I felt a bit gloomy this morning . Yesterdays riding had felt tougher than I expected and although I hadn’t got rigid daily mileage targets ,I hadn’t gone as far as I wanted and it had certainly taken me ages . The bike felt heavy and the front panniers especially were making the handling sketchy,especially on downhill sections. I also hadn’t planned on staying in a hotel on the first night and that felt like a bit of a cop out too

I needed to have a word with myself. This kind of negativity wouldn’t do, it was only the first day, things hadn’t even bedded in yet and at least ,as one of my friends on Strava succinctly put it, I wasn’t “working shifts and dealing with muppets” 😊

I congratulated myself on my positive mental attitude with a second pain au chocolat and then set off from Guernica with whatever the cycling equivalent of a spring in my step is.

But I’d barely reached the end of the street before the ominously black clouds opened, and the rain came down. And down. And down some more. Gatos y perros. As you read this the cold rain is falling. When you pause between paragraphs it’s still chucking it down,steaming up your glasses and dripping off your nose . When you reach todays exciting finale just assume it’s still pouring and you are so wet that the campsite lady quietly wipes the check in counter down with a towel after you .

“ cinquo minutes senor” came the motivating call from the pro kit road biker that glided effortlessly past me. Seeing as I’d been riding oh so slowly uphill for the last two hours it was an amazing relief to know I was five minutes from the top. Except I wasn’t . Maybe he was the founder member of the “lets give the foreigner false hope” club.

Maybe his cheery five minute warning was the length of time he thought it would be before gravity and fatigue ground me to a complete standstill, sending me gracefully falling sideways into the wet verge without even the energy to unclip

Maybe he was actually referring to the bus shelter (the word “shelter” being the key here) I was pathetically grateful to come across when I did eventually make it to the top near the tiny village of Nabarniz

I’d already noticed how green and lush this part of Spain is. Known to be the wettest part of the country it reminded me of the Atlantic coastlines of Devon, Cornwall, even Brittany. A month earlier I’d been in Andalusia where the scorched and arid landscape was supporting crops of olives and oranges , lemons and grape vines ,whereas here it was apples and blackberries (I know you’re now thinking about custard)

There followed a glorious downhill into Lekeitio for lunch. The descent was a bit nervy because of the weather (it’s still raining remember!) but it was a nice lunch stop. Seemingly there was a festival planned for that night around the harbour and the setting up was being done in strict accordance with Spanish health and safety laws,ie making sure the cigarette was lit before climbing the wet scaffolding and wrapping the lunchtime wine bottle in a hi viz cover

About eight rollercoaster miles remained to Camping Endai ,my home for the night . Later in the campsite bar I tasted the liquid benefit of all those apples I’d seen growing earlier …..