Oh no….not the rain again! After France then there cannot be any more water left to fall? I was right but the day started terribly grey……no, stop….it is no time for the garnish, I have to tell you about the most wonderful 58 kilometres of my trip…and life?
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| Entry to the Final Frontier.... |
I left Almodôvar after a sandwich (no garnish) and deduced that I must be on one of the former main arteries to the Algarve as this windy N2 was beautifully line painted and the surface was immaculate but twisted and climbed like a bitch! At first I descended to less than 200 metres as the road curved and provided a magic carpet ride downwards. However it then fought back and I started to move into the mountainous region of the Algarve with an eventual height of 589 metres. However, enough numbers. I mused as I found the lower gears about the trucks that must have belched diesel fumes, up until they put in the motorway, as they took these hairpin corners on 10% gradients and wistfully reflected that this stretch was quite long. For me then the calibration of my computer’s altitude calculator was wrong and as I rounded the next hairpin I wondered was it the last? I can virtually remember the dozen vehicles that passed me in that couple of hours, one was a Saab cabriolet with British plates that I shouted out ‘hello’ to…and got a wave back! Another possibly shows how we tourers get into interpretation of small details. This light truck plummeted past me and as usual like a lot of Portuguese drivers they were uncomfortably in the middle of the road, but more tellingly I could smell his brakes…..clearly he had been descending for some time and I must therefore have a lot of climbing to do. So up past the cork trees, past the racket of the crickets, drinking in the scent of the conifers also beside the road and checking the temperature that was well into the 30’s. However plenty of water on board and no time pressures. Whilst always having water on board it always got warm and drinking it provided hydration but not refreshment, it was at times like this that that large peach lurking in the luggage that called to you to be devoured. I was tiring but could still get on the pedals when required and eventually I went through a quite large settlement called Ameixal. These towns were all painted white and always had cafes with young and old alike sitting there just chilling. However I peaked according to my map, and prayed that my reward would be a swift descent. No such luck! I would descend for a few hundred metres and then turn a corner that would claim back a few metres before another descent. Cruel but part of the rite of passage this road conferred on its travellers. However I was nearing the end of my day and time for a Super Bock stout and I found the delightful São Bras de Alportel and was directed by the Tourist Information office to a small hotel. As they say it doesn’t get better than that as a bike ride.
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| The mighty N2...let battle commence... |
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