Love at Spain's Iron Cross

18 - Salamanca

18

Salamanca

Sunday, June 6

Jordan remembered waking up in the dark, but he had all of his clothes in their usual spots, so he got dressed without needing to turn the light on. The few others in the albergue would sleep in, but he wanted to get going. It was cold early each morning but had become brutally hot by the afternoon in the last week.

I wonder what Greta is up to now? Too bad she wasn't more into nature. She was so attractive, but we didn't share a love of the outdoors the way Orianna and I did. I'll never find anyone else like my wife.

He began hiking with his rain gear on over his shorts and shirt. He had done the same when he walked during hot days on the Camino Frances a few years ago. His friends from Finland and Norway wore less, had goosebumps, but were comfortable. When the heat kicked in, they weren't used to it and wilted. Jordan wasn't ready for the cold. He glanced at the olive groves and the occasional wildflowers alongside the path. After the sun warmed him a bit, he took a short break to remove the outer layer and stretched before resuming his walk.

It had been scalding for a week. The Via de la Plata was a drier and sunnier route. He just had to suck it up. His Spanish classes in Salamanca began tomorrow. He must arrive there today. But his knee wasn't happy.

Maybe I pushed it too much? After Grimaldo, I walked 45 miles total in two days. It started bothering me a little then. I had that climb through the mountain pass of the Central Range. Since Aldeanueva, the segments have been around fifteen miles per day, but the left knee keeps getting worse. He looked down at it, worried at how swollen and painful it had become. There was a restaurant ahead and he needed a break.

He sat by the bar and dropped his pack. The owner looked at Jordan. "Bienvenidos. What can I get you this morning?"

"Cafe con leche and a Spanish tortilla," Jordan said. His go-to. He needed the milk and sugar with his coffee, and also craved protein. Tortilla in Spain meant omelet. Diced potatoes, whisked eggs, and sometimes like today it had a little onion cooked in it too. Delicious. He ate quickly, hungry after having covered about ten miles so far. When he finished, he shared his usual joke about the need to test whether or not another coffee and tortilla would be as good as or better than the first. The owner smiled and brought him seconds.

Jordan drank a little water. He had already finished almost two full liters today. When done with breakfast, he filled two of his four half-liter bottles in the restroom.

That will be enough. Three liters is more than average. Yesterday it was nearly 35 degrees Celsius, again up near 100. Crazy. But I don't want to carry more than I need. The pack seems heavier in this heat.

He thanked the owner, put his arms through the straps, hefted the weight on his back, and set off.

Come on, knee. Just another couple of hours. Don't fail me now. Not much elevation change remaining, so I don't know if the problem is just the distance I've covered or something else. Please get me to Salamanca.

The sweltering heat caused him to sweat everywhere. He was unable to keep his feet dry and had some painful blisters. But after a few steps, he made detente with the toes and ignored their complaints. The knee, however, throbbed.

Persist. I promise to rest, knees. Just let me make it and then I'll be good to you for nearly two weeks.

They protested but permitted him to hobble onward. The rest of the day's trail descended a little overall, but that didn't seem to help. Each step felt painful, each downward pace pounded his joints.