Riding the Caminho Português 2019
Highlights of my day by day journal of riding the Caminho Português
For both bandwidth and reading pleasure the journal has been split into two:
Caminho da Costa Porto to Lisboa
Caminho Português Lisboa to Santiago de Compostela
This journal is also available ‑ with lot's more images & detail ‑ on the really interesting, if somewhat old‑school, idosyncratic Crazy Guy On a Bike collection of bike touring journals
Lisboa to Vila Franca De Xira
Distance: 58 km
Total Distance: 375 km
So, back on the bike and loving it! With the clocks put forward an hour, daybreak is after 7:00 so my 8:00 start seemed indecently early, even so there was plenty of traffic about. At least there were no trams about when I made the short, sharp climb to the Cathedral. I was surprised by the number of people milling about before I realised that they were all here doing exactly what I was doing. It was a very friendly group and I exchanged more than one 'Bom Caminho' before setting off down the cobbled hill.
Leaving cities is somehow always a bit of a pain for me, I always get lost, and today was no exception, I reckon I went off‑route more than I was on‑route. The thick fog didn't help much either, still I knew that basically all I had to do was stick by the river bank. Not too long later the route went rural, or perhaps feral might be a better description! The usual single track and the usual boggy, muddy bits ‑ last time I forged on in these sort of conditions the mud was so deep the chainring was completely immersed so I took to the main road, the N10, to avoid a similar fate. There were quite a few times the route ventured on to the N10 which while not great riding, it was tolerable given the respect drivers give to cyclists ‑ and to the brave pilgrims walking the Caminho cos they too had to brave the (footpathless) N10 in places.
Vila Franca De Xira is a lovely little place, the Municipal Market is absolutely beautiful for example, but apparently the town is better known as the producer of both the finest bulls and the best bullfighters. Bull related statues abound and you can't; miss the town bull ring! While it's on the periphery of 'Greater Lisbon', it's a whole world away, a good place to call it quits for the day.
Vila Franca De Xira to Santarém
Distance: 61 km
Total Distance: 436 km
Today wasn't; just one of those great days on the bike, partly cos there were low, black clouds which kept coming and going, partly it was cos almost half the day was spent on the N3, a very, very busy road thru an industrial landscape and partly cos of the merciless, incessant, cold and energy sapping headwind! You know the type, no matter how hard you pedal you just don't seem to get anywhere.
But it wasn't; all bad, after Azambuja the route went thru some lovely rural scenes, some very quaint villages and there were plenty of people working the land, it wasn't; like coming down from Porto, these weren't; little plots, today was industrial agriculture, vast fields and big machines. I must have passed at least twenty pilgrims walking today, almost invariably a pleasant greeting or a few words of encouragement offered, the obvious camaraderie was a high point when the weather was quite so bleak. The route meandered along the River Tejo and as the train line also follows the river, there were quite a few rail crossings to be negotiated, thankfully Portuguese train stations are well prepared for the less mobile and so there were always elevators or series of ramps to access the overhead track crossings. Just for the hell of it I used both elevator and ramps. The ramps were usually a bit tight on the bends. No such luxuries when crossing the N3 later in the day, an inexperienced cyclist may well still be waiting for a break in the traffic! Thankfully, drivers here are aware of cyclists and often lights would flash and cars visibly slow allowing the crossings to be made safely.
Santarém is a hilltop town based around ancient military structures and getting into town required ascending a decent sized hill, but as the hill rises abruptly out of the wind lashed plain and the road was on the leeward side of the hill, it was actually almost pleasant riding, out of the damn wind! The town has some picturesque sights including an eclectic ensemble of gothic churches, and a beautiful rose window in the Igreja da Graça that's carved from a single (enormous) piece of stone. Well worth the effort of getting here ‑ even if the wind is still howling outside.
Santarém to Tomar
Distance: 72 km
Total Distance: 508 km
A day of mixed riding ‑ and a couple of bits where riding was just not on, including a section where even walking was damn hard, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Almost as soon as I started ‑ very late, brekky didn't; eventuate until 8:30 ‑ the route went down a quite steep, cobbled footway, well, sort of cobbled, this was serious single track stuff, always a bit hard with a fully loaded bike. Once down into the valley, it was mostly onroad (backroads with little traffic) thru a succession of small villages before the route went off road thru vineyards, and I mean right thru the middle on rough tractor paths. Again there was plenty of activity in the vineyards and fields ‑ including the spreading of the seemingly ubiquitous cow shit, what a pong! A few times navigation was a problem, more than once there were more than one of the yellow arrows that define the Caminho Português and each pointed in a different direction! Often the GPS showed the route going thru the middle of one of the vast fresh ploughed fields. Things ain't; always what they seem!
