Both knew that we needed to make physical compensation for last night's excess and the bikes were out relatively early. M1 took the old west road towards Ciudad Rodrigo which was mercifully free of cars and mostly pretty flat so a good average was maintained over the 31 miles ridden. M2 chose the other direction through Calvarossa and rode for a good hour and a quarter.
Still slow and only partly effective we got ready to leave. Sadly, some of the van's incidental working parts are showing signs of wear and tear. The boot barely shuts and the keys don't work, window struts and catches are breaking and the locks to the water inlet and now the back door are in poor shape. We can manage though. On our way by about 11.30, we chose a back road route through mostly cultivated land to reach Fuentesauco by about 1.00pm. It was immediately obvious that the town was host to a festival as there were people, cars (and litter) everywhere. And oh yes! we noticed heavy iron railings in many places. We saw three or four large, proud mounted grey hoses with long spears that must have been picadors although they were npot armoured. Sadly, they disappeared. Having been told that the 'bull running' would take place at 7.00pm, we were puzzkled that so many people seemed to be packing up and leaving. With no language skills to rely on we couldn't find out what was happening. Disappointed that we must have missed the run, we walked into town under the bunting and saw a few signs: more and more people, droppings in the road and each and every doorway barred by substantial iron gate or scaffold. Then through the throng at the end of the road there was a cheer and M2 saw the crowd sway back and the unmistakeable shape of a very black bull. We got close enough to see things better. Parts of the town were coralled off and the bulls driven through them. Goaded by young and not so young men probably fuelled by drink who were brave to the point of climbing back up, over or through the railings every time one of these confused and terrified beasts made a charge. All rather undignified for people and animals both. The bulls had none of the normal nobility and dignity they would enjoy in the field. And what happens to them next? Were they driven to the bull ring for the fighting in the evening?
We moved on and chose to go to a site at Tordesillas just west of Valladolid but not too far away. We tried to find the centre of the town of Toro on the way but failed although there was evidence of much religious history. Tordesillas did not feature much in the Peninsular War but during a British retreat in late October 1812, 56 French troops swam naked across the flooded River Douro, drove back a German unit and built a pontoon bridge before suffering a reversal when Wellington called up reserves. Special Forces at work!
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