From Pete
Tossed and turned all night, probably a combination of dread and anticipation. How strange the human condition that we might actually look forward to pain and the physical challenge. It takes me 45 minutes to pack and strap my ankles. The achilles pain is evident on getting out of bed and at this point I cannot see how it is possible to walk the 23 kms or more that it will require to get me to Los Arcos. The desolate description of the final stage [12 km] is not motivating and leaving Dee at this point just plain makes my heart sink.
Packed and ready to set off at 8am. Final hugs and kisses and out the door with a limp. A km of town hills and streets and my achilles pain has eased a little. I hope I can fill my bottle at the wine fountain at Irache. too bad, there is a large group waiting, I take pics and push on to Azqueta where I stop for breakfast of plums, dates, orange and water. Feeling good so I push hard for Villamayor. Stopping at the church, an older couple sing a hymn in harmony [in Latin I think]. The hair on my neck stands up and tears well in the eyes. It is an unanticipated moment of pure joy in what turns out to be a day of relentless pain. Fill the water bottle and off at a good pace with 12 km to go.
5km out from Los Arcos and my left achilles is refusing to continue. Out with the sticks and literally plod on. This is worse pain than day 1 and there is no where to stop. Reach Los Arcos at 1.30, good time, bad condition, Left ankle swollen and just plain buggered. Get a good deal on a room, limp out for beer and food. Have to wait 3 hours for shops to open so get a nap then limp out for supplies. Back to the room for a basic wine, bread, cheese and tomato dinner. Sleep really well but wake at 5.30am.
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