II decided I ought to see in at least one church; Frómista has the best example of a Romanesque monastery founded in 1066. The same year the English language split in two; one word for the animal in the field and another as it comes out of the kitchen on a plate. Oh, and the people were subjugated, French & Latin became de rigeur ... not sure I even know how to spell that! But the rain was bucketing down, the leaves on the planes trees clinging on for dear, near autumnal, life. Appropriately perhaps they reminded me of the flapping of prayer flags.
I decided to go on, I had 59km to cycle and the weather reports were not encouraging.
This is photo of the road, look at the bend in the trees! I cycled at an 80 degree angle and at this point I have done 18 of today's 59km. Sleeping well?You bet.
This beautiful church could only be accessed by several flights of steps and I was buggered if I was going to haul my heavily laden bike, which I have since named Modestine in honour of R L Stephenson's donkey, up them.
On the Via Aquitania I encountered Pierre-Luigi who had raced madly past me the previous day on a stony downhill and frankly dangerous path; he was pushing his bike with a broken gear but still smiling and looking for cover before the next downpour arrived.
That was when I saw the first of the cagoules, ponchos and back pack covers ripped from their owners by the raging winds. Most were flapping uselessly on the remnants of trees somehow still standing.
And suddenly Sahagún hove into view. The sky cleared, the wind remained cold but I had a bed for the night.
8 stages done and another 8 or so to do.
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