I’m revelling in the benefit of the cool weather by the coast. I’m sitting on a bench by a beach in Avila which is some kilometres north of Porto and south of the river that forms the border between Portugal and Spain. I’m still staying at the answer to every hope that is Casa Do Bosque. This morning I was served a perfectly presented continental breakfast. Not too much of anything but what there was was fresh and freshly made, the freshly squeezed orange juice, the bread and coffee. And of course enough bread and sliced cheese to make into a delicious sandwich that I’ve just eaten here by the sea. Followed by some plums I bought a couple of days ago. The breeze here now is so cool and cooling. And gone is the fight against the heat. Everything is easier from packing my bags to making decisions. I’ve been surprised how my small additions of a helmet lock and a light weight disk lock really do make parking up and walking around so much easier. I walked up and down a familiar Portuguese type sea front promenade then got on the bike to take me five minutes south to a little sandy beach with a great view. In fact I’ve been here sitting in the same spot for an hour.
I find it hard to tear myself away
Next stop Barcelos which I’ve been told is a town worth visiting and I’ve plotted a supermarket there to stock up for the next couple of days on the road. My decision for tomorrow is whether to try to get to a nice site Camping San Francisco in one day or split into two. Today is Sunday so I have one week left to make the most of. I have sent a message for advice from my Galician next door neighbour in London.
Later: The food at my hotel I have to say is sublime. Though I preferred my first meal to the second which was fish.
I’m writing after my plan changed rather drastically. I need to remember where to start. From Braganca I intrepidly started the ACT route south. Immediately I took one of the many possible wrong turns and ended up in a farm drive with the inevitable barking dogs and then the farmer. But the dogs were friendly and the farmer helpfully pointed to where I had gone wrong and that I had something dangling from my luggage. So I turned round and headed back the way he indicated. The route was mostly gravel with some stone parts. The easy bits were ok but every now and then would be something steep up or down or a sharp turn.
First tunnel under the main road
Looking back I wonder what was so intimidating about it but at the first point that it crossed a small road I decided to stick to the road which was more fun as I could keep to wiggly roads by putting a town name up ahead into my gps. The weather was ideal high twenties and sunny though getting hotter. I think I managed about 45 minutes of the ACT but I was in 1st and 2nd gear all the time and had to turn the bike around 3 or 4 times when I realised I had taken the wrong track. The first day would have been 120 miles of that. Somehow it didn’t work. Also, somewhere along the route it got hot. So my plan was to head for the next hotel I had booked and restart from there. Some days, from the GPX track look as though they stick more to roads and the small roads are pretty entertaining.
My stops during the day may have been low key but they worked well, first at Mogadouro where I ate something sitting on a bench in the shade of a dead end street and planned from my maps and the GPS a twisty scenic route indirectly to Torre de Moncorvo where hotel number two is.
eating in a dead end street
So far so good. It was a good plan. The route I took was amazing. Toward the end of the ride it was so hot that on spotting an unusual coincidence of a tree giving shade by the road and somewhere to stop just off the road I swerved over to come to an abrupt halt to drink and pour water over my head. But the riding and the roads were amazing. Until it got hot and the cooling breeze turned into a hot blast.
Entering the town, Torre de Moncorvo, required a steep and ever steeper ascent of a cobbled street up to a pleasant cobbled square where old men sat around watching the world go by including oddities like me. I get the feeling that Portuguese, at least in this not very visited part of the country, are really uncertain about travellers and always look quizzically. It took quite some walking to find where the hotel was hiding. But it was now hot – mid thirties. The hotel was and still is a historic building very dark with amazing but rather wasted on me antique furniture and lights. The receptionist spoke great English with humorous tone. Nice.
I toured the hot streets on foot looking for a supermarket for ideally a beer from a fridge but in the end settled for orange juice not chilled and crisps both to have with my vodka which I did unwisely before heading out to O Lager restaurant. It was efficient like a large canteen but nicely cooked produce and lovely local white wine that I drank too much of.
I only had half a bottle – honestly
The potatoes were overcooked but the fish was delicious
It was soft and drinkable but 13 percent. I really enjoyed myself though walked unsteadily back to my hotel. But lying down to sleep sent the room into a spin that just would not go away and a couple of hours later the fish I ate were released into the sewerage system. Not a good night (at some points I thought ‘if now is when I die I don’t care’) and when morning came I decided I should stay another night because I did not feel well enough to ride but alas receptionist on duty rather less fluent than her colleague told me there were no vacancies though her colleague yesterday had said there would be. But I am glad I did not stay there, very glad. I found the town and the hotel claustrophobic. That’s when I changed my plan after a clear bit of advice from H. back at home. On the phone I abandoned the continued ride into the hotter south and decided to go west to the coast that according to my app was 10 degrees cooler – ah luxury.
