Hail and gunfire...

A fresh start in the morning but no condensation on the tent. There is a chill head wind and being around 3000ft keeps the temperature down. On another quiet good road, redundant now because of the motorway to Madrid. There are a few Lycra Saturday cyclists. A road side cafe in the middle of an area of big arable fields provides a version of a bacon bap of chorizo sausage and something unidentifiable, but delicious. A group of farm workers resting from their giant machinery join us.
We detour into the only small town on route where the church bells are ringing and half a dozen girls are dressed in their confirmation white finery, posing for photos before going in for the service. Through the Sierra de Avila at 1500 m clouds gather and we are pelted with hailstones. Mike of course is prepared with his coat on, whilst I get soaked. The downhill run to Avila dries me out in minutes though, and we stop frequently to photograph the amazing city ringed by a wall of many turrets.


One last little hamlet impresses, as the cottages are painted pale yellow but with random granite stones exposed, giving an attractive spotty look.
We push our bikes through a narrow city gate, up the cobbles to near the cathedral to take a room at the "Hostal Bellas". We had stayed here last time too and remember the ancient worn granite steps, old wooden doors with big brass locks and the under stairs cubby hole for the bikes. Mike manages to get oil on his trousers stowing them away. We try Sainsbury wet-wipes and Spanish baby-wipes. The latter removed all the oil, so if you have an oil-stained baby, we strongly recommend the Spanish wipes.
It is a saint's day here so a statue is paraded around, there is some very loud gunfire(?), and then after a service the streets throng with families enjoying Saturday evening.


Miles to date:- 1270

Location:Salamanca to Avila

Sunny Salamanca...

Another convivial evening chatting with Australian fellow tourer (Clint), who is taking a tougher route each day than us, usually with some off road. Next day is off the bikes as we take a bus into Salamanca. Like all the best bits of Bath and Oxford rolled into one, but without the crowds, it's a delightful city in which to wander, through the mainly pedestrian centre by the Plaza Mayor, market building, Cathedral and ancient university buildings. We bump into Clint and look after his laden bike while he has a look around the incredible ancient public library.


He will be wild camping tonight as he does about every other stop. Fortified by hot chocolate and churros for elevenes, then a 3 course Menu del Dia, including a bottle of Rioja, for 9 euros, we are suitably fuelled up for our following days pedal to Avila.

Location:Salamanca

Snowy peaks...

After a very convivial evening at Monfrague campsite chatting to our new Australian friend and a very well travelled American, we broke camp the next morning , heading to Plasencia for coffee. The ancient cobbled central square is like a film set, every sort of little tower, colonnade, old clock, tiled and marbled cafés crowd around as 6 twisty cobbled streets enter. No tourists, just locals. It is pedestrianised after 11.00 so before then little vans whizz back and forth delivering. Just before 11.00 the police arrive hurrying everyone out and leaving tickets on 2 vehicles who don't make the deadline. After this entertainment we head off up the River Jerte, on a fine dedicated cycle path for many miles, then onto the good road surface, climbing through just one village, others being perched high above us on the slopes of the Montes de Tras la Sierra on our left and the Sierra de Gredos on our right. Mountain streams gush down on either side and waterfalls glint through the trees. Snow gleams in the sun on the peaks. The final haul out of the valley is a gruelling series of hairpins, with a view behind us of the cherry orchards on the lower slopes. The pass of Tornavacas at 4195 feet is under the snow line, thank goodness. It has been a magnificent climb through scenery as fine as the Pyrenees, but we are the only cyclists among a couple of passing cars. Silence at the top, just distant cow bells.


