Where in the world is David today? St-Jean-Pied-de-Port - as planned

It is fantastic to have got this far. To be honest, I don't know whether I believed it was possible, but today's journey takes me to 73% of the full journey, and as a day it really takes some prizes. There aren't really photos to reflect it, but it would be hard to capture. To you it would probably just look like a lot of trees, or hills. To me it was an ever shifting and changing vista. That's not something you can capture with a single still photograph, nor even with a video camera. My memory and your imagination will have to suffice. Luckily I have been able to pick up a WiFi connection to update the blog today.

I had promised myself not to rush into the day, and I kept that promise. I was out of the hotel by just after 9.00am, but with no rush and a leisurely, and most amusing breakfast. The same, very funny, lady was on duty for breakfast as had checked me in the night before. There weren't many guests eating when I came down, but she was in the kitchen sorting a few things out. As soon as I had picked up my tray and a bowl of cereals and turned for fruit juice, I noticed a problem. The juicer was pouring out orange juice at almost full speed, with nothing to catch it! The spill tray had filled up, and the juice was running across the table and all over the floor. I called her over immediately and tried to catch what I could so that the problem didn't get worse, but the whole thing then became the event of the morning with guests ribbing her endlessly (and her giving as good as she got) while she soaked towel after towel in orange juice and had further mishaps dropping things in it. What a laugh! So there was my Good Samaritan action for the day before 9.00am.

Anyway, the route into Dax itself took me down the hill past Vincent Neury Cycles, the Garmin dealer, and I decided to see whether he had a replacement bike computer and use that as the test. God bless Vincent. Not only did he have one in stock, he happily fitted a new cadence magnet for nothing (the old one fell off somewhere in England). So, now that it is charged, I have the benefit again - and it was a real help straight away on a day with lots of climbing - helping me to gauge how tough the inclines were and pace myself appropriately. A visit to Vincent Neury and a look round the cathedral, and I was still on my way out of town at around 10.00am, complete with a stamp from Dax Cathedral, given to me by a very rotund and jolly man in a very large bow tie. Dax Cathedral wasn't especially notable, but it was a comfortable place again, and had a beautiful and peaceful oratory set aside for prayer.

The countryside was lovely, if a bit 'rolling', but the miles seemed to go very comfortably, and in no time at all I was in Peyrehorade, where I took time out to clean and oil my chain, something I had meant to do, but forgotten, last night. A little maintenance pays big dividends - that's a spiritual lesson as well as a practical lesson - and after that everything was running much smoother, and I was rested and ready to go on. Then, just after Bidache, as I was about to follow one of the recommended deviations through the Bois de Mixe when I heard another 'ping' - spoke number two, neighbour to the first. This time I was equipped, and in 15 minutes or so I'd fixed it to my satisfaction and was on my way. An unplanned stop, but also a good rest, and the ride through the Bois de Mixe was an absolute delight, following the Palarena river and crossing over it again and again all the way through some lovely, lovely woodland. The real benefit was a very slightly more gradual climb up to Arraute-Charitte, but the last pull up was still very steep. However, I had an excuse to stop briefly - stupendous views, and my first place sign in both French and Basque. Everything from there on was bi-lingual - a bit like being in parts of Wales, I suppose - and with a sense of Basque pride emerging.

After that, I decided to miss out another deviation and just face the climbs to save 7km, and I was very pleased to reach St-Palais and sit down for a drink and an ice cream. The atmosphere was definitely changing - the architecture, the accent, the environment. At St-Palais I did NOT attempt to go up to the stele at Gibraltar which marks the convergence of the main routes from Tours, Vezelay and Le Puy. That's a walkers' option really, only for hardy cyclists with no luggage and granny gears! Instead, I set out on the final leg to St-Jean-Pied-de-Port wondering why I had been so terrified of today, and I was rewarded with beautiful views again. The Pyrenees proper, which I had been glimpsing from Arraute-Charitte onwards, had now ‘faded in’ fully and were plain to see, and the River Bidouze, first glimpsed at Bidache, tumbled frequently over rocks. Cuttings for the main road revealed the uplifted strata of the rocks, disturbed when the Pyrenees first formed.

What surprised me was how fresh I felt. Yes, some of the climbs were exhausting, and I am still learning how to establish a rhythm that can be maintained for as long as I need, but I arrived feeling as though I could go on much further rather than feeling as if I should have stopped miles back and couldn’t go another inch. There’s a spiritual as well as a practical lesson there, too. I must think about how to apply that to the rest of life. At any rate, the last few miles into St-Jean-Pied-de-Port felt like a reward, and contained the nice surprise that this is the region where Ossau-Iraty cheese comes from – one of my favourite French cheeses, so I blessed the cows I passed in that final stretch. I blessed too the mechanic at the bike store on the outskirts of town who rooted through his entire stock of spokes and provided me with some more spares – I decided that would be wise.

The guide book had suggested one route into town, and I had accidentally taken a more direct route, but I wouldn’t have passed the bike shop if I hadn’t, so I was glad of that ‘error’, and I quickly found my way back to where the book had intended me to enter – right at the top of town by the Citadelle. From there, it was possible to see for miles into the Pyrenees, and to imagine the search for the first passes through the mountains, and the importance of the place in times past. In particular I could see the general direction I must travel in the next day, and it certainly looked the easiest of the possible passes to aim for.

A short, but precipitous, descent down cobbles took me to the pilgrim welcome office. I was going to say that I was pushing the bike, but it was more a case of restraining it and trying not to fall over on the tricky cobbles. The guide had warned against trying to cycle down, and I wondered who would even try. The welcome there was warm and efficient, and in no time at all they had provided me with an address for accommodation in a Roman-Catholic run hostel, and I had even met one half of my host couple, Jacques. There would be no trouble finding it – continue down the street, cross the river and after a short distance it would be on the left.

Naturally the town has much for the tourist, and many shops with inflated prices, but it is also a charming place, and the sense of being Basque is very strong. Having a strong sense of identity does something for a place, without a doubt. I visited the church by the bridge and felt immediately calmed. The interior was simple, solid and enfolding. The stations of the cross were in Basque, and clearly a lot of the services are in Basque, and clearly it has in the past, and may still, be packed, having galleries – rather like the ones that were present in times past in Stockton Parish Church, or the old Holy Trinity. I lit a candle and prayed for the day to come, which will certainly be a test, though I hope once more to feel lifted over the hills.

Arrival at the hostel was a homecoming. I had thought I would clean up and go out for a further walk around the town. I had no desire to do so. The facilities – dormitory style – were simple but good, and immediately I was drawn into instant community. Jacques and Monique create an atmosphere of embrace, and the fact is that pilgrims, being on a journey themselves, are open to each other’s journeys. Wouldn’t it be great if we all had a better understanding of life as pilgrimage and a greater respect for each other’s life journeys? I shan’t list my companions here, but suffice to say that they included an American film-maker and musician struggling with a knee problem, an ex French international rugby player and a Belgian Jesuit priest, and you perhaps begin to get the flavour. As I will be moving on much faster than most of the others our paths will not cross again on this trip, but I will carry them with me, and I believe they will carry me with them too, but not as a burden. That is, I guess, part of the Camino. Our meal together feels now to me to have been sacramental as we prepare to embark on the crossing into Spain, wondering whether our American friend will be able to go on, or must go home and continue his journey in another way and another place.