Don’t take my word for it, look at this
I picked a hotel in a hurry on booking.com. A choice between £43 with crummy reviews and £82 with glowing. I chose the latter, about 10k from the coast and pretty much due west from where I was. I’m so glad I did because here I am in a place that’s such the opposite to the old fashioned places from earlier. It is white modern and airy run by a welcoming French family. (actually I don’t think they were French but I felt like I had died and gone to heaven). Everything is so much better like the Wi-Fi router actually in your room and working an amazing shower room. And cooler, so much. I missed the entrance on a steep bit of road of course but managed to manoeuvre my bike around to make it up a rather hidden drive. I’ve ordered dinner and meat not fish, which is what people ask you, for a change.
Amazing hotel Casa do Bosque
Internally I battle with anxiety and catastrophic thoughts as I ride. If I am just enjoying the ride I am lucky. It can be anything: often just the practicalities of what I need to do feel overwhelming but they unfailingly work out fine. Earlier in the ride it was whether the clutch cable would go slack again. A blast of heat sends a wave of panic. Today I got in the wrong lane at a motorway toll and didn’t take a ticket but at the exit, many miles later, I decided also to go through the free lane, so as I have told myself a million times, things are nearly always completely fine. These trips always bring this out. At home routine keeps it mostly at bay.
I left home late afternoon with plenty of hours to get down to Portsmouth for a sailing due to leave at 9.30 in the evening. After working my way through south west London and then the A3, it was raining when I arrived in Portsmouth and waited in the queue to board which dampened the spirits by quite a measure.
Not so nice
I think of all my motorcycle travels, starting fifteen years ago, I have always been blessed with a sunny evening to wait for and catch my ferry. In the queue, I met a recently retired couple riding a blue GS. They are touring Spain for four weeks – lucky them. They tell me that they have taken motorcycle trips together for 16 years. Including Morocco (they have been to the edge of the Sahara) and the Arctic circle. They used BMW Motorad tours. Hmmm. For a few minutes I wondered if I could change my approach to motorcycle travel and persuade H to travel with me, riding pillion on the back – but this thought didn’t last for long, enchanting as it was.
How could I forget that I had a breakdown on the way down? On the A3 somewhere around Guildford. Mysteriously the clutch cable became loose. Meaning I couldn’t change gear. Luckily the traffic was moving slowly and I was already in first so I could make a gentle exit to the side of the road in gear and turn off by flipping the side stand down and make an adjustment with a spanner I seemed to have to hand. Satisfaction that I could fix something but anxiety that something was wrong and that it would happen again and be worsening beyond adjustment. (It never did but it took a few days to gain confidence that it wouldn’t).
Boarding, riding on the boat, was the usual flutter of excitement, as it is no matter how many times I do ride onto a ferry bound for foreign climes.
Once on board and changed I had a glass of wine in the bar but retired to my cabin for my so welcome Brie sandwiches with red wine followed by date slice. (I am so glad that I had these.) Followed by bed.
Today has been odd. Time wise. I slept soundly and woke up slowly with those strange half dreams in my mind for an hour. Half dreams where you seem to have some say in where things are going unlike proper dreams that are just deeply bizarre. I had a Brittany Ferries ‘continental’ breakfast which was scrappy but filling because I made sure I had some of everything – mostly miniature pastries and croissants – then went back to bed and dozed most of the morning. The public spaces in the boat were a little cold or rather I was poorly dressed because of the limited wardrobe I carry round as a weight-saving effort and it was dry but windy on deck. I’ve been reading William Gibson’s Idoru lying on my bed. It’s gripping which is such a welcome way to spend the time. But these books do more especially when there is a kind of void. In the real world. They draw you into their atmosphere in this case a sci-fi thriller.
Up on deck again now at six in the early evening (the next day) – there are two nights on this journey) the sun is shining as we sail due south though we are sailing toward dark clouds. A few minutes with my face toward the warm sun. The forecast is for rain on arrival but hopefully it can be escaped by riding south which is what I plan to do. There is still the battle with the anxiety that the enjoyment of this trip will desert me.
