Thunderbolt And Lightening, Very Very Frightening: Wild Camp near Santiago do Cacem to Setubal (camping in a city park).

November 4, 2014

Sometimes I think of other Crazy Guys when I see something. In this instant Chris White. A Rainbow To Catch. This one doesn't match his skilful journaling.

The rain battered hard down on the tent. The rider on the road's forecast of a wet night was right. In the same breath he said "...and wet tomorrow morning". So far it's dry. The morning dawned cloudless and drying off, though approaching midmorning it has become increasingly dull as cloud builds and thickens. And rain is moving in to the side with frequent rainbows when the sun reappears.

The minor road meanders and is tree lined with only a few local farm vehicles. To the side is a hop scotch of small stubble fields, twisty plots of trees, small farmsteads and clanking bells on necks of fawn cows and thick curled fleece sheep that wonder around at will.

I ride into town timely around eleven and as the street ascents an incline, there's a pastry shop on a corner where I decide to stop for coffee and something to eat. A man looks out the window with downcast eyes on my bike as I use the pedal to prop the bike on the sub-wall to avoid leaning directly on the shop-window. Inside the same man who's job is sitting behind a cashdesk by the door, where customers pay on leaving, glances over nervously at me throughout what would be my lunch. I pointed out a sausage pastry and a big au raisin thing, not getting to grips with this Portuguese. Some Spanish works. The accent is like in Brazil: sung intonation such as in this place "Santiago do Ca-cem" Sing this starting on a high tone on Santiago, drop an octiv on Do and drop another on the -Cem ending, and you get the approximate accent.

I'm delayed by drizzly rain out. People walking in the street under umbrellas and passing cars' window-wipers peel away the beads. Though it looks worse sat here looking out than it actually is.

I have another coffee until its over. When the sun reappears I rise and pay the man at the door whom I got the feeling from the way he was looking at me, thought I would do a runner. But when I produce a crisp five euro banknote, smiles.

They were GOOD YEAR(s) when people lived here.

My camera doesn't have anti-shake whatsit and as I took this one-handed, the camera must've shook as it has turned out blurred. But my lefthand holding the card is my magic hand, especially when fortified with two coffees. What a relief all isn't lost as the card's in focus, albeit not as sharp as desired. It takes a third cup for that.

The street straight on leads me out of town upon another minor road, signposted Lisboa, also a place called Grandola. Shown on the map this road goes in the right direction, but then swings east well out of my way. Where the road swings it comes in contact with a major road going in my northerly direction. When I get there there's slip-road access onto what is a single-carriageway motorway with a vehicle wide smooth shoulder. Easy-going though steady uphill all the way. And ahead the sky's looking nasty. A midnight blue vortex is pouring down rain and the road is heading into the eye of the storm.

On the hilltop there's a turnoff going left and I take the off-slip hoping to avoid a soaking, actually thinking of sheltering where the slip passes underneath the road as the rain is extremely close, but think I could be stuck there for a long time so continue while it remains fair. The sky grows ever darker as shafts of rain engulf the hill on my right. And as I continue a cold wind blows in on me and soon spots of rain pelt me and the road. An oily tarmac fragrance is in the air. The sudden crescendo of icy rain hammers down. The cloud fractures in a flash and thunders. It is near impossible to see where I'm going and the only shelter are trees to the side which isn't much, so heavy the rain. And raw cold. I push the bike up a steep laneway to a building with a solar hot-water system on the roof. It turns out to be a dwelling house as the way levels into a yard and I rush over underneath a veranda over the front door, which is open though with a bead-string curtain. Mummered conversation comes from within, but because of the rain, no-one hears me. No inhabitant ventures out to see their unannounced visitor.

I pull the camera out a little too late when the rain stops and all falls silent. The sun creates a bright glow margin on the racing cumulus and breaks upon china blue sky. Though the resulting point at the heavens shot has whiteout and much sunspot, its interesting.

With a river running down the gutter, the road on is steady downhill toward the coast as the sky develops a crisp blue and yellow rays of sunshine highlight orange tiled roofs and gardens with windfall oranges.

I pass a grocery shop in the next village as I think there'll be more opportunities to get food ahead. There aren't. There are a few villages ahead, but no shops. Then the road follows a long narrow split with ocean on the left and an estuary on the right to a turning circle and a ferry onward across to Setubal. There's another downpour on the way. Waiting for the next sailing dark clouds close in and it is raw cold from being at the coast.

It is nightfall when I disembark the other side. I'm still on the lookout for a food shop as I ride along the street by the quayside.

The street ends where the steep wooded hillside meets the beach and at this point there's a municipal park with a café. A place to eat and a place to stealth camp later. The woman in the café makes me a ham sandwich with two chunky slaps of crust-removed bread and I ask for a beer. I take a seat and demolish the sandwich, then linger sipping the beer. There is kite-surfing from Brazil on the large TV screen. I remain until the woman motions that she wants to lockup for the night. Outside it is drizzling lightly. I find a secluded place in the park and use the bike headlight to see as I pitch the tent. Joggers pass and I hear their pattered footfall into the evening as I lay snug on the lawn hoping no official person comes and insists I can't stay here. I most take down the tent and leave. At the end of a long day, it would be hard to forego the comfort of my sleeping-bag.

No shops on the way and I become hungry.

Today's ride: 91 km (57 miles)
Total: 7,876 km (4,891 miles)

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