Day 5: Vigo to Padrón

I checked out early in order to get to downtown Vigo from the hotel. Because it was early, there was no traffic and it took only a moment, it seemed. I had some time to ride around and check out the waterfront with the large bronze sculpture of Jules Verne.

I took the early train to Pontevedra to get out of the metropolis of Vigo. I had ridden around it enough to know that I’d rather be on its outskirts when I started the day. In hindsight, I should have stopped at the first stop (my original intention) of Redondela and started from there. For some reason, I changed that up at the train station to a couple of stops further.

When I got off the train, it was fairly easy to locate the Camino ruta. So I started away on a fairly beautiful day with calm weather.

As I rode along, I noticed that the number of pilgrims that I passed increased significantly. Where on the route up to this part I might see 20 pilgrims a day, it began to increase to fifty an hour to well over a couple of hundred.

it turns out that the traditional, costal, littoral, and spiritual variants of the path merged for this last gasp to Santiago. In addition, Tui was the last eligible town where peligrinos could begin their pilgrimage and receive a Compostela.

Because many of these walkers were not yet seasoned, they strayed all over the paths and some were genuinely irritated to share it with a cyclist. I tried to be a good example, ringing my bell as I approached, or saying Buon Camino, Permesso, Muchas Gracias, Buenas Dias as I approached, or otherwise alerting them to my presence. However, many ended up startled or even genuinely frightened, jumping out of the way, often one to one side and the other to another, so that I had to shoot the space between them. It reminded me of when a squirrel or rabbit is on the path and senses your approach… one can’t be sure exactly where exactly they’ll end up.

If there was plenty of room, I simply rode by at just more than a walker’s pace.

It didn’t feel like it was successful whichever approach I took, so I just tried a variant. Some were super friendly, smiley, and welcoming. Some not.

Like life, I guess.

If the ruta followed the road, I’d instead ride on it, happy that there were that many fewer interactions that I didn’t have to have. I don’t mean that in a reclusive or grumpy way, just that by doing so, I irritated that fewer people, allowing them to remain within their experience. I had ridden enough of the path to know that I was OK if I needed to divert to the road, but I still preferred the experience of the ruta (more like a pilgrimage) than the road (more like a bike tour).

I did this dance for a while before I had to bail off when it turned sharply downhill as a single-person width path through a grape vineyard. There wasn’t much traffic, so I figured I’d just get a little further down the road.

Ah, those good intentions.

I ended up on a national highway that went up and up and yes, more upwards. And became crowded with urgent trucks and impatient cars. Not that I felt in danger. The drivers were fine with me; they just raced with each other.

My direction seemed to stray more and more away from the way the path went. But other than turning around on a divided highway (Nope!), I had to keep going till the next junction. Wow it was a steep and lengthy climb.

I remember one spot after where I was able to redirect that I crossed this high modern bridge. I was traveling downhill and got a little bit of a break and respite from the effort when the crosswind hit. Again, no danger, but I had to keep my head and actively steer straight when the wind was convincing me to go right. Silly wind.

Finally, I got to a spot where the ruta was visible (Love those Camino markers or painted arrows) and I returned to the route. Interestingly, there were fewer pilgrims and it was as before. I could relax and get back into the rhythmic rosary of cycling.

One thing about the Camino ruta that I think will be obvious from reading this is that if there is a level path or an uphill, it goes up. If there is a level or downhill, it will stay level. If you get a downhill, it is really only to gift you with another uphill. Not really, of course, but it sometimes seems to play with you. Wherever the challenge lies, it will bring you there.

I think the original pilgrims were afraid of the easy way. Therein lies demons of indolence and laziness, maybe gluttony, too.

On a few of the downhills, I felt uncertain whether I’d be able to stop the bike. If the pitch was especially steep, my confidence paled and I got off and walked down the hill. I’d squeeze the levers as tightly as I could, but it was evident that the lack wasn’t in the willingness, determination, or enthusiasm in which I operated the levers, but with the mechanical part of it.

As I pulled into Padrón, I looked for spots to stay. As I figured, with this many pilgrims on the part of the path, the obvious and easy options were taken. I was able to find a single room at a place 5KM from town. Uphill of course.

On the way, I saw a bike shop and I stopped in and asked him to replace the pads. (The same request as at REI before I left… and I received the same response: the pads were fine.)

Instead he tightened it and adjusted things so that the clamping was back to almost normal. I tried it down the road a bit and it seemed like it might work.

One thing I like in dealing with people in foreign countries and especially in places with shared interests like cycling, is that they are willing to help a traveler. (I see this also with the VW camper. Even full shops will do what they can to get you back on the road.). The guys at the shop gave me a hard time for the toy-like nature of my bike with its tiny rims with big tires. But it was always in good nature with a wide smile. They were genuinely happy that it worked and didn’t charge me anything for the effort.

I checked into a guesthouse and they offered dinner and I said yes please!

I was so tired that after I ate I went back to my room with the intention of writing, but instead I fell asleep. I was in bed by 8:30 (because we were travelers, they offered one sitting at 7PM rather than usual TST—traditional Spanish time). And even though my sleep was disturbed, even though I woke repeatedly coughing like a lung wanted to go on holiday from what I was putting it through, and even though I soaked the bed with sweat, I arose rested and feeling pretty good.

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