A good night’s sleep and waking up to a brand new day. Well, not exactly. It was freaking freezing, foggy and forlorn. A 17 mile route today on roads all the way, and we set off with intent and determination. And, after half a mile, stopped for breakfast at the bar by the river that we had eaten at last night. Coffee, orange juice, bread, chips and fried eggs. A winning combination that drives tired legs and painful feet! Crossing the Ebro, up and over the hills and down to Sastago. We made good time, wrapped up in warm clothing, which for me included gloves, scarf, jumper and hat. Dropping down we came upon the river.

And after a few hundred metres we hit the bridge.

I’m afraid that is the extent of today’s story. We roadwalked, gasped on occasions at the pain inflicted on our soles by the tarmac, talked briefly and kept our heads down.

We stopped halfway and defrosted in a bar restaurant for 30 minutes and then hit the road again. We saw a dead wolf yesterday, and today it was the turn of a dead wild sheep and a mature wild boar. Poor devils.

This had obviously been hit by a big truck which had nearly decapitated it. Recently too,  but it was too big to carry! What a waste. 

After a few more hours, in fog and cold, we came upon a section of road where people appeared to be trying to kill us, in their cars and vans, by driving like loonies. We survived to Quinto and found the only historical buildings in town.

We’re now at our Pension, working our way through tapas for dinner. Divine.

17 miles today, 144 in total, 30 to go. This is the business end of the season. We’ve picked up injuries but we’ve made it this far and nothing will stop us walking 30 miles over the next two days to enjoy a day’s rest in Zaragoza before flying home. Unless it’s one of those barmy motorists! 

Night night.

It was a good hotel in Caspe last night for £20 each. Nice place, great meal, decent beer. The son of the owner had lived in Liverpool so he spoke good English. Unlike the people from Liverpool. Oh, sorry Cheggers. Glad you had a good time in New York. Ain’t retirement great?

This morning we had another decent fried egg on toast breakfast. Coffee and orange juice. Perfect. It had been well below freezing overnight and down in the Ebro valley the fog was thick and cold. 

We set off at around 10.30, no rush whilst it was freezing, and today we were aiming for Escatron around 16 miles up the valley. The fog slowly cleared at around 1pm.

It was a road walk today. No diversion just heading straight forward over undulating plains to the south of the (quite narrow) Ebro valley proper. The tarmac kills your feet. Well, my feet as well. And Gary’s feet. I swapped my boots for Salomon walking trainers today, which are great but give some impact from the road through to the sole of the foot. Gazza was going through the same, plus a slight Achilles problem. The road went straight and then over a tributary of the Ebro.

The view from over the bridge back to Chipranes, which we by-passed, was excellent.

Even at 2pm the temperature frosted our breath, but then the plain warmed up and we peeled off gloves, hats, scarves and top coats. It’s not great walking on the road but the views are still worth a look, left and right.

But with each mile the pain grew more. We’re getting fitter but our feet and legs are feeling the pain of roadwalking. Next time we’ll just find a cross-country footpath! We got closer to Escatron as the sun was slightly slipping down, highlighting the far side of the Ebro valley.

We made it by 5.20pm and found a bar on the outskirts whilst the sun was still on the veranda for a while. It was great to rest painful and blistered feet. 

The Pension we were staying at was closed when we arrived and didn’t respond to phone calls. We were envisioning sharing my emergency bivouac when a young woman came down the street with her grandma, and spotting our plight she got on her phone. Within three minutes the owner arrived and let us in! 

We’re down by the river, eating dinner and enjoying a rest. We’re going for broke and aiming to cut the walking by a day. We’re limping but we can do it; and have a full day and half in Zaragoza. We did 17 miles today, 127 over all, 47 to go.

Night night. Love you.

We ate last night at a bar just down the road from the Prison that we were staying in at Nonaspe. The landlord said he opened at 7am for breakfast. Excellent! We joined him with our rucksacks at 9.30am. A long walk yesterday deserved the respect of a late start today. He cooked  us fried eggs with toast, large white coffees and orange juice. Perfect. Today we were not going to take a wrong turning. No chance. Well, maybe only a little one. 

It was a cold night with a heavy frost and the first couple of hours walk were cold but refreshing. We wound up the river valley from Nonaspe towards Fabara station. 