Ahead is the dour little hamlet of Puerto Castilla, a handful of cottages huddled together in the wind on this side of the pass, their walls tile-hung for extra protection. No one is on the street. It is not so much of a drop this side, as the plateau stays high. We stay in a little hotel near the centre of El Barco de Avila, with Granny helping us take our bikes down marble steps to the basement. About our 30th castle on a nearby corner, and a paved and colonnaded plaza, where only a very few hardy souls promenade as at this height the evening is cold. We join everyone else in a snug bar for Tapas - tripe, tortilla and several unidentified goodies. Live bullfighting is on both TV screens here, and in the 2nd bar.
Fifteen miles over the plateau in the morning, with a leat running towards us the whole way from a reservoir in the hills. This brings water to the cattle troughs. Through these hills to the charming village of Piedrahita, with the best central plaza yet, clock towers, colonades, metal balconies and a red tiled church roof covered with stork nests. These are full now with big clacking fledglings. One stork has avoided the overcrowding by putting her nest on a huge construction crane! Off north, away from the small fields with dry stone walls to vast arable farms. We had forgotten how fantastic the distant view of ancient Salamanca is, the enormous central cathedral and ancient university buildings dominate the newer surroundings. We camp a few miles out on a large orchard campsite, our nearest neighbour a pair of storks and their big chick on the water tower, until our young Australian arrives. (We must remember to ask his name!)


Miles to date:- 1212

Location:Plasencia to Salamanca

Birding...

We pack up our "Glamping" site after a suitable Glam breakfast of yoghurt, coffee, fruit, bread and goats cheese, then head north on another of Extremadura's fantastic empty roads, through rolling hills. Strangely like Dartmoor, with outcrops of stone through sun-bleached grass. Very occasionally a simple farm house and scattered cattle. The background noise is the "hoop-hoop" of the Hoopoe (naturally) and the clacking of storks beaks from the tops of the occasional pine tree. The tall escarpment appearing after 40 miles stretches as far as the eye can see, this is Monfrague National Park, one of the best birdwatching areas in Europe. We remember this from before and are not disappointed, as we get very close to a big colony of Griffon Vultures and nesting Black Storks.


After a couple of hours with the binos, we head to the campsite that we stayed in before, with fabulous views of the park and such friendly other campers including two couples with camper vans from the UK, and lots of Dutch, again. The young Australian cyclist from Merida arrives, having wild camped the night before.


Miles to date:- 1103

Location:Caceres to Monfrague national Park

Tent en suite...

Another touring cyclist arrives at our camp, a young Australian, who had followed roughly our tracks and is now heading to Northern Europe.
We set off north for the first time on this tour. It is no wonder this area is popular with cyclists, we have returned because of the quiet wide roads, through plains of olive groves, with the occasional tiny village or farm house.


Wherever cattle or sheep shelter under trees, cattle egrets stand on top of the animals. Our bird list thus has reached 70. We are alongside the Santiago Way again, seeing a few laden walkers. We go onto to the trail at lunchtime to use a big granite maker stone as our table. Later we spot two cyclists using this dirt track, just at the point where one falls off! We decide to stick to tarmac.
It is a fairly short day at only 47 miles, but into a head wind the whole way. Our destination is Carceres, a large town surrounded by apartment blocks but with a big historic centre. We well remember the campsite from our last visit as it is a touring cyclists paradise. Shady netting had been strung over our pitch, there are 2 chairs, a table and our own wet room with modern bathroom fittings, endless hot water and the icing on the cake TOILET PAPER! We remember last time it rained and the motorcyclist opposite us slept in his bathroom.


Miles to date:- 1046

Location:Merida to Caceres

Back to Spain...

Ten miles from Elvas down the empty old road (replaced by the motorway) and we are back in Spain. Being a Sunday we are overtaken by a few Lycra cyclists. Badajoz, just inside Spain is a bit of a shock as the outskirts are dominated by huge shopping complexes serving two countries, but there is a safe cycle way through and then a quiet road following the river. We loved cycling in Portugal but it is rather marvellous to be back on the wide smooth empty roads of Spain. Massive fields of cherry trees ripe with fruit, and young corn, as well as submerged fields (growing rice?), stretch to the horizon. We are heading to Merida, which we last visited in 2008 and so can easily find our way to the campsite. There is grass to camp on! On the neighbouring plot are a pair of timid Dutch touring cyclists who have so far only cycled from the station. Last time we were in Extramadura it rained so we are back later on in the year and are rewarded with cloudless skies. Revisiting the town centre is like meeting an old friend.


