What a miserable day. We started in the cloudes, this is not so bad. I find that I can settle into the mystery of a misty climb; no idea how long the climb will continue, how long the decent, when the next climb begins. There is a special silence to mist, why are misty days always silent? The silence is broken from time to time by the braying of a startled donkey sounding like a distant monster, or a dog’s bark as it goes through the motions of defending it’s teretory.
Gradually and subtely rain is introduced to the mist. So subtle is this introduction that I do not notice it until I am soaked. Whilst climbing the cyclist is always wet with sweat so a gradual increase in the moisture level is easy to miss. And so there we are, 14 degrees and soaked to the skin riding through mist and rain, then the road deteriorates. The quiet well surfaced road gives way to a broken potholed sandy muddy surface with rivulets of oil running through it; the tranquility of hardly any traffic is broked by the lorry tap being opened. Coaches, cars, lorries, and busses all vying for space on this retched road.
By five o’clock we reach a small town. Soaked to the skin we find a simple hostel for the night. The room is basic with three wonderful beds that have clearly been passed down through several generations. Sebastian sets out in search of some rum to lace our coffee with a warming elixir but returns with beer. We find that the shower is warm which is a blessing. Within half an hour we are warm, dry and relaxing with a beer.