I planned to be gone around 18 months, but barely made it to Madrid, in less than two weeks, and flew home. My knee was so messed up with tendonitis I was crippled. I had little rain gear, except for the rubber pants I bought at a hardware store. The rubber was so thick you could have made a boat out of them. Of course as soon as I threw my leg over the seat the crotch ripped. I finally made it home after spending my birthday sitting around the Madrid airport for 30 hours, sipping Chianti and reading Hanibal.

. . . but I went back . . . SPAIN, ROUND TWO