Walking Amid Spanish Lights: From Montanas to Camino

By Walter Glover, MTS

Walter Glover's fall on Mount Rainier led to the discovery of three aneurysms in three separate body systems, a medical rarity. That persuaded the senior-citizen adventure author to abandon his worldwide quest to climb on all Seven Summit mountains. Repurposed by open-heart surgery, he reimagined his dream. Forget climbing famous mountains--hike long distances.

Walter's first challenge, chronicled in this thrilling book, was 500 miles long (well, 492), trekking El Camino, The Way of Saint James, across Spain. Called The Way, it is named for Jesus' apostle, whose remains rest in a cathedral at the end of the journey. The most compelling story Walter tells is his own meeting with St. James at his cathedral, concerning his deceased brother.

Glover fits into mobile Camino communities, befriending people from around the world, as he did on mountaineering expeditions he's written about. The final of four books of the retired hospital chaplain's popular Seven Mountain Story series, Camino recounts adventures of 40 days of 14-mile distances hiked from village to village with nights in hostels. He was among an estimated quarter-million pilgrims on Camino in 2014.

The book's centerpieces are spirituality and adventure. Walter's altruistic reason to hike--raise money for children's wellness initiatives, almost $150,000. His writing and activism inspired kids to seniors.

The ugly irony, the superhealthy adventurer now has a chronic disease--Parkinson's. Exercising now has significant limitations for Walter. His outlook, "My life continues vibrant, hopeful, and full of gratitude and light. I believe my best work is in front of me."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685263874

Book preview

cover.jpg

Walking Amid Spanish Lights

From Montanas to Camino

Walter Glover, MTS

ISBN 978-1-68526-386-7 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68526-387-4 (Digital)

Copyright © 2022 Walter Glover, MTS

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Table of Contents

Advance Praise

Camino Highlight

Introduction

Friday, 6 March 2015

Toward Camino and Spain

Winter 2014

Six Months Out: Camino Warm-Up

Valentine's Day Weekend, 2014

Camino Training Ramp-Up

Spring and Summer 2014

Countdown Camino: One Month

Bumpy Bites into the Big Apple

Camino: September to October 2014

Look Out, Madrid, Here Come the Hoosiers

Monday, 1 Sept. 2014

Go Forward, Junipero Serra: Madrid, Spain, to St. Jean, France

Tuesday, 2 Sept. 2014

Day 1: Buen Camino

Wednesday, 3 Sept. 2014

Day 2: Thursday, 4 Sept.

Up and Down to Roncesvalles

Day 3: Friday, 5 Sept.

A Long, Hot, Achy Day

Day 4: Saturday, 6 Sept.

Pamplona

Day 5: Sunday, 7 Sept.

On My Own… St. Andrew Church

Day 6: Monday, 8 Sept.

Nonstop, Steady, Slow

Day 7: Tuesday, 9 Sept.

Wine Country and Sheep Tsunami

Day 8: Wednesday, 10 Sept.

La Rioja Wine Region, Logrono, and Meeting Paddy, Mike, and Paul

Day 9: Thursday, 11 Sept.

Rain, Rain Before the Plains of Spain

Day 10: Friday, 12 Sept.

St. Dominic Day, St. Andrew Day Earlier

Day 11: Saturday, 13 Sept.

Mike and Paul

Day 12: Sunday, 14 Sept.

Paul and Mike; PR Distance Day

Day 13: Monday, 15 Sept.

Body Slams and Weather Storms Are Gateway to Burgos Calamity

Day 14: Tuesday, 16 Sept.

Predawn Dark Start, Early Finish; Farewell, Paul and Mike and Their Merry Band

Day 15: Wednesday, 17 Sept.

Sunrise with Saints—Bliss

Day 16: Thursday, 18 Sept.

Author Jean, Roman Road, Peaceful Canal de Castilla, Growl at Indiana Governor Mrs. News

Day 17: Friday, 19 Sept.

The Younger Set and a Boring Romeo

Day 18: Saturday, 20 Sept.

Sisters Eileen and Maureen, and Terri

Day 19: Sunday, 21 Sept.

Hospitalio for Pain; Camino Jeopardy

Day 20: Monday, 22 Sept.

From Resting through Planning to Action

Day 21: Tuesday, 23 Sept.

Train Travel

Day 22: Wednesday, 24 Sept.

