All text, photos and drawings are copyrights of Larry R. Miller. No copies, reproductions or use of materials is permitted without written consent from Larry R. Miller. Copyright 2009.

Life is like a bus ride: we can focus on who we think we are and where we think we’re going, we can transfer and seek a different destination or we can simply fill a space and continue to the end of the line. Our bus ride experience through life is our decision; no one can walk our path for us, carry our baggage or think our thoughts. We have to decide if we’re going to be a participant or a spectator, live or just exist. Adventures like the Camino can give us answers.

My experience walking the Camino involved two different people from two very different walks of life. James, who had the idea and put the plan into action, is from London and prefers the city lifestyle. My preference is country where one can see great distances, physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually.

James and I had met in Canada. While in Canada, I taught James to fly fish and that was one of our bonding points.
	During our trips to and from where we were fishing, we talked about other adventures. None of our plans stood out as the one to pursue until one evening when James told me about a friend of his who’d done an adventure the year before. The next day, after sleeping on it, we agreed it was the best of the possibilities and the adventure proceeded to become reality.

ECHO VALLEY RANCH AND SPA, NEAR CLINTON BC.
	I have to thank James for everything he contributed to the trip, before, during and after, including paying for a large percentage of all the costs, including mine.

Pitfalls and other preparations for the reader’s information.

While in Canada at Echo Valley the second time, I’d gone to Blaine, Washington to renew my passport. In order to renew my passport, they required that I send my birth certificate and other information with the application because I didn’t have my old passport, which had expired some years before. I was informed it could take from six to eight weeks, but I had enough time... I thought. I was also told I could check the status of the passport by going to a web site and filling in certain information. But, I couldn’t do anything through the website if there was a problem. Celinda was going to let me know when the passport showed up at home, which it hadn’t by early September.

The web site said the passport should have arrived on or around the 22nd of August. I got home the day before Labor Day weekend and the passport hadn’t arrived. The following Tuesday, when the government office reopened, was for all intents and purposes a Monday. Tuesday I spent hours on hold, sent multiple e-mails (which I got a response to a few weeks later) and found through some State Department information that I’d have to fly to Texas, and take proof of who I was, if I wanted a replacement. I had no proof of who I was, everything they required for a duplicate was somewhere lost in the mail.

On Wednesday, I finally got in touch with a real live person and was told they had to contact the passport division and I couldn’t. I was informed the passport office had 72 hours in which to contact me by e-mail or phone. The first airline ticket was for Thursday, the next day, and it looked like the entire trip was about to go down the tube.

About an hour later a lady called me from the passport issuing office in Charleston, SC. I told her my problem, and she said she’d try to get it all taken care of and on FedEx Next Day that afternoon. But, it was already afternoon there and she couldn’t make any promises. Before she could begin the process I had to go to the post office and get a tracking number for the lost passport and send her the names of the people whom I talked to at the post office.

I ran out the door, jumped into the pickup, went to the PO, got the information and e-mailed it off to South Carolina as soon as I got back home. She called me back and said everything was in process, but it was late and might not be out that day. I thanked her, and hoping that lightening wouldn’t strike twice, began seriously looking for airline ticket number two.

I contacted Delta and asked them if the first ticket could be changed to another date. They said no. I asked how much it would cost for another ticket and they said,”$2200.00.” The original was $675.00. I didn’t feel like it would be possible to go, if the price was that high. I began checking around.

I found a travel agency in Texas that brokered tickets and was able to get a round trip, on Delta, same flight as their $2200.00 version and probably in the same seat, for $865.00. Higher than the first, but considerably less than Delta’s quote, or any other quote I could find. Intratours is the name of the company and they’re hard to find. The reason? I found out later that beginning when most of the airlines had filed bankruptcy, and since the government (translated taxpayer) was still subsidizing them, the government made it illegal for anyone who brokers or wholesales tickets to advertise in normal ways, which includes posting ads on the iNow tell me, does that sound like some bureaucratic bugaboo?

I had to go to BookingBuddy, then Travelgrove where I found Intratours and finally to the Intratours web site. I must have checked 100 or more sites before I found one where I felt I could afford to buy a second ticket. The duplicate passport didn’t show up until Friday, the day after the first plane flew. And, I didn’t book the second ticket until it did and it wasn’t possible to book anything sooner than 72 hours from that time, for that price. So, I flew out on the following Tuesday. The original passport, and all my personal information that was with it, has never shown up.

A NON-PILGRIM’S, PILGRIMAGE.
	In order to understand how I ended up in Spain on a pilgrimage when I don’t consider myself a pilgrim, it’s necessary to go back a few years.

