Las Megas – Posada de Llanes – Oyambre – Playa los Tranquilos – Castro Urdiales – Bilbao: 276 km

As I leave the comfort of Las Megas, I wonder if I should’ve stayed longer, protected from the cold and in good company. But it’s getting warmer ever so slowly, and I’m getting stronger at about the same rate. Plus, I have a Warm Shower lined up for tonight, so life is looking much better than the first week I got back to Europe.

I’ve decided to take it slower. With Maya and the trailer, it’s pretty much impossible to do the distance I’ve grown used to over the last year and a half. I’m fine with it. There’s no concert I need to get to, no real anchors ahead. I have all the time in the world. On the hilly days I decide 50 km is enough, on the flat ones possibly 10 or 15 more. I give myself time and it feels liberating. I decide to make it to Bilbao, visit the Guggenheim and do some beach camping in-between. It’ll take me five days to get there following the Atlantic coast. I get back into the rhythm of cycling, building up camp, breaking it down and cycling again. It feels great. Every day I have moments of pure joy and love for what I’m doing. I’m not pushing myself, I’m not stressed to arrive, all that happens I can handle, and all is good. Around every corner there’s a camping spot more perfect than the previous one. Don’t get me wrong, it’s challenging nonetheless. The nights are long and cold, campfires are not just fun, they’re a necessity. The ocean water is too cold to shower, even changing clothes is hard, but I see improvement and I feel on top of the world.

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I’m having so much fun, I’m falling utterly in love with the road again. I wake up to sunrises over white mountains at the beach, the thick forests of Eucalyptus smell fresh and pure  in the early morning sun, the condense from the night rising up between the trees. I cycle next to streams of melting water in the purest azure, I pass surfer’s villages, relaxed and uncomplicated, albeit somewhat deserted this time of year. Maya is doing great too. She runs with me on the uphills, sits back in the buggy when we’re going down. It must be her first time on the beach in Playa Los Tranquilos, as she completely loses herself in the sand, digging and rolling and running around like a maniac. I wake up to her stretching next to me in the tent and as soon as I open the zippers the mayhem starts all over. It’s so much fun to have her with me.

It's a completely different mindset cycling back home as opposed to cycling away from it. As my grand adventure is drawing to an end, as the roads lead home, the prospect is familiarity, instead of the unknown. I’m totally fine with that, excited even. At the same time, it’s a little less thrilling, but it feels good. It feels care-free.

In Bilbao I find a hostel that allows for dogs. I stay for two nights to visit the Guggenheim and enjoy the town. With its meandering alleys and romantic balconies, it fits into everything that I enjoy about the European ancient towns. It’s been a while. Monday and Tuesday however, are not the best days for a weekend trip. The city is alive, but not buzzing. The Guggenheim is great, but not overwhelming. I still enjoy it, yet I had higher hopes. But I hear San Sebastian is nice place, so that’ll be on the schedule next.