There was a climb up on the road out of Novaleno, winding through pleasant pine forest, until I reached the Via Verde. Which continued in a gentle fashion, slightly but steadily uphill on roughish gravel, spinning easily in a low gear. No stress on the joints and not tiring. Also not fast, but that doesn't need saying.

This continued, although not all uphill, for a couple of hours until, with regret, I left the forest behind. I passed a church and was into open farmland and increased temperatures.

The surface deteriorated, requiring more energy. But it was still enjoyable.

The Via Verde abruptly terminated and I had some steep hill work to get up to Soria. It was the wrong end of the day for this effort but I made it to my hotel.

But the centre of Soria is comprised of historic narrow streets and tightly packed buildings. My hotel had no room for a bike. The hostess suggest a public underground parking lot, which didn't fill me with any confidence. But, she said, it was that or find another hotel. According to booking.com, this hotel had a no cancellation policy but I asked whether I could cancel. She agreed. And I wandered off with my bike. Around the corner, the Alamedo Centro, a more modern building, had room to store my bike. And by not booking through booking, I got quite a reasonable rate. 120€ for two nights.

The room was very hot and I didn't seem to be able to work the air conditioning. But I slept without covers, next to an open window. The chattering from the bar below ended at eleven and I had a reasonable night.

In the morning, I got the cleaners in and pointed at the thermostat for some help in what I was doing wrong. The cleaners immediately commented on how hot it was (or signed it, we had little language in common), checked the breaker box (nothing wrong there) and made a phone call. The phone was handed to me and someone told me in English there would be a technician around in 20 minutes.

But the technician, or someone, managed to fix it remotely and soon there was cool air blowing into the room. Which, unfortunately, I had to leave to get to a barber's before they closed at 2:00 pm. Full beard removal was called for (I don't want to end up with a white chin in addition to the white around my eyes from my sunglasses) and a good trim on top. Then a late lunch and a walk to the post office where the very helpful people arranged the sending of the hotel keys back to hotel I had absconded with them from.

It was a hot one. I had about five kilometres on road, with a hill to go over, to reach the Via Verde. I stopped in the shade of a single tree in an open semi-developed industrial wasteland in sight of the gravel pathway. There was no delaying it: it was going to be a long, hot and largely shade-free day. 30 degrees.

The gravel, too, was more gravelly than I had become accustomed to. It made for an energy sapping ride. Two cycle tourists passed me, heading in the opposite direction. I stopped for lunch in the shade of tree. There was nothing to sit on and I felt more comfortable standing. I sliced half a baguette longitudinally and soaked each in oil from a tin of mussels. Surprisingly good! And the mussels themselves were a tasty dessert.

I tried to stay hydrated but I hadn't needed to pee since leaving Soria several hours earlier. It was not the most exciting scenery, open farmland again, no-one about. Occasionally, the N234 could be seen not too far away with steady, if not busy, traffic. But mostly I was alone in a large expanse of empty farmland.

Of course, there was the occasional derelict railway station. The occasional shade of a tree which invariably necessitated a halt. Or the shade of a bridge where the N234 crossed my path.

And then, it was done. Back onto tarmac. A long downhill, with a strong wind springing up. A dark sky ahead, and approaching from behind. Lightning and cracks of thunder. Big spots of rain, enough for me to dig out my raincoat, but not a soaking rain by any means. A long downhill followed by a long uphill, which I pedalled at walking pace.

At the crest of the hill, a sign informed me I was leaving the community of Castilla y León and the province of Soria. A while later, I was in the community of Calatayud and the province of Zaragoza.

The camera never lies? In this digital age, that old adage no longer holds true. But here it is the sign that's to blame for confusing this blogger/cyclist.

I am in the autonomous community of Aragon, not of Calatayud! I am in the province of Zaragoza, in the community of Aragon. And in the Comunidad de Catalayud, one of twelve comarcas of the province of Zaragoza in the community of Aragon. Simple.

Narrow country roads with no traffic. Getting late in the day. Then anothe long downhill and the turnoff to Malanquilla. Steeply up, and I walked this time. Pleasant surroundings, fields and open hillside. Four kilometres and I was in Malanquilla.

My hotel (just an old house converted into separate rooms but very nice) advertised a restaurant. Misleadingly. But there was a bar a minutes walk away where I had dinner.

After the long day, I knew a rest day was warranted. I decided upon two. There seemed little point in racing on (at my decidedly unracing pace). I may or may not make it to Santiago. Does it matter? I don't need to put pressure on myself. Slowly does it.

Narrow streets, no-one around, very quiet. A population of 132 in 2004. Less now, most likely. In my wanderings about, I saw two people. Up to a dozen in the Bar Malanquilla.

These water bottles supposedly deter dogs and cats from peeing on the doorsteps. I have seen them in many rural areas of Spain. They are not, apparently, offerings to thirsty pilgrims or cyclists.