Going away for extended periods, as 2 Cheeses do, can almost bring on a sense of timelessness. Everyday becomes a mini time capsule in itself. After a week, or so, thoughts of returning home vanish. 2 Cheeses become different people. Living a different life. The future seems to stretch out endlessly. Just like it did in the ‘50s summer school holidays.
But time always wins. Regardless of where, or what we’re involved in. It catches up. Overtakes us. All we can do is follow in its path. Try to keep up as best we can. Make use of its slip stream, before it disappears into the distance. To leave us stranded.
Day 50 – Time to put our foot down. In more ways than one. One week and 1,220k to Calais. So little time to dawdle. We end today on our final Spanish site at Camping Urrobi. Just south of the border with France and a hub for those ‘Pilgrims’ making their way along the Way of Saint James.
It’s not just walkers that travel the Camino de Santiago. Cyclists too. Many of them. On long journeys, a problem, or two, is virtually inevitable. Mr S knows only too well. This site provides the nearest thing to a bike shop . . .
Earlier, we’re caught unawares by a hi-tec supermarket trolley. Unable to roll Beastie onto the Mercadona height restricted car-park, he’s left in a nearby side street. We’re fully loaded. Make use of the trolley. Suddenly, at the exit, it squids to a twisting halt. It’s as if some grit is stuck in one of the wheels. Tesco style. A little curious investigation reveals one of the front wheels is under braking control of an electronic gizmo. It’s prevented from leaving the premises!
Day 51 – We take our foot off the gas. Decide to stay at this charming family owned and run Camping Le Moulin de Mellet for two nights. We’ll make up time later if needs be.
With daily temperatures running in the mid to high 30s, Mrs S is very adept at whipping up an ice cool coffee and ice-cream mix.
Day 52 – Despite the high temperature, 2 Cheeses can’t simply hang around to melt like a couple of old Camembert. Mr S plots a 9k walking loop. The local rolling hills guarantee a sun-drenching.
Back at camp, lunchtime is interrupted by a mother and her begging children. Mrs S does her best to ease those rumbling tums.
What’s for pudding mum? . . .
Mrs S has an evening off. Onsite restaurant put to use. We eat inside. It’s cooler. But not by much.