A coffee stop in Pombalinho, a small village seemingly in the middle of nowhere, turned into a great experience. Didn't start off too well, there was obviously a bit of a communication barrier, instead of coffee and cake, I got coffee and a plate of chorizo, cheese and olives with a crusty bread roll. But you know, I could forgo cake if I could get something as good as this everyday. Somewhere in the midst of all this, the café owner and I discovered a common lingua franca, schoolboy French, and so the usual q & a came and went. I was really enjoying this unanticipated snack when the café owner brought a small saucer with more chorizo, lightly fried. A very tasty, very satisfying, extremely cheap (€2.10) early lunch. Actually it turned out I needed an energy boost, the section between Atalaia and Grou turned out to be a real challenge, in order to get across the A3 motorway, the route wandered through forest on unbelievably rocky ‑ and eroded ‑ fire trails. Again this was serious single track stuff, not for the inexperienced, just staying upright gave my skills a real workout. To add to the challenge, the gradients verged on the ridiculous, one ascent in particular, over loose round pebbles was really painful, the bike wheel scrabbling for purchase and slipping so badly that I thought walking the bike might help. It didn't;. The bike handled the pebbles better than I did, so back on the bike and zig zagging back and forth I finally reached the summit, to be faced with another ascent... I encountered quite a few walking pilgrims in this section, they were puffing as hard as I was, greetings were kept to a minimum, smiles and waves sufficed.
The last few km into Tomar were on the N110, quite narrow, very busy and absolutely no shoulder at all, it was a bit nerve wracking, even tho the drivers were all decent. Like many towns, the way in was pretty unspectacular, lots of small industry, worse for wear buildings and so‑on, but all instantly changed at the centre. Tomar is a creation of the almost mythic Knights Templar and their castle looms large over the attractive old town. I didn't; get too much of an opportunity to look around cos the black clouds that had been gathering for hours finally broke and a steady rain started just as I found accommodation. Talk about timing, I'd hate to be attempting some of the ascents of today in the rain, and I'm not even going to think about the descents, they'd be nigh on impossible.
Tomar to Vale Florido
Distance: 68 km
Total Distance: 576 km
For better or worse I didn't; get to see much of Tomar ‑ pronounced 't;wo Mah' by the locals by the way ‑ cos of the rain, I had hoped to check out the Museu Dos Fosforos which has the world’s most extensive collection of match boxes... As I left this morning, for about five minutes there was a break in the dark clouds and sunshine and blue sky broke thru, this brief burst of brightness between bucketing rain, and even hail, was to repeat itself throughout the day. Of course, the climbing started as soon as I crossed the river to leave town. There's not much altitude involved, according to the guide books the highest point of today's ride was a mere 485m, but the hills are incessant and like everywhere else, gradient signs are at the top rather than at the foot of the climb.
As I feared, the rain made the off‑road climbs awful! The pebbles slipped more, the clay became ice‑like slippery and the mud became, well, muddier. Not pleasant riding. Naturally the bike I hired is sans fenders so I copped a heap of dirty spray from the tyres... even the driving rain didn't clean much of the crap off me (or the bike). Today really was a case of head down, bum up and lay down the k's, so not too much to report. Well, beyond, a bloody puncture! ! ! Gotta be an ordinary day when a puncture is a highlight eh? Happened pretty early on and perchance I was by a building site when I realised the rear wasn't handling as it should and so I had plenty of water to trace the puncture. Found it really quickly, then spent almost half an hour going over and over the tyre looking for whatever caused the tiny puncture. Couldn't find anything, so, with some trepidation I used another tube. For the rest of the day I worried about the rear wheel.
Late in the day when I decided that forest tracks just weren't worth the effort in the rain, I swapped onto the N348 and stuck to it, it was narrow, some serious gradients but almost no traffic. Coming down a long descent into another village I had to slow right down cos the front felt really heavy, I couldn't;; risk anything so I slowed right down. Just before the village was a gas station so I used their air to put some more pressure into both front & rear, worked like a charm ‑ goodness knows how much wasted effort was due to under inflated tyres. Ah well.