Portomarin Welcome: Russian Angel; Ireland's Mike and Mary; Alps Grandson and Grandfather; Copenhagen Couple Carsten and Birthe

Day 23: Thursday, 25 Sept.

Another Camino Community Formation; Wonderful Carsten and Birthe

Day 24: Friday, 26 Sept.

Linda and Michael—Cincy Surprise!

Day 25: Saturday, 27 Sept.

Nearing Santiago; So Many Emotions

Camino Completio, Day 26: Sunday, 28 Sept.

Excitement, Joy; R&R in Santiago

Day 27: Monday, 29 Sept.

On Meeting St. James; The Cathedral

Day 28: Tuesday, 30 Sept.

Paddy Reunion!

Day 29: Wednesday, 1 Oct.

Departure Prep; Last Farewells

Day 30: Thursday, 2 Oct.

Farewell, Camino

Day 31: Friday, 3 Oct.

Farewell, Spain

Epilogue

Last Word: Parkinson's

Additional Adventure Reads from Walter Glover, MTS

About the Author

The joy of this book was made possible by the lovely and interesting people listed below and by many others who contributed to my experience walking Camino during the weeks of September and October 2014. Thank you so much to each of you. Often I knew your name, not necessarily your full name. Sometimes I didn't know your name. Perhaps you remember me, if not my name, or at least the poster on my backpack. I was the cheerful one who kept walking without stopping. The order in which the names appear are, more or less, the order in which I met you while walking from St. Jean to Santiago.

God bless,

Walter Glover

Columbus, Indiana, USA

Walking Amid Spanish Lights from Montañas to Camino is dedicated to the following:

Jim and Rosie Haro, Columbus, IN

Andrew Alfonso Haro, Chicago, IL

Ed and Vivian Eckerly, Columbus, IN

Michelle, Fort Myers, FL

Theodora and Anna, Denmark

Jim and Jack, Seattle, WA

The greeter

Cris, Crease, Christina, Buenos Aires, Argentina

Quantanamaro, a musician

Paddy, Montreal, Quebec, Canada

Paul, Marlborough, England

Mike, Marlborough, England

Adrian and Pat, England

Carol, Kansas City, MO

Carlo, Italy

Shellie, Royal Canadian Mounted Policewoman

Look-alike-twin

Girl cousins from Israel, formerly from Detroit, MI

Juliano, PhD, Milan, Italy

Boring Romeo and Dakota friend

Jim, Aurora, CO

Terri

Eileen, Lac du Bonnet, Manitoba, and Marlene, Calgary, Alberta

Back healer

Marian and Silvia, Sahagún, Spain

Jean, a Camino author from CA

Benedicta, Norway

Casper, Latvia

Mike and Mary, Ireland

Grand-father and grandson, Austria

David, Israel

Russian angel

Carsten and Birthe, Copenhagen, Denmark

Linda and Michael, Cincinnati, OH

Coarse man

Danish woman

Irish woman

St. James

Man in Santiago Plaza

They that hope in the Lord will renew their strength, they will soar as with eagles' wings; They will run and not grow weary, walk and not grow faint.

—Isaiah 40/31

The paradox of expectation indeed is that those who believe in tomorrow can better live today, that those who expect joy to come out of sadness can discover the beginnings of new life in the center of the old, that those who look forward to the returning Lord can discover Him already in their midst.

—Henri J. M. Nouwen, Out of Solitude

We are not discouraged. Although our outer self is wasting away, out inner self is being renewed day by day. For this momentary light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison as we look not to what is seen, but what is unseen. For what is seen is transitory, but what is unseen is eternal.

—2 Corinthians 4/16–18

Advance Praise

Walter Glover of St. Vincent Jennings Hospital in Indiana was presented the first national Eye on Wellness Award from Virgin Pulse, Virgin Health Miles. Walter is an active 61-year-old Virgin Pulse-Virgin Health Miles member, committed to staying active and promoting healthy activity within his community.

—Virgin Pulse, a Sir Richard Branson corporation

Glover meshes with fitness as he does with prayer. He trains 120 miles per month, not simply walking or jogging but climbing any and every hill he can find, while carrying a 40-pound backpack and wearing boots. One mile a day must be vertical by the way.

—Dale Moss, The Louisville Courier-Journal, Kentucky

Faith, hope, and love fuel this mountain climber's passion to reach new heights.

