This is it: the last day in France. How does it feel? Exhilarating, to put it mildly. France has been rather lackluster when it comes to bike touring: people are not exactly hospitable, cars honk at you everywhere, things close at 1800, roads are poorly paved...the list goes on and on, and it's all disappointing - especially since this is the country of my second language. Perhaps España will be better...
This is it. The climb to Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port is but a taste of what is to come. Overall, we ascend 200 m over the day; however, the actual ascent is much more, taking us over the real foothills of the Pyrénées and through the valleys created in their wake. It is hot; we pant our way up the hills, lugging our gear-filled racks slowly up the hills. It is slow; we must take these climbs a bit at a time, since we are not yet used to the mountainous terrain that we must confront throughout the Camino.
This is it. We start to see signs for Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port. We pass pilgrims who started earlier, perhaps in Denmark or France or Germany. We see their packs, loaded with dirty clothes and sleeping bags and water bottles. We are in their country now, the land of churches and cathedrals and long lonely walks in service of an unseen God. A group of children cheer France's rugby success in one of the towns we pass through; football fever has passed for France now that their terrible and brutish performance has removed them from the higher World Cup echelons.
This is it. Our campsite lies within eyesight of the very mountains we will climb tomorrow - the mountains where we will rise 1200 vertical metres over 18 horizontal kilometres, where we will earn the right to call ourselves real cyclists. What does it mean? The trip so far has been relaxed by comparison; from here on in, we will try to bike at least 100 km per day. We confront now a set of hardships entirely different from those that beset us at the beginning. In place of cold, we have blistering heat; in place of wind, we have mountains; in place of rain, we have the ever-looming threat of dehydration. The mountain pass is marked as paved road except for a long stretch of footpath at the very top. What will it look like? How treacherous will it be, hiking across with fully loaded bikes that could roll away at any minute and thereby doom our trip? How will we cope with the slightly thinner air? We don't know.
This is it. After all, this has been the theme of our trip thus far; we cope with the unknown, turn and twist it until it seems like a new challenge, an exciting adventure. Tomorrow promises that, at least - and perhaps an entirely new set of fantastic photos to match. As we fall asleep in the shadow of the Pyrénées, we dream of what is to come; we dream of a new language, a new country, a new people. May we make it across! Buen Camino!