Cycling – Page 2 – Avoiding Potholes

Cycle Touring Super Highway

It was just 50km outside Vienna that the young couple overtook us … cruising serenely past with their matching e-bikes and small, lightly packed panniers. “Grüß Gott” they beamed in greeting “Guten Morgen!”

And why not? It was a beautiful day and they were nearing the end of a wonderful holiday, enjoying this most popular of adventures … the Danube Cycle Path from Passau to Vienna.

Over 30,000 cyclists enjoy riding this section of the Donau Trail every summer, making it the busiest bicycle path in Europe. It’s a true Cycle Touring Super Highway.

Most cyclists with panniers had read the same instructions as us and were cycling downstream from west to east.

They were a mixed bunch.

Older couples on e-bikes were in the majority. But there were also plenty of young families, often towing the family dog along for the ride. We also saw several large organised tours, all with matching bikes, matching panniers and sometimes even matching t-shirts.

*Mum had the luggage, Dad the younger child, Daughter the dog*

Once or twice we came across a bare chested e-bike warrior gamely pulling a mountain of camping gear on his trailer and racing ahead of the rest of his group.

On the super smooth surface we were able to ride happily along at our new e-bike cruising speed of 24-25 km/hour, just below the point at which the motor cuts out. At this speed we reeled them all in … the oldies, the families, the groups, even the e-bike warriors … effortlessly passing by with a cheery “Guten Morgen” or some such annoying greeting.

Until now!

Humph, we muttered to each other … nobody overtakes us on on e-bikes!

We put in a tiny bit of extra effort and managed to overtake the young couple back, pretending of course that we weren’t trying.

They came past us again.

An e-bike race almost happens in slow motion. All our motors are limited to the same speed and it’s a huge effort to cycle consistently above that cut out point.

The path veered inland so we tucked in behind them, swooping as a pack around hairpin bends, just missing a wiry old gentleman on a rusty black bike.

Then it opened up onto another long straight. Carefully holding the pace we eventually inched past them and held our position for another exhausting four or five kilometres. They were on our back wheels the whole time, like sinister shadows.

As this race was only really happening in our heads … we could decide where the finishing line would be. Feeling pretty knackered, we quickly decided it was the footbridge just ahead.

We pulled over breathing deeply.

They rode on with a grin and a cheery wave. They probably thought it was just the end of the first lap.

Riding at this e-bike touring speed means that we can cover longer distances for our preferred 4-5 hours of pedalling each day. From Nuremberg to Straubing to Passau to Linz to Melk we leapt down the Danube in 90-100km stages.

The prize for all this effort was a proper tourist cycling day of just 45km, cruising through the beautiful Wachau valley between Melk and Krems.

We started at the stunningly beautiful Melk Abbey, rebuilt in the Baroque style in the early 1700’s and surviving the dissolution of the monasteries that destroyed many of its peers later in the same century.

This makes it one of the best preserved Baroque buildings in the world. So well preserved that photography is not allowed inside the abbey itself which was great news for us as it meant we could enjoy the building without looking through a sea of camera phones.

But it also means we can’t show you what it looked like.

So here’s a picture of the cafe instead …

No doubt you can tell from the cafe that the abbey itself was not understated!

Just 6km downstream was another fairytale gem, the 12th century Schloss Schönbühel. No need for camera phones here either as the castle was temporarily closed.

The guy at the ticket office was very pleased with his joke, which he must have said a thousand times already … “Das Schloss ist geschlossen!” Ho, ho, ho!

No matter, there was still plenty more fun to be had in the rest of the Wachau. But we had barely pedalled a few kilometres before we discovered the next surprise … the Danube Bike Path was blocked by a landslide.

That meant for an unexpected treat … a free Danube River Cruise. We’d seen plenty of pleasure boats cruising up and down the river, so imagined we’d be transported in something that looked like this …

What we got was this …

It was still good fun to get out onto the river, if a little bumpy! There was so much wash from the proper river cruisers that our young skipper excitedly declared that these were the biggest waves he’d ever seen on the Danube. EVER!

He seemed to be loving it a lot more than we were.

We were back on the river again as soon as we reached Spitz, this time on a calmer, more familiar vessel. Ancient cable ferries have been taking people and their stuff backwards and forwards across the Danube since the 13th century.

They’re simple but very clever. Secured to a cable fixed high above the river a few metres upstream, they just need to angle their twin bows into the current to glide silently across. Perfect eco-friendly transport!

After spending so much time on the river we fancied a view so we cycled up to the ruins of Hinterhaus Castle. It was the second time we’d gone off piste to get some height and both occasions have required some serious mountain-bike skills to navigate the steep, rocky bike paths.

The first occasion was an even more rugged climb to enjoy the iconic view of the Schlögener loop between Passau and Linz where the river is forced make a series of 180 degree bends. Tough … but we’re sure you’ll agree the view was worth the effort!

From Hinterhaus castle, we not only had a great view of the Danube, but also of the vine terraces that make the Wachau valley famous. The abundant grapes turn into some of Austria’s finest wines, notably Grüne Veltliner and Riesling.

As the late afternoon sun mellowed, a ride down through the vineyards and apricot orchards made for a glorious end to a perfect cycling day.

As did sampling both a delicious home made apricot ice-cream and, of course, a glass or two of Wachau’s finest. It would be rude not to!

A week earlier it hadn’t looked so rosy.

We’d arrived at Frank’s bike shop in Nuremberg after an incident free journey and left our car in the capable hands of his team. It was exactly a year since we’d abandoned the ride to Istanbul and it felt quite emotional to be back on exactly the same spot.

We rode off to our hotel literally shrieking with pleasure and relief, much to the alarm of the people who happened to be passing by.

Once again we were on the road. Once again we were heading towards Istanbul.

Once again it didn’t quite turn out like that.

Andy woke up at 5am the next morning with a nasty dose of sickness and diarrhoea. We’ll spare you the details but suffice to say a stomach bug is not a good fit with a bicycle tour! Andy was beginning to feel he had the Nuremberg curse.

Fortunately it only lasted three days and was gone by the time we reached Passau.

Our friend, Judith, once made a very insightful comment on this blog about the dubious pleasure of riding down canal paths, something we’ve endured many times.

“Canal paths are like fish and chips, nice to start with but then too much and rather boring.”

By comparison the Danube River is a royal banquet, a smorgasbord of delights.

As you cruise down the super smooth cycle path the river swirls gently by, milky jade mixed with cinnamon and ochre undertones … never still, always changing. The trees lining the banks seem to lean forward slightly as if lazily dipping their toes in the water.

Then to break things up, the path will meander away from the river, up through a wood or around a village. Sometimes it accompanies a railway line, sometimes a road. Sometimes it climbs a little for a broader perspective.

If you wander off the main path it’s not too difficult to find your way back to the river. There are plenty of signs. The Danube is your constant and reliable companion.

And the Austrian authorities do love a sign!

One particular sign that kept popping up every few kilometres was to warn us of the danger of a Treppelweg. What could it be? These nasty Treppelwegs were everywhere.

A dangerous current in the river to watch out for? Some kind of vicious animal? The Danube River Monster?

Sometimes the signs were crossed out, helpfully telling us the Treppelweg danger was over. Phew! Then around the corner there lurked another one.

In the end we had to look it up … a Treppelweg is a slope.

Now this is the very, very, VERY flat Danube Cycle Path, not the Alps, so if there was a slope it was barely perceptible. A gentle dip at most. But thanks for alerting us to the danger Austria!

The warnings became catastrophic the only time there was a proper slope …

The Danube Cycle Path is not perfect though. Sometimes the path turns to gravel … although it’s very smooth gravel. Once (shock horror) we found ourselves on a road. A proper road with trucks and fast cars zooming past. On this occasion the signs were sadly lacking, making our presence quite a surprise for both cyclists and motorists.

That’s probably because it was flat, if only there had been a Treppelweg there would have been loads of signs!

The destination for most people holidaying on the Danube Cycle Path is Vienna and it’s a real treat, a fantastic city break.

Two people dominated our weekend there … the Empress Elizabeth of Austria and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Both of them are everywhere.

Elisabeth, better known as Sisi, is easily Austria’s favourite Empress. She did have an unusual and interesting life. Some of the highlights that stood out to us include:

She enticed the emperor away from her older sister at the tender age of 15.

She played a pivotal role in negotiating the creation of the Austro-Hungarian empire.

She did gymnastics every morning in her bedroom (you can still see the equipment).

She slept with cloths soaked in cider vinegar to preserve her slim waist and bathed in olive oil to preserve her skin tone.

She fell into a deep depression after her son killed his 17 year old mistress and then shot himself.

Mozart is Austria’s favourite composer having lived in the city for many of his most productive years, achieving fame but sadly, not fortune.

We listened to an excellent string quartet at the Sala Terrana, the very room in which the maestro himself (allegedly) played.

