Time Enough

Another day in the Maseta. The trail was straight and mostly flat. Although it ran alongside some secondary roads, once again there was very little traffic.

Breakfast was simple, just toast with some slices of ham and cheese, along with coffee and juice. It was only about 11 miles of walking today. That has become a very odd way to look at things. To only walk 11 miles in a day seems as though we take it as a short skip and jump. We have become accustomed to it, but what it really boils down to is just time. There is nowhere we have to be and nothing we have to do between points A and B.

In fact, today there was very little to do between the beginning and the end. One stop for coffee and another potato-and-egg tortilla. We ran into our German friends, Mike, with the glasses, and Manfred. They are both retired gentlemen. Mike spent time with his family as a child in New Jersey, and upon returning to Germany he was drafted. He enjoyed that service and later went on to do shift work. Manfred was a master butcher for 40 years. You can't quite tell in the picture, but he does have all 10 fingers and 10 toes. When I made that comment, Mike immediately responded.  It turns out that his brother, a butcher, actually did cut off one of his fingers while working in the shop. I guess that was funny. Maybe not for Mike's brother.

The sights along the way were very limited. There was this silver arch we passed under. I don't know if it represents anything or has any specific significance. It came into view at a quarter mile and it held my interest until I passed through. It is covered with stickers and graffiti from people who preceded me.

Periodically there are symbols laid out on the trail that someone has assembled in stones. There are also water sources spaced out every so often. They must come in very handy when temperatures go above 90 degrees.

As I entered the town, one of the all-time mysteries of the universe was solved. If you’ve ever wondered what happened to them — All those pot holders children made for their mothers in summer camp suddenly appeared wrapped around a series of trees.

I’m told this is called yarn bombing.

Our hotel is actually in a truck stop. There is a snack bar, a sit-down restaurant, and several pumps and wash stations. Not the most glamorous location, but there are few choices here. Some of the other pilgrims we walked with described where they’re staying, above bars and in rooms filled with antique bedding and towels.

The menu offered some local favorites. Many of the items are not things I would ordinarily eat.

As I was about to select a veggie burger, I glanced up and saw a poster for paella. I had to wait 40 minutes, but it was worth it. Spence ate a burger that he enjoyed.

The wash is hanging all over the room and we will be ready to start out again tomorrow morning. It's another 11 or 12 miles to our next destination. I'm hoping there is some type of grocery store so I can restock on fruit and other items to carry with me.