—The Criterion, Indianapolis, Indiana

Adventurous chaplain encourages kids to get up and get moving.

—Catholic Health World

Glover has combined his passion for mountains with another passion—helping people, youth in particular. His expeditions to hike mountains in foreign lands are dubbed 2Trek4Kids. Overcoming the mountainous battle of knocking down childhood obesity will take more than one man on a mission—it's going to take a change in society and its behaviors. However, thanks to people like Glover, who point their commitment toward doing good, we know we're taking positive steps in the right direction.

—Bedford Times Mail,

editorial, Indiana

Former local St. Vincent Jennings Hospital chaplain, Glover chronicles two of his remarkable adventures in his new book. And all the while, he displays his strong spirituality and faith, though not in a preachy or overbearing way. Rather he does so by exhibiting a refreshing humanity.

—North Vernon Plain-Dealer, Indiana

Adventurer Glover's efforts for the Columbus Foundation for Youth and for children are praiseworthy. What would you do to help children? Would you raise money for scholarships, or awareness about the need to fight juvenile obesity? How about something more challenging, such as climbing a mountain or trekking across a country? Columbus resident Walter Glover has done all of that.

—The Columbus Republic,

editorial, Indiana

Glover, the St. Vincent Salem Hospital chaplain, and his last two adventures on mountains in Africa and Russia were to raise money and awareness for childhood obesity. With each grueling step up the mountains, he was making a difference for kids.

—The Salem Leader-Democrat,

Indiana

This book tells of the courage and preparedness required at any age for climbing a mountain. But the author has much more in store for the reader. This book is the kind of read that makes you feel like you're there during the climbs, the encounters, the nights, the weather, and much more. As always, Glover writes with the warmth of a real person and includes his spiritual journey as well as physical challenges, told with a healthy dose of self-deprecating humor. I'm glad Walter has climbed additional mountains and am anticipating the next book.

—Amazon.com review,

Jennifer Lowry

Camino Highlight

I just got off the phone with the radiologist, the emergency room physician said to me, coming into my ER cubicle.

How's the radiologist? I said glibly as I finished dressing, thinking my examination for broken ribs, after a fall on Mount Rainier, was complete. Dressed and having heard what turned out to be a preliminary diagnosis, I was getting impatient to head back to base camp at Ashford, Washington.

Looking at me quietly, the ER MD sat down. With more than a quarter century of work experience in hospitals, the last fifteen as a hospital chaplain, to myself I thought, Uh-oh, this can't be good. So I sat down too. I had no idea.

ER MD: The radiologist said it might have been the way you were standing, or it might have been a shadow on the film. And then my emergency room physician, Dr. Kevin paused. After sugar coating his opening, he got right to the point, But the radiologist said it looks like you have an aneurysm on your aortic arch.

It got so quiet in that ER exam room I thought I heard my heart beat, heard the clock tick. An aneurysm on my aortic arch, I said aloud in bewildered disbelief. That's significant. My face sank into and between my hands, my elbows on the hospital gurney between the ER MD and me.

To make sure I understood the gravity of the situation, Dr. Kevin explained my malady in scientific terms and translated what he said. Roughly I heard, This area of the heart pumps blood from your heart throughout the body. The ER MD said, "The aneurysm is an obstruction that compromises blood flow. It is of a size beyond threshold. That makes open-heart surgery necessary now. Urgently—and I do mean Now with a capital N, he said slowly and firmly for emphasis. Your heart needs to be freed of this invader—now. The aneurysm may silently cause your death with little or no warning, he said, again in measured tones. I want to transfer you to Seattle, now."

The doctor wanted to send me by ambulance to Seattle, two hours away, for immediate surgery. My disbelief turned to mental confusion, compounded by, I suppose, panic. Not one to panic, I didn't exactly know how to define its symptoms.

Defaulting to function, I reasonably said to my MD dispassionately, I fly home tomorrow to Indianapolis. The flight is already arranged. I haven't eaten. I'm still in these climbing clothes from coming down the mountain this morning. I need a shower, to eat, pack, and get ready to leave. I'm sore too. I rubbed my ribs, my hand consciously stopping on my heart.

Unimpressed, Dr. Kevin was some gentle-but-mostly-drill-sergeant firm. I will let you go home only if the very first thing you do is go see your family doctor the first day you're home, and that you get a CT scan that same day. The very first day you're home. Even in my startled state, I realized he was going to house arrest me and order the surgery for Seattle if I didn't meet his terms. Promise me you will follow this instruction.

