11/06/09
A short day.
I wake to find that the site that I had stumbled upon after the fiesta in is actaully quite beautiful. Rows of trees, and Beanventes clifftop church not too far off.
I have lunch in the ruins of a 12th centure monastery, a tree grows where the pulpit once was. The warden watches as I struggle to over haul Rose’s rear hub, and even lends me a his only hand to realse the brakes. The hub is quite lame, and is wearing the cones. I discover as many problems as I fix. But after some hard work, she stops complaining.
I don’t make it to Zamora today. I stop by a river, along a netwrok of rural roads. A huge slow river like a lake, windmill lined canyon. I count fifty into the distance.
I skim slate across the surface, tricking fish into a jumping competition. Its so nice here I decide to stop for the day.
The steep beach is littered with petrified wood. I find new stuff to make a fire. Swim naked. Feed the ants bread. The leaves of the bushes all around my camp are sticking with some aroma I can’t name. Its an ingredient of incense I decide , and toss branches of it onto the fire. I wish that my camera batteries were still alive, or better, that had someone with me to witness this place.