There is a severe wind warning today. The man at the front desk insisted that I don’t ride. The rain is gushing, and the trees are whipping. He keeps saying, “Las ramas, las ramas.” Branches will be breaking all over the place. It is hard to get pictures of, but have a look:
See the water hitting that storm drain? There is just no way. It is also 100 kilometers to Lugo, the next city with a hostel in it. Tomorrow I think I will camp, maybe. Today, I’ll clean my bike, have my pannier looked at, and fix my tent, which I have been putting off. I really want to ride, but it is absolutely impossible. I guess I should take the hint and relax.