Dear Christine and Renee.

FINALLY I have the bandwidth to upload pictures! We arrived in Pamplona this morning after a relatively short walk. Here is the recap of our last few days:

June 12th. We left the Monastery at Roncesvalles walking in a continuation of the cold, rain, and fog we “enjoyed” the previous two days. Into the morning the sky began to clear and the sun made its presence and warmth intermittently known. It was a good hike, mostly downhill into Zubiri. In the interest of brevity and an economy of time I will caption pictures where appropriate.

Leaving Roncesvalles
The original 12th century church at Roncesvalles
The iconic picture EVERYONE poses for.
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The second food truck we have encountered
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A monument to a pilgrim who died on the Camino
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A happy Britton

June 13th. Pursuing a recommendation from our UK friend, Kate Hacket, we decided to stop short of a full hiking stage which would have taken us to Pamplona. The detour took us to the ancient church (1100’s) of San Esteban, and the Albergue Zabaldika which is run by Sisters of the Sacred Heart. There is only room for 12, and it is first come first served, no reservations permitted. We were a bit concerned that there would be “no room at the inn”. Our luck held and there were only 8, including us.

There is no “price” as the Sisters offer their hospitality, which includes spotless dormitory accommodations, dinner, a moving prayer/contemplation service, and breakfast in return for a donation. Only the hardest heart or thinnest purse would be less than generous. Oh yes, we also got to climb the church tower and ring one of the oldest bells on the Camino. This was a marvelous experience for Britton and me. I miss the friends that we met and the kindness of the Sisters who cared for us. The prayer service was especially emotional as a dear friend of a German Peregrino had died earlier that day. Again, pictures follow:

Leaving Zubiri
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A 13th century church
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A group of American students on a 3 week (non-Camino) trip
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A rural village and cafe
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San Esteban Church and the adjacent Zabaldika Alberge
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Climbing the bell tower
Britton rings the bell
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Today, June 14th. The sun was shining and for the first time for us on this journey the thermometer topped 80°. (of course that’s Fahrenheit!) We had an easy walk into Pamplona, a city of over 200,000, known for its association with Ernest Hemingway and the Running of the Bulls. A couple of miles of our hike less pleasantly passed through an industrial area and suburbs before reaching the old city center. Britton voiced, “l miss the countryside!”

Breakfast at Zabaldika
Pamplona in the distance
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We have entered the outskirts of Pamplona

Britton (and I!) were ready for some privacy in our sleeping and bathroom accommodations. I looked for room availability in any nearby small pension or simple hotel, but struck out as they were all booked. It’s Friday. We adjourned to a small outdoor café to consider our options. The café was located in front of a four-star hotel and I thought, “What the heck, there’s no harm in checking.” They had a room in the price at €110 was not unreasonable for the city center.

LUXURY
Our own PRIVATE bathroom

It is courtesy of their excellent Wi-Fi that I am able to present this post and pictures. I also was able to reserve bookings for the next three nights which alleviates some stress. In the rural areas a private room for the two of us is about €50, including breakfast. These pictures from today include an afternoon visit to the Cathedral and Plaza del Castillo:

Pamplona Cathedral
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Archaeological Excavations beneath the Cathedral. 2000 year old Roman artifacts 
The Plaza del Castillo
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Ours is an evolving experience. It has occurred to me that I am a participant in two Caminos: One Camino takes us on foot to Santiago, the other “Camino” molds an enduring relationship between a grandfather and a grandson. Like a picture frame that draws the eye and brings focus to the painting it holds, the Camino de Santiago frames what is the more important journey for me, my time with Britton.

Love to you both, Peace and… Buen Camino. Dad.

Written at Pamplona, the 14th of June.

Dear Christine and Renee’.

We were up and out of the refuge at Orisson by 8:00 AM. 7 AM breakfast was disappointingly thin and consisted only of French bread, butter, and jelly. There was hot coffee and orange juice.

Britton on the road, first steps 
There were moments when the fog cleared. 

I had purchased sandwiches for us to carry along the way, ham and cheese on baguette. They were a lifesaver and did a great job of staving off hunger when we ate them around noon.

Much of the time today was like walking in the middle of a ping-pong ball. White out conditions. We could barely see 100 feet in any direction. It was cold, wet, with alternating rain and drizzle… and it was also wonderful!

A French gentleman walked with us much of the day. He speaks very little English. Britton and he conversed in French and Britton provided translation for me. He really cast his shyness aside.

The elevation increase (2100 feet) was greater than what we experienced yesterday, but spread over a much longer distance. Britton felt today was the more difficult of the two days and I felt yesterday was more challenging.

Today was a day to make friends and spend the hike with new companions. I will identify some of the pilgrims in the photographs.

Britton and I with a Saya (sp) from Romania and Jell (sp) from France.
Our group here includes Pierre from Sweden, Lana, Abbey, and Erica, from the States. we are at the border between France and Spain. 

