Day XVI: Moratinos -> Reliegos; 26.4mi.

🛏:La Parada Albergue, 8€.

This morning we took advantage of our nice lodging, slept in a little bit, ate breakfast and hit the trail knowing we had two decisions ahead of us.

Decision one was which route we’d take – we could follow the road or split away and take a slightly longer but supposedly “more scenic” route along what our guide book described as “the longest existent stretch of Roman road left in Spain today.” We opted for the second.

Decision two was whether we wanted a particularly short day or our longest day yet. Looking at the way the upcoming towns were spread out, there was no in-between. We wandered into the town where we’d make that decision and went to a cafe for lunch. There we found one of our good friends who had taken the detour we had intentionally taken by mistake. He was also in the process of deciding whether he would call it a day or continue on. With food in our stomachs and the day still feeling young, we collectively decided to press on.

My friend has spent hours over the past several days listening to an audio book version of one of the few books I’ve actually read (turned motion picture). I’ve been eager to hear what she thought of the ending and have been excited to spend awhile discussing it when she finished. (I didn’t care for the ending at all, for the record. I thought it was entirely too predictable, but I also come from a family where my dad pauses movies so we can all discuss what we think is going to happen. I’ve become difficult to surprise). As we got back on the trail, she announced she was finally finished. She proceeded to report that she was surprised by an ending I was entirely unfamiliar with. “Uh, that’s not what happened ..” I said. “I literally just listened to it ..” she said. We looked at each other confused enough to make our other friend burst into laughter (and then side with me). Turns out she had been listening to Girl on a Train instead of The Girl on the Train this entire time. So much for that time killer.

The roman road our guide book spoke of was essentially one giant patch of varied shapes and sizes of rocks scattered everywhere. It made for miles and hours of incredibly uncomfortable walking.

I spent the next miles (and miles) grumpy about the trail condition. At one point I sat down to befriend a caterpillar and watched as my friends got further and further ahead. I listened to some of an audio book but spent most of the time listening to music and letting my mind wander through memories triggered by each song.

Around mile twenty-four, with feeble energy, my friend and I both spontaneously broke into dancing. I think I began bobbing my head at the exact moment I saw him playing air drums out of my peripherals. We laughed and spun and ignored our aching bodies for a good four minutes and I smiled about the fact that the song I chose to dance to didn’t have a specific memory attached to it until that very moment. That put a tiny bit more spring in my step for the last two remaining miles. It was a hobbling-pathetic-awkward spring, mostly because I felt a new blister coming on, but it was a spring all the same.

We all high-fived several minutes later when the town was in sight and I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see a bed in my life.

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