Familiar roman Trajans Arch spans a street, a many-arched Roman bridge, and a long aqueduct which served the Roman Baths. We enjoy the tapas bars again too.


Miles to date:- 999

Location:Elvas to Merida

Marbled...

Our last full day in Portugal so we visit every hamlet and village. Sâo Miguel de Machede is by passed by main roads but we vote it our favourite Portugese village. Nothing has been built here this century but the few rows of ancient blue and white cottages are all in tip top order. Two old ladies stroll down the middle of the one street taking flowers to both churches. In front of one church a Granny has turned her front room into a cafe. A group of elderly gents wearing flat caps sun themselves on benches outside. They give us directions to places we aren't going to and readily agree to being photographed. Next is the bigger village of Redondo, which we forgive it's uncomfortable long run of cobbles as it has a Grandpa wearing a big floppy straw hat cycling round the white marble fountain and a very colourful shop selling hand made chairs.


We arrive at Alandrial by mistake, but are delighted as it has a castle in the centre and enormous ancient fountain.


Back on track we cycle through an area full of small marble quarries. Vila Vicosa has marble pavements, kerbs, door frames and fountains like all it's neighbours, but also all the municipal seats in the big market square are pink marble (as are the ashtrays in the cafe). All village zebra crossings are now made with pink marble strips laid in the cobbles.
The roadside flowers form mounds of wild sweet peas crowding round cactus in orange flower and miniature poppies amongst aloe Vera. There is no traffic to disturb our view over the plains of long parched grass under olive trees. Elvas is visible from a distance as the 4 arches high aqueduct marches 5 miles across the plains to the hilltop castle and its massive battlements, the rest of the town tumbles down the slopes to another encircling wall.


The moors established the border town and their influence is obviously in the winding narrow streets with arches over. We camp on the outskirts, surprised to be the only customers, stock up at the local Intermarche, eat our dinner of tuna salad at the camp, then head through a city gate to explore.


Miles to date:- 936

Location:Evora to Elvas

Hi-di-hi...

Staying in the Evora campsite is the first time this trip we have come across campervan tourists, here to visit the historic city. There are several Dutch, French, and a couple from Melbourne who have a camper back home, and also keep one in Holland to tour Europe. All are very friendly. Opposite are Dutch retiree touring cyclists, heading south. We brew up on the Trangia.



Too tired to prepare a meal ,we spot a bar nearby that looks shut, but follow a local into a dim interior. Three generations of owners are chatting. Without much hope I ask if there is food. Granny switches on the lights, and gets everyone into action, providing freshly made goats cheese, then pork for Mike and baccalau cod for me, washed down by a carafe of red.
We stay awake long enough to stock up for breakfast at a big nearby supermarket, the first we have used for weeks, having to search out tiny village shops until now. We fear the very noisy amorous frogs in the field behind may keep us awake, but they quieten down as dusk falls.
Next day we take time off pedalling to join a sprinkling of tourists looking at the sights of this well preserved medieval town. The old walls encircle the centre, where local marble is so plentiful it's used everywhere, doorsteps, pavements, 3 big pink fountains, and even the white stripes in zebra crossings. A big town, but it's more like a village with it's myriad of narrow twisty cobbled streets of little houses, with a few grand squares and churches. All the house are smartly painted white with a yellow ochre border. Where the aqueduct enters the walled city, houses infill each arch.



A 2nd C roman temple is the best preserved in Portugal, as it was walled up for years, and is now restored to its Corinthian glory.



Obviously there are uncountable numbers of coffee shops.

Location:Evora

Cafés and bulls...

