More Portugal (Haven't adenough)

[phil653]

Adenough's excellent thread inspired me to tell the tale of my recent sojourn in Lusolandia:

Five days in Portugal

My last day of a stressful job contract was 29th June so the plan was to take the next 5 days completely on my own to unwind and find some space. There's plenty of space just over the border in Portugal so I set the target of riding to the coast and back over the course of the next 5 days. I had a diary commitment for the following Sunday so I had one day's margin in case things didn't work out quite as planned.

Day 1. Home to Rosario – 70km
 
Finishing the inevitable remaining tasks and loading up the bike took a little longer than planned so didn't get away until just gone 13.00.  It's 12km to the bridge that marks the open border, and a picturesque spot for a break and a biscuit. Refreshed and a photo or two later, I remount to cross into Portugal. But something's amiss. There's a rubbing sound I'd not heard before. Resetting the lie of the panniers doesn't fix it. There's shade in the porch of the hermitage chapel so I unload everything and get to work, and checking all possibilities find that the front rack has slipped a little lower, pushing its home-made omega clips down the fork legs with the result that a top nut under the rack itself is now rubbing on the front tyre. Such are the pitfalls of trying to convert a close-clearance training frame into a tourer. I'd failed to find a satisfactory way of mounting the rack at the rear and had ended up with it sitting on the front. It had looked all fine and dandy, albeit with minimal clearance, until a few road miles under load was its undoing. Judicious use of the crack between the church doors as an emergency bench vice served to bend the strip flange whatsit that extends the brake-bolt bridge. By mounting it frack to bunt, the offending nut was no longer near enough to the tyre to cause a problem.  40-odd minutes used up and we're back on the road.

Lunch in the shade of a tumbledown wall in an olive grove, promising myself a coffee and cake at the next town, Juromenha.  The climb up into town was a toughy, and went unrewarded as there was no café, indeed no nothing, with everything as dead as the ruins of the castle. Annoyed, I took no pictures in spite of the dramatic views over the Guadiana river.  Cake stop in the next town then.
Or not, as it turned out, as the bar there was closed. The best it could offer was fresh water for the bidons from a public fountain. And an excuse for a rest stop.



Finally rolled downhill into Camping Rosario to be greeted by Ernst, its Dutch owner, with whom I ended up sharing a late meal. Actually, a second meal, as I'd already cooked and eaten my noodles. But the offer of pasta with chicken and beans was too good to refuse, along with good company and a cold beer.

Day 2: Rosario – Alcácer do Sal  148km

Today's target is a bit tougher, after yesterday's gentler introduction.  First head to Alandroal in a light drizzle. The change from yesterday's 30+ºC is unexpected.  It's uppy downy all the way to Redondo.  Then the whole town centre is cobbled. Wet cobbles terrify me, so I walk through, pushing the bike, but then leave town on the wrong road. The trusty old Silva compass puts me right and soon I'm heading for Évora, which I've marked out as the lunch-stop.  I can feel the air is warmer on my legs and a glance upwards reveals a small patch of blue sky, but scarcely enough to make a sailor a pair of  trousers...  And so it is that by the time I reach Foros das Pombas it's raining hard. I retreat to a bar for more fuel and to wait out the storm. Wuss!  But I can't see the point of a soaking when I've got all day and no-one else's agenda to live up to. And besides, the coffee and custard tart are soooo good and soooo cheap...  Onwards towards Évora, now without rain, but the wind isn't friendly.  Neither is the traffic. And more of those deadly cobbles on the ring-road.  But lunch is good and filling and cheap to boot. Then out on the N380 and into the West.  The price for drying roads is a nasty headwind, and getting nastier.  At Alcaçoba it says 45km remaining, but long straights into a strong wind make slow progress and it seems longer. Doesn't it always? Finally reach Santa Catarina, drop down over the river Sado and into Alcácer, so reward myself with a  Magnum icecream. I don't mind pushing the bike up the hill to the campsite.  Check-in, pay in advance for an easy and early exit tomorrow, then trouble strikes as I rip the a 50cm gash in the tent.  My old Ultimate Equipment High Country, which until this moment has given 35 years of faithful service, looks a sorry sight. I've only brought the fly-sheet, but it won't last 5 minutes if I can't do something about the tear. Where's that gaffa tape when I need it? At home, that's where.  A box of oversize sticking plasters and a reel of parcel tape from Lidl over the road will have to do. It's the best I can manage in the circumstances.  I should have bought some mosquito repellent too it turns out, as I'm eaten to death as the night progresses, and sleep little due to that, plus the combined noise of road/dogs/crowing roosters.  Oh, and the self-inflating mattress self-deflated.

The old lifting bridge at Alcácer do Sal

[phil653]

Day 3: Alcácer – Melides 92km.