Not too far to go to the pilgrim albergue in a fly speck of a village that even Google has difficulty with locating and the heavens opened up again, this time with hail just as I was making the final, sharp ascent. I felt like, and must have looked like, a drowned rat when I arrived at my accommodation.
Vale Florido to Coimbra
Distance: 48 km
Total Distance: 624 km
The albergue where I spent last nite was a fabulous little place, ultra friendly. This morning, over breakfast a couple of French pilgrims ‑ walkers ‑ and I were discussing the days route when the proprietress advised us to take a totally different way, a few k's on road would cut off twice as much distance thru low lying, and after the nites rain, probably inundated, country. Local knowledge counts.
And so the day got off to a good start. The route was fifty‑fifty, on‑road, off‑road. The on‑road was good, mostly one lane back roads, tho there was a brief bit on our good ol' friend, the N110. There were a lot of ascents, small & sharp in the main and a couple of really nice long curving descents. The off‑road was variable, some nice wide dirt tracks, some narrow and technical single track, lots of ascents, very few descents. One thing all the off‑road sections had was heaps of water! More than once there was nothing for it other than to launch, slowly, into the water. At one point, where a whole series of large puddles took up all the track, a pilgrim took me by the hand a metre or so off track to point out a very narrow walking track which was a bit higher up and avoided (many) of the puddles. Again, local knowledge eh? The route was fairly circuitous as there’s an alphabet soup jumble of A roads, IC roads and N roads all converging on Coimbra and to go over (or under) these busy roads meant a bit of weaving and winding, mostly it seemed, up hill. The final section tho was a lovely long descent, past some of the myriad of ecclesiastical monuments of Coimbra, down to the river. Just as I arrived at the bridge, yet another hailstorm hit, the third for the day ‑ including some of the gentlest hail I've ever encountered, more like drifting snow flakes but they were tiny hail stones.
I'm not sure exactly where or when it happened but as I rode to my accommodation I noticed I'd punctured again. Bugger! Again I couldn't find anything in the tyre and so I again swapped the newly repaired first tube back in and set off but by the time I reached my destination the rear tyre was squishy again. I needed professional help. Google found an open LBC ‑ it was Saturday afternoon after all ‑ and so after dumping panniers and so‑on I walked the bike the 1.6 km to the bike shop. If you're ever in Coimbra and need a bike shop, look up the guys at
SwitchBike, they were great! After an intense search, they couldn't find anything wrong with the tyre either ‑ the repaired tube had given away around the repair, cheap crap tube ‑ so they went nuclear, I'm now using a slime tube. The cost was almost risible, especially as the bike got a quick lube, wheel trueing and a general once over.
And so the rest of this wet day, it's not like yesterday, today it's lighter intermittent showers, I spent checking out this enchanting (University) town. As you'd expect with a large student population there’s an eclectic mix of the sacred and of the profane. A stimulating place.
Coimbra to Águeda
Distance: 51 km
Total Distance: 675 km
In truth, today wasn't more rain, and more hills, rather it was more drizzle than rain and more undulating than hilly, a relatively pleasant day on the bike ‑ tho pleasant isn't quite the right word but you'll know what I mean, it certainly wasn't a crook day and I look back on the ride with a good feeling. Keeping the distance relatively short more than likely helps with that good feeling.
But back to the beginning. I wasn't in a hurry to quit Coimbra, it's a truly beautiful (if hilly) place, but as everyone told me the weather wasn't going to be good ‑ one guy suggested it would rain for two more weeks, hope not! ‑ I opted to leave late morning. Much of the route today was on peaceful backroads with very little traffic ‑ perhaps being Sunday helped out there ‑ tho there were a couple of interesting route choices, both quite similar, the first one sent me down a village main street that was one way traffic, in the opposite direction. No‑one blinked an eye. The second was a tad more hairy, the route sent me onto the shoulder of the N1 again in the opposite direction to the traffic, heavy vehicles racing towards you don't exactly inspire confidence! There were a couple of off‑road excursions thru eucalyptus forests and it was as I was picking my path along a spongy sand track in a forest when it dawned on me that the rain was actually good for me, the loose sand was slightly compacted by the rain, if it had been dry, passage would have been very difficult in the sand.
As I'd started out relatively late, as I rode thru the many villages and residential areas, I could smell meat roasting. Sunday roasts must be a big thing here. Made me quite hungry!