We are the only guests in Granny's guest house. We are woken early by her back yard cockerel. This gives us an early start to our longest cycle this trip - 86 miles. We glide over the white marble cobbles of the alleyway, then over salmon pink marble slabs in front of the Cathedral, before hairpins down to cross the Rio Tejo for the last time, as we head East leaving clouds behind. The road is flat until lunchtime, past flooded rice fields. We are delighted to see Henrique again, our WS host from the night before last. He spots us as he is driving to an appointment in Evora! The pedal is only spoilt by too many passing logging lorries. They disappear to the motorway after lunch as we leave the lush greenery we have become used to and enter rolling hills of parched grass under cork trees and the occasional enormous bull. The traffic calming in villages is great; if a car exceeds the speed limit a sensor turns the next traffic lights red, we sail through all the red lights as we feel it is not our fault they have been triggered. Small villages are as ever filled with cafés. In one we counted 10. At Arraiolos the cafe was a surprise inside as instead of the usual wobbly plastic tables and unshaven men at the counter, there were chintzy table clothes and well dressed local ladies (more suitable to Budleigh Salterton). The best cup of coffee in days for the princely sum of 80 cents each. This village is famous for the local ladies sitting outside their blue and white cottages weaving hand made carpets. Perhaps it was the blustery wind but there was nobody about on this occasion. The village generally was in need of a coat of paint. As we whizzed mostly downhill to Evora we caused a stampede of steers. As they were wearing big bells it was quite tuneful.






We entered this historic town under the long aqueduct and then through a gate in the city old walls. A campsite just outside is our home for the next two nights.





Miles to date:- 875

Location:Santarem to Evora

Hippos and churches...

Before leaving Leiria there is time for a stroll around the historic centre including the Cathedral and a big Pharmacia covered with ancient tiles.









Heading east now for the first time this trip, easy mileage allows time to look around historic Tomar with another enormous hilltop castle, this time built for the Knights Templar. Like most Portugese towns the narrow streets are lined with crumbling ancient buildings in a very poor state of repair. There is little money to restore them, especially since the recession.
At Entroncamento we are hosted by retired paratrooper Henrique, wife Paula, and teenage son. They all speak really good English, so we have a very interesting political discussion. Their politicians sound even more self-serving than our lot! Henrique tells us their government has today passed a law to allow their MP's to receive salary and expense payments which are not revealed publicly! He also thinks the only reason the unemployment figures are falling is because so many are leaving up get work abroad. Dad and son are very tough mountain bikers, doing lots of long distance routes carrying luggage. This summer, for the first time Paula is coming too, so they are doing some of the easier Danube route.
After eating enough good homemade Portuguese food to fuel any cyclist, we are off next morning, along the Rio Tejo. The next town is Golegã, famous for hippos (horses). Henrique had explained there are so many donkeys still because there is a government subsidy for them, to encourage tradition. We cross the really wide box girder bridge, too narrow for a lorry and a bike, so walk the protected path, admiring the lumps of unprocessed cork fallen from loads (and wing mirrors shattered on the metal uprights.)
Our coffee and custard tart (pastel de nata) stop is in Chumasco , a very traditional village of white cottages under tiled roofs and a bull ring. We sit out a heavy downpour here, then on to Santarem, a hilltop town with views over the vast plain on either side of the Tejo.









In a country of many fine churches the ones here are astonishing, all worth looking inside, the jewel being Igreja de Marvilla dating from the 12th C, with the interior completely covered in beautifully patterned blue and yellow tiles (azulejos). We stay in Pensão José Rodrigues, in a narrow cobbled alleyway, run by a granny who arrives just as we do, stores our bikes in a ground floor room and takes us up to the top of the house where our chintzy room has a little balcony with a view of tiled roofs and church towers - 35 euros.









Miles to date:- 789

Location:Leiria to Santarem

Local ladies...

All the villagers are up and about tending theirs small holdings, the older ladies all similarily dressed in baggy trousers, wellies and full length aprons over jumpers.We meet them on the roads pushing barrows of produce or sitting behind their husbands on the mini tractors. One couple were still using a horse and cart, whilst another toothless old dear whizzed towards us in her donkey cart. There are donkeys in most villages.Outside houses the ladies sit in the shade under umbrellas selling their garden produce- mainly potatoes. One was selling the local salt dried cod.Some also wear in long black dresses and shawls.Then there are those who just sit on a kitchen chair at the roadside to watch the world go by.
There are two impressive castles high on hilltops - on at Miradouro and a more impressive edifice at Leiria. They are restored, so very complete.



