Today’s journey from Castro Urdiales to Laredo came in at a respectable 30 kilometers, a solid march, made a little shorter thanks to some clever rerouting. If I had followed the official route, I’d still be out there somewhere cursing Roman engineers and looking for a vending machine.

One of the stranger effects of walking a route you have done before is how selectively the brain chooses to remember things. You would think, “Ah yes, this bend in the trail! This scenic overlook!” Nope. Today was a complete memory blackout—except for one glorious recollection: the bar ahead served Kaz Limón. And let me tell you, few things in this world taste better than a citrusy, cold Kaz Limón when your internal temperature has climbed to molten lava. I practically tap-danced up to the bar.

What I did not remember was the hill. Let us call it The Hill That Shall Not Be Forgotten Again. A 280-meter climb over about three kilometers is the Camino equivalent of Stairmaster Roulette. It does not look that dramatic on paper, but on the ground, it had my calves trying to file a complaint with HR.

The trail was busy today, way busier than it has been. I exchanged a handful of “Buen Caminos” and polite waves, but mostly kept to myself. It was that kind of day. Cool enough to walk without breaking into a sweatstorm, and dry enough that I only had to put on my rain gear for the final three kilometers. The drizzle was more of a polite suggestion than actual weather.

I even followed my own advice today. Frequent breaks. Eat when you are hungry. Lay down when the opportunity arises. I found a nice park bench and let gravity do the rest. Unfortunately, my impromptu siesta drew in a couple of alley cats who apparently had some ancient vendetta to resolve. Nothing like a mid-nap feline brawl inches from your head to snap you back to reality.

Tonight’s lodging is at an albergue run by nuns, and if you have never been checked into a convent by two cheerful women of the cloth laughing at your jokes, you are missing out on one of life’s gentler joys. Their warmth added a lovely ending to an otherwise thigh-burning day.

My legs are officially tired. Tomorrow is another long haul, but the reward after that will be a short 11-kilometer glide into Santander, a city I once explored with my oldest child nine years ago. It rained every day back then. This time, the weather gods are promising sun. We shall see. Either way, I am glad to be back on this road.