We saw three or four tractors and cars en route. This beautiful land is empty of folk. Along the route were lots of wild pomegranates and we gave them a go.

It was a beautiful morning and the mountain terraces opened up their magnificence.

It’s so Zen to walk for hours with just the sound of birdsong and your own thoughts getting filtered towards happiness. With the sun on your head and a cool wind in your face, with nothing all around. Kismet Hardy.

Luckily Gary is as like minded as my mate Chip; comfortable to walk together in silence and just appreciate what and where we are. I’m not being posy. It’s true. It’s painful on your chest, knees, feet, legs and shoulders but it is brilliant. 

It got warm and we slowed a little but we were doing 20 miles today and not 27 so we were ok with it. The frustrating bit is that the Spanish don’t have Ordnance survey maps so we were navigating on google earth hard copy photos. There are no roads for tens of miles at the moment, but that will change when we walk in the Ebro valley.

Sorry to harp on about this but I’m loving being alive and chuffed that I didn’t die, having a beautiful family and friends and a fantastic wife who lets me live my dream of wild country walking. Nobody on this planet is luckier. Apart from Gary, who gets to walk with me!

The sun was beginning to sink and we approached the outskirts of Caspe. We were knackered and it was stuck up on a hill for fortification. It tested our strength after yesterday. And Sheff Utd was a bit ahead of Leeds (although Gazza might, justifiably, dispute that). 

It’s a nice town. A lot of North Africans here, surprising in the middle of nowhere but welcome nevertheless. 

I’ve enjoyed reviewing today and writing this blog. I hope you enjoyed reading it. Love Dave (and Gary).

Night night.

Or How to Make Life Difficult for Yourself. But let’s rewind to La Fatarella and a fascinating conversation with the young(ish) Italian owner of the B&B over breakfast. This small town was not only central to the Civil War in the 1930’s, but was also renowned 800 years before as the Head Office of the Knights Templar. The international centre, no less. 

It’s not talked about in the town. It’s not, locally, revered for this. But it is the biggest untold story in Catalonia. There are two storeys of tunnels and archways under this street, linking monasteries and places of worship. Locals are unaware that they are living in Templars’ housing and they mortar over the stonework and carvings. OMG as someone might say on fB.

The host was great, the breakfast was nice and the room was good and warm. This area is Terra Alta – the Highlands. According to a bloke we spoke to yesterday it’s hot in summer in the sun and cold in the shade. It was cold last night and this morning. This is me last night. 

We talked a lot to GianCarlo, the owner, this morning, fascinated by his insights, and left just before 10am. The air was cold but the clouds were slowly clearing. We were cutting across country on tracks and paths for 18 miles.

The land is like this, with terraces, woodland, vines and olive trees. It’s great but for the second day running we missed our route. What a bugger! When you miss your Way you end up in very difficult overgrown territory with high terraces to climb down. There are lots of angry dogs and people who tell you to go away. There are also vultures waiting to eat you!

We came across all of these and decided on cutting across country to a road from Vilalba des Arcs to Batea to Nonaspe. An additional 13 kms and 44kms in total.
We eventually found the road, after being told we were on private land, but a smile and three or four Spanish words usually cut the ice. We made good time, marching under the warm sun to Batea. The road was empty.

The sun was then going down as we gritted our teeth for the last uphill 17 kms and a swift downhill 3 kms drop to Nonaspe. Our shadows were great against the warm stone.

But the air was cold and turned colder as the sky darkened and kept clear. It’s unforgiving territory. 

We crossed over from Catalonia to Aragon. A real turning point.

We marched side by side with our rucksacks and walking poles in the moonlight for 90 minutes and made it, after 27 miles, to Nonaspe. We’re staying in a converted medieval prison. As usual we are the only ones here. Not even any staff. We’ll see later if it’s haunted.

Since we started we’ve done 90 miles. Another 90 to go. Anyone who sponsored us per mile will pay for 160 and not the 20 additional miles caused by our wanderings. We might be knackered but we’re loving it.

 Night night. Love you. 

We got up just before 8am for breakfast after a good night sleep. However after yesterday’s rain    we had a return of the cold. Gazza was better than me. I was ill again. After a great breakfast of toast and hand-made and home-made marmalades, Gary walked down to the river to spot carp (unsuccessfully in the cold and misty morning) and I went back to bed for an hour. I needed it and woke more refreshed. 