I will, I said, beginning the rest of my open heart surgery patient-hood as a compliant individual. The compliancy served me well.

You ever heard the expression from bad to worse?

My former partner, Lori, an RN BSN who then worked pediatrics in an Indy urban tertiary-care hospital, now known as Ascension St. Vincent Hospital, picked me up at the Indy airport the next evening. I straightforwardly disclosed all I knew. I allowed I was worried; maybe even I said, I am scared shitless. (Forgive the language.) She knew my family history: Dad died, at age 57, of a heart attack; my bro died at age 48 of a heart attack. I had outlived both of them and was 64. She expressed compassion and sensitivity. She also did scientific inquiry, given her training and years of experience as a pedes RN.

Riding home, my rib cage throbbed with pain from ribs broken in the fall on Mount Rainier. I also had attendant bruising from my neck to my abdomen. Once home, sleep didn't come easy or last long. My mind was buzzing with panic, ambiguity, and lack of a plan. Proactive people like me love plans. Moreover, right now, I was clueless that more significant bad medical news was to befall me.

The next day was Friday. I was up early. On awakening, Lori began it with a question, and she didn't like my answer. She wanted to know what time my appointment was to see my longtime family physician in Columbus, named Dennis Stone, a double-boarded physician. I, and many other patients, well respected Dr. Stone. My promise, after all, to the Mount Rainier ER MD that I had shared with Lori was I'd see Dennis today. I thought about calling him. I thought I'd wait until Monday when I get to St. Vincent Salem, and I'd see a doc there and get the scan there the same day. Lori was having none of this and held me accountable to my assurance to the Rainier ER MD to my agreement to his terms to avoid medical house arrest. Oops, I deviated from compliancy as a patient. My only such gaffe. Weeks later, given hero compliancy, I'd tease that the St. Vincent Heart Center named me its Most Compliant Patient of the year 2012.

I called Dr. Stone's office. The CT scan was ordered for that afternoon at my local hospital, Columbus Regional Hospital. Dennis called back at 4:45 p.m. with the CT results.

You're not going to like me very much after this call, he began. I heard this, but its impact went over my head, before crushing me like a pile of mountain rockfall.

First, he confirmed what I'd been told in Washington about the aortic aneurysm. I accepted this news, not expecting otherwise; although I'd have certainly welcomed a reversal. Then bad transitioned to worse. He paused and said, I told you, you weren't going to like me very much.

Why? silly naive me blurted.

Dennis paused and said, You have a second aneurysm in your stomach.

Disbelieving my ears, I stammered, What! He said some scientific mumbo jumbo. In semishock, I didn't understand it.

Dennis paused again. This time he said, There's more. You have a third aneurysm in your intestine.

In total shock, I now went speechless.

Dennis continued, In twenty-five years of medicine, I have never seen or heard of three aneurysms in three separate body systems in one patient at the same time. This is beyond the scope of my practice. I cannot meet your medical needs.

Knowing my professional relationship with and respect for St. Vincent Hospitals, he said, I presume you will want to go north, to St. Vincent.

My ordered life and presumed excellent health slid recklessly toward turmoil, like a mountaineer falling unroped down a mountainside toward a crevasse.

To myself, I thought, Am I going to die like my bro and my dad did? I couldn't say those words out loud, but it was as if Lori, who had climbed with me in Russia, knew what I was thinking. She held me close.

Eight months earlier, I had stood at 21,000-plus feet of elevation—four plus miles high—on a mountain in Argentina. I was a member of a climbing team, one of a handful of climbers, and given the season, we men and a woman were standing higher than anyone else on planet earth at that moment. For a confident, calm, faith-filled man, a hospital chaplain whose poise meter held steady, now I was scared shitless—forgive my French again. I needed a medical miracle.

Introduction

Friday, 6 March 2015

On my 67th birthday, two weeks ago, I realized a lifelong dream when I submitted my manuscript Mount Everest and Mount Kilimanjaro: Seven Mountain Story, Book I to a publisher. That act was attraversiamo—crossing over in Italian—into the world of authorship (phonetically the word is said aw-traw-var-see-ah-mo). I could now say I wrote a book. The original voluminous manuscript chronicled my quest to climb the Seven Summits, the highest mountains on the seven continents. Five mountains along and training for numbers six and seven, I suffered a fall on Mount Rainier (featured as this book's highlight above) that led to the medical diagnosis of three aneurysms and open-heart surgery.

After my fall of grace, there followed a second action of attraversiamo. Not one to be thwarted, due to health considerations, my climbing quest needed to be reimagined. During my open-heart-surgery rehab, my former partner, Lori, and I saw the movie The Way. It is the compelling story of a son's death and his father's seeking and discovering a new normal by hiking a long ancient and sacred pilgrimage. The father mourned the death as he took his son's place trekking El Camino, the 500-mile journey across Spain along what is known as The Way of Saint James.

At the DVD's conclusion, I turned and said, That's us. Let's go hike Camino.

Lori enthusiastically agreed, and the future was charted. Thus I crossed over from the world's mountains and climbing them to a world of walking and trekking long distances, beginning at El Camino. Later the treks went across a portion of Peru, across England, and across Patagonia near Antarctica followed. (Who knows, post-COVID, maybe New Zealand in 2022. Alas, a neurological challenge has me sidelined on the bench. More will be shared on this subject later.)

I returned from that trek across Spain five months ago, on 3 Oct. 2014. I joyfully re-engaged my family after being gone a month and more. I completed the mountains manuscript and polished it. I sent it and a business proposal to the prospective publisher, a wonderful woman named Sammie. She was a high-school classmate with whom I shared a birthday; our mothers delivered us hours apart in a hospital where, years later, I'd be a chaplain.

I also caught up correspondence and matters for my mountain charity. I raised money for youth obesity weight-management prevention and treatment clinics, in collaboration with St. Vincent Hospitals in southern Indiana. A last vacation together with Lori was spending a week in the Bahamas with dear friends Kit and Rita Klingelhoffer. I sustained my level of fitness training of 100–120 minutes a day, with several surges beyond that benchmark and a few rare lapses below it. I dealt with the 2015 to 2016 Hoosier winter of record snow, ice, snow, winds, more snow, subzero temps, and even more snow. I got too good at shoveling snow. I skied for a week in Telluride, Colorado. I aged a year. At my annual medical exams, I received a grade of A++ from my medical dream team of MDs on heart, aneurysm, and asthma circumstances—praise the Lord and rock and roll.

It was time now to sit for a spell on a daily basis to write another book about walking hundreds of miles up, down, and across Spain, with thousands of pilgrims, about meeting St. James even though he had died centuries earlier, all along The Way.

My act of attraversiamo, writing, resulted in the publication by norlightspress.com of the book Mount Everest and Mount Kilimanjaro.

The second act of crossing over was to let go of the quest for the Seven Summits, to let go of technical climbing upward to hiking a long distance across the country of Spain. There, long meant 490 miles, not up. I called it Attraversiamo: Montaña to Camino. Crossing over, in my family's ancestral language of Italian, was said attraversiamo; montaña, from Spanish, meant mountain. From climbing mountains, I shifted adventure gears to hiking Camino.

Toward Camino and Spain

Winter 2014

I had lunch with my friend Jim Haro in early 2014. Over Arby's sandwiches, I continued earlier conversations with Jim about wishing to follow in the Camino footsteps of Jim and his wife, Rosie, in Spain. A decade ago, the Haros had walked the Camino. They stopped here and there and visited Jim's family who live in Spain. The Haros were considering an encore Camino trip. I hoped a tagalong would be possible. Rosie and Jim were legacies at Columbus (Indiana) East High School, as teachers of Spanish. I, on the other hand, knew only two words in Spanish: one for beer and, accordingly in order, the other, bathroom. Their linguistic skills would be a boon to me in Spain. Jim and I rode bicycles together for years, in combinations with a number of other riders, particularly with our mutual friend Ed Eckerly. Jim's wife, Rosie, and my dear friend Kit Klingelhoffer attended high school together in Aurora, an Ohio River town in southeastern Indiana, another connection.

Jim was uncertain about the couple's encore Camino trip's timing, as one of the Haro daughters was planning a wedding. The nuptials might wait or might cause the trip's postponement.

Brides are in charge of these things, you know, Jim teased me, mindful that I have two sons.

Laughing, I said, I know, I know. I have officiated a couple of weddings. Brides are in charge!

Jim noted when they returned to Spain, they'd be planning family visits that would lead to spending many weeks in country, maybe as long as three months. The Camino trek generally required four, maybe five, weeks.

I've always had guides on my mountain expeditions, I told Jim, except for Australia, when the mountain was in a national park. It was a single-day up and down, and I didn't need a guide. What I think I need—if you can help me with this—is a mentor. A guide for my first few days on Camino would be helpful for me to understand how the daily Camino routine works. After observing how you route-find, and navigate whatever circumstances present, then I'd have some confidence and competence. And after a few days, I'd strike out on my own, and you and Rosie do your thing. Can I ask you to mention that to Rosie and see how she'd feel about our spending a few days together on the front end?

Jim said, Sure, I will. I understand what you want, and I think that is doable. He added, The Camino will be more meaningful for you on your own rather than with some people you know for the whole trip.

I agreed, saying, The only time I ever had someone along on a mountain expedition was when Lori joined me in Russia. On six of my seven mountains, it was enriching to venture out on my own and meet new people from all over the world. And I am confident Camino will mirror this. Around the world, I'd never known any of my expedition team members in advance, except Lori in Russia. And on Camino, I expected only to be with friends from home for a brief time.

I told Jim I had invited Ed and Vivian Eckerly, another Columbus couple. All of us knew one another well. It's up in the air if they could go and certainly doubtful they'd be along for much of the trip since they both still work. But maybe they could do some of the Camino for a bit, I said. The Eckerlys, like the Haros, were excellent company. And from us guys having bicycled together, I'd say motion added more fun to our together times. I expected walking in Spain, for however long, would be a blast with these couples.

I doubted seriously that it would be possible for Lori and I to trek Camino together, as we had planned during my heart-surgery rehab.

Lori was the cofounder of the youth obesity prevention and treatment weight management program for Peyton Manning Children's Hospital at St. Vincent Hospital in Indianapolis. She was among some one thousand people to lose their jobs in a downsizing in early summer 2013. An RN BSN, after a dry spell exhausting savings, she eventually landed work at the prestigious Colorado Children's Hospital, in suburban Denver, in late autumn 2013.

She now wanted to make a move back to Indiana to be closer to family. She had a daughter in Indy, and another in New York City. Her mother and brother were in Indy. Hopefully there'd be a position close by Columbus so we could be together. But the downside was, what new hiring authority would offer its newest employee a month of vacation on beginning her tenure? None. To think she'd be in Spain was unrealistic. My realistic hope and prayer was that a) she'd—please, God—find work in Columbus; and b) she'd make the transition to Columbus—please again, God, before I left for Camino. My departure was presumed to be in August or early September 2014, given Jim's advice about burgeoning Camino crowds in summer, plus hot Spanish weather. Mid-October was when Spanish weather began to turn ugly.

Jim said, Best be done by then.

So though it broke my vow to absolutely not return solo to expeditions, I committed myself to Camino in the hope I'd be joining the Haros, and perhaps the Eckerlys, for the front end. Nonetheless, I was fairly sure I'd be going, even if the couples were MIA giving away brides and reporting to jobs. I knew I made friends easily. I knew how to get about in foreign countries, despite what could be linguistic challenges. I knew how to be safe abroad and make good decisions. And I knew also what I had learned from seven expeditions to serious mountains: a) I wasn't getting any younger; b) the youth obesity clinics needed the scholarship money to put kids through the programs; and c) I loved adventure in challenging foreign territory.

The mountains are calling and I must go, John Muir said decades ago. However, it was as though the Scotsman were speaking to me today, not tomorrow and not yesterday.

Six Months Out: Camino Warm-Up

Valentine's Day Weekend, 2014

I officially commenced training Valentine's Day weekend at Brown County State Park, near my home, when a number of friends and I arranged to be at the park at Nashville, Indiana. A training ground for my climbs, it was a home-court site 16 miles from my home. Many of the people I was going to be with Saturday were lifetime friends. Snow lay deep everywhere across southern Indiana as I awaited my ride. Ed Eckerly was one of my first friends upon moving to Columbus, an hour south of Indy, in 1972. Forty years later, Ed was a very good friend and fellow Camino aspirant. He was collecting me for the training trek. Ed's wife, Vivian, was away, pulling commercial flight-attendant duty.

