The last time I posted in this blog, I was with Jenny in Pamplona. Since then, the biggest change in the dynamic has been that Jenny had to leave at that point, to get back to work– and has been sorely missed ever since. From Pamplona, I departed alone, passing through Los Arcos, Santo Domingo de la Calzada and Burgos, with the prospect of meeting up with my dad a few days later in Calzadilla de la Cueza. Since then, we've pushed on to León and Molinaseca, where we are taking a rest day – probably much more necessary for me than for my dad! This has meant crossing the Meseta, a Plateau which is not quite – at least from a cyclist's perspective! – as flat as it is made out to be. After Leon, the terrain becomes once again mountainous. So it has been quite tough going – crossing the Meseta meant riding into a headwind for substantial parts of the journey, and the climbs are getting slower and slower. On the ride from León, I also met up with two Argentines - Matías and his sister Candela - and a fellow cycling pilgrim from Spain, Ángel, and we cycled together from León to Astorga. I have my deeply lovely Argentine friend, Lorena, to thank for this connection– She put me in contact with Matías, who has travelled from Argentina over to do the Camino by way of celebrating his 40th birthday, which in fact is today – happy birthday, Matías! Each day, therefore, has featured a very agreeable mix of both solitude and company. And from this mix has emerged a few more thoughts. Perhaps they are not so different from some of the thoughts I've already written about. Kindness and goodwill are things I've been thinking about recently on the Camino. When cycling on my own, I've got into this habit of saying 'buen camino!' to almost every person I cycle past. Which may seem like overkill! And which tends to elicit quite a range of responses, from non-recognition (a lot of people have earphones in as they walk), to big smiles and enthusiastic waves. But it is an exercise in offering goodwill, in wishing people well and, in so doing, receiving goodwill back from them. As such, rather than an act which becomes almost meaningless through repetition, it's actually quite addictive! I think it says something a little sad about the societies we live in – well, at least the society I live in – that well wishing towards strangers is not exactly encouraged. But it is enabled, even encouraged, by the fellowship of the Camino, and for me, it's been one of the most enjoyable things about it. It's also one of the reasons why I've started, in recent days, to come off the paved road and onto the walkers path. This is despite many parts of the path being more easily and sensibly tackled on a mountain bike with suspension, than a bike like mine, which is much more like a road bike with knobbly but still quite thin tires and a wholly rigid frame. But I feel like I'm starting to understand the appeal of cyclocross, which previously seemed to me to entail selecting the wrong bike for a surface which would actually have been more fun on a mountain bike. Another recurring theme is that of pain. Despite having been on the bike for something like 850 km now, I don't feel that I'm in too bad shape. I've had a couple of scrapes - one with a washing line (I was hung out to dry as my uncle Ged quipped on Facebook); and one where I could not clip my shoe out from my pedal in time and fell a bit painfully on my left side, resulting in some gashes to my elbow which subsequently got infected. But they were so lovely to me at the health centre in León, and sorted me out so quickly, sending me on my way with antibiotics, that it hasn't been a problem at all. I have some little niggles, and beyond that just an ever greater exhaustion of the legs which makes me slower and slower up the hills, like a car engine that has lost compression over many miles on the road, but is somehow always capable of continuing. But this, happily, is at least partially alleviated by taking a day off the bike. So I feel lucky, but some of the ailments, ranging from commonplace blisters to thoroughly gruesome swellings and lesions, I've seen amongst walkers make me wonder how they can think it's advisable, or even possible in some cases, to continue. Some of them do not, whilst others soldier on and defy gloomy warnings from doctors not to do the Camino in the first place. In fairness, in some cases, their bodies are holding up very well, even healing; although the person I'm thinking of in particular has already done the Camino five times before and has made sensible adjustments, not least using an electric bike to take some of the strain, even though he is a strong cyclist. And indeed, some parts of my body, such as my back, actually feel better now than they did before I left. I sometimes wonder if there is an unhealthy focus on the importance of pain on the Camino. I think there is this perception amongst some walkers – though perhaps I am just ignorantly stereotyping! – that unless you are going through the pain of walking the whole thing, you are not doing it properly. Therefore, pilgrims in cars, on motorbikes – even on bicycles – are not earning their stripes. In some ways, this is unsurprising – there is a focus on suffering and pain within some strains of Catholicism, and perhaps this comes through in this kind of attitude. My own feeling is that it's not about how you travel, but the motivations which compel you to travel and the experiences that you have along the way. From that point of view, pain is not exactly irrelevant, partly because all modes of transport induce some kind of pain – not to mention the emotional pain which often spurs people on to do a journey like this. But it is secondary, a byproduct of the journey. Perhaps more important is the relationship that you develop with pain. There can be empathy through physical pain – sometimes, if I feel pain, I think of what my mum and sister went through, And it really somehow motivates – it's almost like having one last, easier gear on the bike that you can switch into you when the going gets so tough that you wonder whether you can carry on. This happened yesterday, whilst crawling up to the top of an 800 meter climb and whizzing triumphantly down perhaps the longest descent I've ever done, switching rapidly from the depths of exhaustion to the heights of elation – such is frequently the physical and emotional cycle of the Camino. Whilst thinking of my mum and sister tends to put things into perspective, it also somehow brings me a little closer to them, makes me feel more in contact with them. I would never choose to suffer in the way that they did, and nor would they have chosen their suffering. So whilst there seems little sense in seeking pain out, I can also see why some people sometimes consider it to be a spiritual experience. Certainly, it seems to me, it is a many-splintered thing when it is with us. And on some level, up to a certain point, depending on our relationship with it, can even be embraced. And finally, I just wanted to mention how beautiful and resonant it has been that I have encountered so many people who, like me, I doing this pilgrimage in memory of someone that they knew. It is another of the ways in which these people live on with and through us. That's all for now folks! I probably won't now do another update until I get to Santiago– until then, buen camino!