One surprise was a food truck in the middle of “nowhere”. Sodas, sandwiches, candy bars, and best of all homemade cheese made for a delightful pause in the hike.

Food truck!
Our host, a true Camino angel. 
Our group enjoying snacks at the food truck. 

Britton has frequently vocalized how much he is enjoying this experience. He is blown away by the beauty and the variety of people that we are meeting. He is already planning to walk another Camino and take his friends along, him as their guide!

There were places where the mud was ankle deep and given the area livestock, of questionable composition. One of our companions, Lana from Washington, was wearing Crocs!

Arrival at the monastery. 

We will eat dinner at the monastery tonight at 7 with mass following at 8 PM. I have also arranged to take breakfast here before we “hit the road“ early in the morning.

Britton gets top bunk (again).
I looked down the hall on our side of the first floor dormitory. 

I am sorry if this post seems a little “scattered“, but I am trying to get it uploaded before dinner, Mass, and lights out.

Love to you both. Peace, Dad.

Written at the Monastery at Roncesvalles, Spain, June 11, 2024.

The Long And Winding Road. 
Britton finds a small friend. 
More “friends”, but the bull did not look so friendly. We did our best to walk around him. 
There were moments when the vistas were spectacular. 
The border between France and Spain. 
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This is an emergency shelter, which has a fireplace, two beds, and emergency phone. 
Dear Christine and Renee.

I am writing this the Sunday before Britton and I depart for our trek across Spain. I have timed it so that you will be reading it sometime while we are flying over the Atlantic. I find my thoughts drawn to each of you, and of course to him. There are others, the loving hands that reach through to give me strength and a nurturing spirit. I am consciously coming to grips with the responsibility of watching over and caring for one of the dearest treasures that life has given you as Mother and Grandmother.

We are not “islands”, disconnected from the line of our ancestors. We are the product of genetics which determines our height, eye color, hair color… and those other things which decide what we look like. To an extent, genetics also determines personality, but here we have some self-determination. I have never learned to overcome my wanderlust, but I have chosen to embrace my emotions. I willingly recognize the “female” side of my humanness.

I feel the touch of my Mother and my Grandmother.

I sense the touch of Christine upon you Renee,

…My touch upon you…

…And your touch upon Britton.

We are not isolated islands, but an endless archipelago, a family chain of individuals linked by the love and caring of preceding generations.

There has been much said about what an extraordinary experience I am providing to Britton. However, in giving a measure I am receiving back a greater measure. (Luke 6:38)

Please understand that each of you, in trusting, have given me and him this gift.
Thank you. Peace, Dad.

PS. June 6, over the Atlantic. Three of us are having a really nice flight. Britton, me, and my bag. Unfortunately, Britton’s bag decided to spend an extra day in Atlanta. Hopefully it will catch up to us tomorrow. 

Britton and his Great Grandfather, William “Bill” Nichols (1918-2020).

Written in Kansas City, May 19, 2024.

In 2022, with only 18 days to my departure to walk the Portuguese Coastal route of the Camino de Santiago, my 3rd journey on the Camino, I mused in a post, “Is it an Adventure?” . I concluded that “Adventures are things typically out of the ordinary. They present aspects of risk, challenge, and uncertainty.” Adventures are defined by the abilities of the participant. A walk to the mailbox is hardly an adventure for most people, but the term certainly qualified in the context of my 100+ year old father-in-law, may he rest in peace.

Again, I find myself looking to the future with 18 days to departure for my 4th Camino and I am confronted with the same question. At 500+ miles this is a longer Camino, I will be gone 6 weeks, and I will be accompanied by and responsible for Britton, my 15-year-old grandson. In my mind each of those factors qualifies this as an “adventure”.

However, l am not a stranger to long trips in Spain, this will be my 4th journey on the Camino, and Britton is a kind, thoughtful and delightful companion. Yes, it will be an interpersonal “adventure” for both of us, but…

What makes the coming journey really an adventure is a difficulty that is of fairly recent origin. About 6 months ago I began experiencing discomfort and stiffness upon waking in the morning. It was across my lower back and radiated down my right leg. Tylenol, and 30 minutes of yoga/stretching and I was good for the day.

Unfortunately, the problem has persisted and increased to the point that a couple of weeks ago I sought out a chiropractor that accepted Medicare. A few adjustments coupled with therapeutic massage sessions have been helpful, but no cure.

Last week I visited an orthopedic surgeon and the University of Kansas Medical Center. “I wish you had given me more than 3 weeks!” was his initial remark. (You and me both!)

He and previously the Chiropractor gave me a list of descriptors to describe the pain. 8-9 on a scale of 10 upon rising out of bed… burning, aching, stabbing, throbbing… “Yep, that pretty much describes it.” says I. X-rays were ordered and the results not encouraging:

Severe degenerative disc disease with mild retrolisthesis at L5-S1. No instability between flexion and extension. Severe lower lumbar facet arthropathy.

