Camini v3 - Day 9: Cadillac to Labouheyre (86km)

Yesterday as I was sitting outside the Tourist office, using their internet as one does, a couple of cyclists came by: tall,  big bikes, panniers, cyclist's legs. Dutch, I figured. Later I see them again in the restaurant - not so surprising that they are at the same restaurant, given there's only two that are actually open - I hear them speaking Dutch confirming my earlier assumption.

Just another country house

This morning as I am riding through Les Landes, a pine-forested and thankfully flat region, I spot a couple of cyclists coming up behind me. They are my Dutch restaurant neighbours of yesterday. As the first one comes abreast he matches my speed and we talk while riding. It turns out they've left Holland two weeks ago and are planning to ride to Santiago; when the guy discovers I've already ridden that section he's interested to find out more about the route. It's impressive how little homework they've done. We say our goodbyes and the first rider moves ahead. A bit later the second rider passes me, looking down as he towers over me on his enormous bike. He's a very tall Dutchman on a very tall Dutch bike.

Later, in the next town with a café, I see a pair of familiar bikes propped against a wall. I pull into the café for my morning coffee stop and sure enough, there are the two Dutch riders; they've already had their coffee. "Can I buy you a coffee?" says the tall one. "I'll have one too then" says his companion. They want to talk some more about the Spanish part of the Camino. We spend a pleasant half hour or so with our coffees, which to my surprise are actually quite good - maybe I'm just going to the wrong places or perhaps my ordering technique is wrong - and they pick my brains about the Camino. I get the impression that the tall one, who isn't as much of a rider as the other guy, who races bikes, is having some doubts about whether he's up to it and is looking for reassurance.

At Hostens I decide to deviate from the route again, to follow yet another cycle-way that follows an old railway line. Again it's a great ride: dead straight and flat for 8 km, but through nicely forested countryside. The last part of my ride today is also along dead straight and flat roads, but completely exposed with not a tree anywhere nearby and in the full hot afternoon sun. It's not pleasant at all.

Piste Cyclable - along old railway lines

At Pissos, where I had originally thought to stay, I realise how much higher than usual my average speed has been on this flat terrain and I've arrived earlier than I'd expected. I feel I can ride for another 20 km or so and will ride on rather than staying here. I'm at the local church - which is quite impressively large given the size of the town - and I sit down on the steps to call the hostels the next town. As it happens, I have their numbers from a note I found in my cell last night. To my surprise, both hostels are full, and so is first of the two hotels I call. Maybe I'll stay in Pissos after all. But I get the number of a woman who occasionally rents a room and I call her; she doesn't answer. Just as I'm about to call the other hotel the church's minister appears: "Pilgrim?" he asks. "I'm expecting a pilgrim" he adds, "a real one." He means one arriving on foot, but there's a hidden meaning I suspect. In any case, I'm invited inside (his house is, of course, right next to the church) and he offers coffee and cold water. He's quite opinionated, in a nice way, and clearly enjoys sharing his knowledge. He stamps my credencial and as "homework" I have to write something in his visitor's book. He takes pilgrims from time to time and there's some interesting stories written in the book by people who have previously stayed.

Moustey - only 1,000 (walking) kilometres to Santiago

Just after I leave, Nathalie, the woman with a room, calls me back, which I think is very thoughtful of her, considering I didn't leave a message. She's out of town, but if I don't mind waiting (she says almost apologetically) she can sort out the room when she gets back. So I have a bed for the night.

Nearing my destination, riding along the long hot boring road I mentioned earlier, I spot someone walking up ahead. So the walking path follows same awful bit of road, I realise. I pull alongside for a chat, figuring that anyone who's been walking this section has been doing it pretty tough (it's bad enough on a bike). Sophie is a young woman from Bordeaux who is on her fourth day and hopes to make it to Santiago. Right now she's clearly at the 'can I really manage this?' phase of her journey, and this awful section isn't helping. So I stay with her, walking my bike the last couple of kilometres, chatting with her and hopefully giving her some moral support (and some distraction from her sore knees and feet). Arriving at the town, she flops down on a bench, clearly relieved to have made it this far. We say our goodbyes; I hope she gets past this phase and does manage to make it all the way to Santiago. The person running the gite she is staying at has kindly offered to come and pick her up, saving her from having to walk another kilometre or two.

My room for the night turns out to be in a poolside shed; I have a room with a view. I ride into town for dinner at what is essentially the only restaurant, which turns out to be actually rather good.

Bed-in-a-shed, complete with skunks