The pilgrim situation is getting worse. They were splashing out serious dough on food and drink in St Jean Pied de Port as they gathered for the 800k trek to Santiago.

They were there too in Pamplona pushing up the prices on all and sundry.

And last night a barman in Calahorra asked us if WE were pilgrims. The Goat nearly hit the roof. "Do I look like a pilgrim?" he exploded.

I have to say that with his turquoise cycling socks he did not.

Nevertheless it was a trifle unpleasant to be associated with a bunch of nutters who carry sticks, wear khaki shorts and arrive on air conditioned coaches for the short walk into town from the car park.

Enciso, the Valley of the Dinosaurs 12.30.

We are getting our fix of coffee and olives in a fly-blown village café and I have just broken the news to Martin that there is a 1450 metre Col about three kilometres up the road.

He is now busy shoving dextrosol tablets down his neck.

Rio Duero nr Soria 6pm. We breezed up over the Punto de Oncala at 1454 metres and blew away the kilometres on the long descent to Soria. Now we are crossing the river that goes all the way to Porto.

Abejar on the N234 10pm. A massive day - 120 kms and a major climb.

We finished on the road at 8.30 and are knocking back our first beers.

The Goat, for some reason, is vexed by the possibility that there might be rat's droppings on his bottle of Mahou cerveza.

This concern will disappear rapidly once he has had a few more of them but now we are back in real Spain. There are no pilgrims here. Beer is just a euro and the bars are full of characters who would not be out of place as extras in the film One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest.