Day 65: Cádiz to Tarifa | 113km

5 August 2026

The sun was yet to rise when I quietly rolled my bike out of the hostel in the center of Cádiz. It’s quite noticeable how much later it rises than a month ago, when I was battling the heatwaves through France. I would have welcomed a later-rising sun at that point. My stomach was still in some pain, so I didn’t have much for breakfast and settled for two bananas. I followed gravel paths and boardwalks along the beach to get out of the city and the peninsula it sits on. It was quiet, with only a couple of early risers out with their dogs or starting their cycling workouts. Progress was quite slow as I stopped often to take photos, trying to savor the final day of the journey. The sandy paths also didn’t help with keeping any sort of quick pace. A little later, I unknowingly rode into the Bahía de Cádiz Natural Park, an important coastal wetland with salt marshes, dunes, beaches, and tidal waterways. It was a massive area of marshland, and I even spotted flamingos relaxing in the water. Again, I stopped many times and was disappointed to see I’d only covered about 20km when I left the park behind. It was beautiful, but my energy levels were extremely low from not being able to eat much over the past two days. Luckily, the following section flew by quite quickly on smooth tarmac, until I took a wrong turn down a mountain.

I didn’t fall off a cliff or anything, but I followed a long descent down a mountain and only when I reached the bottom did I discover I should have exited way up at the top to go in another direction. I was forced to take a detour, which first looked okay but then turned into another ordeal on a mountain. The terrain was rough, the ground clearly not intended for a bike, and with the sun burning me from all angles, I had to push the bike for about a kilometer until I reached a tiny road that continued up another small mountain towards Vejer de la Frontera. Luckily for me, detours sometimes pay off, and this time I stumbled, dripping in sweat, into a lovely cafe with views overlooking the vast valley below. I got a coffee and smoothie to hydrate and get some nutrients in, and when the barista, and as I found out minutes later, the owner, came out to see me with my heavily loaded bicycle, she offered me a complimentary gooey chocolate chip cookie. Seeing all the bags attached to Rust, she figured I must have traveled far, so she had many questions about the journey and urged me to send photos when I reached the finish line. The small gestures of kindness from strangers like hers go such a long way to lift your spirits when you’re on the road. If she reads this, I want her to know what a necessary final boost that cookie and chat gave me before heading out for the final 50km. It turned out not to be the last such encounter, despite the short distance left to cover.

Slightly recovered, I set off again down the mountain, this time in the right direction, and onto the bigger road that would take me all the way to Tarifa. With 10km left, I ran out of water, so I veered into the closest roadside cafe to get some more. I took the stop as a final rest and treated myself to an ice cream. Subconsciously, I think I was just trying to extend the trip a little longer and have a quiet moment to myself before crossing the finish line. However, the only table in the shade was occupied by an old man, but he kindly gestured for me to take a seat. The man looked quite rough, so it was difficult to estimate his age, but I’d put him around 65. He had a couple of missing teeth and sipped some concoction from a golden wine glass. With my improving but still elementary Spanish, we started chatting and, after learning about my trip, he joyfully opened up and told me he had been walking for the past 11 years. I wasn’t sure if I understood him correctly at first, but the longer we spoke, the more I realized he was for real. His name was Enrique, but he was also known as “El peregrino más famoso de España,” or the most famous pilgrim in Spain. He had started hiking from southern Spain to Rome and then around the Iberian Peninsula, including two years along the coast of Portugal. For the last eight of those years, his hiking companion had been a donkey. Again, I wasn’t sure if he was for real, but we promptly walked around the corner of the bar and there it was, waiting for him: a donkey with a hat and a scarf, its tongue cartoonishly hanging out of its mouth. Next to the donkey was a carriage in which he stored his entire life. It felt symbolic that Enrique was the last person I’d chat to before concluding my own odyssey of a journey, and it was certainly humbling to meet someone who’d been living on the road for such a long time compared to my relatively short two months. I expressed my respect for his journey, and before I left, he gave me a big hug and wished me good luck for the rest of mine. I got back on the bike, and before the cafe was out of view, I turned around to catch one last look at Enrique and his donkey.

The final 10 kilometers was a long descent towards the end of the journey, but before I saw Tarifa in the distance, I just saw the looming mountains on the other side of the Strait of Gibraltar in Morocco. Literally seeing the next continent in front of me certainly made me realize that the end was near. I thought back to the North Cape, the edge of the world, staring into the vast nothingness of the northern sea, and now arriving at the opposite end. However, with my stomach growling, mouth dry, and an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion, it was difficult to take in the magnitude of what I was about to complete. I eventually reached the old, narrow streets of the town and made my way through to Punta de Tarifa, the southernmost point of Europe. There, at the very end of the road, was Irene waiting for me with a big smile on her face and a very long hug. With tired pedal strokes, I rolled over the finish line where a big hug awaited me. Seeing a familiar face at the end helped me realize that this was not just another break, but the actual end. No more biking for a while.

After setting my bike aside, I just lay down on the ground, letting the emotions and huge sense of relief wash over me. I felt weak and powerful at the same time, in some sort of disbelief that I’d done it. I thought finishing would give me a surge of energy, but even walking from the southern tip back to the hotel we had booked for the night took some effort. For the rest of the day, I wasn’t really myself, and although I wanted to celebrate, I could barely manage to finish my medium-sized dinner and sole beer. Adventures, it proves, can sometimes require everything you’ve got. I imagine it will take a while to process this journey, so stay tuned.