I watched nature play out in my snowy backyard minutes before Ed drove up. A red-tailed hawk soared into Ed's driveway parking spot and caught and ate breakfast. If that was some kind of sign, I wasn't sure how to interpret it. Redtails occasionally had meals in the backyard, so I read nothing into it. The hawk did what came naturally. About 14 to 15 inches tall, it was a graceful flier and stealthy hunter swooping in from nowhere. It used its talons to dispatch a sparrow trying valiantly to get away. After a killer nibble, the hawk, with its prey in its talons, was off to find a tree more suited to mealtime. After all, the hawk saw something big moving his way. It was Ed driving up in his van, transforming the hunting ground back to parking space. Ed hadn't seen the hawk; I showed him the sets of tracks, complete with the point of intersection and the swirl of feathers where the hawk gave the bird a shake to stun it.

As we drove a half hour to the state park, I told Ed whom we'd be meeting and provided background on my friends. This was a refresher really. Ed had met all of them at my place over time, most recently at my surprise retirement party in 2013, given by Lori just prior to me returning to climb Mount Rainier.

The weekend's trek was set for a Saturday afternoon at Brown County State Park. After, there'd be social activities, including refreshments, a visit to the park's aquatic indoor pool and hot-tubs area, and dinner. Most of us would overnight at the venerable park lodge and spend Sunday morning together for more visiting and more eating—got to regroup those carbs! The weekend was the brainchild of my lifetime friend Dante Raggio, affectionately called Rags, and his wife, Mary K, from Muncie. He'd e-mailed me his mission:

Wal,

We are going to get you into shape to go 500 miles across Spain.

Rags was a broker, and Mary K had a faculty role with a university in Muncie (Indiana) teaching math and architecture.

To Rags' invitation and challenge, I happily said, Put me in, Coach. Give me the ball.

Ed's wife, Vivian, was caretaking patients on Delta Airlines flight duty. Both of them might be Camino-bound. After graduation from Notre Dame, Ed, who grew up in Columbus, began a 40 year career with Cummins Engine.

Also trekking today were Rita and Kit Klingelhoffer; he's my best bud from B-town. Kit had retired after 40 years in the athletic department at Indiana University a few months before I retired from St. Vincent. Having excelled at his first months of retirement, I said, Mentor me!

Rita, a B-town fitness trainer, was mentoring Kit every day in exercise. And Rags and Mary K were along. That evening, joining us at dinner were college buddies Mark Fritz, who had originally hired me as a contractor with St. Vincent Hospital Indianapolis to recruit physicians and had spent most of his life doing great things in health care, and wife, Deb, a banker.

Although a wintry forecast might dent their inclusion, we also hoped to see Phil Robertson and his sister, Susie, from Bedford. Phil was amid a valiant and remarkable rebound from cancer. We planned to celebrate that, laugh over old times, and raise a glass to the future, including Camino. Phil and I had graduated from Bedford High School together, where he was our senior class president before heading off to Dartmouth and Stanford. Susie had retired as a teacher in our hometown of Bedford. She was helping manage her brother's health care.

Ed and I arrived first to the Abe Martin Lodge at the park. As we were ahead of schedule, we got some steps, as I called training—a mile and more warm-up of going downhill and back up. Snow was everywhere, including on the roadways. Trees limbs were candelabras overhead in a canopy of white limbs with dark bark undersides. Brown County's hills were good ones for training, some strenuous. The sky was sunny as we began; later in the day forecasted cloud cover moving in, carrying the promise of more fresh white stuff. Not that we, nor southern Indiana, needed more snow.

Into our initial warm-up foray, Ed and I ran into the Raggios driving into the park. They'd been in touch with the Klingelhoffers, who were just arriving themselves by way of another park entrance. We all gathered at the Abe Martin Lodge.

I'd not seen the Raggios or Klingelhoffers in a while. We exchanged big hugs, teasing, and briefly caught each other up on ourselves and our families. There'd be ample time for that on the trail.

We were all eager to get our trek underway. Our plan was to trek all afternoon for as many miles as we could squeeze in.

We descended a long wooden staircase, clutching its bannisters as the stairs were iced and snow buildup plentiful.

Careful! Surely—I laughed—the park service isn't expecting anybody to use these steps. Who'd be so crazy.

