Portugal sucks. But the riding is insane.

Location: Lisboa, Portugal
Photos: here and here

Two days ago, I was in a hyper-super-shitty mood. I pried myself away from Puerto Banus, with all kinds of thoughts on my mind. It was at 8 times fast forward and nothing I did, or tried to do, could slow the mind down. I really didn't want to go, but I couldn't stay either.

I was nervous for making the decision to U-Turn and head to Portugal. I was feeling very pissed off at the car for shifting so slowly from 1st to 2nd gear. I was upset that I had not a single piece of civvie or bike clothing that was clean. I was pissed of at Gibraltar for being such a dumb, stupid rock. 

I was confused by the Portugese language and all of the dush-kush-dush. I wanted it to be more like Spanish, which I could process. I went through five tolls wondering why there was no one collecting money before I realized I had to pay in advance, which means five very expensive bills waiting for me at home.

And the hotel I choose for two nights in Quarteira, well it is right on the beach, but its an old folks home. Thats not the worst of it. Its an old folks home for fat, white, British people. And I like British people, but I wasn't going to be talked into liking anybody on this day. 

The field moves through Stage 3
of the Tour of Algarve. Ben King in
the Trek uniform with USA accents.  

Everything I got was a no. No, no ice. Maybe a cup. Ok, ten cups then, please. No, not possible.

No, not open. No, kitchen is closed. No, nothing is freshly prepared. No, we don't have fridges in the room. No, the WIFI is not free. No, we don't have that available tonight.  No, no bike shops. No, no english. No, no espagnol.

And you know what? They know that I know that they speak Spanish, and probably English too, and they probably have ice, they could just give a shit. And I get it, this place is very depressed, financially and otherwise. I'm not walking into a steakhouse asking for sushi here, I just want some ice and a bite to eat.

Me on the same mountain and
about half that speed. 

I make my mind up, in order to rationalize this, that Portugese people just aren't very nice. After all, I'm getting no waves in response, no smiles back at me. The drivers are fucking horrible, super fast and super unkind.

And I was thinking it was just me, and then an Italian guy I meet on my bike made me feel a little better about it. "Yes, different than the Spanish," he says.

I thought I was going batshit or something, but it's not me after all. And take it with a grain of salt, too, because I'm talking about 3 days in this country in the middle of winter. I'm actually quite shocked to see so many restaurants open, but with no one in it.

No wonder they have nothing to serve you...what would be the point of stocking anything?

My spot for Stage 3 of the
Tour of Algarve. 

And I really did need something substantial to eat, so I walked a total of about a mile around Quarteira, and was unable to find anything suitable, so sputtering a bunch of fucks and shits, I walked back to my hotel and into the buffet and all there was was a sea of elderly. And I couldn't do it. I just could not do it.  

So I ate the two bags of peanuts and a banana, that I had in my bag. It reminded me of the time I was broke and sleeping on a bench in Australia when I was 19, and eating sardines out of a can. At least this time I had a bed.

And then I decided just to go to sleep, eh, maybe finish off this bottle of wine first. That's never bit me in the ass. Tomorrow would be better. 

And the next day, I realize I was right. I woke up early, got some solid eats, and discovered that there was a bike race here, in this very province! And not an amateur race either, one with names I know and follow. So I decided to ride up to the race route and cheer them on. (2012 of Algarve)

Espresso and chocolate milk
and chocolate crossaints. 

It was an amazingly sunny, beautiful day and was all the reset I needed. I just got south Portugal at the wrong time. I keep forgetting it is winter. And then I realize my level of selfishness. I can't expect winter to be anything less than winter just because I stroll into town. 

I once traveled through Turkey in January. No one does that. 

So rode about 60 miles and got a bit of a sunburn, which is nice to feel on the skin. Stopped at a nice little cafe to wait for the peloton to come through. Little, fat, chocolate-hued old lady made me a espresso and I had a crappy, dry, croissant while I waited for the boys to come through.

I was very thankful since I was the only customer for the entire hour I was there, although she seemed very put out by it all, to be honest.

And today, I woke up, and did it all over again. Went up to a place along the route, rode the bike for as long as I thought I had time for, and then got some great pics of the peloton coming through what was a really super hilly ride.

Sky protecting Boassan Hagen

Shouted out as they came through "Tejay Van Garderen!! Where are you?" and right when I said this he was about two riders in and said "Right here, man!". And I yelled back, "The cougar tamer!," which is what he calls himself on twitter.

And he tweeted to me after the race was over: "Thanks for cheering!". And that's just nice to be acknowledged, even though those guys aren't really supposed to acknowledge fans except in private.

And then, when it was all over, and because I could not help myself, I took a crap by the side of a long, deserted dirt road in the Portugese countryside.

Yes, I had wet wipes. No, no cars had come by me in about 30 minutes. Yes, I dug a hole. No, haven't done that since I was camping as a kid.

It's actually a very nice experience, but only with wet wipes. Otherwise, not advisable.

I covered it all up with rocks, although I can't tell you the point of that. Just thought it was polite to make a little rock formation rather than leave a heap of shit.

And then I drove to Lisbon. Holed up in a five star hotel right in the middle of the action. And guess what else? They deliver ice to the room, for no charge.

Bam.