Celinda, my wife, and I’d been the caregivers for my mom the last ten years she was alive. She suffered from Alzheimer’s, or senile dementia, advanced osteoporosis and possibly breast cancer. The last four years were the most difficult for all of us. When you’re a family caregiver, you can’t go home at 5:00, and your involvement is physical, mental and emotional with family ties thrown in. Mom died in November of the tenth year.

A lot of things happened the following summer, one of which was a four month odyssey that included hiking, biking and kayaking 4000 miles through seven western states that produced my first person book, Yol Bolsun--May There Be A Road. Later that year, Celinda took a trip to Hawaii to visit friends and relatives while I compiled my notes into book form.

My odyssey, and subsequent book, indirectly lead to meeting the owners of a world class resort and spa in British Columbia, where Celinda and I spent some time the following summer.

During our stay, I did a lot of fly fishing. I love fly fishing and I’ve helped many others learn the art. Most people spend about 15 minutes and then walk away, either in disgust or with the belief they have it mastered. Only occasionally does anyone take it more seriously. No one I’ve ever met, with the exception of my youngest son, has taken it as seriously as James Coveyduck.

After I’d shown James the basics, he spent hours out on the resort’s lawn perfecting his fly casting technique. I saw a possible fishing companion; even if our age differences were quite large. James was almost young enough to be my grandson. Or, maybe I was almost old enough to be his grandfather. Whatever the case, we hit it off well from our first meeting.

We fished the close lakes but it was late September and the water was warm. There was a lot of algae in the water and the fish tasted like the algae laden water they lived in. The warm water also took away most of their fight. I’d heard from some locals there was a small lake about 20 miles away where one was almost assured of catching fish, but they’d be small. Lots of small, fighting fish were better than what we were catching, so we gave it a try. We decided to see who could catch the most fish and when we met at the resort again, three years later, we resumed where we’d left off.

During the winter previous to my return, the owner of the resort e-mailed me and asked me if I could come up for the month of June. I e-mailed James and told him when I’d be there. He booked in and showed up a couple of days after I did. James had stopped at a fishing supply and, typical of James, he arrived with a car full of fishing gear, all of which needed to be unloaded and assembled.

Our main objective was to catch lots of fish, and we did. We found some new and productive fishing spots and, on our drives back and forth, we talked about things we’d like to do, other adventures we’d like to take.

We discussed the possibility of meeting again in September in British Columbia, modified that to James flying into El Paso, TX and the two of us driving and fishing our way back to BC. Another plan was to meet in Vancouver, BC and then head north and do some salmon fishing. All of the plans sounded great, but not the challenge that we both felt was trying to present itself. Then came the final plan, which we both agreed stood head and shoulders above all the rest.

James said, "Let's do the El Camino de Santiago in Spain!" My response was, "Sure, great, what is it?" James had a friend who’d done the Camino and, from James’s description, it sounded like something I could really get into. I looked it up on the Internet and the more I found out, the more it piqued my interest.

We agreed on the plan and, when we went fishing, we discussed the possibilities and problems. First, I had to get a passport, which both Celinda and I had been putting off because it hadn’t been a high priority.

Now, a passport was much more important than just something to have that would satisfy the government(s) when entering and exiting Mexico to buy cement or when traveling to Canada.

A physical training program would need to be put in place, and that would probably be one of the more difficult parts for James. Exercise has always been a high priority for me and walking, hiking and cycling were part of my daily life.

Exercise wasn't a high point in James's life and he would be in London, in a city/office work atmosphere, living and commuting in the city and not having easy access to truly healthful foods.

At that point in the plan, it all boiled down to bureaucracy for me and self-discipline for James.
	I believe one reason James and I hit it off well was; we're both Jacks of all trades, masters of many and not easily turned from the course we’ve set.

James and Alain, his friend from South Africa, arrived in Spain a few days before I did due to the snafu with the post office losing my passport. I met up with them in the small town of Estella.

Before I arrived, James was having a hard time with carrying a pack, the hills and not following his urge to call a taxi. His notes and e-mails were about sore feet, ankles, hips, back aches and having to get up early the next morning in order to be able to get from where he was to where he wanted to be at day’s end. Reading his e-mails, I had visions of climbing mountains with a full pack, short and sleepless nights in dormitories with hundreds of other Camino travelers, all the while having nothing to soothe my aches and pains except red wine. His description of the food, “ We ended up shoved in a corner of a bar, eating soup made from boiled car tyres and bread made from cardboard” was very descriptive of what I later found to be my hardest part of dealing with life in Spain, especially the larger cities.