As forecast, the first clouds we have seen for days roll in and we see rain arriving over the hills, just having time to dash under cover at a sports centre before a short heavy down pour. We search about on the bottom of our panniers to find waterproofs. The next shower comes in the afternoon and we squeeze into a bus shelter to avoid that torrent. We are dried out soon in the warm breeze.



Miles to date:- 717

Location:Camida to Leiria

Coasting...

We learn a lot from Rafael about Portugal, including why there are so many gum trees taking over the forests. The government used to pay people to plant them for use in the paper industry!
Rafael provides great cycling fuel in the form of a gorgeous curry.
Flat virtually all the way south in the morning, on a route between the sand dunes and the salt lagoon. A very popular road with the hoards of Sunday Lycra cyclists, one group alone was around 100, but not one woman. At the end of the road we are expecting a ferry, so we can continue south, but the car ferry is not running and the passenger ferry has no place for bikes. For a few minutes we think we may have to turn round and pedal back 12 miles, but the locals rally round, shepherding us to a floating pontoon where a toothless old chap in a water taxi miraculously appears and fits us in his very small but fast boat. We do not know where he is taking us, but it is generally the right direction. We land alongside some fishermen, not far from a village where we soon find an unsurfaced cycle route through marshes and sand dunes, then village roads to tiny Cadima. Here Celia welcomes us at her lovely house, and after showers she takes us to the nearby town of Cantahede to meet with her friends in a bar. Alongside the beers is served what looked like butter beans (tremços).



The others all throw away the skins, and think it strange we eat them! Celia takes us home to a very tasty Portuguese fish dinner, then her parents, Hermande and Manuel, come round with a bottle of home made liqueur and some 20 year-old tawny port! Soon we are all best friends, despite our lack of a common language.



Miles to date:- 650

Location:Ovar to Cadima

Gum trees, pines & custard tarts...

The Swiss tourers, Docma(?) and Robert are moving on north this morning, and we break camp to head south. They are the most intrepid touring cyclists we have ever met, just back from an extensive trip around India, they previously took a sabbatical to pedal from their home to China and have also explored South America! We will follow their website with interest.
We have been looking at the steep woods across the water from our tent so know we have a bit of a climb out of the Douro valley, through hamlets where mini-tractors are being used as anything bigger would not fit on the tiny terraces. Cottage gardens have veggy patches, mainly potatoes and leeks. We reward ourselves at the highest point with a cafe stop, and sample the local delicacy - a cinnamon flavoured mini custard tart.



Never have we been anywhere with so many cafés. Our favourite cafe name to date is " Bem Bom" ( "Well Good").
The woods here are infested with imported Gum trees, but as we reach the Atlantic coast, the national park is carefully maintained with fragrant local pine forests. There is a superb, dedicated cycle path with glimpses of the crashing ocean waves, on our right. Being a Saturday we meet the odd small group of Lycra cyclists on the broad walks. Picnic lunch is at a table under the trees. A side trip out to Furadouro, brings us to a long promenade along the sea front, with a refreshing sea breeze. A sit on the sand but not a paddle in the intimidating waves, then the final couple of miles into Ovar where our first Portuguese Warm Shower host Rafael, meets us outside the library and takes us to his modern top floor apartment, with far views to distance hills.



Miles to date:- 599

Location:Porto to Ovar

On the tiles...

The road into Porto is busy and bike unfriendly, with the city itself a warren of very steep cobbled streets, so we leave the bikes locked under a tree on the campsite and take the bus.
Traditional wooden boats, like big gondolas, are moored along the stone quays under the C18 metal bridge crossing the gorge in the city centre.


Walking around the sights, there were stunning views from the top of the city walls, shade in the ornate Cathedral and the church of Santa Clara and a trip on the funicular railway. Famous for decorated tiles, many buildings are covered inside and out with beautiful, mainly blue and white, tiles, some just a repeated intricate pattern, others part of enormous murals showing historic scenes.


