Then it was time to fill out water bottles, hoist our packs, and set off on this grand adventure.
As we headed out the Spanish Gate, marking the edge of the walled city of St. Jean Pied de Port, we paused for one more picture before assessing the distance ahead (25 km) and the climb (from 170m to 1450 m). Then we put our heads down and started walking.
After just a few minutes of family togetherness, we all settled into comfortable rhythms. Foster turned on his music and took off. Brianna followed at her own speed. Nolan decided that music was the solution too, and set himself up to cruise. I pulled up the rear - quite content to walk along in silence and admire the countryside. I was under no illusion that this would last forever and was confident that I would eventually be picking up the pieces. I decided to relish the moment and take it all in. As we started upward, the city street turned to a narrow road, and, then, dirt path through high meadows. It was cool and misty and seemed to be the perfect weather for the steep climb ahead.
My bliss lasted far longer than anticipated. We were easily eight miles into our day before the rain and wind began to mess with our glorious hiking conditions. I had been pinching myself every mile or so to make sure that I was not dreaming. It seemed so very easy. Nobody was complaining. I had been left in the dust, and I could not have been happier.
Then the rain, rain, rain came down, down, down. And this was not a friendly rain; It was a driving, bone-chilling rain, accompanied by a wicked wind that would not quit. We were walking on exposed hills with nothing but hundreds of sheep for company. We donned rain coats and ponchos in hopes that this would be a passing problem. As lips turned blue and deep shivering set in, so did the tears. It's pretty tough to make the decision to strip off layers in driving rain in order to add more layers in hopes of warming up, but there was nothing else to do. So, we opened the packs as the rained dumped down. Nolan was not a happy camper. Brianna and Foster paired up and forged ahead in an effort to escape the real storm that was brewing. For forty five minutes I alternately tried to shelter Nolan from the wind and rain and cajole him into moving faster so we could get this ordeal over with. At one point, through chattering teeth, waves of shivers, and sobs, he informed me that he would rather die than do this hike. Just as I was tempted to agree with him, there appeared a small miracle on the crest of the hill: a man in a trailer selling hot chocolate. I'm not sure I have ever been more relieved in my life. Four hot chocolates and ten minutes under the shelter of the trailer was exactly what the doctor ordered.
From there, we carried on to the end - seven more miles - with happy chatter (perhaps a bit too much discussion about all of the latest posts on iFunny, but I was not going to complain). And, by the grace of some hiking god, we rounded a corner and spotted the monastery of our dreams looming in the distance. Hot showers, free WIFI, and clean beds. What more could a pilgrim ask for?
A warm meal, perhaps? A good stretch? And more sheep than you can shake a stick at. I've got some tired and proud pilgrims on day one. I'm bracing myself for what the leg muscles will be saying in the morning.
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