I called it a day in Águeda, a small but lively little town that boasts a heap of public art throughput and where seemingly the whole town, including many in an array of uniforms as well as a marching band turned out for a funeral in the local church. Those that didn't attend, came out to watch, which of course meant that every café and bar was open and doing a roaring trade, I joined in...
Maybe pleasant is the right word to describe the day after all.
Águeda to Oliveira de Azeméis
Distance: 38 km
Total Distance: 713 km
I dunno how but I've offended the gods of cycling ‑ that rear tyre has punctured again and when I had a look, the downside to slime filled tubes (other than weight but I'm not concerned about that sort of weight) was evident, there was more slime out of the tube than in. I put the wheel back on and limped, up a damn steep hill, the last 3 km into Oliveira de Azeméis.
But let's go back to the start. A clear, sunny sky greeted me this morning, along with plenty of ground mist, and I made a relatively early ‑ for this trip anyway ‑ start, straight into a climb, and to put it succinctly, a bastard of a climb at that! In a pattern that was repeat itself throughout the day, I soon descended only to be faced with another ascent. In the space of a few km, I went up from 18m to 126m then down to 30m and almost immediately up to 195m only to drop down again, the numbers are almost piddling, but being a kinda roller coaster, these sharp little climbs wear you down quite quickly. Much of the day was spent on‑road in a semi‑urban environment and it seemed like much of the route was simply about getting over or under the N1 ‑ and like yesterday, there was about a km of riding the wrong way up the N1. There were a couple of forest tracks today, aptly described as shit...
The route is getting very well waymarked and more and more signage is evident. Equally evident that lots of money, most likely EU money, is being spent of the Caminho de Santiago as all these new signs have it. And why not, the more well known version from France is a money spinner so why should the Portuguese version bring in tourist (pilgrim) coin? But the point is, today, probably for the first time since Lisboa, I could've followed the marked route without the aid of my GPS.
The sky clouded over a bit as the morning went on and I was feeling quite confident as I turned over in my mind the possibilities of where to stop for the day. Porto was do‑able, about 50+ km further down the road but that was pushing things a bit much so perhaps São João da Madeira? Then I noticed my rear was a bit squishy. A stop to check and add a bit of air ‑ and to lift the rear wheel and spin it so that the slime could get a chance to do its stuff ‑ and off I went. I'd been riding conservatively all morning and now rode even more cautiously. Checking, checking and checking, pumping, pumping and pumping. The tyre just wasn't holding any pressure. So off came the wheel and, as I've said, back on went the wheel. There's just gotta be a problem with the tyre ‑ I'm minded to replace it rather than replace tubes. In Oliveira de Azeméis I soon established that there were no close bike shops, it's one thing to walk a bike a couple of km but the distances involved here weren't attractive. Now one thing I've found is that pilgrims get well looked after and so soon enough, information on transport options to a bike shop were being discussed, to cut a long story short, the difference in cost between taking the bike 13 km to a local place and 35 km to a shop in Porto was so slight that in short order a lift to Porto had been arranged. The only proviso? It would be at 7:15 tomorrow morning. Not a problem for me!
So here I am in Oliveira de Azeméis, a bright, friendly, modern town of 12,000 or so. I may well have offended the gods of cycling but that errant rear tyre has opened up a whole vista of possibilities.
Oliveira de Azeméis to Porto
Nothing much happened today but it was still a pretty good (off‑bike) day. As arranged I was picked up at precisely 7:15 this morning and driven the 48 km (according to the car sat‑nav, door to doorbell) to Porto. Seems the reason for the earlyish start is that peak hour traffic in Porto is as good/bad as everywhere ‑ once we'd actually crossed the river and arrived in Porto, the sat nav was saying the final km would take 9 minutes (it did). The journey was interesting in itself, the road network is good, looks relatively new ‑ those EU funds again ‑ and drivers mostly good. Lots of bridges and a tunnel or two and lots of roundabouts with few traffic lights in evidence. Altho the highway goes a different route to the Caminho, I think that had I ridden today it would have been a toughie.
