Holding faith in the emptiness before the dawning of the next chapter when you will find your authentic and supportive community.
This dusty town was the place I slept after a particularly long and hot day. Much of the walking was along a dishearteningly ugly highway. Since the Camino has been in existence for over a thousand years, its route across the country is usually the most direct route west. The modern Spanish government has not been blind to this fact. In many places, roads, like the busy N120, have been constructed alongside the trail.
After a day of noise from cars and a longing for a more peaceful track, Belorado was a safe harbor. I found this a challenging stretch, mostly because my body was now in full revolt from my ever-quickening pace. I had this feeling deep in my bones that there were young people I was meant to meet up ahead, so I pushed myself to walk farther and farther each day. This had caused my Achilles to bunch up like tightened rubber bands and brought on tendonitis with each step. Somehow I needed to remain calm in the face of another day’s journey towards community. I ate pasta, slept and awoke at 5 am to begin my walk in the dark. It was a Saturday. As I took off into the outskirts of town, young Spaniards were still in the streets, outside the clubs. To them I must have seemed an apparition that their addled senses could not understand. That day I walked 50km/30 miles. I hardly stopped to eat. The road just fell away before me. At midday, I saw the city that was my goal, and I knew I would reach it. That night, I met two American guys, who were part of the group that I would travel with until the end of the trail. They later told me that I seemed positively rabid to talk to them. In fact, I was rabid with an intense joy that the part of my journey without community was thankfully over.
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