I had breakfast this morning with John, the English guy. Normally you are ecpected to have left this refugio by 8.30am but last night before he left, the Hospitaliero we could sleep on a little and leave when we wished. As its late November now it doesn't get bright until 8am and with bad weather forecast for this morning the man kindly relaxed the rules for us. John had put on a gas heater to give a bit of warmth to the kitchen. As we ate our breakfast we began to hear a rustling and knocking noise coming from the heater. We didn't know what to make of it as the noies would stop and start intermittently. It sounded as though something was moving inside the heater, and with that, a mouse appeared from underneath the heater with a large hunk of stale, by now almost toasted, bread in its mouth and scurried across the floor to disappear once more under the fridge. More rustling noises sounded from the fridge as the mouse stored his bread securely and then made another dash across the floor, between John's feet to disappear behind a bench that lined the wall.
Before I left the Spanish guy made an appearance. Despite my nocturnal wanderings to the loo he was as jovial as he had been yesterday evening as he limped around the kitchen. Not wishing to hang about I got my bags onto the bike and made ready for the road. I shook hands with the pair and wished them all the best for the remainder of their journeys and was the first out the door. The two walkers cut two very contrasting images as I said goodbye, the jovial limping Spaniard and the quiet forlorn Englishman. I genuinely hope things turn out well for them.
On the road it was overcast, cold and threatening rain. I was dearly hoping for a tail wind to push me towards Valladolid but instead, what I got was a vicious cross wind that cut across my face. Leaving Mansilla I had left the Camino de Santiago behind. I had mixed emotions. It was a pity to be leaving the Camino and all of its experiences but I couldn't wait to get down to Valladolid to try and see if I could uncover anything more on the life of Francisco de Cuellar. Ultimately I was looking forward to seeing Cuellar and the surrounding countryside to see just how different this landscape was to the wilds of northwest Ireland. I thought I might make Valladolid tonight but I would have needed a tailwind to get me through the 120kms before evening. Very soon I realised that wouldn't be possible as I found myself struggling against the wind on open plains.
South of Leon, around the town of Mayorga the plains open out into a wide expanse. The countryside undulates along a seemingly unending sea of grasslands. The high plains f north central Spain stretch for hundreds of kilometres, stopping just short of Madrid at the mountains of Guadarrama. Somewhere along this high plateau sits Valladolid, and beyond it the town of Cuellar. Across this open treeless landscape the road runs straight through bare empty fields. and small roasdside villages. Its sheep country here. Every so often you see the silhoutte of a shepherd on the top of a nearby ridge or hear the bark of a sheepdog as a flock of wandering sheep is gathered together to move to a fresh pasture. Watching this activity in the fields and ocasionally sprinting from growling sheepdogs help alleviate a frustrating battle against the wind. The strength of the wind can be guaged by darkening clouds above as they slip sideways across the sky.
I arrive at the town of Mayorga, roughly halfway on the day's journey to Medina de Rioseco where I'll hopefully stop tonight. It s a farming town to judge by the number of agricultural businesses and grain processing plants on the outskirts. It was an old town with a few scatterd reminders of its past and a restored 15th century gateway, the sole reminder of the medieval town walls. There was little activity in the town plaza. A couple of old men emerged from a cafe to stroll along a sheltered arcade that ran the length of one side of the plaza. Plainly they don't gey many visitors here. Their conversation ceased mid-sentance and the pair hesitated as they encountered me camera in hand trying to line up a photo of the plaza. They frowned quizically at me in my cycling gear, more like a mountaineer than a cyclist, wondering to themselves, no doubt, what had brought this odd-looking stranger into the midst. As I cycled out of the square an elderly couple, grandparents, out walking their infant grandchild stopped and stared at me as I rolled silently by.
Very soon the countryside had swallowed me up as Mayorga slid behind the next ridge. Three colours dominated, vivid green grass, rich red earth and dull grey clouds that threatened rain but, so far so good, ther had been no downpours. Far off in the distance small patches of sunlight peered through the cloud cover keeping me optimistc but never coming closer. Through the afternoon I passed through a couple of villages and what I saw of them left me a little concerned that I wouldn't find any accomodation in Medina de Rioseco. These small towns consisted of nothing more than houses, crumbling churches and rundown looking bars. There didn't appear to be accomodation available for a traveller but then I reckon nobody really wants to stay in some of these villages.
I was making slow progress and the wind had veered into a head wind which was draining my energy. The last 10kms was pushed through gritted teeth and thankfully from the top of an overlooking ridge Medina looked a fairly substantial town. Cold and hungry I was relieved to have arrived before dark I rolled into town looking for some cheap accomodation. One of the first places I saw was a 2-star hotel, which, in the absence of anything in my budget range would have made a very luxurious if expensive overnight stop. However, after enquiring in the local Irish pub I was directed to a 2-star hostel, the Duque de Osuna, offering spotless and spacious en suite rooms for only 20 euro a night. Delighted with myself I paid for two nights. I hurriedly ate a banana and a couple of digestive biscuits to stave off the hunger pangs I proceeded to run a hot bath and sank into a long luxurious soak in my own bath!
Afterwards, I stocked up on food for two days in a nearby supermarket before settling back down in bed to watch tv. A brief look around Medina had revealed a gem of a town, but a proper wander around its streets could wait until tomorrow. In the meantime, all the local stations seemed to be focusing on tomorrow night's big game, 'El Classico' between Real Madrid and Barcelona, one station was even devoting 24hr live coverage in the build up to the match! In Spain this is the big one!!
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