We were heading for La Fatarella today, a long walk along a pilgrimage route to a monastery to San Jeroni up in the mountains. Over the tops, down to the next valley, up and over the next ridge and onward to the highlands and the village high on a plateau. 

It was cold but dry and we cut a good pace up a thousand feet to San Jeroni monastery and then up another 500 feet beyond. 

I’m not as fit as I was before my fall but I kept going today as well as I could in an uphill struggle. Gazza done good yet again. Focused and determined. We reached the summit of the first range, dropped down to the valley floor and looked for the footpath to take us over the next mountains. It wasn’t there! The footpath was so overgrown we couldn’t find it. Instead we had to wind our way around the valleys for a couple of miles to get to where we should have been an hour earlier. The land was rich and beautiful though, with almond trees, olives, vines and hazlenuts. 

The weather was still iffy but we got our heads down and cracked on.

Reaching a main road that cut north to the road to La Fatarella, and into very emotional and historically-laden country. Eighty years ago during the Spanish civil war the Republican forces launched an overnight attack across the Ebro river, including Mora where we stayed last night. They surprised Franco’s forces and pushed up the way we are heading towards La Fatarella. Young lads from Spain, reinforced by international brigades from the UK, other European countries and the USA fought the might of fascist Franco, supported by Hitler and Mussolini. 

The views from the hilltops were awesome, and must be unchanged since the days that these lads spent four months defending them. It was a long slog going up the valley.

 But getting to the top we saw a sign to a landmark of the civil war. This was something we couldn’t ignore. The trenches and shelter from attacks and bombing by the Nationalists and Nazis to provide a last defence for La Fatarella.

When your head covers in goose pimples it doesn’t stop for a while. We wandered around lost in awe at the conditions these lads fought in to the last over four long and bloody months.

We walked, largely in silence, to La Fatarella.

The majesty of the Pyrenees, 100 miles away, was covered in snow and sunlight behind Gazza’s shoulders.

A good meal, a few beers and a good night’s sleep. God bless the young lads who gave their lives for democracy and decency. Gary’s face says it all. 

Night night.

What a great night’s sleep. I only had one pee break and otherwise slept through until 07.40.  Gazza slept through to 08.40. Lucky divil.  Breakfast was revolting, some kind of mushy, heated pastrami with cheese in a sandwich. Horrible. Pity we don’t speak Catalan. 

The world outside was chilly and wet with very low cloud.

Luckily we were walking towards the northwest, and south of the mountains, and then cutting westward to the River Ebro and the town Mora d’Ebro. This was to be a short day of around 15 kms. We cut across country on a short cut that I’d seen on some old maps but we got pulled up by a bloke who was quite opinionated. Although we couldn’t understand Catalan he indicated that we should go back a kilometre and walk alongside the dual-carriageway to Mora and that we couldn’t continue down the track we were on because it led to a private finca (farmhouse). Bullshit. This was a public track.

We haven’t found the Catalans to be overly friendly. Quite the opposite compared to the other regions of Spain. Miserable and introspective. If I was Spain I would grant the miserable buggers independence and see them off. Malcontents.

We diverted away from the track that the bloke had stopped us on and followed a different and very quiet road. No point in arguing, even though I’ve got a machete. The weather deteriorated and although we hadn’t left until 10.00am we strode at a fair pace. 

This wasn’t mountain country; it was fruit and vineyard land. It was chucking it down but we really struck a strong pace. Walking side by side, silent but very manly. Bloody hell, we’re tough. Well…. maybe not.

After a while the road cut down, and although we couldn’t see the mountains on the far side of the river we felt we were making good time. The cutting showed great rock colouring.

Pushing on we made it to the outskirts of Mora by 1230! We were so determined in the pouring rain and aided by a downward path that we nailed it. It was only 9 miles today but we needed the rest and we did it really fast. Over 3 miles an hour. And got down to Mora pretty fast.

We cut across country to the second Ebro crossing. 

And Gazza spotted quite a few huge carp in the margins. Amazing. The most highly regarded fishing river in Europe.

We arrived in Mora at 12.45. I’d thought we would be much, much later. Determined marching in cold and rain. We done well and rewarded ourselves with an amazing four course lunch for just over £8each. Beautiful. 