Dumped the panniers and stuff and headed off to the nearest bikeshop which was meant to open, according to Google & Facebook and the sign on the shop door, at 9:30am. It didn't. A passer by stopped and said the shop would open at 10:30, to quote, "more or less". It was a bit more than more, closer to 11:00. But as the saying goes, good things happen for those who wait. The shop was a hole‑in‑the‑wall joint, walled lined with rusted and/or vintage bikes, but there mounted on the bike stand was a state‑of‑the‑art road bike and the tiny cabinet was full of Campagnolo bits and pieces ‑ things weren't as they might seem. The guy who ran the shop was indeed a craftsman. Checked the wheel, checked the rim tape, checked the tyre. Nothing. But there had to be something or why would the tube keep puncturing. So, after cleaning up the slime, the tyre was inspected millimetre by millimetre under an intense light. Nothing. Another check, this time with a small hand magnet. And there, right where it should be ‑ or shouldn't be, actually, but you know what I mean ‑ was a small sliver of metal. When we ran our fingers over the spot we couldn't feel anything but if the tyre was twisted a bit then we could feel something. With the aid of a magnifying glass, the offending sliver, and it really was a mere sliver, was removed. Obviously the metal only protruded as the rear wheel bounced on contact at a particular angle. Just in case, the valve hole got a small protector and another tube installed. The bike was then handed over to the waiter from the café next door for a road test, a lap around the square. It sure was a rough road test, straight over kerbs, down stairs and over cobblestones. The wheel was re‑inspected and pronounced fit for service. A long, long process, but worth it... hopefully.
So with the bike ready to roll I spent a pleasant afternoon dodging the rain showers and checking out a few of Porto's attractions that I didn't get to previously. I also went to the Cathedral for a stamp in my credencial ‑ like in Lisboa, the office doesn’t open 'til long after I want to be on the road. I paid my 3€ and toured the Cathedral while I was there. It's more a fortified church than the fanciful Cathedrals of more northerly European cities, quite austere. It was nice to be walking rather than riding so I indulged, I covered quite a bit of the central area and mid‑afternoon I found myself outside the Majestic Café ‑ it had been recommended but closed when I was here on Sunday just a short time ago. Of course I indulged, and indulgent describes the place well. A temple of 20's style with an abundance of white coated staff and so popular there was a queue at the door but (for once) being solo paid off, I was ushered inside immediately. Prices are what you'd expect but the service and atmosphere are probably worth it.
And so my nothing much happened day passed.
Porto to Arcos
Distance: 37 km
Total Distance: 750 km
As always, leaving a city was a chore. Traffic in the central area was thick, as you'd expect in peak hour and navigation was a bit confusing, not only are there multiple official routes ‑ Caminho Central, Caminho da Costa, Caminho por Braga and Senda Litoral ‑ meaning there are arrows pointing every which way, but on top of that, arrows have been put up by different pilgrim groups, municipalities, hotels and cafés. Sorting out which was what took a lot of concentration! Just like the rest of the day, the majority of the route out of Porto was on bloody cobblestones! Adding interest was that like the past few days, a lot of the route went the wrong way down very busy, very narrow ‑ so narrow that when one of the many buses came along it was a case of getting off the bike and squeezing up against a wall while the bus inched past. The oncoming drivers weren't at all concerned about oncoming cyclists. Naturally there were a few hills involved.
Once clear of the inner city areas, the route took a sequence of, for Europe anyway, impossibly long straight roads ‑ some paved some cobbled but all relatively narrow. At one point a delivery truck was parked forcing passing traffic onto the wrong side of the road and a small queue had developed, when I reached the head of the queue I stopped as there were only three vehicles behind me and if I passed first then they'd all need to pass me so I let them go first. Each driver waved me on, to go in front, and when I shook my head and waved them on each was really appreciative, big smiles, thumbs up and a cheerful honk. Interesting behaviour for me, in Sydney drivers would have assumed priority anyway and if not accorded would have been abusive. But, as usual, I digress. Around the airport, navigation became a bit confusing again, it's very obvious that the Caminho is a work in progress and changes are being made quicker than signage (and GPS tracks) can be updated. No great drama tho cos today there were dozens of pilgrims walking ‑ it seems Porto is the most popular starting point of the Caminho Português ‑ and so there were plenty of mobile reference points to follow.