The main railway station having the most sumptuous, two-storey high tiled panels.
Four muscle bound touring cyclists, slog, grimacing up a cobbled street from the waterfront, confirming we were right to take the bus! For such a spectacularly pretty city, the only foreign tourists we see are a group being shepherded from the cruise boats
docked on the south bank.
As with every town and village in Portugal, there is a little welcoming cafe every couple of hundred yards.The major port producers store all their ageing liquor here, in huge ancient warehouses, and provide tours and tastings. We choose one of the oldest companies, Taylor's, which is still owned by the original English family. Their stored barrels range from 600 to the massive 100,000 litres. We are provided with a tasting of 3 types, chilled white, tawny and late bottled vintage.
We have very much enjoyed our visit to Porto, but now it's time to move, south tomorrow.

Location:Porto

Camping...

We follow the river west on a quiet road on the south side. The going gets very hilly as the road swings in and out of all the side valleys through each little village. There are scary steep drops at the verge with no barrier, but we can stick to the middle as there are so few cars. On a corner, a man on top of a very tall ladder pruning his cherry trees, is level with us and so we can exchange " bom dias". The many Quintas we pass, produce olive oil and cherries as well as the wine grapes. Much of the labour on these terraces is still by hand, including back breaking weeding. Gardens are ablaze with red roses. Ancient churches, convents and small monasteries pop up almost round every corner. Cherries are for sale at road side stalls, and one farm has taken over the bustop!
Eventually the road widens and levels by the river as we meet commuters rushing home from Porto. Just as the light is fading we take a side road down through a dense wood, then a hamlet and a campsite right on the river edge. One hour of light remains for us to put up the tent, get to know the only other campers - a couple of touring cyclists from Switzerland - make a brew and fall into our sleeping bags. The local church clangs a complicated chime every hour, but after 78 strenuous miles we sleep through it easily.
The dawn view from the tent is amazing, as the opposite bank is a steep forest as far as the eye can see, with no road , track or buildings. We hadn't expected such a tranquil spot this close to Porto. A big river cruise boat slides silently upstream, no sign of the sleeping passengers.
We are staying here 3 nights so we can explore Porto.






Miles to date:- 566

Location:Pinhão to Porto

Port...

Another day of hairpin bends through stunning countryside. A few snakes slither into the undergrowth, and then we come across an enormous one, dead on the road. The predominant colour in the fields is the golden yellow of broom and big daisies. A few cork oaks and cherry trees interrupt the olives, and the smell of pine and rosemary fills the air. We pass our first touring cyclists! They have quite thin wheels, so we don't know how they manage with all the village cobbles. Every roundabout now is a mini-vineyard.
We are heading south again now and in the final 10 miles we drop 2000 feet, with bend after bend providing stunning views into the vineyards of the Douro valley. Only a few cars pass.



If we were fitter we would have turned around and cycled back to the top to do it all again - one of the most fabulous roads we have ever ridden. At the bottom, on a picturesque bend in the river, we stop in Pinhão (on more cobbles!) outside the hotel recommended by Lonely Planet. The lady from the bar next door spots us and waves me over. "Ha um quarto?" I try, and sure enough she has a cosy room to let, overlooking the river, for a lot less than the hotel next door advertises. Our bikes are safely stowed in the kitchen.
We have a stroll through the town, and find the metal bridge we will use tomorrow to cross the Douro, and then inspect the charming little railway station, decorated with tiled pictures of local scenes (a bit different to the Pinhoe Station in Exeter).



Dinner at the bar where we have our room is a very local affair. There is no choice, starting with a glass of port and dish of olives, a second course of pork marinated in port, with pork and bean cassoulet, followed by honey cake soaked in port, washed down with a fine bottle of the local red. We have no trouble sleeping!
We can now take a river side route all the way west, over the next two days, into Porto, and the Atlantic coast.



