom he is a disciple and  friend. 

- I have seven books of medicinal plants. Four in Sanguesa and three I have brought to Pamplona. My parents have a cabin in Sangüesa,  well, my brothers call it a cabin. But it's very big, I tiled the floor. There I have a garden of medicinal herbs. With that, with what I collect and what I can buy, such as camphor, I make my ointments. Everything is  tested, my parents and I have been my guinea pigs. 

     The King of Sangüesa can also be considered a witchdoctor, he loves the Aragon River, with a talent for helping others and a vast knowledge of natural medicine. With one of his ointments and a massage he heals the battered knee of a travelling cyclist while regretting that in order to legally sell his magic he would have to patent his products For the Health Dept. to give its approval he would have to pay high fees (read bribe). Meanwhile, these ointments can be purchased  in supermarkets for twice the price of what they cost. Products like shark cartilage pills, which have already been established to be useless. He relies on word of mouth, and in this sense he seems to be doing well. 

     Four hours after introducing himself, he accompanies us to the old part of Pamplona. He still has ten minutes before they let him enter the social dining hall and dinner for 50 cents. Grateful, we say goodbye to a beautiful person, a healer of those that cure, a sane person in a crazy world. Until yesterday, I never knew Sangüesa had a king. 

Open, Sesame!

     We started our day off in Zaragoza with nips from Dream, Laura and Mikel´s cat. Our hosts are preparing for their own adventure: in autumn they want to catch a flight to take them and their Surlys (Surly is a legendary bike brand among cycling enthusiasts, famous for its steel frames) to be travel South America. 

     The couple assure us that there isn´t much to see in Zaragoza, but we are reluctant to believe them and in a while  we arrive in the Plaza del Pilar. More than a basilica, it looks like a circus. El Pilar is a great, grand, stunning building, but we hardly find the spirit of Pilarica to appreciate it. The temple is crowded with people enjoying the practice of  illegal photography and a long line of parents and young children waiting for their epic moment: when the tender infant has the opportunity to kiss the robe of the Virgin of Pilar, while dozens of grandmothers proudly contemplate the spectacle. The acolyte who guides them falls, the guard ends up turning a blind eye to illegal photographers, while the bombs that fell during the Civil War on the Pilar and didn’t explode wonder what they are doing hanging on the wall, condemned by the mistakes of others to watch the show until the devotion goes out of style. Shortly afterwards we enjoy Goya's prints, and I will smile looking at one entitled "The Power of the Tailor." 

     The next day we say goodbye to Laura and Mikel who guide us out of the city. We start off on the road with the intention of following the waters of the Gallego River. The day goes by quietly, it seems to be one of those days when you have the feeling that you have done quite a few kilometers but there is nothing to tell ... until we stop for lunch. Gabriel opens the saddlebag of food and ... surprise! We have learned a new lesson: do not save glass jars. The sesame oil is broken at the bottom and the saddlebag and all that was inside drips and reeks equally. A week later still smelling mostly of Chinese food and Gabriel´s pants have a new print. When we finish our lunch near the dam of Sotonera we think  the smell will give ourselves away. 

     Following the Gallego River is a delight, one of the best experiences we've had so far. The scenery is amazing, the river makes a canyon between striking rock formations and the color of the water looks like divine Photoshop. Thus we enter the Pyrenees, where the maxim is upheld that the number of curves and slopes is directly proportional to a beautiful perspective. In this case, perhaps too beautiful: we take the first slopes enthusiastically, but 70 miles later, there´s no more excitement left in our legs, and we begin to slack off. We call our would be  host at Hostal de Ipiés to say that the Pyrenees have won this battle and we will not be there for dinner. When we finally meet our host and his family, a hot chocolate awaits us, and we remember not so much the effort as the green of the forest and the charm of the semi-abandoned villages of the Aragonese Pyrenees. Raul takes us out of our reverie by telling his own cycling stories and introducing us to the world of amateur radio. As if the story of Raul was not sufficiently motivating (with almost 70 years he has just returned from cycling around half of South America just like a kid), he tells us that had the opportunity to cycle alongside Diego Ballesteros. 

