When I left León, nothing hinted at any trouble ahead until I safely reached my destination—and for 30 km, that held true. Though the road was busy with traffic, it was flat and had wide shoulders, so I was cycling at a good pace without feeling unsafe.
Just as Astorga came within a stone’s throw, so to speak, it started to rain. I pulled into a gas station—not before getting a bit wet—to put on my waterproof shoe covers, cover my bag, and slip into my rain jacket. Wet shoes are the worst, but those covers are so tricky to get on that I need a chair to manage them—hence the gas station stop.
After that, it rained on and off for a while, but I soldiered on. I stopped in Astorga for a coffee and a sandwich, and to visit the palace designed by Antonio Gaudí. It wasn’t as elaborate as his other works I’ve seen, less whimsical —maybe because it was built for an archbishop.
Past Astorga, the road began a gradual climb, eventually reaching nearly a mile high—about 500 meters higher than the much-dreaded Pyrenees pass. At that height, there was still snow, though thankfully not on the road—it had been pushed aside.
Somewhere around that point, I joined the ranks of (possibly all) pilgrims and tossed a stone over my shoulder at the Cruz de Ferro, symbolically “letting go of the burden of sin.” At this point, my sins might’ve included a few creative words yelled at my shoe covers.
Soon after, a steep descent began. I was braking often, though the fun didn’t last long—the village I was staying in, El Acebo, was just a few kilometers down the road. I could have, and perhaps should have, continued on to Ponferrada. It was all downhill, and would’ve given me a shorter climbing day tomorrow. But when I planned this trip, I tried to keep my stops evenly spaced, and I’d already booked a hostel in El Acebo.
Alas! The curse of being organized.
Today in numbers:
87 km – distance cycled
35 AD — foundation of Astorga
1504 m asl — the highest point on the Camino Francés