Miles to date:- 488

Location: Macedo to Pinhão

Round the bend...

A very old granny has been left in charge of our Miranda hotel, as it it a Sunday when her daughter has a day off. Granny only speaks Portuguese and probably the very local "Mirandes" language. She thinks we are French and tells the her daughter, this too. When we try out our Portuguese for the first time in a local bar, asking for a beer, we are brought a cup of tea. We will have to try harder.
There are the remains of a big castle that blew up in the C18 , killing 400 people!


The old houses are all cleanly white painted, with enormous exposed stone lintels over windows and carved doors. Very quaint.
We are an hour early for breakfast, as we now discover that Portugal is an hour behind Spain! A walk round the town and a coffee in an early-opening cafe fill the time.
There is no road near the Douro river now as it enters a ravine so we head north west along a road shown on the map as very wiggly and with a green edge to show it is very scenic. It is indeed breathtaking as 30 miles of hairpin bends take us up and down into deep valleys lined with olive groves. Only a hand full of cars share the sweeping views with us. In the 2 tiny villages where we stop for a cold drink and to refill our water bottles, the lady bartenders both speak French, which means we can give up our struggle with Portuguese for now. Lovely as these villages are, their cobbled streets are very uncomfortable for tired cyclists.
Most Spaniards seem to eat their evening meal after 9pm, not good for starving cyclists. In Spain, we managed well on tapas being available early evening. We are not sure what Portugal has to offer as
yet, but in our trawl of bars and cafés for early eating, we find many still allow smoking inside! Spain was like this some time ago, but has now tackled the problem, hopefully Portugal will soon follow.


Miles to date:- 425

Location:Miranda do Douro to Macedo

Into Portugal!...

Toro has a fixation with bullfighting, from the stone bulls carved onto medieval colonnades, to the live Saturday bullfight on TV screens in the tapas bars.



Apart from that it is a fabulous place, encircled by two walls, enclosing a warren of twisty streets, where ancient doors are embellished with ornate carvings and knockers, and not a tourist in sight.
Next morning there is still a head wind at first, but this disappears as we gain height into the hills alongside the Douro. Wild lavender in full flower competes with roses in the tiny fields, then it turns into a Dartmoor landscape of granite field boundaries and monolithic slabs.
The Douro has carved a deep ravine through the granite plateau, now a Natural Park. We finally sweep down to cross it on a reservoir dam, as we enter Portugal. High on the cliff in front is our first Portuguese town, Miranda do Douro.



Having just mastered rudimentary Spanish, we are now grappling with a whole new set of words, where no one speaks English! "Nâo" = no, and "Sim" = yes, is about all we can manage, but this does not prevent us booking into the best room in town, the balcony overlooking a dramatic bend in the river, with the Cathedral on a nearby bluff.



Miles to date:- 364

Location:Toro to Miranda do Doura

Towards the Douro...

Ampudia is the most attractive village of the trip to date, with the entire ancient main street colonnaded on both sides, one side with timber pillars, the other with stone.



It also has a castle and 2 fine churches. The local restauranteurs tell us the 25 C+ temperature we are enjoying is not usual. Our WS hosts (just north of Valladolid) say the same,and the forecast is similar for days to come. Our host, Hector, is away, but has arranged for his friends to meet us and take us to his house, where we can stay in his absence - so kind of them all!
Our evening stroll into the countryside takes us past large fields of young cereal crops, which are being irrigated by a complex system of channels from a stream. There are a few vineyards too, and as we head into the Douro valley tomorrow we expect to see many more in this famous Port wine area.
A fire engine rushes past to quench a fire causing a tower of smoke nearby. Our neighbour says it is probably from a cigarette. They soon have it under control.
From Valladolid we are now heading west. Everyone in Tordesillas is out in the town centre this Saturday morning to join in a flamenco festival with loud music and all the ladies dressed in their flamboyant vibrant dancing dresses. The blokes haven't made much of an effort. There are now acres of vineyards and every large building is a Bodega.
The road is straight, empty and undulating but into a scorching headwind. We even have to pedal down hill! So we call it a day at the gorgeous old town of Toro. Surrounded by a city wall it is thankfully out of the wind and the narrow twisty streets are shady. The view is amazing, across the plains below including our first view of the Douro river with a Roman bridge spanning it.