We’re early for our room but we’ll get there soon and get a reyt early neet to steal a march on tomorrow. Thislocal vermouth was free and was the dog’s. 

This street graffiti reinforces the independence sentiment. Let them have it. There are many quiet and miserable people here. Free them!

Night night.

I had hoped that this would be a manageable walk over 25 kms of undulating land. I’d remembered it with some trepidation but also confidence that I’d researched a new route at the end which would be easier. However it turned into 20 miles of sweat and tears. 

The morning was misty over the mountains as we ate a breakfast of eggs, cured ham and sliced fried potatoes  to stock up on protein and carbohydrates. Yesterday we used up 3,800 calories according to Gazza’s superwatch. Today we were to use up nearly 5,000. 

The route today was uphill and seriously difficult. We set off at 9.30 am and got instantly coated in sweat with the weight of the rucksacks. It took us two hours to climb up over 3,000 ft and the last couple of kilometres were so steep that we followed a careering path up to the top of a cloud-covered pass. 

The summit was around 3,500 ft and we had a difficult walk down to a ghost village, Llaberia, which is complete and well maintained but has no inhabitants!

Having reached the top, we had to stop, and drop down the route we were following, the Gran Reccorrido 7, being the longest and most prestigious footpath in Spain – but dilapidated and no-one walks it. 

We were pouring in sweat and running out of water but when we eventually reached the valley floor there was a sliver of a river and we topped up with fresh water and filled our water bottles. Good job. We’d have really struggled without this top up.

We climbed up onto the valleyside and there were the most fantastic vineyards. They now carry on for hundreds of miles to the Rioja region. The village behind Gazza is Capcanyes.

Bad news is that we shortly had the longest, most severe and highest climb of this trip. We struggled. It went up almost 75 degrees in places and it blasted us. I’ve had the worst cold for ages, and it only peaked yesterday, so I was struggling for breath. Gaz done good. In pain but kept going.

After a long slog we made it to the back of the mountain and a rock face to our left as we descended over very iffy ground through the warm cloud.

It took us an hour to reach the valley floor and we slipped through an unelectrified electric fence and cut across a steep gully to join a track up a valley that I’d spotted on google earth. 

This is wild country. It took us another three hours to get to Tivissa to find ourselves the only people in the Hostal, again. We had some free tapas and a sandwich and called it a day at 9pm. This walk is great. I’m exhausted, Gazza’s doing well but exhausted too as we hiked over 20 miles today over high mountains, climbing 5,000 ft. It’s not easy but it’s great.

Night night. Love you. 

Night night from Gazza too. He’s loving it.

Well I got here yesterday with Gazza. We went down to Stansted on Monday night, flew in to Reus yesterday and walked into town from the airport. Just loosening up with the rucksacks and massive change in temperature from the UK. Sunny and warm here. This is Gary on successive Tuesdays, in Spain and then a week ago on top of Ingleborough in a hurricane!

We stayed in a dodgy Hostal last night which served fantastic food very cheaply. When we arrived we were hungry and raided the tapas bar. Liver and onions, mussels in garlic, clams and other stuff. 

With two pints of beer, ten quid! The bloke on the right was off his head, talking, singing and laughing to himself. The bloke at the end of the bar was the barman. He walked around like a zombie and spat out big lumps of gob onto the floor behind the bar. Dirty dog. 

Nevertheless after three hours sleep in late afternoon and an early evening stroll around the centre of Reus we came back for paella and local red wine. Fantastic. The Hostal was £14 each. 

This morning we set off late, just after 10am, and aimed to cover 18 miles, mostly uphill and off-road, in the warm and, at its zenith, hot sun. The cherry blossom was already out and we picked up free oranges which were ripe on the trees by the side of the road. Sweet and juicy.

This region is part of Catalonia and there is a strong independance feel in the villages and cities. Flags everywhere and some people will only speak Catalan. Nobody speaks English but we get through on my poor Spanish.

We trekked through the mountains and, after a very rough uphill path for the last few miles, made it to our Hostal by 6pm. Just in time with the darkness and clouds closing in. We’re eating as I blog (how rude) and the food is great. Free tapas, burger and spaghetti Bol for Gazza. We’re tired and will get an early night. 

18 miles done, 142 to go. Night night my dear friends. Love Dave.