Grumpy Old Men On Bikes

Last time Plum and I were in Evora we went to a nice little local's restaurant where we had a laughably inexpensive feast; it turned out we were staying within a couple of hundred yards of the place...so that was dinner sorted.  Or rather, it wasn't.  They were busy and couldn't seat us so we implemented our standard fallback plan: head towards the centre of town and go in the 1st open place we find.  This turned out to be an Indian where we had what passes for a curry in Evora.   When I look at an Indian menu I note the price of a main meat dish and make the assumption that the total cost will be a bit higher.  Of course, bhajis, rice and a naan effectively double this and once you have thrown in a mandatory Cobra it is an expensive meal! My mention of imminent bad weather was premature due to my inability to read a weather forecast.  Those delights will actually be tomorrow.  Today was overcast and we caught a few drops...

We dined next door in Mrs Cyclist Hater's restaurant.  She and her husband thawed during the evening thanks to our boyish charms and we even got a smile or two before we left.  MR CH handed us menus and gave us his recommendation...grilled pork in garlic and we decided that would do, which was lucky because it quickly became apparent that the Portuguese word for 'recommended' actually means 'this is what you are getting whether you want it or not'. It is common for main courses here to come with 2 forms of carb...rice and chips being the usual.  Our meal came with chips and a regional speciality which should be called Mushy Bread (perhaps it is!).  Take some bread crumbs, soak them in water, add a bit of colouring but, and this is crucial, absolutely no flavouring.  Warm slightly and serve.  It isn't as delicious as it sounds! Today was another belter with clear blue skies, highs in the twenties and quiet roads.  There were a ...

Think of this as being like the supplement that accompanies your Sunday newspaper, with  more in-depth features and articles. I am famously a poor tourist.  I have no interest in looking at 'stuff' and get my travel pleasure from encounters and situations that widen my understanding of the culture of the countries I visit.  Our little 20 minute stop for lunch today gave me more pleasure than hours of trudging round looking at castles. We had struck out on a proper lunch and just needed a cold drink and a chocolate bar to get us through the last 20 miles so we stopped in a little cafe.  It was a busy spot entirely frequented by locals and a fascinating glimpse into Portuguese village life.   Sitting on the throne. actually a cheap plastic chair, was Mamma.  Mamma sat, legs splayed, with her wrinkly stockings piled up on her shoes, smiling benignly (and somewhat toothlessly) at seven thousand grubby kids who tore up and ...

HOUND DOG I forgot to mention the airport dog loo.  Having built my bike, I went looking for a loo for changing into my cycling skimpies.  I saw signs for one nearby and headed that way then realised it was a special loo for dogs. I am both curious AND lazy so headed on in.  It was basically a public toilet but, where the stalls would normally go, was a big patch of astro turf and a hose. I wriggled into my cycling shorts but then couldn't resist cocking my leg and watering the grass before I left. BRILLIANT MISTAKE I should probably also update you on the bottle of Port.  Our debate went like this: Are we in Portugal...yes Is Port delicious...yes Is Port in Portugal expensive...No Is Port available for purchase nearby...YES I scuttled off to LIDL to purchase the cheapest bottle of Port in the store.  I returned with the most expensive bottle of Port in the store.  The moral of this...

We plan our trips, as far as is practical, to enjoy decent weather but this is never a given. A bit of rain is to be expected, and nothing to be afraid of, but the forecast for Lisbon was wetter than a wet thing.  Faced with the prospect of finding shelter for building our bikes then 20 miles of sub-aqua cycling to our hotel we resolved to get a taxi. Arriving into Lisbon, there was a noticeable absence of rain so figured we might as well revert to plan A and cycle.  The promised long queues for biographic data capture didn't materialise.  Those cunning Portuguese had found a way round the problem...they didn't bother trying.  As a man who has been preparing his stool sample for several days this was a bit of a disappointment. Finding a good spot to build the bikes is always a challenge and today we came up with a corker.  We hauled the boxes off the oversized baggage belt and built them right there.  This created the tantalizing p...

  In February 2023 Plum and I had our first ever DNF (Did Not Finish).  5 days into a 2 week ride from Lisbon to Valencia we were hit by a freak cold front that promised sub-zero temperatures and a pretty miserable time; so, like the hardened cyclists we are, we got a train to Madrid and flew home with our tails between our legs.   We now find ourselves with the time and inclination to do a bit of cycling so are heading back to Lisbon to put things right.  The weather in early November may still be pants but hopefully just cool or wet rather than 'freezing the balls of a brass monkey'.   This will be our 2nd flight to Lisbon this year, and actually my 4th!,.  The airport there has acquired a reputation for long queues for Brits at passport control.  Now the EU has rolled out Phase 1 of its new electronic travel authorisation programme, which requires people to provide biometric data (photo, fingerprints, stool sample…the u...

Real Gone Kid Having arrived a little late at the start, Nick made up for it by leaving a day early.  There was a tear in my eye as I waved him off...then I realised I could take his bedroom.  This was particularly welcome since Plum's snoring was so bad last night I ended up sleeping on the sofa. Not Fair The Spanish do not appear to have any concept of 'weights and measures'.  In Blighty we have rules about such things and people to enforce them.  If you buy a pint it will contain 20 fluid ounces....or if it doesn't you are required, by law, to make a sarcastic comment to the barman.  Something like "could you fit a scotch in there?" is traditional.  Because Malaga is an area with many Brits, every bar offers a beer size called a "pinta".  If you are very VERY lucky this may indeed be a pint but usually it is just the biggest glass they have, which could be anything from about 40cl upwards.  You won't ...

After our big hill on Sunday everyone was looking for an easy day yesterday, so we just rode up the coast to Torremolinos for a leisurely lunch.  This is the joy of fixed-base cycling, with no obligation to be somewhere new at the end of each day. Torremolinos, for me, is synonymous with Brits in Spain....and it lived up to my mental image.  As you approach the town you pass large parking lots full of people 'living the dream'....though it is a mystery why their dream is to live in a tin box in a dirt car park 6 inches from their neighbouring dream-liver.  Then comes a long strip of Guinness pubs, cafes offering full English breakfast, and lots of hotels.  We found a passable beachfront restaurant and ate our lunch overlooking a British couple who were busy playing the version of scrabble where rude words score extra.  She knew some real zingers! After such a leisurely day we were obviously hungry so struck out in search of dinner.  Initia...

We went to the Brazilian and it was magnificent. There were hot dead animals of every kind and we ate lots of them.   Our new arrival, David, is not entirely aligned with corporate policy vis a vis drinks.  We all ordered a large beer but David went for a Pina Colada.....yes, I know!  I will take him on one side tomorrow and explain that this sort of nonsense just isn't acceptable, even if he does like making love at midnight in the dunes of the cape. Today we did a 60 mile ride with clear blue skies and highs in the low 20s....which was nice.  Slightly less nice was the ruddy great hill we had to climb right out of the door.  Distance, grade and total climb are numbers that won't convey the true horror of this bastard so let's describe it in simpler language....2 hours in bottom gear at walking pace.  David redeemed himself after his big drinks faux pa by being slower than me.  Cresting a hill in anything other than last place is an exp...