    Diego became famous for cycling from Zarazoga to Beijing in less than 100 days, and he tells  this story now  from his wheelchair. Shortly after that feat, he was hit by a car while crossing the USA from coast to coast, and lost forever the hope of walking again and feeling anything from the chest down. However, he is still competing with a hand bike and is preparing for the Paralympics. Raul says that pedaling with Diego is a boost of energy. How much we complain about everything, how little we value what we have! 

     We made our way towards Jaca, where the little brother of Boreas reminds us that we are still in Aragon. Luckily my face was designed according to the strict laws of aerodynamics. After several miles with the wind against us, we decided to end the day and found a small cozy corner by the river. We are proud of our new home. But we have to say goodbye to Aragon to reenter Navarra. We leave behind Jaca and go towards the Yesa reservoir (about which much might be said, and nothing good: some projects of growth that shake the earth, allowing the expropriation and the abandonment of villages and last year were about to turn Sangüesa into the new Atlantis). We pass by Ruestawhere we end up with more questions than answers and have breakfast at Urriés, attracted by the idea of  hot coffee and toast. We feel very much at home, the company is so nice, we spent more than two hours there. The owners of the local bar, which has 25 rooms, are a young couple who fled the city to find happiness in a place where time has stopped. When we leave, we look back and feel like we see our future.We are still smiling when we get to the Sos del Rey Católico, and even when we visit Sangüesa, and still when we cross the gorge of Lumbier. 

 Up and down, the ups and downs of the road guide us in the transition of landscapes. Behind us, the surging wheat bathes the edge of the angry Pyrenees that show their teeth to heaven. We only hope that the fillings of the Yesa don´t  get worse.

First Steps

That’s it. When Felix Baumgartner accepted the challenge of Red Bull to jump from the stratosphere he had a last moment to give up. Just before jumping from the platform he could have thought about doing it better. However he made ​​all of his movements in a calculated dance so that everything turned out perfect. At that precise second when he could have gone back, he moved forward... because the decision had not been taken at the abyss, but long ago. 

Fitting saddlebags and backpacks on a bicycle and crossing the bridge over the Ebro River is not a challenge that can be equated to a stratospheric jump, but the initial impulse is held back at some point by the same question: Do I risk it or do I turn back? That bridge was open to the abyss of our planet, which we would not have to get to perpendicularly, as Felix did, but we have to caress, cuddle and understand it. Thus after our farewells to family, friends and curious, we jump into the void. 

We have only been on the road for four days, just enough to travel the roads connecting Logroño to Calahorra, Zaragoza and Tarazona. The result of these first hours is funny: a broken saddlebag, a headlight broken against a wall, a saddlebag dripping with honey and strawberries, and a backpack that sports a pair of bird droppings, a seat scratched and eaten by cats...What will it look like after a year travelling around the world! 

We’re still getting used to our new way of life, that of constantly getting lost and finding our way again. First lesson learned: plan routes from 50 to 75 kilometers at most. How innocent we are, we believe we can control our destiny. The first day we thought about doing 40 kilometers to Calahorra (we hadn´t ridden our bikes for a month), but decided to take our time, not realizing that taking our time also means doing kilometers. By the time we reach our destination, we have done double that amount and so we started our trip feeling a little sorry. As if we hadn’t learnt the lesson yet, we leave the wonderful town of Tarazona, where the Vallejo brothers treat us like a part of the family, and we are led by sweet words that promise a happy descent to Tudela along the green road of Tarazonica, and then descends to the canal to Zaragoza. It will be more than 100 kilometers, but they say that in 4 or 5 hours we will be in Zaragoza and we get happy. The first hits us on the front. Or rather on the side.  A very strong side wind just barely lets us advance along the road until we finally reach the canal. Once there, the wind pushes us until we learn the second lesson. 

Second lesson learned: the Lodosa Canal is not the same as the Imperial Canal, which is not renamed when it crosses the provincial border. When we have traveled about 40 miles up the Lodosa Canal, friendly gentleman corrects us. It’s not the way. You have to take a road with a furious gale to get us on the right canal. "You can´t get lost." We pay attention, we follow the Imperial Canal and within minutes...  road works. 

But all the same, you can get lost, because we end up following mud roads through orchards until we discover the detour to return to the canal. Once there the north wind has fun with us, our bikes are toys that move at its will. Thankfully, its desire coincides with ours. And so, after another silly detour for having gone wrong again, we arrive to Zaragoza with a "130" in our speedometer and two lessons very well learnt.