As I've said, the majority of the day was on cobblestones of various types, what they all had in common was that they were incredibly bumpy ‑ even the walkers were complaining. Altho the rear tyre was fine, I wasn't 100% confident about it and so I took a very conservative approach, trying to avoid too many bumps, trying to keep rear wheel impacts to a minimum, trying to keep as much weight of the rear as possible and the like. Perhaps too much so, cos by early afternoon my arms were really felling the effects. Time to stop. So, here I am in another fly‑speck of a village called Arcos. Nothing much here, a nice (big) church, a (very friendly) bar and a few scattered houses and an albergue. Why then do I feel as if I'm sitting on top of the world? Cos Quinta São Miguel De Arcos is a fabulous upmarket albergue which not only offers discounted rates to pilgrims but offers a free same‑day laundry service. Worth it just for that
Arcos to Ponte de Lima
Distance: 57 km
Total Distance: 807 km
Overnighting at a posh place has one disadvantage, breakfast is served at gentlemen's hours and so ‑ not wanting to miss out on my upper crust as it were ‑ I made a late start. Then again, an early start more than likely wouldn't have been on the cards anyway, there was an extremely convivial group of pilgrims gathered at the albergue last nite and the wine flowed like the proverbial water, sore heads as well as sore legs this morning. Besides, there was a thick fog.
Just as I started, I came across obviously confused pilgrims, a lovely chatty South African couple walking the Caminho in reverse, we had quite a chat, something that was to reoccur often throughout the day, there are a lot of pilgrims on the track now and everyone is very chirpy. Even the locals have been loquacious ‑ even when there was an evident language barrier, twice today, elderly locals have, by signs and pantomime, 'told'me that they too have biked to Santiago. A very cheerful people filled day.
But back to that late start. The route was much more varied today, still a lot of cobblestone, but more (drier) forest track and quite a bit of tarmac. And as usual, quite a bit of climbing, and as usual, the figures bely the effort involved. But today, there were some glorious, gentle descents (on tarmac) where I didn't need to turn a pedal for ages. There were also a couple of steeper off‑road descents that needed a keen eye and a firm grip on the brakes... but in general the route today was a pleasant rural meander. Lots of pleasant scenery to soak up and plenty of points of historic interest to soak up including Barcelos.
Barcelos is a lively ‑ tourist filled ‑ gem and home of the brightly coloured cockerel that's synonymous with Portugal ‑ as usual Wikipedia has the tale. Today was market day and I'm a sucker for street markets so I spent some time just gawping... I had hoped to take an off‑bike side trip to nearby Bom Jesus do Monte in Braga (with it's 580 steps that penitents scale on hands and knees) but my late start ruled that excursion out. The route from Barcelos was almost idyllic, along back roads thru valleys of vines. Of course, the problem with valleys in Portugal is that you have to go up to cross into the next one! Again, a fair bit of cobblestone to negotiate, and I took a leaf out of the Tour de France rider's manual and used the gutter, it was relatively smooth, tho, it took a lot of concentration cos as well as sand there may well have been tyre destroying nasties washed off the road.
Like yesterday there were some atmospheric medieval bridges enroute today, including a rather nice long one at the aptly named Ponte de Lima. Ponte de Lima is another tourist magnet, and it's easy to see why, small, photogenic and friendly. And it's a major centre of vinho verde production ‑ not surprisingly, given all the vineyards I passed today ‑ so where better to stop for the day? It's been a really good day, clear (cool) weather, interesting and varied route with just enough of a physical challenge to keep you up to the mark and lots and lots of interaction with pilgrims and locals. All in all, a day to make you feel good about everything.
Ponte de Lima to Tui
Distance: 38 km
Total Distance: 845 km
Another short, but brutal, day. The bête‑noir today, the Alto da Portola Grande, only stands 405 m, but the almost entirely off‑road route was steep & rough and so yet again the effort involved in the ascent seemed way out of kilter with the numbers involved. The track, and that's what it is, merely a track was busy with walkers ‑ tho I did encounter a group of cyclists from a local bike club on their annual ride, this year to Santiago, about a dozen happy, friendly guys all sporting their special edition jerseys complete with map (the first other cyclists I've met on the route). Everyone was plainly finding the day a challenge, lots of resting today! Myself included, plenty of stops, and plenty of walking when the track became so rough that riding became precarious. A very welcome feature was a number of springs (where for once there wasn’t a 'don’t drink the water' sign), the water was cool, almost cold, and refreshing.
Not too much to say about the ride, I was concentrating on just getting to the next town, there were precious few villages or even hamlets along the way.
