Benali to Collado Carroche – a country mile or two. Second blog today.

I did 29 kilometres yesterday from Vallada and it’s 88 kms in total from Vallada to Cortes de Pallas. The night was cold but not unfriendly. Bizarrely a car came up the track early in the night but it didn’t stop and there were no animal noises. There were two rocks under the tent and I had to make a letter S shape round them to sleep. It takes a while to get used to this.

It was just coming light when I had breakfast, dates, cheese and half a bounty bar with water. 

I hit the track at 8.50 am and made good speed downhill as the sun came out to play (with his hat on) hip, hip, hip hooray. 

The road passed a dry river bed in the bottom and cut up yet another hillside. I took three wrong turns that Gav spotted before I’d gone too far wrong. I hope Gav dunt brek. It was early afternoon before I got to the top and dropped down over the back of the hill. This is great exercise for a twenty year old. Yesterday a sign came up pointing to Casas de Benali saying 2hrs 15mins. It took me three and a half hours. Who does it in 2.15? Superman – without a rucksack? 

Another valley bottom, with some wild deer who had avoided being shot in this deep countryside leaping away from me over the tussocks and fallen trees. There was a good flow of clean water so I topped up my bottles. Had to get my feet a bit damp again crossing the stream.

This next climb was a megathon, finishing up at Pico de Carroche looking back south east.

I missed another turn. Apparently this is the E4 European super track from Spain to Greece. Jesus.

Another 4kms and I’d be at Collado Carroche. Nothing there but a spring but that would be gratefully received. I got there in half darkness, sorry no photo, climbed up the next hillside and pitched me tent up a bank at the side of the road under some pine trees. The flattest part was a worn animal track through the grass tussocks so I put broken branches across the path before the tent to warn the wildies that Dave woz ere. Another 29kms under my belt. 

The wind had got up. I lay underneath my sleeping bag fully clothed including my socks and boots to get an early start in the dark. I hadn’t eaten much in two days and wolfed down a tin of cold beans and a flask of spring water. I was fatigued and heard people talking. I’m sure it’s the funny little squeaks I was making due to a bad chest and a bit of a sniffly cold. It sometimes sounds like folk talking quietly against the whoosh of the wind in the treetops.  Or it could have been the spirits. 

I didn’t care too much. The spirits need love too and they’re only what we might have been and what we will be. Night night.