Camino de Madrid. Day 4, April 25, 2019. La Dehesas to Segovia. 28 kms

A cold coming we had of it

We awoke this morning to glorious clear skies to the south, swirling clouds above. Rain was forecast for eleven o’clock, so we left early, hoping to do most of the climbing before the rain started. Today we would climb to the pass, la Puerto de la Puenfria (1,796m), the highest point on the Camino.

The lady at reception who stamped our credentials was more optimistic about the weather. No rain, she said, but huddled herself up to indicate it would be very cold. How right she was!

We walked a kilometre along the road until we reached a second youth hostel, and then followed a stony path to the right which in places became a stream. The arrows had disappeared but we followed green circular markings which, we were 90% certain, indicated the trail to the pass. A phone call to the youth hostel confirmed this. 

We passed a small military base on the right and then arrived at a couple of tall stone pillars. On a boulder to the left was a yellow arrow. All was well. And then a second on a fence post, and a third on a tree, a little further on.

We were following the route of a Roman road, and for much of the time it was paved with heavy stones and boulders. Whether these were the original Roman placement, or later mediaeval construction, I’m not sure. Either way, it was an engineering marvel. But even when it was built, it must’ve been a bone shaking ride for a Roman chariot or a mediaeval cart.

A steep stony path led up to a wide stone bridge, la Puente del Descalzo, after which the road cut straight off to the right in a steady gradient across the contours, and then doubled back, a zig and then a zag, a very, very long stretch of Roman Road up to a horizontal line against the sky. Was this the pass?

It was indeed: the edge of a gravel road through the pass! The road descended, but not us; we continued on a flat snow-covered track around the side of the mountain. Brrr. It was winter up there! Bitterly cold, and sleeting heavily. And we were walking into the wind. No place to be stuck. Rach and I argued over whether it was snow or sleet or freezing rain. 

After a lomg  stretch of gradually descending forest mountain road, we caught a glimpse through the trees of Segovia Cathedral, and a little later emerged from the forest. Gentle slopes descended to a vast plain which extended to the horizon.

But we still had a dozen kilometres to cover into a forty-knot gale, strong enough push against us. Eventually, we reached a motor way where the underpass was blocked by a barrier, a stern warning, and information about an impossible detour. We bypassed the barrier, scuttled under the motorway, and squeezed past some scaffolding on the other side. Soon we arrived at the outskirts of Segovia, made our way into the old town, and found our hotel. Tomorrow, we are spending the day in town with our dear friends Paul and Michelle, the purveyors of Lyon sausage.

This was a serious mountain crossing, and we were barely warm enough. I was wearing a down sweater and Rachel, a Kiwi equivalent. But even as I was warm from my vigorous exercise, I could feel the cold penetrating my jacket and banishing the heat within. Certainly, this was my coldest day on any Camino, and perhaps the most difficult.