In his e-mails, he also covered what would be another ongoing problem for me...snoring individuals who kept most everyone awake. I quote him here, minus a few superlatives. “Over the next 6 hours I was subjected to the worst bout of snoring I’ve ever experienced. Jean Paul, was an out and out professional! I mean a true, earth quakingly, soul breakingly, appalling snorer!” We were both destined to run afoul of the Frenchman, who was nick named Cleuso by Alain, at refugios later in the trek.

I’d rather have been in Spain, but I was still in New Mexico.
	It was early September and I’d returned from Canada and the tour that was supposed to be for a month, but had stretched into three months and a week.

It’s 5:30 am, Sunday, Sept. 11 and the phone beside the bed rings. Behind me Celinda says, “I’ll bet it’s James.” I'd been up late the night before and, "Hello" in a sleep shrouded voice was all I could muster. After a short silence, while voices bounced off satellites around the world, her suspicion was confirmed.

James was excited, “We just finished our first day. We walked 25 kilometers. Last night we slept in a thousand year old monastery with 120 other people. It was made of stone. The vaulted ceilings were very high. What time is it there? It’s 1:30 pm here”

“About 5:30 am, but I thought it was the middle of the night!” By that time, I was upright, sitting on the side of the bed, rubbing my eyes and somewhat coherent.

James said, “We were up and on the road here at 5:30. Your last e-mail said you could get the airline tickets OK. When are you supposed to be here?” The questions were so rapid-fire, he was on to the next subject before I had time to answer the first.

“We, Alain and I, think the best thing for you to do is when you get to Madrid: you did say you’d probably be here on Wednesday morning didn’t you?” I guess I had, but didn’t have time to answer. “When you get there, go to Astocha station--A-S-T-O-C-H-A, catch the train to where we can rendezvous. No sense you trying to catch up, it would be too hard to get together. I’m sure glad this all worked out. I have my cell phone and Alain has a map. We’ll figure out where we’ll be and I’ll call tomorrow morning and let you know so you can meet us there. When you die you old bugger, if you do this walk, you’ll die a happy man.” Not everyone gets to call me an old bugger.

I’ve tried to live and structure my life in such a way, that even if I didn’t do the walk I’d die happy, this will just make me happier. A long time ago I decided what I wanted on my tombstone, “Gone on a new adventure!” My original plan had been to start where they had and walk long days to catch up. Trying to catch up could have proven difficult, but there was also a “could I or couldn’t I” challenge involved.

“We’re going to go find something to eat. I’ll contact you with the information tomorrow. Got to go.” I said I’d see him in a few days and, click, he was gone.

My mind began to roll into the day.
	I knew I had to wash my face, brush my teeth, put on some clothes and shoes and get ready to hit the road. I did a slow stretch using the T’ai Chi form I created and then, after washing, brushing and getting into my walking clothes, I grabbed the other gear I planned to take to Spain, and headed out the door.

I figured if I could match the distances James and Alain walked on the Camino before I got to Spain, carrying the gear I planned to take, when I arrived, I should be in approximately the same shape they were. That day, I needed to put 25 kilometers behind me before it got too hot.

I was glad I’d factored in a few extra days on my return trip from Spain. If I was going to meet them along the way I’d need the extra time, since I intended to go back and walk the parts I’d miss.

During the next four hours I thought about the coming adventure and the people who wanted to be on my update list. I’d e-mailed them when I got back to New Mexico with an idea about being part of our walk. If they walked everyday, they would be able to better relate to our adventure.

They didn't keep notes and their adventures were lost.
	I knew that some people on my update list were going to Italy, Mexico, Hawaii and other places around the world. Another would be on an automobile odyssey and wandering up and down roads most of the summer. I thought, "Wouldn’t it be interesting if they shared their experiences with everyone else on the update list?” Unfortunately, none of them kept notes and their adventures were lost.

After making the second five mile loop, I stopped by the house to see if Celinda wanted to walk the last miles with me. She had other things that needed tending to and I was on my own. It was getting hot and I seriously considered calling it quits for the day. But, Tuesday I’d be on a plane and Wednesday on a train. If I finished my miles that day and the next, I’d only be 30 or so miles behind James and Alain. My miles had been mostly on the flats and theirs sounded like they were in the mountains. I had no close mountains to go to, and hoped the walking I’d been doing would provide me with a walking bank account. No matter the outcome, my intentions were to go back and walk what I’d miss.

I had no idea how accessible the Internet would be in Spain, especially in thousand year old monasteries, and I was taking a note pad just in case. The owner of the resort in Canada had given me the notepad so James and I could keep score concerning who caught the most fish.

We’re all seeking something in life and I hoped my writing about travel, adventure and what's discovered along the way, might provide exactly the information someone else is been searching for.

Tomorrow would be the same five mile loops with the familiar smells, the barking dogs and the cacti; the next day would be the beginning of a new adventure.

It appeared Internet access was possible. James’ day two began "6:30 am, an ungodly hour as Alain and I staggered out of the pension (small hostel) in Zubirri whilst it was still pitch black.”

That day, acording to James’ notes, it rained and the trail became a slippery quagmire, with mud weighing heavy on the boots of travelers. James and Alain stopped after 5K for breakfast in the small town of Larrasoaña, where he had the same experience with the proprietor that I would have when I went back and walked the portion I’d missed. James wrote, “None of them appreciate having to get up early to serve the pilgrims who are their only customers and most of them were sick the day God ran His customer services seminar! I got shouted at for helping myself to butter and sugar, and when I started to eat a mueseli bar before I’d paid for it, I thought he was going to explode!”

James and Alain arrived in Pamplona at about lunchtime and found, to their dismay, they’d be spending another night in a dorm with Cleuso, the infamous snorer from their first night in Roncesvalles. While they did laundry, ate pork, sugar loaded croissants and washed it down with wine, I was up and ready to hit the road, but couldn't leave because I was waiting for the phone call from James.

My instincts, after many times of getting up and doing another long day of hiking, biking or kayaking, was that James’ adrenaline rush was wearing off and reality, in Spain, was setting in. I knew I might be experiencing the same thing in a couple of days. Jet lag and carrying a stuffed backpack, would undoubtedly take a toll on my strength and enthusiasm. The one advantage I had was experience.

Hiking or walking long distances day after day after day would be somewhat new, but I couldn’t imagine it being all that much different than kayaking into the wind for weeks on the Columbia River, sailing shorthanded across the Pacific or cycling 100 mile days, one after the other for thousands of miles. Many years prior, the awareness that it takes more than physical strength had been infused in my brain. Could I still do it? Time would tell.

I felt ready but the adrenaline rush from straightening out the passport fiasco could still be in the driver’s seat. Jet lag is a problem for me, but I was going to try a few new things I’d learned in the areas of breath control, T’ai Chi, traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) and the Thai Yoga called Rue Sri Dut Ton I’d learned during the summer in Canada.

If we know our blood type, dominant gland and some TCM we can grasp the necessary concepts concerning foods that will work best for us and the individuals we are, physically and mentally, at the cellular level. It can all seem very complicated, but with the right guide to help, the rewards are many.

Once we’ve made health our #1 priority, we realize without our health we have nothing. Without our health, we live a life that’s less than the best. Without our health, we can only get glimpses of what life can really be, all the time. Without our health, money is irrelevant. If we can’t afford the time to get and stay healthy, how do we have time to sit in a doctor’s office, lie in a hospital bed or live a half-life at half-speed?

6:30 am. It was almost light enough to walk without worry of stepping on something that might bite, but no phone call yet. I thought I might have to do my day’s walk in two segments. I had some business in town, best taken care of before I left and I hoped to be through walking by 10:00 at the latest. My day’s schedule was already like a juggler with three balls in the air and now, with waiting for James’ phone call, a fourth ball had been thrown in. With the day heating up rapidly, it became apparent I’d have to change the scheduled sequence in order to get it all done.

7:30 am, the clock was ticking, the phone wasn’t ringing, it was getting hotter by the minute and it was very likely reality time in Spain.

By 9:05, it was too late and too hot to walk. When training for distance races, marathons, cycling, etc., it’d been necessary to taper off a few days before the race. While waiting for the phone to ring and pacing the floor, it became apparent I was still operating in the adrenaline mode. I knew this wasn’t a race but it might be best if I treated like one. In order for the adrenaline high not to burn me out, I needed to switch from physical to mental. If the day was seen as the first tapering off day, I could better prepare myself for the task ahead.

COME ON PHONE, RING!!! Apparently, work still needed to be done on the adrenaline part.
	By 1:54 pm I hadn’t received a call from James and I’d purchased the second airline ticket. The first ticket expired before the duplicate passport copy arrived and the second one wasn’t going to go the way of the first. I’d extended the return date and would have almost five weeks in Spain. As long as I was there, I might as well go for a walk.