On target to reach the sea today.  After a rough night, I'm pleased to note that the wind has dropped. But it's just teasing me, as soon it's back with reinforcements. I've no choice but to fight it out. About an hour in, I begin to notice some tell-tale symptoms: light headed, jelly legs, movement and vision slowing a little. Una pájara as my old club mates in Spain would call it, the bonk to you and me. Stop for half a litre more of fluids plus two bars of chocolate. Wait till I'm feeling fresher and up for some more wind jousting. Montevil lives up to its name: no open café and get chased by some local dogs. I didn't know I could still sprint!  Then, at last reach Comporta. The sea is just over those dunes, I tell myself in a moment of triumph. Here at least the café is open. Then I meet my new best friend: a tailwind, as I turn southwards. Oh glory!  Until I realise I've left my notebook at the café and have to retrace my steps...  At Carvalho (i.e. Oaktree) I turn off to find the sea but get taken by a big circle around the rice plantations before sneaking past the barrier into the beach car park. The restaurant overlooking the beach looks very inviting, until I look at the menu: that view comes at a price!  And the red flag goes up while I'm there so a dip in the briny isn't an option either.


Mission accomplished (this shot appears on the 'fully loaded' thread :https://yacf.co.uk/forum/index.php?topic=61057.375

Back to the main highway and a roadhouse does me a fine mixed grill, salad and chips, a cold beer plus coffee and all the water I can drink for all of a fiver!  Now that's more like it.  The highway heads inland, so I take the coast road past a prison that's not even marked on the map, and stop in the shade of a palm tree for a well earned siesta. I have no idea how long I slept for, but wake feeling well refreshed.  Next stop, the campsite at Praia de Galé, Melides.


Siesta palm tree

I know the sea is somewhere the other side of the pine trees, but didn't expect it to be quite such a slog to  cross the no mans land that the campsite access road covers. Then the final approach is a scarily steep downhill that my brakes only just hold me back enough to stop at reception.  The tent repair is holding up and refueled with more noodles in cupasoup, it's time to wander down to the beach through the weirdly eroded sandstone cliffs. Still got red flags so no splash in the surf. The sunset is glorious, but the day's end is spoiled by me dropping my phone into the toilet. Fished out very quickly, but it stops working anyway. Not being able to check in with Base Camp will not go down well. And when did you last see a working phone booth?  At least the wind has tailed off so I fall asleep to the sound of the waves, my favourite sound (with the possible exception of the squelch of the first spoonful of trifle).

Day 4: Melides – Évora, 112km

That approach road was always going to be a walk-up start to the day. However, I hadn't planned on having no legs for the first real hill as well.  More pushing. Oh! The shame...  It levels out to Grándola and a welcome food stop and I find a phone booth inside a shop. No-one home so an answerphone message will have to do.


By now it's getting hotter and the roads are empty. I take two photos on a long straight, looking in each direction without another vehicle in sight. And so it goes on for mile after mile.  The occasional pick-up passes, but very little else. Oak trees, grey-black pigs and a great deal of emptiness covers Portugal's hinterland.  Then a plunge down a steep valley and I'm back in rice fields with oversize carp feeding in the irrigation channels.  There's a tricky climb up to Torrao, the clue's in the name, I should have guessed it was a hilltop village, so reward myself with a good lunch. 

At this point a decision has to be made: loop north and cross my outward route, or south and take two days to get home.  It's at least another 60km to Évora and it's hotter now than ever. Much fluid needed. Or a stop at every café I pass, maybe. I  decide the northern loop is the best bet.  Even less road traffic now, and the heat is intensifying too.  At least what little wind there is is blowing in my favour.


I find myself on the edge of a plateau with a long view northwards towards Évora, some 30km away. The drop down is exhilarating and leads to the only prolonged use of the big ring all trip.  It must be fastest 30km I've covered since leaving home. 

The campsite is poor, and the ground so hard I have to find some heavy stones to tension the fabric as the pegs won't go in.  And my thermarest-alike no longer provides much rest. Oh well, home tomorrow. 


Day 5. Évora – home 112km

It's those damp cobbles again, worst of all the white marble ones they use for zebra crossings. After a near crash at a stoplight, I decide to get off and walk again.  I also decide to go back to my 'technical t-shirt' after soaking the clean cotton one in a matter of minutes. Hey, these new fangled modern things actually work!  The mid-morning cake stop is taken in the same bar I'd used to shelter from the rain earlier in the week, given that I'm now heading east on the same route.  And five days on the road have done something to my fitness as the uppy downy bit between Redondo and Alandroal seems a lot easier this time.  Then on past Juromenha towards Elvas. One final pushing session over a particularly steep back-road, where a club racer whizzes past me going the other way as he shouts something encouraging, bless 'im, and I'm almost back to the bridge, the border and home.