Day 39 (I’ve miscalculated somewhere along the way – back on track)
Camp De Les Meves – Barcelona
Christmas Day. Better than Christmas Day. Just like Christmas Day: hardly any sleep and awoke to a present. I checked my mail as I woke with a sense of relief that I’d gone the night with no more interruptions. A message from the finishing line – my box had arrived! All my personal ibiza kit was sat there. It had made it safely, against all odds and on time, at the perfect time. This was the final hurdle over and done with. With only 72km left to go to the port of Barcelona, this risk of danger was next to nothing, the problems with loss of kit no longer a concern. The need for planning routes was negligible and now, my box was waiting for me. My doubts and concerns were now totally laid to rest. My pivotal moment on the entire trip was safe and there was just two days skating separating me from getting washed, clean and back to being me again.
I perched myself up against the hotel wall about about 12km further towards my goal and fuelled the camp stove. The backrest belonging to the proprietor of the establishment that had once turned away a weary traveller expressing interest in purchasing one of their delectable freshly ground coffees merely due to his appearance, but that’s a story from moments gone by. After 6mins in the history books by this point.
2 days. Two days. Deux jour. Dos dias. Then what?
I’ve been living in the present for over a month. I say “present” but a hedge an a hundred mosquito bites is hardly a gift. I mean I haven’t had to think about dos dias for a long time and it’s just hit me that I now have a need for my Filofax once again. I have shit to plan. People to contact. Accommodation to sort. A schedule of tasks to complete before I can settle. But I’ve left these boxes pretty much un ticked. “Just wing it”, “you’ve been sleeping rough so just carry on sleeping rough”, “something will crop up” – I think that’s pretty much all the planning I did for this phase. I was waiting for the moment my board rattled over the skate-proof granite pavements of Ibiza but I had a lot to figure out before the holidaying could start. First I had to get there. Two days.
But 72km is possible in 1 day and the cheaper ferry crossing to ibiza is at 10pm, about 80km of pushing if my inaccurate mathematics serves me correctly, once corrected, incorrectly. My picturesque vision of sailing into San An and skating the coastline was already scuppered by the recently discovered fact that the ship mapping lines on Google Earth are out of date by several years, the ferry from Barcelona no longer sails to San Antonio. So my heroic moment of rolling down the promenade high fiving all the workers that had been following my every push in awe of this heroic achievements was impossible. I hate disappointing my fans! Thank fuck there’s only two of em.
A day early isn’t going to make much of a difference. Saddle up Michael. Let’s do this! One… last…. long…. push. 71km of coastline