Stange day broken into parts of riding, divided by hours spent using the internet to arrange my life. I am in Zamora famous for its festival in Santa Semana. I buy new shorts, and the old ones get tossed in the bin. They have embarrasing holes, worn through, at the point of contact between me and rose.
Suffer in the heat riding out from the pleasant historic town of Zamora. Salt crystals for on my forehad. Beautiful hot barren road. Water from a little small house shapeed well. I take three litres of it upon the recommendation of a staggery old man gesturing with is cane.
Blue lines on my map are really dry stone paths where rivers were. Unusual craving for a coca-cola with ice.
When I arrive, in Ledesma, on the way to Salamanca, the people are getting ready for a party. Though I am more interested in the river at its entrance, my bath before bed.