We then ate at the city’s oldest restaurant, the Greichenbeisl (Greek Inn) the very place where maestro (allegedly) enjoyed many a convivial evening.

His signature is on the ceiling, together with those of Beethoven, Strauss, Schubert, Pavarotti and Phil Collins … so it must be true!

Empress Sisi once said … “Destination’s are only desirable because a journey lies in-between.”

She could have been summing up the joy of bicycle touring … on the Danube Super Highway or anywhere else.

Our journey to Budapest is back on that Super Highway.

But we promise not to use it as a race track anymore. After all, we’re not e-bike warriors … well not yet!

Clare and Andy

As we’re continuing the journey from last year, we’ve decided to combine the stats starting from Bath.

Bath to Vienna:

1,938km pedalled (1,204 miles)

10,514m climbed

102 hours in the saddle

This means we’re now about half way from Bath to Istanbul.

Crossing the Delaware

On Christmas night in 1776, George Washington famously led part of his army across the icy Delaware river in a surprise attack against the British.

Coming just six months after the Declaration of Independence was signed in Philadelphia, it was a bold and desperate act from a desperate general.

After many defeats including the loss of New York, the morale of Washington’s ragged army was at an all time low as the harsh Pennsylvania winter set in. Without food or warm clothing numbers were shrinking fast, he was losing more men to disease and desertion than to battle.

But, in a heavy snowstorm, he surprised the British troops enjoying their Christmas festivities and scored an important victory. His daring raid revitalised the patriot army and gave new life to the American Revolution that would eventually lead to Washington himself being declared the first president of the United States.

We too had to cross the Delaware river to start our American cycling adventure, heading east out of Philadelphia and into New Jersey.

It was perhaps a little easier … we had the huge Benjamin Franklin bridge to carry us across instead of flimsy boats, the weather was a lot better and we weren’t carrying any heavy artillery (not even a hair dryer!)

But it was still a little daunting.

Like the rest of our cycling experience in America so far, it turned out to be much easier than we expected. A path dedicated to pedestrians and cyclists kept us well above the busy road and rail track, and gave us some great views back to the city.

*Cycling towards City Hall, Philadelphia*

Did we say “cycling”?

It turns out that no one in America understands what that means … so what we really mean is “biking”. In the States we are bikers!

And the biking has been great. There are plenty of quiet roads or bike lanes to choose from. Even on busier roads, motorists are very courteous, waving us across at junctions, letting us go through lights first and giving us a wide berth as they pass. In urban areas cars seem to glide gently along … no horns, no hurry.

In fact American drivers are so polite that they go straight to the top of our ‘Car Courtesy League’ pushing the Irish down into second place. Let’s hope it continues!

We learnt about Washington’s crossing of the Delaware from the Museum of the American Revolution museum, one of many excellent museums and art galleries in Philly. It even features Washington’s perfectly preserved war tent, a tent so famous that it has its own high tech multi-media show.

*The Liberty Bell, in front of Independence Hall*

Other visitor attractions include important symbols from the struggle for freedom from the British … the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall and the Benjamin Franklin Museum.

As the most favourite of favourite sons, you can’t miss Ben in Philly. As well as the bridge there’s a highway, a borough, a park, a science museum, a football stadium, a gentleman’s club and several schools all named after him.

To be fair he did have quite a life … founding father, printing entrepreneur, newspaper publicist, diplomat and inventor. His many inventions include bifocal glasses, the lightening rod and kite surfing. It’s true … as a keen swimmer, he created a kite that pulled him backwards and forwards across his pond!

*The Glass Armonica, a musical instrument invented by Franklin. It uses the same principle as rubbing a finger around the edge of a glass*.

Despite these many achievements, Benjamin Franklin was not the highlight of our visit to Philadelphia. The highlight was the Barnes Foundation and its extraordinary collection of impressionist art.

*Promenade with Child, Pierre-August Renoir*

Having made his money inventing and marketing a disinfectant that became popular for treating venereal disease, Albert C. Barnes started collecting modern art in the 1920’s at a time when Impressionism was nowhere near as popular as it is today.

Once overhead saying to a friend that … “I am convinced I cannot get too many Renoirs” … he stayed true to his word, eventually hovering up a collection of 181 Renoir paintings. To that extraordinary number he added 69 by Cézanne, 59 by Matisse, 46 by Picasso and several more by Van Gogh, Rousseau, Modigliani and others.

The Barnes Foundation is unlike any art gallery we’ve ever been to.

We were very lucky. This is a quiet time in the visitor cycle, allowing us to wander through the small, intimate rooms almost alone.

They are left exactly as Albert Barnes arranged them at the time of his death in 1951. The paintings are not displayed chronologically or by artist, but by theme or colour. Interspersed with African masks, native American jewellery or Victorian iron doorknobs, Barnes believed that art, like life, should not be segregated.

The effect is astonishing. Breathtaking.

And for the cheesesteaks!

This famous local delicacy is a long, crusty roll filled with thinly sliced, freshly sautéed ribeye beef and melted cheese … with just the right amount of drip.

As we cycled (sorry … biked) towards Atlantic City we soon came across another slice of Americana. New Jersey is the spiritual home of the great American Diner, with more diners than in any other state. They are perfect places to refuel … sitting at a counter, munching our way through an enormous portion, letting the ketchup run down our chins.

After a lunch or breakfast like that, it’s a wonder that we are able to pedal on at all!

Altlantic City itself was disappointing, much faded from its glory days as the prime East Coast beach resort and city of bootleggers. Today it’s dominated by cheap candy stores, kiss-me-quick arcades and casinos.

At this time of year, we’re expecting a few enforced rest days to shelter from the rain. The first one came sooner than we hoped … after just two days of cycling we were itching to move on.

It doesn’t rain gently here … this is proper rain. Big, strong American rain!

Not having the fortitude of Washington and his men, we were glad to be safely tucked up inside our hotel, watching it pour down across the parking lot.

But there was a bonus.

The following day the tail end of the storm created a strong tailwind that swept us down the Jersey Shore to Cape May, a beautiful preserved Victorian seaside resort that boasts one of the top 10 most beautiful beaches in the country.

It was as we crossed back over the Delaware by ferry that we heard the Queen had passed away. It was a moment of mixed emotions … joy at her long life well lived, sadness that she’s gone. She has been ever present in all our lives and a such a strong, calming influence.

Knowing that Americans love their flags, we’ve attached a couple of small Union Jacks to the back of our bikes. We were amazed to see how many people flagged us down to ask us if we’d heard the news that our Queen had died and to tell us how sad they were feeling.

So whilst Washington famously crossed the Delaware to score a symbolic victory that led to pushing the British out, we British Bikers have been a lot more fortunate.

We’ve crossed the Delaware to a very warm welcome.

Clare and Andy

Same Same but Different

On cresting the top of a small hill, an Amish horse and cart suddenly pulled out right in front us.

Pausing to enjoy this unusual sight, we swept down the hill behind them. It was easy to catch them up, then cruise past with a wave and a polite nod in return. But the road turned sharply upwards and our legs soon became no match for their horsepower.

Once again we overtook them on the next descent, once again they easily passed us on the next climb. Did we see the hint of a smile? Probably not, the self styled plain people don’t believe in gloating!

We were cycling on the backcountry roads of Lancaster county in Pennsylvania, between the small towns of Oxford and Strasburg. This is the beating heart of Amish country with a community of around 43,000 living and farming here, the largest group in America.

Horse drawn buggies are the family saloon of the Amish world. They are normally enclosed grey boxes with enough space for mum, dad, a few kids and the weekly shop.

*Parked outside the local grocery store*

The open cart we tried and failed to race is a traditional 16th birthday present given to a young man to take his sweetheart out for rides through the local covered bridges. Not for nothing are they known as ‘date buggies’ and ‘kissing bridges’.

We passed scores of identical farms each with a weatherboard house, a barn, a grain silo or two and a washing line full of simple, old fashioned clothing swaying in the breeze.

No cars, no motorbikes and no other ‘English’ people (all outsiders are known as ‘the English’ to the Amish.)

After a while buggies became so common they were unremarkable. More striking were the traditional single room schoolhouses, a young female teacher bravely managing a single class of 6-14 year olds. As were the horses ploughing the fields or carrying away newly cut corn.

It was a magical experience. A peep into another world.

Locals tell us the Amish are a happy community, living at peace with themselves and with their ‘English’ neighbours. Few young people are leaving and the population is increasing quickly.

But they do have many idiosyncrasies.

Take their attitude to bicycles!

The Amish are famous for rejecting most forms of modern technology, although it’s a little more nuanced than that. New technological innovations are carefully considered by the elders of each community, both for the value to their way of life and the potential disruption.

Tractors are generally banned, 1950’s style washing machines are allowed, mobile phones are only permitted for business phone calls.

On the face of it, bicycles are a perfect low tech mode of transport. Indeed, they are used extensively by Amish communities in Illinois and Indiana. There’s even a group in Ohio who have embraced e-bikes.

But in Lancaster County, bikes are banned. Instead both children and adults get around on specially designed scooters.

It’s difficult to find out why this is …

Some say the decision was made in the late 1800’s when the bicycle was first invented. At the time they were expensive and impractical for the rough 19th century country roads. Once a decision has been made here, it’s hard to get it overturned. Precedent is a powerful thing!

Others say that the bicycle has the potential to take young people too far away from home.

And others that the humble scooter has now become an enduring symbol of Amish life in Lancaster County, together with beards, buggies and bonnets. It’s much too symbolic to be superseded by bicycles.

We’ve decided to stick with our bikes!

After crossing the estuary from Cape May, we stayed in Rehoboth Beach, home to President Biden’s ‘Summer White House’. We then cycled for three days through the sorghum, sweetcorn and pigeon-pea fields of rural Delaware before heading up to Lancaster. It all felt green and clean, gentle and well organised.

Most of the ride was in delightful early fall weather … sunny days, not too hot, a softness to the air.

But we did get a complete soaking in northern Delaware and had to take cover in a small copse of trees for an hour or so. This also gave Andy an opportunity to try out his new piece of kit … a bright yellow rain cape, ideal for proper American rain.

Clare says he looks like the worst touring cyclist she’s ever seen, especially as the cape inflates like a balloon from behind.

He might look like an idiot … but at least he’s dry!

Andy has also experimented with a major change to his bike … some trekking or butterfly handlebars.

Over the years, he has cast many an envious glance at the proper adventure touring cyclists who often put these handlebars on their proper adventure touring bikes.

Andy thinks they’re a winner … lot’s of different hand positions, easy gear changes and a more upright riding position to enjoy the view.

Clare thinks they look like antlers!

She’s decided to stick with her drops … and her rain jacket. Once she finds something that works for her she doesn’t much like change (which Andy secretly thinks is just as well.)

We left Lancaster and the Amish to cycle up the Susquehanna River into industrial, upcountry Pennsylvania. Close to Harrisburg, we passed the haunting remains of Three Mile Island, the site of America’s worst nuclear accident in 1979. Now closed, the decommissioning process should be completed by 2079!

We popped into McCleary’s pub in Marietta, and ended up staying all evening, talking politics at the bar and then dancing to some classic American tunes from a great live band.

Pennsylvania is a ‘swing state’ often switching back and forth between Republicans and Democrats. The senate race for the upcoming mid-term elections in November could even decide the overall balance of power.

Perhaps because it’s election time, we’ve found that lots of people here are keen to talk about politics and the divisions they see in American society today. Over the last few days we’ve heard the full range of political opinion … from Trump supporters to mainstream Republicans to Democrats and some Independents.

Whilst there’s little agreement on how things should be done, we’ve noticed that what people want is often much the same. The list of things people reel off usually includes fair rewards for hard work, a safe and peaceful place to live, opportunities for their children etc.

But most people here do seem worried that political differences are increasing and becoming more divisive.

We’ve now arrived in Gettysburg, one of the most famous symbols of the American Civil War. Sometimes called the ‘Brothers War’ (as friends or even family members found themselves on opposite sides), it was a time when political differences led to a brutal, bloody conflict.

Gettysburg was a humbling place from which to watch Queen Elizabeth’s funeral. Amongst her many other virtues, she was known for listening and trying to understand a range of different opinions.

Perhaps the Amish can also teach us something about resolving conflict.

In 2006 an ‘English’ neighbour killed five little girls at an Amish school just a few kilometres east of the area we cycled through, before turning the gun on himself.

It was the Amish community’s response that astonished everyone. Within hours they reached out to the gunman’s family offering forgiveness and compassion, realising that they were suffering too.

So same same but different can be OK, at least in Lancaster County.

Clare and Andy

725km pedalled (450 miles)

3,501m climbed

29 hours in the saddle

Land of the Free

Riding a bicycle is a great way to explore a battlefield.

And Gettysburg is a wonderful battlefield to explore.

Beautifully preserved as a national treasure, the site is littered with memorials to the men who fought to a standstill there over three brutal days in July 1863, at the height of the American Civil War.

*The Pennsylvania Memorial at Gettysburg*

Some places that saw the worst of the fighting are legendary … Little Round Top, Pickett’s Charge, the Wheatfield.

We stood alone in the Wheatfield at sunset, having cycled around the park after the crowds and tour buses had left for the day.

It’s now a peaceful and beautiful spot but it was impossible not to be moved by the imagined horrors of that day.

This small field changed hands four times in a series of confused attacks and counterattacks. By the time they had finished, over 6000 men lay dead and injured on the ground.

Two days later, we came across an even deadlier crop … the Cornfield at Antietam.

Nine months earlier, in September 1862, twenty five thousand men fought backwards and forwards through this field, firing at point blank range through the thick, high stalks of corn.

*The corn is ready to harvest as it was in September 1862*

It seems we picked some of the most brutal civil war sites to visit. Gettysburg was the bloodiest battle of the war. Antietam was the bloodiest single day. Both were important as they fended off Confederate invasions of the north.

Antietam had a wider impact as it gave Lincoln the ‘victory’ he needed to issue the Emancipation Proclamation, extending the objectives of the war to free the slaves as well as to preserve the union.

That proclamation meant that John Browns body was probably spinning in his grave. Spinning with delight that is.

A fireball abolitionist, John Brown led an ill feted raid on the weapons store at Harpers Ferry a few years before the war, hoping to incite a slave rebellion. The raid failed miserably and he was strung up for his trouble but it proved to be one of the catalysts for the war … and for the eventual freedom for the slaves.

*The Shenandoah and Potomac rivers meet at Harpers Ferry*

Today, Harpers Ferry is one of the main stopovers on the C&O Canal Towpath, a bucket list trip for many American touring cyclists as it’s part of a bike trail that goes all the way to Pittsburgh.

We hadn’t seen a single touring cyclist on the winding roads of New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland or Pennsylvania … but now it became impossible to miss them. On a pleasant Sunday in September the C&O transformed into a pannier clad bicycle super-highway!

*A Lock Keeper’s Cottage – popular for overnight stays*

Beautifully maintained as a National Park, the canal path led us through an old lowland forest full of American Sycamore, Silver Maple and Box Elder, so thick their branches only offered the occasional tantalising glimpse of the lazy Potomac river beyond.

Most of the trail is made from small pieces of ‘crush and run’ gravel which are then covered in stone dust. It’s smooth as silk.

Closer to Washington the trail became a bit rougher, full of sharp stones and tree roots. We were happy that our new German engineered Ergon saddles kept their promise to dampen down the vibrations.

After a 100km our bottoms were ready to stop, so we were also very happy when the canal dropped us off right in the centre of downtown Washington DC.

Washington is justly famous for many reasons … the White House, the Lincoln Memorial, Capitol Hill. But for tourists it has simply become famous as the capital of “Free-Stuff-To-Do”.

This is mainly down to an English chap called Smithson who died in 1829, leaving some money in his will “to found at Washington, under the name of the Smithsonian Institution, an Establishment for the increase & diffusion of knowledge among men.”

He’d never even set foot in the United States so why he did this remains a mystery. To create a legacy? Or from a chip on his shoulder at his treatment by the class-obsessed English?

Whatever the reason, the American President was naturally curious to find out how much dosh was involved, so he sent a diplomat to London who duly returned with 105 sacks stuffed with 104,960 gold sovereigns.

It was worth about half a million dollars at the time, roughly $13bn today. That’s enough for a few museums!

Today the Smithsonian Institute is the worlds largest education and research complex.

*The excellent Museum of African American History & Culture*

Including government buildings, we visited the following …

Capitol Hill, the Library of Congress, the White House Visitor Centre, the Museum of American History, the Museum of African American History & Culture, the US Holocaust Memorial Museum and the Museum of the American Indian.

Plus memorials to Vietnam, Korean and WWII veterans, to Martin Luther King, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, Ulysses S. Grant and of course to George Washington himself.

Phew!

Clare began to think that sightseeing was even more exhausting than cycling.

On Capitol Hill we were lucky enough to see the Senate Chamber in session and to hear them debate the issues of the day. They didn’t hold back … the issues we heard were related to Iran, the war on drugs and abortion.

It was all free! And all a bit mind blowing!

A little exhausted, we cycled each evening past the White House just hoping for a chance to personally thank Joe or Jill.

Sadly, they were busy.

It’s just as well there is so much free stuff to do in Washington DC as America in general is much more expensive than any other country we’ve cycled in.

This is partly due to our $ to £ exchange rate. But we’re also finding the things that cycle tourists typically spend money on (accommodation, food & drink, entrance fees etc) are pretty expensive in $ too.

Fortunately the most important staple of any bike tour, bananas, are still affordable … at about 20 cents each.

Washington is another US city that is super-easy to get around by bike. The streets are quiet and very wide, so traffic isn’t a major problem.

The pavements (sorry, sidewalks) are also wide with cyclists encouraged to use them … which did feel a bit odd at first.

But it’s the National Mall that makes Washington so good for visitors on two wheels … it’s a two-mile bike-friendly paradise that contains all the main attractions.

Apart from legally riding on the sidewalk, there are a few other rules of the road we’ve had to get used to in the US of A …

4-way All Stop Junctions: Cars from all directions have to stop, then they politely take turns. At first we kept stopping too, but most of the drivers waved us through even when it wasn’t our turn. Now we slow down and cruise through, just checking to make sure it’s safe. It seems to work!

Right Turn Lanes: On major roads an extra lane often pops up for traffic that’s about to turn right. This means that we have to hold our breath and move across to the middle lane if we’re going straight ahead. A bit scary!

Right Turn on Red: Cars and bikes are allowed to go through a red light in order to turn right when there’s space. As long there isn’t a sign saying they can’t. Until we learnt about this one, we got tooted at quite a bit while we waited for green. We’re used to it now!

Cycling rules can also be different in each state … so we must remember to check before we ride on the sidewalk in Virginia.

While we were in Washington, we saw the original “Star-Spangled Banner”, carefully preserved in a darkened room. It’s the flag that flew steadfastly over Fort McHenry in Baltimore whilst British warships were pounding it in 1814 and has since become a legendary icon.

A young man called Francis Scott Key witnessed the bombardment, becoming so moved by the defiance and symbolism that he wrote it down in a poem. 117 years later this poem became the American national anthem. You probably know the last few lines …

“O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave

O’er the land of the free

And the home of the brave?

Ironically it’s set to the tune of a popular 18th century English drinking song!

In Gettysburg, an old injury in Clare’s knee began to get quite painful. We decided to stay on for a couple of days to rest it and it seemed much better on the ride down the canal path to Washington DC.

But now we’re turning our handlebars towards Virginia, she has to choose whether to test it again in the hilly country roads of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Shenandoah Valley as planned. Or to cruise gently down the flat lands of the coast instead?

After enjoying the land of the free, she has of course opted for the home of the brave!

Mountain mama!

Clare and Andy

1006km pedalled so far (450 miles)

5,370m climbed

45 hours in the saddle

Country Roads and Rail Trails

We hold this truth to be self-evident. When cycling the country roads of Virginia it’s essential for the pursuit of happiness to find some authentic country music.

And we found ours right in the heart of the Shenandoah valley … at the Grottoes Bluegrass Festival in the midst of the Blue Ridge mountains.

Headlined by ‘Seth Mulder & Midnight Run’ and by ‘The Bluegrass Brothers’ (check them both out on Spotify, they’re very good), it’s a small local festival … perfect for a sunny Saturday afternoon in October.

*The crystal clear water of the Shenandoah River*

Clare’s personal pursuit of happiness was going very well as her knee injury had now recovered. A few days of extra rest in Alexandria, sheltering from the after effects of Hurricane Ian, had worked its magic and she felt strong and fit again.

Both of us had really enjoyed the three and a half days it took us to climb up through the hills to this little music spot in Grottoes.

We settled down to watch the support bands, happily drinking coffee, eating muffins and jigging along to the music.

After a while, Clare wandered off to take some photos. Smiling, she stepped aside to let some people past … and suddenly, surprisingly … found herself flying backwards through the air.

She had back-flipped over a guy rope that was holding up a large gazebo and landed heavily on her coccyx, the whiplash then banging her head on the ground.

It hurt! A lot!

And the pain was not in a good place for sitting on a bike … with half a day of hilly riding still ahead of us.

It turns out that an injured lady at a bluegrass festival is something of a man-magnet. By the time Andy arrived at the scene he had to join the queue. Ice-packs were applied, painkillers offered, a rug to lie down on.

She was in good hands … one of her rescuers was a retired cowboy from Montana, still very lean and strong!

We stayed on to see the headline acts from the back, no longer jigging. Then Clare bravely declined the multiple offers of pickup truck lifts and got back on her horse to painfully pedal the 30km to our hotel in Staunton, arriving well after dark.

The next morning her bum was very, very sore.

Amazingly, in this hour of need we were rescued by the kindness of strangers, now firm friends.

Way back in Rehoboth Beach in Delaware we had chatted to two lovely people, Maura & Jerry, for about fifteen minutes and made vague arrangements to maybe meet up in Maryland where they live. In the end we didn’t cycle close enough … but we had stayed in touch.

As Clare was listening to more steer wrestling stories from the cowboy (the steers getting bigger and bigger), her phone rang. It was Jerry … they had some good friends, Marian & Paul, in Staunton … would we like to meet them?

So on Sunday morning we found ourselves heading to an art festival in nearby Waynesboro, then onto a country craft brewery, then back to their beautiful home for dinner.

They introduced us to their neighbours, Tammie & Howard, who invited us back for more delicious food the following evening.

We enjoyed two warm and fun evenings. It was a real privilege to share stories with people who live in this beautiful part of the world and know it so well.

But we still had to find a way back over the Blue Ridge, as there was no way Clare could cycle over the mountains. We tried the local train (no daily service), bus (no space for bikes) and car rental (no cars available).

Once again we were rescued by our new friends. Marian & Paul stuck our bikes onto the back of their car and drove us over to Charlottesville.

Charlottesville is mainly known as the location of Monticello, the home and plantation of Thomas Jefferson, 3rd President of the United Stares and the main author of the Declaration of Independence that, of course, includes these famous lines …

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

A week or so earlier we’d also visited Mount Vernon, the home and plantation of George Washington the 1st President.

*Dining room at Mt Vernon (this shade of green was very fashionable in the 18th century)*

Both men come with some baggage and contradictions that America is still wrestling with today:

As well as being revered founding fathers, both of them were large slave holders.
It’s now generally acknowledged that Jefferson fathered six children with Sally Hemings, an enslaved women living on his plantation who was 30 years his junior.
And many people think the Declaration of Independence only really refers to the equality, liberty and happiness of land-owning white men.

But Monticello and Mount Vernon are very interesting places to visit, not least because the organisations that run them are refreshingly open and honest about both the good and the bad sides of these famous men and of the challenges that were faced by the enslaved people who worked for them.

This openness and criticism is true of many of the museums and historic sites we’ve visited in America, a trend we’re told that has developed mainly in the last decade or so.

*Living space for enslaved men at Mt Vernon (two to a bed)*

From Charlottesville we took a train 100km (62 miles) southwest to Lynchburg, partly to find out how well Amtrak manages bicycles as we’re planning a longer train journey to the south next week.

*Bikes on Amtrak is fairly easy. Take off the front wheel and hang her up.*

But mainly it was because we knew we could pedal from Lynchburg to Petersburg in four relatively short days, without too many ups and downs and too much strain on Clare’s sore posterior.

For the most part, these four days were a series of lovely bike rides … on smooth, quiet back country roads … beneath dappled sunshine … in ‘just right’ Goldilocks temperatures … past endless oak, hickory and maple trees that were transforming before our eyes into their fall colours.

We were accompanied by the continuous pop-pop noise of acorns hitting the ground, like the sound of toy guns … an echo perhaps of the soldiers who marched and fought here in the last days of the civil war.

By chance, we had chosen to follow (in reverse) the route of ‘Robert E. Lee’s Retreat’ in April 1845, the final march of a starving Confederate Army as they tried to escape back to the south.

Relentlessly and ruthlessly pursued by the Union Army of Ulysses S. Grant, they eventually surrendered in the tiny village of Appomattox, marking the beginning of the end of the conflict. Today it’s a humbling place to visit, quite different to other civil war sites, full of pathos and quiet dignity.

*The room at Appomattox where the surrender was signed*

From Appomattox we rode for 35km (22 miles) along the High Bridge Rail Trail, one of many such ‘rail-to-trails’ that now criss-cross America.

In the industrial ‘Gilded Age’ of the late 19th century thousands and thousands of miles of rail track were built across America, often by competing companies. Many quickly fell out of use and are now being gradually turned into biking and walking trails.

According to the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy over 40,000km (25,000 miles) of track has already been converted nationwide, with another 14,500km (9,000 miles) in the pipeline.

*We also enjoyed leaving Washington on this rail trail*

Most American touring cyclists we’ve met have told us that they try to stick to these trails as much as possible. Having now experienced some of the busier country roads of Virginia, we can see why that is.

The country roads can become very scary!

The problem is that these busy roads are narrow and the cars are big and wide, especially the ever popular pickup trucks.

Most drivers are very courteous but there is a sizeable minority (usually in pickups) that are pretty aggressive … overtaking us on a blind bend or before the crest of a hill. We’ve seen many a near miss on this trip … but fortunately we’ve only had to jump off the road ourselves once.

*No pictures from busy roads … but we’ve seen a few ‘interesting’ signs*

Thinking back, we haven’t seen any other cyclists braving the country roads of Virginia over the last couple of weeks.

Not a single one!

No other touring cyclists, not even someone out for a pleasant weekend ride.

A park ranger on the High Bridge Rail Trail was so surprised to see us that he flagged us down. He told us that he used to see lots of people touring Virginia by bicycle, but that we were the first he’d spotted for many years.

Why?

“Because it’s become too dangerous!”

Oh?!

“Y’all stay safe now.”

OK (gulp).

*Taking refuge for a picnic in a church BBQ area*

Well … if you can’t beat them, join them!

As soon as we got to Petersburg, we rented a car and drove back into the mountains to see the fall colour in all its glory. As the leaves were at their finest at slightly higher altitudes, we chose to drive further south into the Highlands of North Carolina.

It didn’t look that far on the map but it turned out to be a 1000km (640 miles) round trip. To see a few leaves? We’d never do that at home!

But it was definitely worth it!

As we drove along the famous Blue Ridge Parkway a tapestry of colour spread out before us … vibrant yellows, burnt orange, dark red and the blue green for which the mountains are named. The sea of trees rippled down towards the coast like waves on a shallow beach.

It was awe inspiring!

Best of all though … there wasn’t a single cyclist to slow us down!

Clare & Andy

1,692km pedalled so far (1,051 miles)

12,100m climbed

90 hours in the saddle

A taste of southern comfort

We knew we’d reached the deep south when the menu changed … Shrimp and Grits, Spicy Southern Fried Chicken, Crab Cakes, Corn Bread with Marmalade and Fried Green Tomatoes.

Best of all was the southern breakfast classic … Biscuits and Gravy. A light scone made from buttermilk, then smothered in a thick, creamy sausage sauce.

Comfort food at its finest!

We’d arrived in Charleston, South Carolina on an Amtrak train … the fabulously named ‘Silver Meteor’ that takes 28 hours to trundle down the 1,389 miles of track from New York to Miami every day.

It was our first experience of taking our bicycles aboard a long-distance train and it turned out to be surprisingly easy. They were safely tucked away in the baggage car whilst we happily watched the world go by from huge, comfortable seats … even in economy ‘Coach Class’.

Between handing back our rental car in Petersburg and boarding this train from Richmond to Charleston, you might be relieved to know that we did actually do some pedalling … a 300km (186 mile) loop around the Virginia Peninsula to visit the famous ‘historic triangle’ of Williamsburg, Jamestown and Yorktown.

Many of you will also be relieved to hear that Clare’s backside was feeling much better by now and she could enjoy cycling again, especially as the roads were flattening out the closer we got to the coast.

Ironically, the historic triangle saw both the beginning and the end of British colonial history in America, neither giving great cause for national pride.

Jamestown marks the beginning of the colony. Three ships arrived there in 1607, carrying 104 men and boys to establish the first permanent settlement in the New World.

Those early years were characterised by infighting, starvation and disease; by broken promises and ill treatment of the local Powhatan Indians; by the introduction of slavery and indentured labour; and by the development of tobacco as a cash crop.

Surrounded by swamps and mosquitoes and without a good supply of water it must have been an extremely tough life.

*Graves from ‘the starving time’ at Jamestown*

Today it’s a fascinating and peaceful place to visit, right on the banks of the James River. The site itself is an archaeological national park but there’s also an excellent recreation of the original ships, the fort and a local Powhatan village.

If Jamestown is the beginning of the British colonialism, then Yorktown just 20 miles away, is the beginning of the end. In 1781, a large British army under General Cornwallis became trapped there between the American patriots and the French navy. After a short siege they were forced to surrender, setting in motion a chain of events that confirmed full American sovereignty two years later.

*An American Patriot firing at the British*

Halfway between them is a place with a more respectable history for us Brits.

Williamsburg was the first substantial town built by the British, on higher land and with a good water supply. It’s now a charming ‘living history museum’ of eighty-eight original 18^th century buildings, the town brought to life by daily displays of fife and drum, costumed actors debating the issues of their day and demonstrations of all manner of historic trades … from wheelwrights to shoemaking.

*Virginia’s Capitol building in Williamsburg*

Much to our surprise, we found ourselves enjoying the comfort of a time-share property during our stay in Williamsburg.

A self-catering apartment had popped up as a last-minute option online and was 1) a great deal; 2) near the town centre and 3) not a motel … so it was impossible to turn down.

Only as we pedalled up to it did we realise that it wasn’t the small, anonymous apartment block we’d expected … but was actually a large holiday village full of vacation homes and condos.

Predictably Clare got the hard sell as she checked in … would we come to a presentation?

The more she refused, the better the enticement got … until eventually they offered to pay for our entry into all the local attractions and to buy us dinner at a local fish restaurant. Oh … okay then … thank you very much!

Dutifully we attended the presentation but it didn’t take too long for the salespeople to realise that time-shares … (sorry, “vacation ownership”) … and bicycle touring don’t really fit together.

The apartment was great though, a perfect base to explore the area. In fact, it became our favourite accommodation of the whole trip!

As we ended up staying for a week, we needed to get some stores in, Andy volunteering to do the supermarket run a few miles away.

He couldn’t resist a few extras, just managing to stuff all the shopping into his panniers. But he’d taken so long it was now pitch dark and starting to rain. The bike was incredibly heavy … probably all those vegetables … or maybe too much wine, beer and chocolate!

Finding decent accommodation at a reasonable price has been one of the challenges of bike touring in America. Self-catering apartments worked well in big cities but the choice in smaller towns and rural areas was much more limited.

B&Bs in America tend to be historic houses, very expensive, usually full and … to be honest, not always that comfortable.

*This historic B&B had a quirky museum in the basement*

So we ended up staying in a lot more hotel and motel chains than normal. The rooms are big and the beds are both huge and comfortable, with a choice between an extra-wide (6 foot) king bed or a ‘double double’ … two queens. Many of them also have that ultimate cycle touring luxury, a guest laundry.

Perfect after a smelly day in the saddle!

In all our travels through Europe, South America, Asia and Australia we’ve only taken our bicycles into our room a couple of times. Normally they sleep in a garage, shed or in a meeting room. But in America, we’ve been encouraged to bring them into our room most nights … which means they’ve been extremely happy and comfortable.

Almost purring with pleasure!

But … and it’s a big but … most of the affordable places to stay are aimed at long distance car drivers so they’re usually several miles outside a town, clustered on a strip next to the nearest highway.

Stumbling along the grass verge of a busy road for something to eat at a Taco Bell, Ruby Tuesday or Denny’s in the middle of an American strip mall is not quite as charming as wandering around the streets of a quaint little European town.

That said Denny’s, a chain of diners, has become a bit of a favourite.

We’ve enjoyed plenty of great meals out, often finding that the best food comes from the least inviting looking places.

America is famous for its large portion sizes … but most restaurants seem happy when we share a main course. Occasionally we’ve said yes to the polystyrene take out box to turn one half of tonight’s fried chicken into tomorrow’s roadside sandwich.

One thing that shocked us was the massive amount of single-use plastic still used in the States. A plastic cup wrapped in a plastic bag. Plastic cutlery and plates for every breakfast … each knife, fork and spoon wrapped in their own plastic. Coffee from a trendy café served in take-out cups, even when you’re drinking in.

*Even lunch with the lawmakers at the Capitol building in Washington came in single use plastic*

In Charleston, hotels in the historic centre were at a significant premium so we stayed on the other side of a huge bridge that crosses the Cooper River. At 4 kilometres long it was quite a daily commute to see the sights!

Apart from eating plenty of shrimp and grits, we really enjoyed wandering around the tidy streets of Charleston, visiting historic houses and gazing out across the harbour to Fort Sumter where the first shots of the civil war rang out.

Charleston is also home to the USS Yorktown, a famous old aircraft carrier where you can scramble up to bridge, lose yourself in the maze of narrow corridors below deck and marvel at some real Top Gun planes.

This was the second time we’d seen some aeronautical wonders as we’d previously visited the Air and Space Museum near Washington where we saw the space shuttle, Discovery … a proper bucket list tick for Andy.

Plenty of tour companies offer cycling holidays between Charleston and Savannah … “through picturesque countryside imbued with southern charm on a journey you will never forget.” This route is also part of the East Coast Greenway … a “safe walking and biking route that runs from Maine to Florida.”

It was enough to seduce us into the romantic notion that we would be gently cycling for three days on back country roads lined with ancient evergreen Southern Live Oak, each tree dripping with Spanish Moss.

And for much of the time it was just like that … magical!

This whole area is a low country gem. A diverse habitat of forested wetlands, tidal marshes, creeks, barrier islands and beaches. But the marshes and islands mean that there are not that many connecting roads. And we had made the rooky error of not checking it out thoroughly enough.

It turns out that the East Coast Greenway follows busy highways for roughly half of its journey between Charleston and Savannah … including the notorious (for bike tourers) or historic (for everyone else) Route 17 Coastal Highway. And the bicycle tour companies ferry their guests around the main roads in vans … so that they can concentrate on the best bits.

For the first two days, we kept away from Route 17 by heading inland to Waltersboro then back down to the charming, sea-island town of Beaufort, an extra 70km (44 miles) for two of the longest rides on this trip.

But on the third day, an 85km (53 mile) ride into Savannah it was impossible to avoid the highways. There was simply no way around them. We put our heads down, tried to ignore the trucks and played dodgems with the debris at the side of the road.

After 25km (15 miles) we pulled into a small maritime museum to draw breath.

As the two volunteers that worked there enthusiastically described the unique marine environment of the area, we might have vented our frustrations at just how difficult it was to cycle through it.

Before we quite knew what was happening, Tim (one of the volunteers) had strapped our bikes to his car, bundled us inside and was driving us the rest of the way to Savannah.

His shift was just finishing anyway, he explained.

It was only half-way there that we discovered he actually lived in the opposite direction!

*Rescued by the kindness of strangers (again!)*

If Charleston is a precious gem, then Savannah is even more stunning. Smaller but richer in colour. A lush green emerald of a city covered in oaks, magnolias and cabbage palm trees, highlighted by colourful and elegant townhouses.

Some of these are found on Jones Street, often described as the prettiest in America. In fact, this street is so desirable it’s the origin of a famous saying … “Keeping up with the Joneses”.

Like all the other US cities we visited, Savannah was a great place to cycle around. Our self-guided tour took us through historic squares and past antebellum mansions, before finishing at a quite remarkable church.

The First African Baptist Church dates back to 1773 and is the earliest church in America to be organised for enslaved people. Amazingly, the building was constructed at night after long days of hard labour in the plantations and often a long walk into town.

First the walls went up to keep out suspicious eyes. Then as the rest of the foundations were dug out, they secretly added tunnels leading down towards the river and a basement that eventually became the first stop on the ‘underground railroad’, a support network for slaves who were escaping north.

It’s an extraordinary testament to the skill and perseverance of these people and an important story to tell.

Not that the terrible experience endured by the enslaved people of Georgia or South Caroline is that visible. Amongst all the beautifully preserved houses there are relatively few memorials to African Americans … a notable difference to the brutal honesty we found in museums further north.

Having enjoyed the Silver Meteor Amtrak train so much, we rode to the outskirts of Savannah early one morning before dawn to load our bikes back in baggage car and sink once again into those luxurious seats.

This time the train took us all the way to West Palm Beach and a final couple of days of cycling down the warm Florida coast to Miami and our flight home. We were blown along by the growing winds of what became Hurricane Nicole, only the third hurricane to hit Florida in November since records began.

To be fair, it was only upgraded from a tropical storm to a hurricane for a few hours … but it was windy and rainy enough for us!

On our last day the winds died down and the sun came out again so we could relax on Miami’s South Beach, reflecting back on a what a great experience we’ve had. Surrounded by art deco hotels, it was a small taste of the exuberant yet chilled lifestyle that Miami is famous for.

Overall, we’ve cycled 2,527 kilometres or 1,570 miles on our USA East Coast adventure, enough to get a feel for a small part of this vast country.

How did the cycling compare to other trips?

We’ve had some amazing views from our handlebars and met lots of lovely people … helped by our flags, as we hoped.

The quality of the roads has been so good that we haven’t had a single puncture. Even the gravel bike trails are smooth and beautifully groomed.

It’s been easy to pedal around some amazing cities.

But sometimes more challenging to cycle on busy roads in the countryside.

Bike touring in America is not quite the same as cycle touring in Europe and it’s not just the difference between ‘biking’ and ‘cycling’.

Most Americans go long distance biking on specific trails or known routes … they don’t make it up as they go along like we do. (We did meet one couple from Montana who also made up their own routes but that was on a train … as they were escaping from Route 17 at the time.)

This seems to be because there simply isn’t the same extensive network of small, quiet country roads to cycle on in the States as there is in Europe … so you find yourself on busy main roads more often than you’d like. And because drivers are not used to seeing bikers, those roads can be a bit scary!

It’s often said that America is a ‘car society’. Everything made easy to get to in cars.

As we found ourselves pedalling away from another charming town centre to yet another motel by another highway, we decided that really and truly … we were the odd ones out. We were the ones that didn’t have a car.

But we’re very glad that we’re odd. If we weren’t, we would have missed out on this wonderful experience.

Thank you America … hope to see y’all again!

Clare and Andy

2,527 km pedalled (1,570 miles) … our 2nd longest ride so far

14,965 m climbed … easily the flattest

139 hours in the saddle … with 41 days of cycling

Pedalling back to planet normal

As we bumped down the cobbled streets of Porto and wound our way past the decaying port wine warehouses that line the Douro river estuary, we felt a frisson of excitement for the open road ahead wrapped in a blanket of familiarity.

Back on our bikes. The weight of our panniers. A salty breeze in our faces.

As we all know, it’s been a tough 18 months for many people across the world since COVID-19 raised it’s ugly head. A world of lockdowns, restrictions, cancellations, social distance, travel plans on hold. A world of severe illness and loss.

Many, many people have suffered far more badly than we have. After all, cancelled bike tours are hardly the worst impact of a global pandemic.

But here we are at last. Back on our bikes and armed with vaccination passports, lateral flow tests and passenger locator forms.

It felt like a little bit of normal.

Our original plan was to cycle down the East Coast of the United States from Boston to Miami. But the American government are not yet welcoming vaccinated Brits to their shores so that will need to wait for another time.

We’ve come to Portugal instead, seeking warm air and warm hospitality. Our plan is simply to cycle south from Porto and see where it takes us. Mainly following Eurovelo 1 (EV1) down the coast but wiggling inland whenever there is something interesting to see. Hopefully into Spain as well.

EV1, the Eurovelo Atlantic Coast Route, is part of a network of cycle paths that criss-cross Europe and runs from Norway to Portugal. We’ve cycled bits of it before, as it includes the Wild Atlantic Way in Ireland.

Porto (literally port or harbour) is a spectacular city that twists its way up from the mouth of the Douro river in a maze of medieval streets, colourful houses and ornate churches.

Some of the food is as unique as the city itself.

We enjoyed the port wine (of course), the Pastel de Nata (deliciously light custard and cinnamon tarts that are a one-a-day treat for many) but were not so sure about the Francesinha (literally little Frenchie, as it was adapted to local Porto tastes from the Croque Monsieur sandwich in the 1950’s).

A steak, some fresh sausage, cured sausage and cured ham are all stuffed inside two slices of bread and covered with melted cheese and an optional fried egg. It’s then doused in a hot thick spicy tomato and beer sauce and served with chips and a large beer.

Enough calories to fuel any bike ride!

But not enough for a ride into the steep hills of the Douro Valley.

Haunted by memories of long, hilly days at the beginning of past trips we decided to take a tour instead. As we drove up yet another sharp ridge it felt like a smart decision … and gave us more time for wine tasting!

The Douro valley is stunning. Terraced vineyards, built behind ancient dry stone walls climb precipitously away from the river as far the eye can see, their whitewashed quintas (wine estates) glistening in the sunshine. Many with names that remember the end of a good dinner … Sandeman, Dow, Taylor’s, Graham’s, Croft.

The first few days of this bicycle adventure have been spent gently pedalling down the coast on flat roads, cycle paths and board walks. Through pretty little beach towns and across salt marshes that attract a variety of migratory birds … herons, egrets, even some flamingoes.

A striking part of this area are azulejos, decorative tiles that adorn many buildings. In a tradition dating back to the 13th century these hand painted tiles help keep houses cool and beautiful.

Ovar, our first overnight stop, is a ‘living museum’ of azulejos with many fine examples from the 19th and 20th century.

From Ovar we cycled onto Aveiro, a city that grew rich from salt but now relies on tourism as the self styled ‘Venice of Portugal’. It’s not quite as grand as the Queen of the Adriatic … although a gondola ride makes for a pleasant diversion, passing under many bridges adorned with thousands of brightly coloured ribbons.

Our young guide giggled as she encouraged us to join in … “you can tie a ribbon on the bridge for everlasting love and friendship … ooh-la-la!”

Sadly the ribbon shop was closed for lunch.

*Each gondola in Aveiro has it’s own ‘kiss-me-quick’ image*

The next day, we were reminded that bicycle touring is not all about easy cycle paths, boat rides and pretty coastal views. A fierce headwind blew up and it poured with rain as we struggled into Praia de Mira, sodden and a little weary.

It almost felt like cycling in England.

But not quite. We’re in Portugal. Back on our bikes.

Ooh-la-la!

Clare and Andy

Picture Perfect Portugal

As we rode out of the delightful seaside village of São Pedro de Moel and climbed gently through a wood of maritime pines and huge eucalyptus trees, we were greeted by wide smiles and cheery “Bom dia’s” from every family we passed. Trees make everyone happy.