I eventually rolled off the top of Alto San Bento into Valença, a reward for all my efforts, in more ways than one. The town is modern and nondescript but given that it sits in an elevated situation (naturally) right on the Portuguese/Spanish border there's an interesting fortress (Fortaleza) crammed full of day‑trippers ‑ from where? There are an impressive 5 km of walls that can be walked and the narrow, cobbled streets within are lined with souvenir shops and bars/restaurants but even so, the place has a really nice atmosphere. I treated myself to a late coffee, read coffee and cake of course, and watched the world go by, very restorative. The official route leaves the Fortaleza via a set of stairs but I found a longer non‑stair route very easily. Crossing the river I found myself in Spain. And while I'm travelling in a virtual straight line northward, on crossing the (physically non‑existent) frontier between Portugal and Spain I lost an hour as Portugal uses GMT while Spain uses GMT +1. There were a few other immediately noticeable differences too, as I rode into Tui, the across the river companion town to Valença, it was weird, no traffic, no people about, shops all closed up tight, took me quite awhile to realise that I'd ridden into siesta time.
Tui is similar to Valença, but instead of being built around a fortress, Tui is actually a walled cathedral that grew into a city. A very small old town rises (need I say it? Steeply) from the river and it too has lots of narrow cobbled streets but restaurants rather than souvenir shops abound here. In the late afternoon, well, almost early evening, the town came to life and by now my tired legs were ready for a stroll. I had been, as you’ve more than likely picked up, struggling a bit today, but letting the charms of Valença and Tui wash over me, right now I feel that it's been another good day.
Tui to Pontevedra
Distance: 58 km
Total Distance: 903 km
It was a bit of a shock to the system last nite when dinner was served at 21:00 and again this morning the sun didn't rise until a couple of minutes before 08:00... so even tho I didn't hurry to make an early start, it felt like one in the early morning light. The route out of Tui was peaceful, not too much cobblestone and some idyllic rural paths thru ‑ I was told ‑ oak forests as well as the by now more usual pine and eucalyptus forests. There was also a small section the followed the path of an ancient Roman road, mercifully not a Roman flagstone in sight. While the route was peaceful, it was also incredibly busy, I spent much of the morning weaving between dozens and dozens of walkers, many of whom were ever ready for a chat. I rode for a fair part of the morning with a small group of young, friendly Spanish cyclists, it was rather interesting too. At one point there were two waymarks, right next to each other, the yellow arrow on each pointing in opposite directions! The Spaniards seemed to know the way and without hesitation turned left. I followed. A good ride on a well surfaced route, both on‑road and off‑road ‑ seems we avoided a long drag thru an industrial area ‑ but the group became scattered and the riders I was with decided to stop and wait to regroup, I went on. And promptly got lost! With really good waymarks how do you get lost? Dunno. But I did. Not for long tho. Eventually I caught up with the group again at Mos where some serious climbing started. I was gratified ‑ no, that’s not the word I want, but you’ll know what I mean when I explain. There were a couple of back to back, quite steep climbs, and I was “gratified” to see these fit, young guys, struggling as much as I did yesterday. They walked the second climb. So perhaps I'm not on my own in finding the ascents tough going?
As the saying goes, what goes up must come down, well, today there were some unbelievable descents, including probably the steepest descent I've ever done ‑ and that includes the sign posted 25% gradient coming down into Trieste, Italy. There were a couple of these ultra steep descents and a couple of lovely, sweeping curved ones to really have fun with as well. The Portuguese pattern of up, down, up, down, up... continues in Spain. Not too far out of Redonela, which is on the coast, the route ascended from 3 m above sea level to 112 m, not that steeply, but it was really rocky, for a good deal of the climb it was impossible to ride, the bike had to be manhandled up. It was damn hard work.
Coming into Pontevedra there were again lots of walkers and again weaving around them took concentration especially as a light misty rain began to fall. Of course the final run into town was uphill and of course there were roadworks ‑ tho no workmen it being a Saturday arvo &#nbsp; Pontevendra is a relatively large, very lively, city with an interesting history. A couple of factoids, Columbas' Santa María was built here and the 18th century Santuario da Peregrina chapel is built in the shape of a scallop shell ‑ the scallop shell being another symbol of the Caminho. Of course, just as I ventured out as a tourist after arriving here, the rain in Spain came bucketing down.
Pontevedra to Padrón
Distance: 45 km
Total Distance: 948 km
Another great day. Another fairly short day. Deliberately so both cos Padrón is central to the whole St James' Way story and partly from here on the route is all upwards.
