I felt better. Still a bit shit, but better. My arse feels like the muscles deep inside are bruised like Freddie Mercury and the boys were mining for treasure last night. I think I need to replace my seat with a cushion.
I warmed up with a gentle incline, putting my bike in the easiest gear, trying my hardest to be kind to my delicate toasted buns. Pretty soon I had a morale pick me up, when I passed what was for sure a brothel called, club fanny sxx on the exit from Spain. So now I’m in Portugal, country number 4 on my tour.
Today was a different kind of hot. It was a toasty 37C and exemplified when I passed a river which was in the process of being baked dry. My 1st break in Portugal was in Bragança. It had good food, good coffee and was cheap. Everyone was super friendly and I was already starting to like Portugal a lot.
The next part of my journey took me through a forest and over a mountain. My tooshie was now not happy at all and needed some serious application of my E45 intense recovery cream. I probably over did it on the cream, as it was seeping through my shorts, giving the impression that my balls had exploded in a jizzy nightmare horror show.
The key, was regular breaks. My 1st break was on the mountain side somewhere, where I stuffed my face with brioche and multi-grain energy bars. My 2nd break was in a cafe/bar in a village, on the highlands. They were again very kind and very generous with their supply of figs. They had the Portuguese version of ‘The price is right’ on the TV, which made me burst into laughter at how silly it seemed to have cycled all this way, just to be sat in a bar, which was pumping there same kind of shit through the television as back home.
Onwards and downwards (downhill that is). I was coasting in excess of 60kmph , overtaking cars and cruising through villages with old people sat outside, giving it my best ‘Rick Flare’ style WOOOOOOO!!!! I came to a small town called Ferrodosa, which was at the start of a weekend long festival. I stopped to take a photo of the street decorations, and within 5 minutes, I was dragged into the festivities and was practically force fed food, wine and beer. It seemed like the whole town was happy I was there and made a massive effort to show me a good time. They made sure I danced and I hung out there for a while. They had successfully converted my like for Portugal, into love for Portugal.
I probably ate and drank too much. As I carried on my bike ride I was going like a bag of spanners pedalling square. I only managed another 40kms before calling it a night. By now my bum felt like beef brisket.
“Good times, keep rolling, dance to escape now”