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slower speed. I made it to the police/customs check on the Spanish side and stopped at the
booth.
The guards were absolutely shocked but I wasn't sure why. Maybe because a) cyc-
lists actually weren't permitted, b) the load on my bike was impressive, c) I was cycling
in the hottest time of the day, d) nothing on my bike matched, or e) all of the above. One
guard asked me for my passport, flipped through it without really reading it and quickly
returned it.
I was off to Ainsea. I found a ' habitaciones ' (hotel) for 1,000 pesetas. I wasn't sure
if that was expensive or not (I think the exchange rate was 1 to 70). I sat on my balcony to
write inmyjournal.Imarkedthedistance (78kilometres) butnotedthattherewereseveral
mountain climbs. That evening, I decided not to go to Barcelona since they were holding
the Olympics and finding a room would have been a nightmare. I opted to go directly to
Madrid instead.
ItriedtocontacttheCanadianEmbassyinMadridbutIdidn'thaveenoughchange.
After a small breakfast, I began my first full day of cycling in Spain. The day went great.
It was cloudy when I started to cycle and had at least 3 hours of cooler temperatures. Then
at 11:00 it started to become hot. The roads were in very good condition and the views
became more interesting. As I left the Pyrenees, the climbs were getting shorter and there
were larger pockets of vegetation in the valleys.
It had been 3 months since I studied Spanish and most of it had been forgotten. I
struggled to explain myself when I arrived in a small town called Huesca. I finally man-
agedtolocate ahotel andgetaroom.Iunpacked mypanniers andthenwentouttoexplore
the area. There was a beautiful park near the hotel which reminded me so much of Malta.
There were many children playing outside and families going for their 'passijata' (evening
stroll). After visiting the local church which was adorned with statues and gold leaf every-
where, I returned to my room.
I contemplated whether or not I should have stay for the day but decided instead to
head to Madrid. So after 8:00 am the next morning, I packed the bike and headed along the
N330/E7 highway which was, by the way, in the best condition I have thus experienced in
Europe.
I stopped in Zeura, which was 25 kilometre north of Zaragoza, for lunch and called
the Canadian Embassy to tell them that I would arrive on the following Monday. I ate my
lunch in a small park with 20 or so elderly men playing bowls. I asked them if they spoke
English (in Spanish) and they asked me if I spoke Spanish (in Spanish). I said that I knew
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