The doctor recommended that I continue working with the Chiropractor and Massage Therapist, continue the stretching/yoga, and he prescribed a much stronger NSAID to replace the Ibuprofen and Tylenol that I had been using. He also prescribed a course of oral steroids to reduce inflammation. We are scheduled to meet again the morning after I return from Spain.

In the meantime, once I loosen up the pain is down to a “3” and manageable. Walking is actually good for this condition. Whether or not this much walking is “therapeutic” remains to be seen.

Yes, this will be an adventure. I may arrange periodic transport of my pack and perhaps resort to the occasional transport of my person. But it will definitely be an adventure in ways that I wish it were not.

Hell, aging is an adventure, and as I am learning not for the faint of heart.

Peace Everyone, and Buen Camino! Pete

Some of you are aware that I periodically assemble and print my posts into large format full color books. These are not for general distribution but are given to our children (and to our parents when they were alive) as a record of our post-retirement lives.

I am currently working on the 8th Volume, A “Speedbump” in Our Retirement Highway, We Pause to Face Mortality. When completed these 8 books will total over 1,500 pages. Whether or not appreciated during our life, I am more assured that they will be cherished when we are gone. Normally the “Foreword” to each volume is not shared publicly. However, I thought it appropriate to share this one:

Foreword to Volume 8

Dear Children, Grandchildren, and someday Great-Grandchildren.

At birth (actually a few months before birth), Fate assigns us a finite number of heartbeats. Rarely do we consider the “finite” in that statement as we blithely live our lives as if there will be no end. But the truth is that the number of heartbeats is ever in decline and will never be more than the beat that is occurring at this second.

About 35 years ago a routine annual physical and blood test revealed that I had a significant genetic condition that would end my life within 5 years. There was no cure.

Dr. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross declared that there are 5 stages of grief and dying: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. I was not in denial as I accepted the diagnosis and started notifying family members and co-workers. However, my thoughts and actions were purely from my head and not my heart. The emotional fallout had not yet occurred.

I elected to get a second opinion and found that the University of Utah specialized in testing for the diagnosed condition. They forwarded testing vials and instructions and I arranged for the blood to be drawn through my doctor’s office.

The return of test results took about a month. It was a month that found me and Christine contemplating a more limited life going forward, with me suffering a steady decline in health, activity, ability, and ultimately an early death. There were discussions about life in family Schloss without me. Still, the discussions were largely “academic” and not at a gut emotional level, but they were moving in that direction.

Even with a perceived future that would not see me to age 50, the finiteness of life did not grip my soul. Oh, the results of the special blood test from the University of Utah established that the first test was a false positive. Life was still finite, but I again had license to pretend otherwise. So it goes.

Fast forward to 2023. The year began with the excitement of travel and shared experiences with Christine, family, and friends. The year ended in much the same way. However, between those highpoints there was a very deep and dark valley.

I voluntarily underwent surgery on June 2nd to treat a worsening life-long tremor. An electrode was implanted in my brain, connected to a device in my chest that would counter the erratic nerve impulses issuing from the thalamus on the left side of my brain. By all accounts the surgery went well and I was released from the hospital the following day.

On June 7th I suffered a sudden hemorrhage in the left hemisphere thalamus of my brain. I found myself immediately confronted with the inability to walk and talk as most people do. Unlike my response to the false diagnosis of 35 years past, on June 7th the horizon of my life had suddenly shrunk to “now”. The future was concealed by an impenetrable mist of the unknown. It was terrifying. Sleep often eluded me as I lay in bed feeling the walls and ceiling closing in on me. At times I felt the air being sucked out of the room. These were physical manifestations of the emotional shock I was enduring. Through it all Christine was a master of calm and understanding. She accepted me wholly as I was regardless of whether this was who I would now always be.

Unlike 35 years ago, the emotional impact I suffered in June, 2023 did not allow for any “what if” discussions. We were too consumed with the immediate confrontation of our mortality. “In sickness and in health… until death do us part” were no longer vague insubstantial promises that looked infinitely into the future, they were the definition of our “now”.

As you will see in these posts, there was a silver lining. The surgeon explained that a brain bleed is a rare complication of the surgery, but in her considerable experience it only occurs at or near the time of the operation, never 5 days post-surgery.

There was more. I not only recovered from the brain hemorrhage, but as the result of the brain bleed the activation of the DBS (Deep Brain Stimulation) controller has thus far proven unnecessary. The hemorrhage and its effect on that portion of my brain which is the source of my tremors has significantly reduced the shaking in my dominant hand. Again, this was unique to my neuro-surgeon’s experience. This was the beneficial result hoped for from implant surgery and activation of the DBS controller on June 2nd, just not in the way that anyone could have foreseen.

I now know the difference between confronting mortality with one’s head versus one’s heart. I also know the incalculable value of having a partner at my side who embraces without hesitation the words of our marriage vows. I pray that each of you have such good fortune and love in your life, lives counting down one heartbeat at a time…

Love, Your Dad, Grandpa, and perhaps someday Your Great Grandfather.