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19 Adios! I considered riding all night. The moon was full, producing enough light to ride by. But then it got cloudy and we couldn't see the road anymore. We had a shoulder a full lane wide to ride on and the highway was four lanes, but we couldn't see if there were rocks or other hazards. Somewhat hesitant to halt our progress I pulled off at the next exit. As we crossed a farmer's field to a spot under a tree, clay mud stuck to our tires. The next morning, to get our tires to turn, Sharon spent half an hour digging the mud out of our tires, brakes and fenders while I held the bikes upright. Morning fog obscured us. We cycled less than two kilometers and came to a foot dropoff that we wouldn't have seen if we had kept riding during the night. I thanked my lucky stars we had stopped when we did. If Sharon had crashed again, I hated to think what she might have done. We waited at a gas station for the sun to burn off the fog. We couldn't see in front of us, so truck drivers couldn't see us. Civil guards washed their vehicle. Civil guards spent hours standing by the roadside watching traffic. We discovered how small towns received fresh produce. We had stopped at the town center, which usually had a fountain and benches and were eating the only thing we had-bread and jam. It was 9:00 a.m. and the town looked deserted with shutters shut tight. A van, blasting its horn, pulled into the square. Suddenly, the town sprang to life. Women appeared and quickly made their way to the vendor to buy fish and vegetables for the day. I bought fresh produce. A few minutes later the van pulled away and we heard him tooting his horn in another part of town. The trucks on the national route were still abundant, but not as many since some had turned south towards Madrid. For a traffic respite, we decided to detour. The road was smooth for the first few kilometers, then it turned into potholes. It was an excruciatingly bumpy few kilometers. Fortunately, we entered a new province and the road improved remarkably. Two Spaniards raced along with us. They passed going the opposite direction, then turned around and tailed us. They stayed behind for some ways, then pulled around, shouting "Adios!". Sharon smiled; she knew I wouldn't let them cruise away. We easily stayed on their heels and drafted an easy few kilometers. They pedalled like mad trying to shake us, their legs spinning like windmills, but they rode mountain bikes and were in nowhere near our riding condition. They finally pulled over. As they panted by the side of the road, we bellowed "Adios! Gracious!" We were over 2500 feet on the high plateau. Some highway signs pictured snowflakes. Thankfully, it hadn't snowed, but it sure felt as if it was cold enough. As another pastel sunset drew the day to a close we scouted the roadside for a suitable camping spot. Thoughts of riding all night again crossed my mind, but we were on a narrow country road. The wind had been solidly in our face all day, but we'd eked out almost two hundred kilometers. We found a secluded area under a huge weeping willow tree. As we ate supper, a farmer came out of the field on his tractor. He stopped alongside us and shone his lights into the trees. Then he carried on. Dogs barked all night at the full moon. They could smell us a mile off I bet. Riding nonstop we hadn't had time to shower, even though truck stops had showers. Besides it was cold: I reasoned we would freeze to death if we had a shower. Sharon said, "At least we would die clean." |
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