An inside cabin complete with a fake window
Brittany Ferries tickets now include compulsory meals. I’ve just had my first dinner. Nice table service and a very efficient operation as each course arrives a few minutes after you have ordered it. Not bad food. I treated myself to a half bottle of Chablis. So it seems a nice way to hike up the ticket price and ring up the till for all the alcohol people like me add to the meal.
It seems that my annual trips coincide with the anniversary of my web hosting company closing down meaning that renewals and problems surround my leaving – for the last couple of years meaning its been a struggle to post this. Tonight I sail from Portsmouth to Santander from where I head across Spain to start the ACT Portugal route. I am intrepid about this so I am super prepared – with an expanded first aid kit, more tools, careful travel insurance and an In-reach emergency tracker and SOS-caller. What started out looking like an accessible route for large adventure bikes, now, on a bit more investigation, has become a route that you are warned not to attempt alone and with the odd Youtube vid of riders of low skill i.e. me making a pig’s ear of the steep and twisty route with high revs, clutch slipping and heavy breathing. So the key event of the trip will be those times when I have to make decisions about carrying on, attempting something outside my comfort zone, or turning round. Even the on-road roads look pretty entertaining from the maps I have so apart from self-esteem there is not that much to loose. So I head off with a mood of more than the usual uncertainty. Also its the first bigger trip on this bike after some untested mods and with a full load of luggage on a new system and new not scrubbed in tyres. The final ingredient – small but annoying – is the forecast of rain this afternoon for my ride down to Portsmouth and the wait to board. I’ve never started a trip in the rain and hanging out chatting in the queue to other people on bikes and interesting looking people (in the evening sun) has been an enjoyment. Finally, Brittany Ferries now seem to have added the cost of meals to the basic ticket which is annoying as they seem to want the trip to be more like a cruise. So lets see how this works out.
Cooking and eating – seems pretty smallMore tools – though the lightweight ProTools kit does seem pretty redundantClothes – about the same as usual
I leave on Monday week for Spain and Portugal, into more heat and fire-warnings, hopefully easing by then. I have new tyres, Heidenau K60 Sport, 50-50 road and off-road, courtesy of Two Tyres, not that far away over in Greenwich, who did a good job while my KTM dealer in Ipswich couldn’t look at my bike till mid-September.
A couple of impulsive buys on my last visit to the Adventure Bike Shop in Suffolk and I have saved some weight on this and future travels – just over 1kg on a lighter disk lock and compressor.
One of enjoyments of regular – even though its annual, its still regular – motorcycle travel is the satisfaction of noticing the things that end up being annoying and sorting them out for the next trip. But sometimes noticing these annoyances and naming them is harder than you think. Its counter-intuitive but its true. For the first few years of camping in Europe I used the ACSI guidebook and always seemed to end up in campsites surrounded (literally) by Dutch families in large white motorhomes. Where were all the interesting travellers, I found myself wondering, feeling alienated in my little tent and crouched over my tiny stove? It took that long for the penny to drop that this was a result of using that particular guidebook. Then I discovered the Cool Camping guidebooks, though Cool Camping has been taken over by a US company HipCamp who are offering ever larger discounts to tempt me back. I also realised that I could search on the net for tent-only campsites or adult-only campsites. This realisation made a huge difference and I started finding myself in beautiful sites, with friendly and sometimes interesting neighbours, feeling relaxed and open rather than odd and conspicuous.
Another annoyance that I think I may be on the way to sorting is the following scenario, repeated many times. You park up in a small town to look for somewhere to eat, or you park outside a large supermarket intending to shop for dinner. It hot, possibly very hot. You can take off a heavy motorcycle jacket and sling it over you shoulder if you wish. But then you have your helmet, with its valuable, possibly very valuable, camera stuck on the side and bluetooth speaker system. Do you leave it on the ground next to the bike? Probably not. Do you get out your heavy chain and padlock and use that? Did you even, now that you are trying to travel light, add this item to your luggage? Enter the solution that was there all along, hidden in plain sight: the OxfordLidlock costing about £15.
You could thread the curly thing through the sleeve of a jacket if you dared
Its light and doesn’t require you to carry yet another key. But its tougher than it looks though. The curled up wire is designed to let you thread it through some clothing to also lock to the bike. Its a nice idea but the wire would be very easy to snip and, if you decided to use it to stash your jacket, you would need to empty the pockets of: your camera, wallet, documents, keys, sunglasses, cigarettes (if you smoke), Leatherman multi-tool…. so not much use for me.
I hope I use it for short stops. I can’t see why I woudln’t. It could be one of those small things that just makes a big difference.