Miles to date:- 309
Identified bird count to date:- 51

Location:Palencia to Toro

Pilgrims and nightingales...

We are sticking to the canal route as it is so peaceful and picturesque, including an old aqueduct to cross a river.



A chorus of Nightingales, Golden Oriels and Cuckoos continue throughout the day. We detour off the canal occasionally, to visit ancient villages, heading for the centre churches. Osorno has a good little supermarket and 6 stork nests, with storks insitu, on their church. This is outdone by Amusco with their 11 stork medieval church. Fomista is on the Santiago de Compostella route, and we counted at least 30 pilgrims (mostly limping) pass as we ate our lunch in the shade.
The handsome cathedral city of Palencia has lots of tapas bars and free wifi, so we can blog.


Miles to date:- 214

Location:Herrera de Pisuerga to Palencia

Horses, snow and storks...

Tuesday morning, Jose kindly leads us on his bike route to work, and shows us how to get onto the Route National 611, which we follow up into the hills for 50 miles. It has been superseded by a motorway, and so is now very quiet. We gain height along a beautiful wooded valley, dotted with farms and cows jangling the bells round their necks.
By 800 metres we are approaching the town of Reinosa, surrounded by snow topped mountains, then take a small, empty, flat road for the last ten miles to the tiny farming hamlet of Abiado. Climbing a final hill, storks flap overhead and foals on the road are chased away by a billy goat protecting a kid. A local farmer drives past holding the reins of a very large horse through his side window.
Our Warm Shower hosts are Marta, Icar and beautiful baby Noa who live in a restored stone cottage at the top of the village. Chatting with 2 local school girls whom Marta is teaching English, we are surprised to find these sisters holiday each year in Nerja, (near Malaga) where we have English friends. We finish the day with a walk up the hill behind the house, under the imposing Sierra de Cordel. Icar tells us there are Wolves and Bear here!
We throw open the shutters in the morning to an idyll. Tiny fields surrounded by stone walls keep in brown cows and their tiny calfs, and a sliver of mist lies in the valley bottom under blue skies. Breakfast is a feast - home made yoghurt and bread, local honey, porridge and fruit, then we take the cycle path back to Reinosa, (past the Billy goat again). We pause in a wood to note the source of the great River Ebro, which in 2007 we followed all the way to the Med.
An easy undulating ride south follows, still on our quiet N611, never without a bird overhead, either stork, vulture, harrier or the ubiquitous red and black kites. Mike is in birding heaven.
At Alar del Rey we join the sandy track alongside the Canal de Castille for a peaceful pedal past locks, ancient stone bridges and mainly derelict lock-keepers cottages.



The campsite at Herra de Pisquera has closed, so we take a room at a very friendly Hostelry, with a balcony overlooking the river, and take advantage of the endless hot water and sunshine to wash some clothes. Even our bikes are given their own secure room. All this pampering for 36 euros.


Miles to date: 158

Location:Santander to Herrera de Pisuerga

Matador at dawn...

A dawn chorus departure Sunday morning sees us startle a deer and a bunch of bunnies as we pass over Haldon hill at 7.30. Bizarrely, a man dressed as a matador is thumbing a lift?! Eating our picnic lunch on Plymouth Hoe, we watch the Pont Aven sail into The Sound. It has taken some getting used to fully laden bikes again.
I've 2 panniers totalling 13kg and Mike the same plus a 3kg tent.
The other passengers queuing for the ferry are caravanners, and lots of middle-aged friendly motorcyclists.
Eighteen very calm hours to Santander, then time to sightsee the cathedral and city centre and take on provisions.


Then off to meet our first ever Spanish "Warm Shower" host, Jose. He collects us from in front of the Casino to guide us the short distance to his home.


Miles to date:- 48

Location:Santander