Day 2.3/32: April 30, 2017: Bercianos to Mansilla de las Mulas

 Mansilla de las Mulas, Spain

26.36km; 7:19hr, 43800 steps, 92 m elevation

"We came across a dead pilgrim. Two wolves had begun to eat his body, so we chased them off and continued towards El Burgo Ranero."

This was the commentary on this Camino segment from Domenico Laffi, when he passed through in the 1600s. Other ancient pilgrims recommended hiring local guides to navigate across this featureless wide expanse. The Meseta continues to present a flat infinite plane with no identifiable landmarks and no protection from wind and weather. Modern guidebooks note that this is the longest distance between towns, and admonish pilgrims to fill water bottles and pack extra food.

I can see their point. On a hot day with sun, this would be a challenging segment with no shade and no relief in sight. But our challenge was different, we awoke to strong winds blowing sheets of heavy rain against the shutters: miserable weather for walking across an open landscape with no shelter. I was worried about my walking companion, Lisa, because this was her first real day on the Camino. I strongly considered just ordering a taxi, but by the end of breakfast the rain had stopped and we started off on foot to El Burgo Ranero, and then on to Mansilla de las Mulas.

After El Burgo Ranero, there is a 16K segment of Camino with no town. So, following guidebook advice, pilgrims congregate at the last bar for a cafe con leche, a bathroom break and maybe some wolf repellant (we chose silver bullet wolf spray). The small bar was packed with fellow travelers chatting, sharing weather predictions and worrying about the next stretch.

This was the new pack.

Especially in the Meseta, pilgrims tend to form flocks, and you see the same faces at each bar and each town. You might lose track for a day, but the same faces turn up regularly. The acquaintance is slow and casual. It's like going to the gym, where you see the same people every day, and slowly build a visual acquaintance, then a speaking relationship, then a friendship. But because of the gradual nature of the progression from stranger to friend, there are often no names exchanged. At a certain point it is too awkward to introduce yourself, especially after you have already shared intimate personal discussions. So, pilgrims acquire nicknames, typically based on their walking style or apparel. Last year, I am told that I was known as "Straw Hat Brad", although this year Lisa has dubbed me "Jazz Hands". My friends from last year Ben and Linsey were in my mind "the Übercatholics" until we finally exchanged names on about day three of walking together. The lovely Anja will always be "The Foot Healer".

Today in this little bar we saw "Bermuda Shorts", "Casanova and his Camino Girlfriend the Minx Merriam", "Nose Ring", "Ironic Beard" and "Loud Blondie".

But we didn't meet my favorites from this year until we stepped again into the void. Actually, we never spoke to them at all, which of course heightens the sense of mystery. As we started out again, the wind had picked up and the rain was coming in occasional spurts. Far ahead we saw the staggering figure in red: "Little Red Poncho" tottered gradually along and seemed perpetually on the verge of falling over. Maybe it was exhaustion, or foot pain, gusts of wind and rain, or an optical illusion from the huge poncho being slightly askew: but, it was simultaneously vulnerable and endearing. We saw her several times, Later without her signature red poncho, but always with her colorful red patterned yoga pants (not LuLu Lemon). Sadly, we never spoke... but that means we could make up stories of her life and sad fate.

Further along we ran across "Trailer Woman", who alternately pushed or dragged a two-wheeled cart containing what looked like a plastic wrapped cylinder, about the size of a pony beer keg. Sometimes, she loaded her pack on the cart, sometimes she carried it... but the cart was always with her. I still don't know what it was... I expect there is a mundane explanation, but I would really rather not know. I want to preserve the mystery.

In any case, it was a tough day of walking. The rain came and went, but wasn't the problem. The biggest challenge was the ubiquitous strong wind. We were completely exposed with nothing to break the wind for miles. The gusts were strong enough to almost blow you over. But, the path was well marked; so, we didn't need a local guide. We didn't see any wolves, though we did see two wild dogs ravishing the end of some unidentifiable carcass (is that a shred of plastic from a red poncho? Poor Little Red Poncho!). I guess when your name is Little Red Poncho, your fate is sealed.

You will happy to know that we arrived safely in Mansilla de Las Mulas, a little damp and wind blown, but ready to forge ahead tomorrow.