I'm writing this update from Pamplona, having passed, since the last update, through Pimbo, Navarrenx, St Jean Pied de Port and Roncesvalles, amongst other places. In getting to Pamplona, it also means we have crossed the Pyrenees, left France and ended Spain. I don't want to give a report, this time, of each place, not least because when you go along the Camino, the overwhelming majority of places turn out to be beautiful medieval towns or villages and therefore somewhat similar in character – probably better to see the photos on Facebook. Therefore, what I want to do is reflect on a few things that have been going through my head en route. One of these things, not surprisingly, it is just about how it feels to be cycling this much on a daily basis. Overall, I'm pleased to report, the body has been holding up pretty well – it's impossible not to have some little aches and pains, but there has been nothing too serious so far. However, it is impossible not to feel some level of tiredness, and my usual, aggressive style of stomping up hills and pushing hard on the flat has gradually given way to a more ambling pace, as the legs have become heavier and the weight of the panniers more noticeable. It's just a very different feeling to cycle this many days in a row. And when you're going up or down a hill for almost the entire day, with little in the way of flat ground, as we have the last three days especially, then you just have to take it more slowly. But it has advantages, also – i've been taking in so much more of the scenery, just noticing a lot more, which is closer to what Jenny does when we ride, whereas I tend to focus on the direct experience of cycling. This leads me to the second thing I've been thinking about. Doing this kind of cycling becomes about continuing – even if you can't really go all that quickly, you can still keep going, in the absence of serious injury. Which is just as well, because yesterday, crossing through the Pyrenees on the way to Pamplona, with all of the ascents and descents we racked up over 2000 m of climbing! Already, it feels a bit bizarre to think that we have cycled a little over 400 km, and got from Cahors to Pamplona under our own steam. It's probably only five hours in the car, but it still feels surprising to be where we are, given where we were just last week. I guess this must really be the essence of the Camino: The length of the distance you travel somehow creeps up on you... which is sort of related to the third thing I've been thinking. Before we started this journey, I had thought it would be very spiritual on one level, and that there would be lots of time for sitting around in ancient churches, meditating on the nature of existence, its ups, downs and sometimes unpredictably abrupt ending. But it turns out that cycling/navigating all this way takes time, as does getting ready to get on the bike in the morning (put recently washed clothes back in panniers/other re-packing, put suntan lotion on, take any necessary pills, get breakfast, repack sleeping gear, load up bikes, get bikes onto road etc). And then, when you get somewhere, there is quite a lot of pfaffing around too – getting to the hostel, paying for it, working out arrangements for eating, stretching, showering, chatting with fellow pilgrims. And you can't finish any of this too late, because you need to eat, and preferably at least sometime before you go to bed, which will be early, because the next day you will be getting up at six or 6:30 AM (Or at least will be aiming to you!). The most 'spiritual' part of it has been drinking in the often overwhelmingly beautiful scenery that we have come across. So I suppose, that a huge amount of doing the Camino is just about the practicalities. You don't leave all that stuff behind once you've prepared to embark upon the journey. Finally, whilst all this practical stuff does loom large every day, one of the other fundamental things the Camino is about is fellowship. People really recognise the effort that pilgrims make, and give you lots of encouragement along the way – for instance, when we were finally rolling into the mediaeval city centre of Pamplona, pushing up the very last ascent of the day, a group of French tourists gave us a great big cheer and round of applause, the women in the group even physically pushing Jenny up as she went past. When we had a problem with the mudguard, requiring a tool I didn't have with me, people stopped and helped us fix it. We've had some really lovely exchanges especially over meal times, entering into the motivations driving other people on their own journeys. That's all for this time but will post photos soon on Facebook and another written update in a few days. In the meantime, thanks again for all the support - it really feeds into the motivation to keep on moving every day.

