Loss of Lavandarias
After a successful spoke replacement (thanks to Roy for the jinx and apologies to Fraser for the total failure to replace in person and resorting to bike shop), we relaunched from Merida with a fervent hope that we would break away from the torrential rain that had turned the narrow streets into shallow rivers. Otherwise, it did not seem impossible that our waterproof panniers may start to serve us better as ballast on paddle-bikes.
Fortunately for our peace of mind, we did not yet know of the chaos wreaked by the Spanish flood waters behind us in Badajoz where many houses had had to be evacuated.
Unfortunately, we were not the only refugees from the sodden campsite at Merida. Sundry spiders, slaters, and other scuttly suckers took advantage of the folds in our clothes to try to hitch a lift.
The road through Extramadura is not the most inspiring, with the most notable talking points being the roadkill and raspberry-scented air.
Don Benito (with Denise pictured, next to her bike) was reassuringly larger than we anticipated. However, here we encountered a strange black hole in the Spanish service industry. You can have as many pieces of clothing dry-cleaned as your wallet could ever cope with. However, just try to find somewhere to simply usher 10 pairs of pants, that can walk on their own, into a washing machine and you´ll be met with amused shrugs. The futility of handwashing in an airless hostel with heavy rain outside meant the next day was flavoured with a certain frisson of fear of our own clothing. We were the skunkiest skunks in Skunktown on the day of the skunk carnival.
Day 52.5km (Total 419.8km) Bum Pain Rating - 3/5 Cultural Advancement 0/5