Rest days and making up the time lost

[Robert Spenger]

On Mar 25, 2004, at 12:59 PM, wanda wrote:

> Thanks....rest is good, but one would have difficulties finishing the
> camino...right?  Wanda
>

Wanda,

The only solid rule is that walkers must walk the last one hundred
kilometers to SdeC. Any other limitations are those you set for
yourself and are no one else's business. If you lose a day for any
reason - health, a side trip, spending time doing the tourist bit, or
whatever, you can make up lost days by taking the bus or train. Just
make sure that you have the time, health, and strength to do that last
hundred kilometers. Even that is not necessary unless you are
determined, as most of us were, to properly earn the compostela. On my
last trip, in the Fall of 2002, I spent a miserable night in the
refugio in Astorga with a bad cold and an infection in a large blister
on the ball of one foot. The next morning, once I got all my gear on,
poncho and all and stepped out into the heavy rain, I had the feeling
that I could just keep going. However, good sense prevailed and I
walked only until I found a cheap hotel and checked in. It took quite a
while at the clinic, but eventually the blister was thoroughly swabbed
with betadine and I was given a prescription for the cold. I got a good
rest in the hotel that night, but in the morning I decided that it
would be better to take a bus - both for additional rest and to bypass
having to go over the highest point on the route in miserable weather
when I was not yet really recovered. The bus took me to Ponferrada and
I had plenty of time to do an easy 15 km to Cacabelos.

As a side note, I met a fellow California pilgrim on the road that day
that appeared to be about my vintage. I had just celebrated my 78th
birthday back in Navarette and he told me that he was 75. Later he
mentioned that he had been a glider pilot in WWII. My thought was: "No
way!" I was not quite 21 when the war ended, which would have made him
no more than 18, if that. He certainly could have been in the service
in the war, but it didn't seem that there would have been enough time
for him to have gone through glider pilot training. Eventually I heard
that some one had spotted his passport and that he was really 85. The
thought was that he lied about his age because he was afraid that he
would not be allowed in the refugios. At any rate, I got to Cacabelos a
little earlier, but there was plenty of space at the refugio and he was
assigned to the same two person room, so we had plenty of time to chat.
We started out together again on the next day. After a while I went on
ahead again, but he showed up at the restaurant where I stopped for
lunch and joined me again. Eventually I stopped for the night at
Ruitelan. I didn't see him that evening, so I assumed that he had
stopped a bit earlier at Vega de Valcarce. On the following day I took
the now almost deserted highway route to O Cebreiro, stopped for lunch
at Alto do Poio, and continued on to Triacastela. Late in the afternoon
I was surprised to see him across the field from the refugio having
coffee with a friend that I had known back in Southern California. She
was the one that later fold me that someone said that he was really 85.
She also told me that he had been at O Cebreiro the night before!
Instead of stopping at Valcarce or Ruitelan, he had gone all the way up
to O Cebreiro, arriving at about 7 P.M. That was well after dark, since
it was a week into October and he was in really bad shape with a
severely swollen leg. He had made it down to Triacastela O.K., but
everyone was getting on him to get some medical attention for his leg.
We never did know whether or not he did. The next day, I walked to
Sarria, with my SoCal friend and met up with her again after we reached
SdeC. It turned out that she had gotten sick as well and had spent a
day in Portomarin to recover. She also reported that she had spotted
our 85 year old companion in SdeC and that he had apparently recovered,
At least he had a big smile on his face and was talking with an
attractive young woman.

regards,

Bob Spenger