I step out into the hostel courtyard, and the first thing I find is my bike with a flat tire. Damn. I’m out of spares. Now I really have to patch it. As I get organized and start removing the wheel, everyone else has already left the hostel.

I tell Argos he can go ahead while I fix the tire, but he decides to stay and help—though not without scolding me for not fixing it the day it went flat, instead of going out partying. After repairing it, we set off. It’s Sunday. The city is deserted.

I don’t have much energy, and the day starts with an uphill climb right as we leave the city. Luckily, we find a café a few kilometers in and stop for breakfast. Just what I needed. The ride continues without much incident. Most of the route is on the road. I’m slow but steady. Argos rides ahead repeatedly, but we eventually meet up again. My legs are cramping, my inner thighs are sore from rubbing against the seat, and my fingertips are numb from gripping the handlebars for so long—but my spirit remains intact.

Argos rides ahead again. I’m alone on the road, so I put on some music. I arrive at a village with an impressive stone bridge. I cross it, admiring the scenery that feels like something from another era. Argos calls to say he stopped at a restaurant by a gas station. I catch up, and we have a beer with some tapas.

I start searching for flights from Santiago to Barcelona since I think I have less than a week left. I mention that my inner thighs are hurting even more, and Argos, reminding me that I’m not dressed properly for cycling, suggests buying a car cloth to soften the seat. We find the perfect one at the gas station. As we head out to continue riding, my phone shuts off. It’s not the battery—the music keeps playing in my headphones. The screen goes black and won’t respond. This seems serious. It’s never happened before. There’s nothing I can do to fix it now, so I try not to dwell on it.

In the final kilometers before the home stretch, a seemingly endless incline appears. I pedal with the last of my strength while trying, unsuccessfully, to get the phone working. I start to accept that I might need to buy a new one when I arrive. A mental burden, but I accept it. “Shit happens,” I tell myself.

At the top of the hill, we stop for a snack and find some cherry trees. Argos tells me that dessert is sorted. We eat a few—just enough to avoid an upset stomach—and continue on.

Now comes the downhill. A great downhill. A magnificent slope. We stop at a lookout point to take some photos, then keep going. The slope is steep, and I speed down quickly. As I pass through the village, I keep pressing the buttons on my phone to see if it reacts. Nothing. Worse—suddenly it vibrates hard three times, blares a siren-like sound, and then dies again. Now I’ve really messed it up. Or so I thought.

I curse a little, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Finally, we arrive at the hostel, and as I step through the door, the phone screen lights up as if nothing had happened. I tell Argos the planets must have aligned in a strange way that day.

We check into the hostel, and I feel full of energy. There, I meet Anette from the U.S. We start chatting, and she laughs, amazed at how far I’ve made it with so little preparation.

After showering, Anette tells me she’s going to walk around the monastery with Carlos, another friend from the U.S., and invites me to join them. A block from the hostel, we run into Jon Ander, sitting in the square. What a great surprise. I call Argos to join us. While Anette and Carlos head into the monastery, we go watch the Euro Cup at a bar.

We settle at a table and watch the match while chatting. Later, Carlos and Anette join us. We laugh at the regional humor. Jon Ander jokes that people from Bilbao are born wherever they want, and Argos adds that Jesus wasn’t born in Bilbao because he was humble. Everyone has their jokes.

I realize how much I appreciate these people and how lucky I am to have met them. Things happen for a reason. Later, we head to another bar, and Anette goes to have dinner with her Camino friends.

As we discuss plans, I mention that I have only a few days left and want to reach Santiago. Jon Ander tells me that if I want to make it, I’ll have to average 70 km a day. So far, I’ve done a maximum of 60 km, and on top of that, the toughest stage is coming up.

After the match, the four of us go to dinner. Carlos shares that he’s doing the Camino thanks to a scholarship from his university. The Spaniards don’t hold back with the jokes. “We’re wasting our time. We need to study in the U.S. so they can fund our Camino,” they say.

We return to the hostel. After everyone else goes to sleep, I stay in the common room to plan the final days of my trip and, while chatting with the bike rental staff, I realize I have one more week than I thought. I had spent days thinking my trip ended this Thursday. I completely lost track of time. I go to bed excited by the “news,” knowing I can take my time to reach Santiago.