The air felt crisp and cool, the sun warm on faces. This was bike touring at its best.

Rounding a corner, we suddenly emerged into a starker landscape of charcoal stumps and blackened earth. It was all too familiar.

For several days we’d been cycling through the remains of the vast Leira Pine Forest, planted to build the sailing ships that drove Portugals golden Age of Discovery in the 15th and 16th centuries.

Unfortunately, 86% of the 110 square kilometre forest was destroyed by a huge wildfire in 2017. This small wood near São Pedro is a reminder of how glorious it must have been.

On our route south from Porto to Lisbon, we’ve been alternating coastal rides with diversions inland to visit some of the great historical sites … Coimbra, Batalha, Alcobaça, Óbidos.

This part of Portugal seems ideal for bicycle touring. The distances are manageable (around 50km or 30 miles a day), it’s relatively flat and if you travel north to south you have a good chance of a tail wind to blow you along. We’ve been blessed with many sun filled days and a ‘Goldilocks-just-right’ warmth of around 25°c.

It’s also good value for money, both the accommodation and for eating out. As well as small hotels and Casas (traditional guest houses), we’ve stayed in several self-catering Alojamento Local (local accommodation) which have recently sprung up across the country.

Bike touring in Covid times has been easier than we expected. At the time of writing Portugal has relatively low cases and the highest vaccination rate in Europe … so it feels very safe.

To enter the country we had to show evidence of a negative PCR test or a double vaccination certificate. This is also required for tourist accommodation and, bizarrely, for indoor dining from Friday through Sunday (but not for the rest of the week, when restaurants seem to be just as full!)

We were worried that Brexit might cause us some difficulty as the UK is not yet part of the EU Digital Covid Certificate. This means that hotels and restaurants can’t scan our QR codes for proof of vaccination as they do for everyone else.

But it doesn’t seem to matter.

We say “… sorry, the scan doesn’t work for the UK one …” They then shrug, mutter “Inglês?”, shrug again … and we’re shown to our table.

*Sardines and fries – a Portuguese staple*

Here in Portugal people wear masks a lot. They’re mandatory inside and on public transport but plenty of people, young and old, choose to wear masks outside too. We’ve even seen them worn on a deserted beach … just in case!

Masking up at the end of a long ride when we arrive at our accommodation can get tricky. Sorting out the bikes, fumbling about with the panniers, lugging them upstairs, whilst chatting to the owner with steamed up glasses and sweat soaking through the masks can be a challenge!

One reason why Portugal is such a great country for bike touring is that there are so many stunning things to see. A lot of them date from the Age of Discovery in the 15th and 16th centuries, when the Portuguese Kings had more money than they knew what to do with, so splurged it on lavish buildings.

Much of this cash came from a lucrative trade in gold, spices and slaves as the ships built from the wood of the Leira pine forest plundered their way around the world. Whilst it’s impossible today to sympathise with the ethics behind the source of the wealth, it’s difficult not to be staggered by the beauty of the architecture.

The royal palace, library and chapel at the ancient university in Coimbra, Portugal’s first capital.

*Chapel of Sao Miguel, University of Coimbra*

The castle and maze of well-preserved medieval houses in Óbidos.

But most striking of all, the imposing grandeur of the monasteries at Batalha and Alcobaça.

Batalha, built to commemorate a crucial victory over Castile, took 200 years to complete. Ironically it is the Unfinished Chapels that most astonish visitors, the scale of the pillars and their ornamentation are even more dramatic for being open to the sky.

At the monastery in Alcobaça we came across a tale of two star-crossed lovers to rival Romeo and Juliet.

In 1340 Afonso IV, King of Portugal, married his son and heir Pedro to Costanza of Castile. She was accompanied to the Portuguese court by Inês de Castro (her lady-in-waiting) … “beautiful as a flower, blond as the sun” … and just 15 years old.

Pedro fell in love at first sight … but with the wrong Spanish lady. He and Inês soon began an all-consuming love affair that threatened to rip Portugal and Castile apart, especially when Costanza died a few years later.

Fearing trouble and strife, Afonso refused to let the lovers marry and instead banished Inês. Desperate to be together, they found a way to live together in secret and even had four children.

Eventually the old King could stand it no longer and ordered her death. Three assassins rode to Coimbra and violently decapitated her in front of her small children. Her spirit can still be heard crying at the Fountain of Tears, site of her murder.

As you can imagine, Pedro was not happy about this. When Afonso died 2 years later the new king immediately set about tracking down the assassins. He found two of them, tried them for murder and ripped out their hearts with his bare hands … in revenge for breaking his own.

According to the legend, he then had Inês exhumed, dressed her in queenly robes and made all his courtiers swear allegiance by kissing what was left of her hand. Ugh!

She was reburied in the abbey at Alcobaça where they now lie together ‘até ao fim do mundo’ (until the end of the world). Quite a story!

Cycling down the endless beaches and sand dunes of the Silver Coast (named for the silvery glow of the ocean on sunny days) has been a perfect contrast.

This is a surfers coast, every beach is dotted with human seals waiting for the perfect wave. We stayed at Nazaré, where an offshore canyon famously combines with Atlantic storms to create the biggest waves in the world, towering some 30m above the beach. Andy was tempted to have a go but, sadly, conditions weren’t right on the day of our visit and the waves were a bit small for him.

No bike tour would be the same without some ‘dreadful detours’ and sure enough, Andy’s map reading skills have led Clare up the normal quota of rough stone tracks. But EV1 has been just as guilty, occasionally asking us to canyon around a steep cliff or climb a precipitous rocky path.

To be fair, EV1’s dreadful detours usually ended with a spectacular view. Andy’s just finished in a swamp!

Our next stop is Sintra, a fairytale land of dense forest sprinkled with imposing hilltop castles, mystical gardens and strange mansions. Not a place for getting lost. After all, we don’t want any ghostly tears!

Clare & Andy

Magical mystery tour

As you cycle south towards Lisbon three things happen:

1. There are lots more tourists around. Further north, we only came across intrepid French tour groups. Now there are people from everywhere across Europe, which makes for much more of a buzz!

2. You need more cash. Everything becomes that bit a more expensive. This is best explained by the Clare & Andy Coffee Index which we use to measure the relative cost of everything, wherever we are.

In Porto, an abatonado (long black coffee) was €1.50. In the countryside it could be as low as 75 cents but by the time we reached Lisbon it was as much as €3.50!

3. It becomes a lot more hilly. A lot! Our average daily climbing metres increased from around 300 metres to well over 700 metres.

One of the steepest hills we tried and failed to cycle up wound it’s way up to Sintra, a fantasy hill station just north of Lisbon and the summer playground of Portuguese Kings and various other eccentrics.

As Sintra is much too hilly for sightseeing by bicycle, we decided to hire Twizy … a little electric buggy that we could just about squeeze into together for a magical mystery tour around the various attractions.

First stop on the mystery tour was the Quinta da Regaleira, an extravaganza dreamed up by an Italian opera-set designer on the orders of a Brazilian coffee tycoon locally known as Monteiro dos Milhões (Moneybags Monteiro).

The villa is packed with ferociously carved fireplaces and Venetian glass mosaics but it is in the gardens where they really set their imagination free. Footpaths wriggle through dense foliage to follies, fountains, lakes and underground grottoes, all eventually leading to the Initiation Well that has now become a symbol of Sintra.

As you descend nine spirals of the staircase to a mysterious underground gallery at the base of the well, the nature of the initiation is never explained. But there are dark hints that it involved the rituals of the Knights Templar!

Next stop was the Palacio de Monserrate, a Moorish-Gothic-Indian romantic folly created by a wealthy Englishman in the 19th century and surrounded by gardens from all corners of the world … English roses to Mexican yuccas to Japanese bamboo.

Then onto the Convento dos Capuchos (Convent of the Hoods). Here monks lived a simple but well-ordered life in tiny hobbit-hole cells with low, narrow cork-lined doors.

But these cells weren’t cramped enough for one reclusive celibate, Honorius, who moved into a tiny burrow in the ground and stayed there for 36 years.

Mind you, he lived until 95 years of age, so maybe he knew a thing or two!

The Palácio da Pena is the antithesis of this spartan monastery. Built in the 19th century as the kings summer retreat, it’s a wacky, colourful confection of lilac and lemon towers, moorish domes and writhing stone snakes gazing across at a vast Moorish castle that became part of the estate.

Sintra is only 28km away from Lisbon.

However, as aspiring touring cyclists we decided to cycle 75km around the coast instead … just to take a picture at the lighthouse that marks the most western point in Europe.

Luckily we were powered by Travesseiros de Sintra, a puff pastry ‘pillow’ filled a syrupy, creamy mixture of almonds, egg yolk and cinnamon. Enough calories to last several days!