So Jenny and I are up and running and have indeed been so now for three days! After an overnight stay in Paris with our dear friends Soline and Datwei, and a couple of nights in Castelfranc (near the starting point of Cahors Southwest France), with my dad and his partner, Claudine, we hit the Camino on Monday morning (19th Sept). The first stage took us from Cahors to Moissac, and was an easy first day: mostly flat and a modest 62km. It was also very sociable; we had lunch in the medieval village of Lauzert, with dad, who had accompanied us along the route up to that point. Moissac is a beautiful small town, famed for its abbey, and well worth a visit if you're ever in this part of the world. The same could be said of Lectoure, our destination for the following day, about 60km from Moissac; although probably known more for sweeping views of gorgeous agricultural landscapes washed through with the reds and browns of incipient autumn. The riding was a fair bit hillier and tougher going therein, but we've had harder days out in the South Downs! And we came across such picturesque villages along the way - notably Auvillars, where we lingered a while, and Flamarens - that the climbs were made worth while. Today saw us set off from Lectoure for Eauze - a shorter ride of 52km, but almost entirely hilly from start to end, and certainly enough long, repeated climbs to make the legs feel heavy for the first time since setting out. I suppose that as we make our way across this rolling countryside toward the Pyrenees, we will roll ever higher. We had a little bike trouble along the way, but happily, there is a shop in Eauze where you can buy or have fixed lawn mowers, small tractors or bicycles. Jenny's front rim had some metal embedded in it which a worn brake block had somehow shed. I suspect that if we had taken the bike to an English bike shop, the immediate diagnosis would have been a new wheel. But these guys were very happy to fix what was in front of them, and able to do so within 2 hours - for which we were very grateful. So the show goes on tomorrow, and this is where I sign off, because my dinner is on the table! I will post another update in the next few days; until then, à bientôt Andy & Jenny

So, 500 characters – which is what the event summary is limited to – doesn't give a great deal of space to elaborate on the details or significance of this journey! And for that reason, I wanted to say a little bit more here. In 2009, I cycled the 'Dorset dash' from Oxford to Bournemouth, with Bex and Maria, some lovely friends of mine, to raise money for the Duchess of Kent Hospice in Reading, where my mum, who died of breast cancer, spent the last weeks of her life. It was without a doubt one of the most inspiring and meaningful things I've ever done. And it was at that time that I first had the idea of cycling the Camino de Santiago (or Way of St James, as it is commonly translated) in order to raise more. Needless to say, it's taken me a while to get round to committing to do it and to start planning it! But with the loss of another of the people I most loved, my sister, Sarah, in 2014, to lung cancer, when she was only 42, my resolve to make it a reality hardened. Sarah was a mother of two and happily married (I know that term gets thrown around, but she was, genuinely). I do not have the words to describe the heartbreak of her loss. Heartbreak about her death. Heartbreak for her, she with so much life, so much to live for and with no hope of living. If that sounds hard, think about this. Your wife is upstairs in bed, and she is painfully ill, beyond recovery and getting worse by the day. She needs a level of care that neither you nor anyone in your family knows how to provide. You're downstairs, you've slept maybe 4 or 5 hours, you're trying to look after two small children and hold down a full-time job. The on-call nurses cannot always come and visit when you need them, and experiences with A&E have left your wife and you traumatised, to the point where you cannot go back. That was the situation my brother-in-law, Nick, found himself in, for months (and us, his family, with him). It's for people in circumstances like these that hospices, run by organisations like Sue Ryder, exist. And the level of care and compassion given to my mum in the Duchess of Kent, and later to Sarah at Nettlebed, was probably the most important form of support my family has ever received, and given at the time when it was needed most. That's why I want to raise money for Sue Ryder, which now administers both of these hospices. And as if that did not give you sufficient motivation to give some money, I'm prepared to get on a bike and cycle 1250 km in 18 days in June 2016, crossing the Pyrenees in the process, which is way beyond anything I've ever done on a bike. I'll have the company of some wonderful people on the way, thankfully, but it's not going to be easy. So, now that you know why I'm doing it, please do donate if you are in a position to; and if you are not, please share with as many people as you can. And if you have any bright fundraising ideas, or are keen to help with some aspect of the fundraising, please do get in contact with me (a.j.newsham@gmail.com) Andy.