On the eve of this walk across Spain in the summer, I dreamt that someone cut off my feet. Today, I follow the yellow arrows down the mountain. Descending the steeps into Zubiri, my knees and quads smolder in pain. I drape a half-hour of worry over a half-hour of walking fine. Fine walking that brings me to the bottom. Now it's three in the afternoon. There is nothing to do except wash my socks and hope they dry ...--