A dull and chilly start to the day amongst heavy traffic, pilgrim traffic that is, there was hardly a moment today when another pilgrim wasn't in sight, and today I encountered not one but three groups of cyclists undertaking the Caminho. And everyone was up for a chat. More than one pilgrim commented on the relatively short distance to Santiago, I reckon there’s a palpable sense of achievement/relief in the air already.
The route was very scenic, thru fields and vineyards on small (paved and unpaved) back roads, thru forests on some newish looking rammed earth/gravel pathway and some rougher (but nothing too rugged) tracks. Naturally there were hills, and some descents, only one of which caused me any concerns and that was more about the bike than the path itself. The rear brake pads are stuffed! I'm not surprised after yesterday's descending... so I only had the front brake ‑ a recipe for disaster if not carefully used ‑ and the old school kid trick of foot dragging.
I very quickly came to Padrón. Like the other towns/villages I'd passed thru earlier, the town felt deserted, closed up Sunday tight. Then I found where everyone in the whole region was, in the centre of Padrón was a fair ‑ I was told later that it's an itinerant Easter Fair which will set up somewhere else tomorrow. The joint was heaving, alongside the usual fair attractions there were your usual market stalls and some unusual market stalls (furniture for example). The throng was so thick I had to walk the bike. After dumping the bike and gear at my accommodation I ventured back to the fair and to the Igrexa de Santiago a rather austere church which shelters what the faithful believe is the stone mooring post to which the stone boat carrying the dead Saint tied up to. The church was firmly closed. So while sacred was unavailable, profane was readily available, in abundance. I spent an entertaining late afternoon joining ‑ the diminishing‑ throng, the fair was packing up, ready to move on but as with all fairs, food plays a big part and it was no different here, great hunks of meat BBQing over coals, huge octopuses being sliced and great trays of paella had lots and lots of eager customers waiting. And there were churros, chocolate churros...
Padrón to Santiago de Compostela
Distance: 28 km
Total Distance: 976 km
And so we come al final del camhino, to the end of this particular road.
Last nite I shared a dinner table with a rather interesting fellow pilgrim, according to who while the Caminho is an overtly Christian pilgrim path it's actually a repackaged/repurposed pre‑Christian ritual of renewal. Seems people walked to the end of the world ‑ conveniently located around Finisterra, the finish of land ‑ to be re‑born for centuries before the appearance of Christians and so rather like Christmas (and the fast approaching Easter) a pagan tradition has morphed into a Christian tradition. But the most important thing I learned was that Padrón is famous for it's pimentos which have some genetic quirk that means only 1 in 20 is chili‑ish hot. And that's about the most serious the conversation got, everyone knew, and kept repeating, that Santiago was a mere twenty or so km away, so there really was an air of almost exuberance in Padrón last nite.
Such exuberance evaporated ‑ or perhaps dissolved is a better word ‑ this morning tho, it was raining. The thought of a few hours in the rain was obviously weighing on minds. With the late sunrise and the rain, it was a quite dark start and, as was to happen for the whole ride, the route went along the N550 and it was busy! I brought extra bike lights with me and this morning I used them ‑ I was flashing so many lights I could have been a Christmas tree ‑ but with next to no shoulder in places, it wasn't pleasant riding. Especially as much of it was uphill. As advised, plenty of the route was upwards, though there were no really steep or really rough bits to negotiate today, in fact even tho the rain was virtually non‑stop, the ride was quite pleasant. After yesterday I'd been expecting plenty of company today on this last, short, bit of the journey, but maybe cos of the rain, walkers were few and far between ‑ no other cyclists either. Navigation was easy, just follow the yellow arrows and the other plentiful signs, that is until I arrived in Santiago where yet again I was faced with the conundrum, two waymarks each pointing in the opposite direction and with no explanation of the alternatives in sight. This time I went right only to find that the waymarks petered out quite quickly, tho even in the rainy gloom you could see the Catedral so it wasn't all that bad. Like the ride, the Praza do Obradoiro, the end of the road for the Caminho, was fairly deserted, 
just a few pilgrims standing in the rain congratulating ‑ and photographing ‑ each other. A fellow pilgrim did the honours and captured an image of me as a half‑drowned rat standing in front of the Catedral in the rain.
A rather anticlimactic finish to the ride.