The Pyrenees/Poor-Knees

The pain really began Sunday night as I slept. Aching knees had become a common ailment on this epic walking adventure, but that night I tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable pain-free position for my screaming right knee. Maybe swung over my left leg? No. Crunched up beneath my chin? Uh-uh. Dangling over the side of the bed? Cold. Splayed flat, toes up? Is it 6:00 am yet?

The next morning was no better, so we swallowed our pride and took a taxi from Antiguelouve to Oloron-Sainte-Marie, skipping an 18-mile day of unceasing, undulating Pyrenees foothills. As the cab climbed and climbed and climbed some more to the beat of the Katy Perry song seemingly on loop on the radio, any regrets we had of bailing out and giving my poor knee a vacation were laid to rest. If we were going to make it to the Col du Somport pass, we had to be in fighting form.

The next day was a lazy day off in Oloron-Sainte-Marie spent sightseeing and gazing at the mighty green and snowcapped Pyrenees through a crisp blue mountain. We had realized weeks earlier talking to other pilgrims, many of whom had made the Camino trek multiple times, that we were far too ambitious with our mileage over the pass (by "we" I mean "mom"). From two days we had to make three, but, unfortunately, that would get us in a day late to our meeting point in Puenta la Reina with Lizzie, Red & Sactown Rick (I sense a rap song in the making...)

To keep us on schedule, yesterday we saddled up on the bus and took it partway up the range, walking 9 miles from Accous to Urdos. Quite a bit of elevation gained. Mom nearly blacked out at one point. But that wasn't the worst of it. The worst were the long deadman's curve like stretches on the N134 highway. Mack trucks careened down the winding tarmac at breakneck speeds. Often, there was no shoulder to find relief, and when there was, it was about as wide as a half a petit baguette. I felt like a Pyrenees tightrope walker, teetering with my trekking poles, shakily trying to put one boot in front of the other and never, never, never looking down, so as to keep my eyes fixed on the oncoming traffic. If there was a time to take up a religion, the time was now.

When we finally were presented with some non-highway trails, the bugs swooped in like Imperial Fighters. All sorts of them. And me, stupidly, in my bare-all hiking shorts (flashback: "I look cute in these, right?") I raced through the narrow single track, weeds scraping my calves as I swept past, until finally coming to a clearing where I ripped off my shorts and threw on my long pants to protect my virginal skin from invaders.

The one saving grace of this first day's experience was the awe-inspiring beauty of the mountains, themselves; each one a soft, velvety green dotted with wildflowers and rustic grey, stone houses with brightly colored shutters. In the villages were places to buy food, sip coffee or enjoy a beer, which we took part in as soon as we got into Urdos, watching in disbelief a sunny hail storm ravage the street for minute or two as we listened to road bikers in spandex chat in Spanish.

Yet, all this time, high above the road, stood the craggy, snow-covered upper peaks of the Pyrenees. These peaks both frighten and exhilarate me. Their intimidating presence and majestic beauty speak of danger and uncertainty and, best of all, the taste of victory. They also represent the end of one journey and the beginning of another, as we say goodbye to France and embrace the Camino Aragones in Spain.

Which today, after hiking almost 8 miles and gaining 1800 feet from Urdos to the Col du Somport pass, we did with a bittersweet smile. The day was perfect. I insisted we get up early to beat the rain and rush hour traffic of the N134. After nearly 4 miles on the highway we stepped foot on the Ancient Route to Spain, which led us gradually to the pass by way of striking views and lush green meadows (even a friendly mountain antelope - sorry, his pic was taken with the Nikon only but promise to share soon.)

Then there we were. In Spain. Victorious! Jubilant! Mom shared with me later that she even cried a few tears. She knew we would make it there, but she had never actually envisioned it taking place. My own disbelief stemmed from how easily my body had gotten me to the top. Except for my bit of knee pain, I wasn't sore... Or out of breath... Or tired... Or covered in sweat. I didn't have to stop and take breaks. I just did it. I climbed the Pyrenees with a 22lb backpack as if it were any other day on the trail. If that isn't success, I don't know what is.

4 miles of downhill, and we made it into Canfranc-Estacion just as a light rain began to fall. Pat on my back for that well planned weather timing and to my dad who always told me that thunderstorms in the mountains usually occur around 2pm. And so it did.

As we spend the next several days descending the Pyrenees, please send your well wishes to our poor knees. They have gotten us so very far - 366 miles by foot alone - and will need a lot of lovin' on these downhills... Not to mention the next 500 miles of the Camino.

Au Revoir France, and Hola Espana!

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iPhone Pyrenees pics. The Nikon shots are much richer and more varied, so we promise to share them as soon as we meet the gang with our replacement pic download 'thing-a-ma-jig'.


The village of Accous, where the bus dropped us off. We stood by the side of the road spellbound. Were we really expected to walk on THAT freeway?!


The River Aspe.


The village of Borce on the way to Urdos - aka site of our olive break.


Beer break in Urdos as we wait for the grocery shop to open and the cashier to unlock the communal gite.


Sunrise freeway stroll. Notice the large bus and Mack truck to the left of the screen. But on this second day we had an actual shoulder, folks!


Getting closer!



At last!


Mom wants to clarify that the white blob tucked into her belt is the guidebook.


One last look back at France.


Modern statue of a pilgrim greets us at the top.


On the way down we find several pilgrim refuges. This one with an artistic domestic touch.

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Location:Casa Murieta, Canfranc-Estacion, Spain