evidently, you didnt read the manual.

THURSDAY 10th MAY.

On the road again – although taking the wrong road out of Valladolid, to start with, nearly has me beating my head against the tarmac – and on its outskirts I pass by the youth hostel that the tourist office should really know about- but onwards and upwards (or not so much of a climb, this time, luckily)  

when i hit the right road, its a flat road ! and theres even a bicycle track for 10km or so, I can harldy believe my luck, if only it were truly flat and the roots of the pine trees had not penetrated its foundations. and when the sun goes down, the trees are stunning silhouettes against the sky.
i make good time – i always make good time, on the flat – and with only 2 or 3 stops to drink water and stretch i make medina del campo around midnight – scrounge through the bins of aldi – in a way, i m back in time but my bicycle looks so lonely on its own – I m thinking about Marek a lot – and the time we got food poisoning from the melon but he thought i was just being lazy – i should let go – i m running through my head all that has happened since last i travelled by bicycle – 5 years – Tara, Dublin, the band, the boys, squatting, AW – its funny, I think a lot about motorcycles this evening, maybe one day – but I breathe through my nose and clear my head and lungs and heart – good healthy air that is not the citys fare.
a very enjoyable meal of bread cheese and tomoatoes which i devour, although the instant coffee routine needs a bit of work as the bitter granules collect against my teeth – and off again, down a road which must be Roman as it is so boring and so straight – no cruise control here though – if only the oncoming cars would dip their headlights – still, its nice to see the rabbits and the hares run with – like the young deer that skipped through the field in front of me as i woke up near Orduna-
So as I m reaching Madrigal de las Altas Torres I m thinking of a bed for the night soon – 70km isnt bad after all, soon I ll be back up to 120km, Bosnia style – and its only been 5 hours cycling – but the dogs go mad as I roll into the town – and soon the Guardia Civil are stopping me and taking a look – empty the bag – he looks inside my tin whistles and sniffs my make-up, certain of drugs – but is possibly relieved I m heading to Portugal – still, he says to stop in town tonight (or else) and if I dont they will know about it – and to get a hi-viz and a helmet, I suppose he s right about the hi-viz but the helmet I can do without – and points me in the direction of the bus stop where I can stay in the shelter if I get cold (he s soooo thoughtful) – so I roll out my sleeping bag and sleep happily until the first bus arrives at 0700 –

And after a wee wander around Madrigal I hit the road around 0900, but its already getting hot so I ll just have to find a good place to sleep in the shade. I stop in Villaflores (the village of flowers) for a bit, where the swallows play over the old church that still stands strong – maybe I just need some more mortar in my walls, too – and theres a guy in a van who is driving around beeping his horn incessantly and playing music – the Spanish flag is flying – as is the European flag – Da s interview is today so I text him to wish him luck but no word from Cody or Darren – and I think I can manage so off I trot again – but now it is really too hot and theres not a tree around for miles – finally, a copse on the horizon, like a mirage – I reach it and try to find the best shade but the ants are gigantic – still, I sleep for an hour or two and let my mind wander –
now, in Babilafuente (bubbling fountain), the shade of the Centro Multiuso, the sound of the running water (can I drink it? I m not sure), Salamanca 17 kilometres but I ve got to wait a while til more of the heat goes out of the day
(I should have stopped by the river, Captain Hindsight)
but cant wait to get a hostel bed in Salamanca, wash clothes and self, find train to Portugal, swim in the sea! And in 3 or 4 days Oz and Omar will be there, yesss. And maybe one of them will have a needle to fix the ripped pannier bag. And we ll scrounge and swim and play on the street and it will all be most excellent and maybe my tan will be even –

FRIDAY 11th MAY.
The hostel runs out to be not so great, no kitchen!! 3euro for the washing machines, and not much else really. The two old hikers ask me: "So you start here?"  "No I started in Bilbao" They are on the pilgrim route to Santiago di Compostela, me, I am on my own pilgrimage, back to my core, I hope they find what they are looking for on their way.
I didnt go out last night, too sunburnt, watching the washing machine. I wonder about the boy who says nothing in the hostel, I felt rude getting Antonio to take his things off my bed, I think I was abrupt, still I smiled and sang my songs, the sangria helped, but I was hot and bothered and smelled like the dead yesterday. Today the train to Coimbra (Portugal) looks good, at 0400 in the morning, I forgot to ask if I can take my bicycle, must be, surely. There are some interesting faces in Salamanca, I like it, if only there were a breeze, still the birds sing sweetly.
Salamanca had an interesting tradition where the ‘ladies of easy virtue’ (prostitutes) were sent out of the town to a brothel, set up in 1498, the Monday following Easter (they call Monday of the Waters). The girls went in boats to La Salud de Tejares to pass Lent, returning the Monday of Quasimodo. Waiting for them to return, which could happen at any time of the day, the people gathered along the river banks and the Roman bridge and picknicked.
Oh and theres a Plaza de Los Irlandeses here, due to an Irish priest who set up a college and I m sure I heard Irish voices, but then theres schools to learn Spanish everywhere. I go for a siesta and water then tonight I think I ll adventure more !!
 
In the biblioteca I find:
La ley de Murphy: la tostada siempre se cae por el lado de la mantequilla !!
I m there reading the graphic novel of Scott Pilgrim versus el Mundo and realising its not very ‘enhancing’
so in the Teatro section I find, ‘One Act Spanish Plas by Women about Women in the Early Years of the 21st century (bilingual version; Mujeres sobre Mujeres en los albores del siglo XXI: teatro breve espagnol)
and think about –
Madrid, March 11, 2004. It was a Thursday.
"Angelo, can you hear me? I ask because on the TV I m seeing pople deafened by the blast; it split their eardrums. Do you hear me, my love? Even though you cant answer, its ok. I feel like you re listening; that you need to hear my voice"
or the Dantesque dark forest of her final coma…
I m trying to avoid telling a story I believe tells itself…
"History is hysterical; it is constructed only when one observes it, and to observe it, one must stand outside3 of it"

There is a bull on the Roman bridge; the bridge is part of the Via de la Plata (Silver Route) on the pilgrimage to Santiago – and its probably the bridge on which the townspeople waited for the prostitutes to return –
Carretera de Rueda – the Road of the Wheel – an omen, an oak tree growing through a tractor tyre, el gallo de plata?
It all makes sense, in my head.

The Puppet exhibition was brilliant, I loved it, and the venue was air conditioned for escaping the heat of the day. It brought a big smile to my face. And I thought about art, and puppetry and puppetmasters. 
If I could get enough people interested, I could travel like the people with the coloured shells who make mandalas in beautiful places, baskets of coloured shells, well this time it could be baskets of bottle tops, or coloured lighters.
The boy with the flauta who I had seen passing the hat around a terrassa was there with his friends outside the cathedral, sitting on the grass, someone with a melodion, a girl smoking and the dog, and I just wanted to join them, or at least say "Hey, lets do fire tonight, a spectaculo, for the street", but I didnt, and felt like a tourist instead, taking my photos. I accidentally let off a flash in the cathedral, not allowed, but at least it wasnt a fart, still it felt like it, illicit.