Passing Through (Hunters, Englishmen, Cows and a Goatherder): near Odemira to bad road/ sandy camp.

September 26, 2015

My new cassette and chain looks neat: notice the new aluminium jockey-wheel in the derailleur.

A party of hunters riding in a pickup truck lurch by upon the gravel track that passes the front of my tent just where it turns a corner and goes up a steep incline. I remain hidden in the tent, not wanting them to stop, but now having reached the incline, the truck halts ticking over a moment. I expect they see the bike and assume I'm not here for longer than an overnight stop. Anyway the truck shifts into gear and resumes labouring up the steep track.

It's well I bought batteries for my lights as its a foggy start to the day. Though there's a lot less traffic on this road this morning. Friday afternoon is normally a busy time on the roads with people going home or going away for the weekend, or whatever.

There is a long twisty hairpin descent to the town of Odemira and it happens again. An open back builder's van with a cement-mixer and shovels in the back, careers by with inches to spare between it and my offset pannier right on the apex of a bend, then brakes in my path on the steeper, tighter lower half of the bend to make it round; duh; causing me to brake hard in order not to run into the back of it. Other cars respectfully wait until the straight between bends and pass only when there's no on-coming traffic. Thus I'm in a convoy of vehicles downhill to the valley bottom and cross a long iron bridge into town. The moronic builder van a few vehicles ahead on reaching the far end, corners without slowing right and races up the cobble stone main-street.

Coming up on midday I descend down to Cercal, a town in a bowl between hills with a roundabout at the bottom as it's central square around which are cafes, a supermarket, pharmacy and bank. I buy what I need at the supermarket then have a coffee and pastel at the most patronised café. At the pavement tables either side of me, the other patrons are Germans on one side and an extended English family with cockney accents on the other having a heated bicker about a person called Ricky to whom a few of those present relate stories of his disagreeable behaviour.

When finished I pay the two euros bill, then walk out to the bike out front leant against a bin and have a dump. Throwing out from my food pannier in the bin, the sardine can from yesterday evening's dinner and plastic drink bottles and other rubbish which has accumulated, having a good rid out. I also adjust the front brake pads which are making an awful squeal.

It is twenty-eight kilometre more to Santiago do Cacem, flanked by parched rolling brown pasture dotted with trees. The traffic but a trickle. And further there's a long steady climb through more precarious hilly country. Where an old stooped grey-haired woman having led two black goats across the road, is now gone back over to coax the rest of the herd over. But the goats are stubbornly not listing to her call, preferring to remain nibbling the bushes on the side of the road they're on.

Descending again to the abovementioned town, now twelve months hence since passing this way before. That day there were odious low clouds and it turned out wet. Today is clear blue sky giving a complete different aspect to the town of gleaming white houses filling the valley and a white cathedral on a hilltop to the left.

Then N120 continues, coming in contact with a single-carriageway motorway where I turned left and rode off toward the coast in a bid to escape the worst of the heavy rain ahead of me that day. Today the weather such a contrast, I continue to Grandola and turn left upon what is a red road in the Michelin map, so I expect a busy road, perhaps with the possibility of it turning to motorway. Joining it I pass a sign "Lisboa 108 km". The traffic is fairy constant, but there's a shoulder; then, a few kilometres in, the shoulder which has been smooth is reduced to rough broken tarmac and in places, a mix of tar and loose stone screed. Progress becomes painfully slow. Then there's a temporary second lane on my side because of a turnoff, along which a decent shoulder returns. About here, it getting on for seven, the sun waning and seeing a hard packed roadway into loose white sand pine forest on the right, I turn off glad to be off the road. The firm roadway come to an end, continuing as car tracks through the loose sand, which I trudge through pushing the bike a little way until finding a place, level and the sand bound by fallen pine-needles, where I set up the tent for the night.

Forward cow and rear cow talk. FC: You need to get that bell tuned to C. RC: Its already in the key of C. FC: Its no more in C than my tail is. It's just a horrible clang. My bell is in G and we need your bell tuned to C to ring in harmony with tomorrow's Sunday morning church bells. RC: I tell-ya it sounds find to me. FC: What sounds find to you doesn't matter. To me it's out of tune. Go on to the farmyard. Farmer John is there servicing the tractor and would love a minute's distraction while he tunes your bell, you being his favourite.

Off road along a deep sand track. Over by those trees to the right looks to be a good place to camp.

Yes moon, what? Oh! Thank's for the light.

Looking towards the highway, notice the long stripe of headlight-taillight caught in slow exposure.

Today's ride: 106 km (66 miles)
Total: 10,670 km (6,626 miles)

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