The slickened wood slid us into decades-old stone steps, also covered in ice and snow. They were trickier still to negotiate when the wooden bannisters vanished. We all merrily slithered our way down 100 or more feet into the park's valley floor, near the outdoor pool. We were as low as the valley went. Our intention was to go to the big top of the park, as high up as the hills went. Off we paraded, laughing, talking, and trekking as we went up. We wanted to go high, and we wanted distance to cover as much uphill plus mileage as we could.

I teased everybody, saying, Okay, I am the climbing leader. If all of you all are well-behaved boys and girls, then I have a treat for you in my backpack. So be on your best behavior because I know this is a treat that you will want. And we don't get it until we are hungry and thirsty and almost back to the lodge. So stay the course. I got razzed for that, as I expected. The secret of what the prize was, was mine to keep, and the expectations theirs to hold onto. They knew I could deliver a good surprise, having been treated before. All of us carried backpacks with snacks and water. I knew I had something no one else had. I wasn't saying what that was, but I allowed I had it and to count on me. Maybe I oversold it!

We traced a route across the valley floor and to a route that went uphill for the next hour. The trail had a few flat spots, and while not terribly steep, it would provide a good aerobic beginning for our day. A popular bicycling route, the two wheelers wouldn't be out today unless the riders had a wish for injury.

The temp was 32 degrees, comfortable for most, warm for a few; there was no wind. Mother Nature painted artfully with the snow. Rita Klingelhoffer, the fitness trainer, was a long strider and soon was out in front with husband, Kit, and with Mary K Raggio alongside. Ed, Rags—who was also called Dante—and I brought up the rear. I averaged 20-minute miles with a 30-pound pack and knew the topmost of this route was a 50-minute walk for me. This hill was one of my training grounds; I'd made this route numerous times, many with Lori. She was in Colorado this day, having taken the nursing position with Colorado Children's. I'd check in later with her and do a cell tele pass around as she knew everyone. She, too, was in a state park, halfway across the country, west of us, at a mile-high of elevation, southwest of Denver. Her intention was to trek, run, and ride her bike. Her destination was Cherry Creek State Park, a beauty; I had been there on an extended visit last December and January, for a couple of long treks. Then she was going to bowl with friends.

We carried all we'd need with us until we returned to the lodge—snacks and water. I put 22 pounds exactly in my pack. Why, you ask? And how did I know it was 22 pounds? My trek amigos asked also. My Camino mentor, Haro, quoted Camino experts to say that poundage was what Camino trekkers across Spain should carry for the 490 miles. More than that was too much, the experts said. Okay, good enough for me. My pack, empty, weighed 2.5 pounds. Inside it was a 20-pound b ag of kitty litter. Huh? Yes, kitty litter. The litter bag was sealed, and therefore, its contents were clean, I assured my trekmates. A definitive weight was printed on the side of the bag, and the contents were fairly malleable, which made the bag a good carry item. My first couple mountains for training, I carried all manner of things—books, big cans of soda, you name it. They didn't balance well and settled in the bottom of the pack. The weight would ride too low on my back despite my efforts to insert material to situate them to ride higher. Kitty litter seemed to be the ticket. How did I find that out? Dunno, gift, I s'poze. No one ever suggested it to me. I suggested it to many other climbers and trekkers who welcomed the info. Worked perfect. So I carried 22 pounds plus .5.

Oops! I neglected to consider my treats. There were a few more pounds, plus my water bottle. Dang. Oh well, better too much weight than too little. The treat, you wonder? Beers from Russia. In glass bottles—big bottles. These bottles came along in my pack by way of a bakaleya, or grocery, located along East 86th Street, near St. Vincent Hospital, in Indy. Lori and I had drunk this very beer from bottles exactly like this after summiting Mount Elbrus in Russia. And we'd brought some home with us from Russia.

She'd found the identical product in Indy in a small delilike store specializing in all manner of eatables and drinkables Russian. She gifted me with some of our beer. I became a good customer after that at the bakaleya! But shh for now. Let's see if the trek group will be sufficiently well behaved to merit their treat. So far they were. Meantime, my pack weight was at 25 pounds.

When we were quiet trekkers, our ears heard many species of birdcalls, plus the rat-a-tat-tat drilling of a woodpecker pincushioning an old tree searching for insect food. Nature's presence also was evident to our eyes, as there were plenty of bird, deer, and other track signatures imprinted onto the snow under our boot-printing feet. The woods on both sides gave off an earthy smell. I had a banana in my pack and felt its skin yield to my tugging fingers and then