Startpoint: Villafranca Montes de Oca; Endpoint: Atapuerca; Steps taken: 24,283; Distance walked: 18k; Conditions: a grand soft day (i.e. wet as hell, if hell were wet).

When we left our hostel in Viloria de Rioja on Saturday morning, we were warned that rain was expected for the weekend. It would be coming from the west, the landlady said, from the ocean, from where we’re heading. My Dad called it a present from Galicia.

Yesterday, we got some drizzle and a few light showers after we arrived in town. But today, the present from Galicia really arrived. I guess in Spai, even the weather turns up a bit late.

We started this morning with a 13km climb into the mountains and a trek through pine-forests back down to San Juan de Ortega. Unlike the last few stages, there was nowhere to stop or find shelter along the way. As predicted a day earlier, the wind was from the west, blowing straight into our faces and it was heavy with rain. Heavy, driving, cold, hard rain. It was a horrible day. And we were flying!

We realised that this is what we were built for. This is what we trained for. This is what we trained in! The wet pine needles and soggy pine-cones mixed with the red sandy clay of the path to make a muddy gravely slush. Little rivulets cross the path running from puddle to puddle through twigs and loose stones. We could have been walking through a Coillte forest up in Tibradden or Cruagh. The Irish boys were in their element.

We stormed past the Spanish, the French, the Americans and the Australians. The sallow-skinned striders who’d left us sweating in the sun on previous days couldn’t keep up with our furious march into the driving wet! We hummed and whistled marching songs as we strode past them. They looked on and listened in amazement as snatches of “It’s a long way to Tipperary” and the theme tune from “The Great Escape” reached their sodden ears whenever they found the courage to look up from staring at their mucky boots in dejected misery. They weren’t eating our dust. There was no dust, but they were munching our mud.

Dad was wearing summer shorts under his rain-poncho and I was carrying sunglasses in the neck of my t-shirt, just in case. If there was a competition for walking through wet weather in inappropriate clothing, the Irish would be unstoppable. Dad and I might not make the team, but we’d certainly be on the squad.

As we walked, occasionally Dad or I would murmur ‘I think it’s brightening up a bit over there’, while pointing a shivering blue finger at a random patch of uniformly grey sky. It didn’t brighten up, and we just laughed at the storm’s persistence.

The cold and wet seemed to ease our sore feet, sprained ankles and tired knees. This is what we’d been missing – the home ground advantage. We covered the thirteen kilometres to San Juan in just two hours and twenty minutes.

Bring it on, Galicia! I’m coming for you and I can take any weather you can throw at me!

During our walk today, Dad and I discussed the differences between moose and elk; Lucy, the pre-human remains found in Ethiopia in the 70s and the underlying spiritual message to be found in the Gruffalo books. I took the books quite literally, while Dad believes there is a deeper metaphysical message which I’ve been missing. In fairness, he has been studying the books longer than I have.

We also helped a Spanish lady find her little white dog. She was walking through the little town of Ages, whistling and calling. As she gave up and turned around, Dad and I noticed her little white dog. It was behind a bush. We whistled and called it until it came over and then walked it back to its owner. I don’t know what she would have done without us. We’re heroes really, but we don’t seek any reward. We’re good like that.

We stopped sooner than we intended to today. We changed our intended destination yesterday, but both forgot that we’d decided to give ourselves a shorter day tomorrow by going further today. We only realised after we’d showered and unpacked, so a long walk tomorrow it is.

I like our hostel today. Every bed has both a shelf and a power outlet, so no more scrambling for phone chargers while other pilgrims are changing their underwear with their backs turned. Not tonight anyway. Tomorrow, Dad and I are sharing a twin room in Burgos. We don’t know how many power sockets it has, so all bets are off. I have youth on my side, but he has experience on his.

Buen Camino.