older possibly wiser

Coinciding with the dark story I’m reading, we're now in the hills again, passing through Penela to Castanheria with proper cycling again, exploring the countryside, enjoying the views and marvelling at the ancient engineering of the notable 'stone villages'.  In this area of rural Portugal, we marvel too at the speed of a couple of farm dogs who spotted us on a climb, from their track, on the other side of a narrow valley. They shoot out from a standing start, like greyhounds from the trap and we're the lure that they'll chase until they catch us. Usually dogs will stop at the end of their farm track, but not these two. They hit the bend and pursue us uphill. It's the fastest I've ridden for awhile and Richard nobly has a stand-off with them while I get away and then resorts to his excellent missile throwing skills as their owner shouts feeble admonitions at them from the house.  There are a few badly fenced in dogs around here and not just the pair of shep...

26/02/24 Clouds lift not long after leaving Santiago, as though making the decision has lifted a weight. We’re headed to Porto ripping up the itinerary, two weeks ahead of time. The drive is long, but feels like the right thing to do.   Crossing into Portugal once again feels good, especially since we’re heading to a boutique little campsite outside Porto, where for the first time we’re camping alongside other people. The sun is shining and it’s port tasting evening. I have no idea of the history and the British connection of the port trade. The campsite owners are very knowledgeable. I think they’d worked in the trade and have a commitment to creating a community feel on their little campsite. They have a communal lounge and kitchen area even. It’s like stumbling across an oasis.   A good friend has been to Porto recently and given us a list of bars and restaurants, and nice places to sit and people watch. There are two distinct parts of Porto on eitherside of the Douro river...

Wild Weather The Atlantic coast line is dramatic. Craggy and wind swept in current weather, reminding me of wild Pembrokeshire. The forecast worsens, although we’re able to snatch bike rides with breathtaking views.   The overnight spots are safe but lacking the comfort of hot water and toilets, and the low level anxiety stubbornly persists. If overnight spots are beautiful, it’s worth it. What;s not is n uninspiring campsite with luke warm showers and no hot water for washing up. (I’m the cook, so not my niggle!) It reaches a crescendo when bad weather sets in, a storm drove a small amount of rain water through the usually reliable waterproof canvass of the pop-up roof. Not enough to cause a big problem but still a very mild existential threat, along with the damp causing the heating facility in the van to have an electrical hissy-fit. The antidote for this has been to own it, to verbalise it, and share it, this feeling, and to don waterproofs and do more cycling. Richard remains ...

The long drive Seasoned travellers now, it no longer bothers me to do what our forebears did, and use a piss-pot as necessary during the hours of darkness, when we’re en route and parked up for the night. Luckily for us, running water is plentiful and a good rinse after watering the grass, and the persistent rainfall washes away all sin.   Seasoned or not it was harder to wrench myself away from wintering at home, cosy in a routine and not minding the grey short days. The thrill of the new was not so intense as we passed through more familiar landscapes on efficient French motorways, with consistently high quality services. I became aware of a kind of separation anxiety, a familiar emotion of unease. It manifests as an annoying self perception of being a scaredy-cat, a stuck-in-the-mud, a holding back, like a horse refusing a simple jump. It can be visceral, not wanting to enter a bar for example, a hyper-vigilance that puts the breaks on having fun. I know it comes from childhood ...