As we cruised down a rewarding 12km descent and along the mouth of the Tagus river into Lisbon, we agreed the longer journey was worthwhile after all. As the famous bridge got closer and the city came to life, we jostled with an increasing number of cars, bikes, electric scooters, runners and tourists.

Each morning we were woken by the sound of old trams rumbling by. But we didn’t mind one bit … as this is the authentic sound of Lisbon.

Dating from 1930’s, they’re still the best form of transport to climb up and down the steep, winding cobbled streets of the old town. From time to time, the road narrows so much that pedestrians are squeezed into doorways as the tram rattles by.

Lisbon struck us as a city to hang out in … and there are lots of people doing just that. At pavement cafes, in parks and at Miradors (viewpoints) each of which came with its own busker playing Van Morrison or Ed Sheeran songs.

It’s also the city of Fado, a unique type of traditional music featuring soulful vocals, backed by the lilting sound of a 12-string pear-shaped Portuguese guitar and by a classical Spanish guitar.

The mournful lyrics are often about the sea or the life of the poor, and are infused with a sentiment of resignation, fate and melancholic yearning for the past. To some extent, Fado is a window into the character of the people here. This is captured by the Portuguese word saudade … a deep emotional state of nostalgia or longing for something or someone that has been irreparably lost.

As well as hanging out with everyone else, we did manage to drag ourselves along to what turned out to be the most extravagant monastery of them all. The Mosteiro dos Jeronimos was built to celebrate Vasco de Gama’s discovery of a sea route to India that would bring the country even more wealth.

It includes a room that pays homage to many of the most famous Portuguese kings, including the nicknames given to them by the people.

Hence, the first king (Afonso I, 1139-85) is known as the The Founder or The Great.

Peter I (1357-67) whose love story we described in the last blog, was know as The Cruel because of the nature of his revenge. And perhaps because his other nickname The Till-the-End-of-the-World-Passionate was rather a mouthful.

Others nicknames the kings probably liked include …

The Handsome (Ferdinand I, 1367-83)

The One with Good Memory (Joao I, 1385-1433)

The Musician King (Joao IV, 1640-56)

But these kings might not have been so sure …

The Nuns Lover (Joao V, 1706-50)

The Asleep (Sebastian I, 1557-78)

The Fat (Afonso II, 1211-23)

After all this sightseeing in Sintra and Lisbon, it’s now time for us to get back on our bikes to cycle south through the sand dunes and coastal plains of the Alentejo.

We’re looking forward to it. After all, there’s no mystery about bicycle touring.

It’s simply magic!

Clare and Andy

To the end of the world

If you like quiet unspoilt beaches, seafood dinners straight from the sea and watching life roll by at a gentle pace … then the Alentejo is a perfect holiday spot you.

It will transport you back to a simpler, more innocent age where you can sit under a cork tree and gaze out at a beautiful rural landscape that seems unchanged for centuries.

But … perhaps it’s not the best part of the world for independent bicycle touring.

Situated south of Lisbon, the Alentejo is the poorest and least populated part of Portugal. That probably explains why most of the small country roads that criss-cross the cork forests and dusty fields are still made of gravel or sand.

Further north these ripio tracks are an occasional hazard. In the Alentejo, they’re lurking around every corner … rutted, very bumpy and often covered in heavy drifts of sand.

On a mountain bike it would probably be a lot of fun. But our touring bikes just slither from side to side … or grind to a halt.

So we stuck to riding on larger roads instead. Not the big main roads but the secondary roads that connect one idyllic white-washed village to the next. These proved to be very straight, very flat and very narrow … therefore invitingly fast for cars and trucks.

They also contained an alarming number of obstacles at the edge of the road … large potholes, deep cracks, tree roots, drains, manhole covers. For the humble cyclist, riding along them can become a game of chicken. Smash into the tree root that’s looming up ahead? Or avoid it and swerve into the path of the car that’s zooming up behind?

Not a combination that adds up to a pleasant and peaceful bike ride.

Whilst it may not be ideal for a bicycle tour, the Alentejo is a paradise for long distance walkers. The Rota Vincentina offers a network of over 750km of caminos to choose from, including the Fisherman’s Trail down the coast, the Historic Way inland and lots of shorter circular walks.

But cycling wasn’t all bad! Apart from the delightful coastal views and the idyllic seaside villages, one of the best things about riding through the Alentejo was that we enjoyed a tailwind every single day!

Before we knew it, we had been blown to the ‘end of the world’, the name still given to Cabo de São Vicente (Cape of St Vincent), the most south-westerly point of Europe.

With only the brooding Atlantic Ocean beyond, people did indeed think it marked the end of the world, right up until the 14th century. We could kind of see why … it all felt a little unworldly as we cycled out to the cape early one morning before breakfast.

As we reached the lighthouse our odometer passed 1000km cycled in Portugal. This also meant we have now pedalled for more than 10,000km since we embarked on our first bicycle tour from Bath to Barcelona, back in 2016.

On the way to the ‘end of the world’ we had a curious incident. A lady in her car flagged us down, rather flustered and urged us to be careful as there was a loose pack of dogs prowling around ahead. She was right … a dozen forbidding shapes were visible on top of the next ridge.

In rural Portugal every household has a dog. As we cycled past, each one of those dog’s barked as loudly as it could and flung itself violently at the fencing around its home. Perhaps to come and say hi? Perhaps to tear us limb from limb?

Either way … we’re a bit nervous of dogs!

As we reluctantly decided to turn back and go the long way around, a farmer rolled up in his wagon. He stopped, laughed and reversed back up to the dogs, urging us to follow him … which we did with some trepidation. As we reached them, he nuzzled a couple of the pack leaders and the rest immediately became as docile as could be.

We passed by without the slightest bark, not even a growl … in fact not even a flicker of interest!

In the Alentejo we have stayed in lots of AL’s (Alojamento Local or self-catering apartments) often only booking one that comes with the gold-standard-ultimate-travellers-luxury … a washing machine!

But the main pleasure of an AL is that we can cook for ourselves.

Which creates a bit of a challenge as we can hardly carry a larder of groceries around with us in our panniers!

How do we get together a kit of ‘basics’ without repeatedly buying huge quantities and then wasting most of it? Olive oil, for example, rarely comes in anything less than a one litre bottle.

Clare has had to become very creative at collecting bits and pieces whenever she gets the chance.

She washes out the miniature shampoo bottles provided by some hotels and fills them with the olive oil, salt, pepper and vinegar. We carry a few cloves of garlic, some Italian herbs, chilli flakes, cumin and a couple of stock cubes … and bingo, we’ve got everything we need to make a familiar meal.

Every café coffee comes with a sachet of sugar. Every Pastel de Nata (custard tart) comes with a little cinnamon. Together, these combine to create some delicious stewed fruit to spice up our muesli.

The one big grocery item we’ve always got in our panniers is a large onion! But this has nothing to do with cooking.

Clare has taken to rolling around on it as a substitute for a pilates ball … to relieve her aches and pains after a long day in the saddle.

After a few days we usually cook them up … they’re always nice and tender.

Turning east along the Algarve, we treated ourselves to some beach days in Lagos and Carvoeiro. Suddenly we’d arrived in the English Riviera. You could tell this not only from the distinct Yorkshire or Essex accents that floated up from the pavement cafés, but also from the number of Tandoori restaurants that were suddenly available.

Deciding not to cycle through all the pristine golf courses that hug the coast, we headed for the hills instead, passing through the lovely villages of Silves and Alte and endless groves of pomegranates, oranges, lemons and olives.

It meant a lot of climbing … but that felt like a good alternative to headwind that was developing near the sea. After all, you can’t go down a headwind!

The Algarve is only 143km wide so before we knew it we had arrived in Tavira and our last night in Portugal. To celebrate we treated ourselves to a night in a Pousada, an old convent converted into a hotel. It was delightful … so delightful that we even forgot to take away the sachets of sugar!

Marking the border between Portugal and Spain, the river Guadiana is crossed by a long motorway suspension bridge. For foot passengers and cyclists an old, wide bottomed ferry does the job instead.

For only seven Euros we chugged across and passed seamlessly into Spain. No passports, no Covid vaccination certificates, no passenger locator forms. Just masks. It was almost like the old days.

As in any country, Portugal has its own curiosities. Sardines are served to your table still in the can. Cutlery comes in a paper bag to keep off the dust (and more recently the virus). Pastel de Nata are a daily obsession.

But one of the most endearing curiosities is that men and women say thank you slightly differently.

It’s obrigado for men and obrigada for women, regardless of who you’re talking to, although nobody much cares if you get it wrong.

We’ve loved exploring Portugal on bicycles (including the Alentejo!).

So it’s a Muito Obrigada from her and a Muito Obrigado from him. We are both much obliged!

Clare and Andy

Our stats in Portugal …

1,222 kilometres pedalled

11,489 metres climbed

83 hours in the saddle