3 weeks in A Coruña was enough for us. We needed to get back on the road, get travelling again. Adela told us about the Camino dos faros – how bonita is was, how unrideable it was. We couldn’t resist the challenge to explore this trail and cruise it towards Finisterre.
The region goes by ‘Costa da Morte’ because of the perilous rocks that armour the shores. I think about this when we stop to make breakfast just meters from the sea. Shipwrecked seafarers might have clambered, sodden and shivering, onto these very rocks.
Evidence of agriculture tames the jagged coastal trail for most of the sections that we rode. Small stone walls make irregular 4 and 5 sided shapes that I assume were probably fields, or at least private land, who knows how long ago. Within these walls the land is boulder-strewn and it’s hard to imagine anything being cultivated here, but the signs of humanity are undeniably clear.
The trail itself is a double track which has collapsed to the most basic bedrock layers of a presumably Roman road. Hulking great boulders that once would have been covered by layers of sand and smaller rocks and finally paving stones. It’s not dissimilar to other ancient tracks I’ve seen in the Pyrenees and the bedrock found on Stane Street in the UK. Most sections are quite rideable, some require effort and others need a MTB. But, everything we rode was indeed rideable. Looking at the map, I wonder if the sections further south west may be more severe.
Just out of town from Laxe we camped up on a cliff overlooking a bay with a view out west into the Atlantic. Sunset and sunrise were spectacular. We left the spot very early in the morning, found some beach showers en route and had our breakfast 20km into the ride by the coast.
The following day we stayed at an empty campsite with a private beach. We got some long delayed jobs done: topped up the sealant in Chlo’s tyre, that had leaked when she ran over glass, serviced our pump, which was feeling grimy because it lives outside of a bag, cleaned the stove fuel line that builds up gunk because we’re burning petroleum, which is full of stove-unfriendly additives.
With about 70km to Finisterre we knew that we would comfortably reach the milestone on time. We reflected a little on the journey that we had taken to get here, thinking of the various terrains and provinces we’d been through. Tarmac, shingle, gravel, mud, sand, boardwalk, loam, rock. We’d covered a lot of ground on these bikes and we were full of admiration for our Bokehs. ❤️
We rode the Camino de Fisterra from Camelle to Finisterre and after checking in at our hostel, we walked the final Kms to the lighthouse which marks the end of the world, as the Romans thought. You can relate to this when you’re there. The Atlantic horizon is profoundly far away and it’s unnerving to think that there is more out there. It was busy: pilgrims, tourists, gift shops and runners hummed about, everyone speaking in hushed voices in reverence for something.
On the way back to the town we met Pedro del Camino, a sculptor from Roncevalles and true Pilgrim. By handing out free postcards but with a suggested donation he’s raising funds to sail to Japan to protest the development of nuclear weapons.
Today we are riding to Santiago de Compostela. Our Camino has taken us a long way round, and much more time, than the traditional routes would normally take. We’re meeting Tom, who is arriving a day late, tomorrow. Think me and Chlo will grab some pizza tonight.