The Sun Makes An Appearance: Hilltop woodland to near Zebreira.

October 13, 2015

I saw the sun rise from behind the hill opposite where I've camped, then disappear behind a rag of cloud, briefly making more appearances. It looks hopeful. Though that isn't to say it won't be raining by noon.

Soon there's the buzz of a chainsaw back toward the road by where I'd entered and sure enough the forestry people had parked their truck on the old road loop left when a more direct route for the road was cut, from which a rutted track turns off to my well-out-of the way campsite, the ruts filled with rainwater and track otherwise muddy after the rain necessitating me to push along the grassy verge until back on the tarmac.

The road (N112), good with a smooth shoulder, though traffic is light and it feels remote, continues a cutting high up a hillside for quite a while with a deep wooded valley below on the right, still full of wisps of morning mist; and above the netted excavated bank on my left, a row of wind-turbines.

It feels fully like October: too cool for shorts. I wear wool-tights bough in Punta Arenas, a cold place year round, and keep my raincoat on, even though the sun has started to shine.

About ten come a long descent to Cambas La Pampa, my brakes making that rough rumble, the result of a lot of rainy weather wear which there's no cure for until I buy new brake-pads.

To the bottom, the last bit very steep down into the village street where locals turn heads as I squeal-brake to a haul. And with being the low point in a clutch of hills, the street rises again, a hard climb until I find a small supermarket, which doesn't stock much, but do have homemade bread, a nice big round of which I have for sixty cents. The only other thing I buy is a can of sardines for fifty-nine. Of coarse sardines in Portugal, even canned are the best. In Spain and many other countries they are less appealing, having a dog foodie-taste, not that I've eaten dog food, but they don't taste authentic. And with a coffee and custard tart stop at a pastelaria, back down the hill, another two forty, that's my expenditure for the day.

On the long climb away from the village, out of the valley and back up high, the day grows cloudy, rain-like and once over the initial hill, the road continues a rollercoaster with fast descents where I'm making good progress. I aim to make up for two lost days over the weekend when it rained, wanting to make it close to the Spanish border by evening.

I lunch on the homemade bread spread with butter at a picnic table before a sharp hairpin bend, just at the base of a hill where the road goes round and back up again. Then set off again as soon as I've finished off orange-juice left from yesterday, it being too cold to hang around.

Though later, must've been after four, the road has descended a long way and the countryside for the most part wide open farmland. The cloud has cleared and it's a very pleasant Autumn day. A reminder that I'm now four seasons on this tour having started in the last few days of Winter.

Apart from verdant greens and browns in the landscape being associated with Spring and Autumn respectively, the sky on clear days is also a magic rich blue with days drawing longer or shorter in this case. The two equinox Seasons really are a delight to be out in.

I bypass Castelo Branco upon a web of dual-carriageways and roundabouts around the town and take a left for "Espanhia", the Portuguese spelling; and, am none too happy to see the sign to the right after joining the road on "Espanhia 70 km". According to the Michelin brothers its only sixty. Its only ten kilometres more, but ten kilometres of a moral knock.

Anyway road N240 isn't much to write about. It would've been bleak if it had of rained. I make fair progress along it covering near forty kilometres, mainly due to there being stock fences the whole way along on both sides of the road, leaving limited camping opportunities.

Eventually as the sun is just above the horizon behind me casting long shadows, I come to an open gap into a small field not of much agricultural use, having rock outcrops and much covered in low bushes, but on looking find many level spots ideal for a tent. Though it had been used as a cattle pen recently, as there are cowpats everywhere limiting camping possibilities somewhat, especial along a dry stone wall inner boundary which I push my bike alongside, it being further from the road and therefore out of sight.

I preserve along the stone wall up a little rise where at once a farmyard come into view a few hundred metres away across the next field. But apart from a scattering of cattle on a trampled slope up to a cattle-shed, see no other life about, so go ahead and find a clean level spot in among bushes.

I am inside the tent and setting up my stow to cook, it now dark and I'm using my head-torch, when a dog starts barking at the farm. Seems it knows I'm here. I'm sure if someone come now, they'd see the bike and see I'm a harmless cyclist.

I hate dogs. Not all, just the ones that bark giving away my campsite.

Today's ride: 107 km (66 miles)
Total: 11,191 km (6,950 miles)

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