Epilogue: 1 SAG driver. 6 cyclists. 23 days. 1574 miles. Countless memories.

“Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day”

I’m back in the States.  Doing a much-needed day of laundry.  Food shopping to restock a refrigerator that’s been left empty this past month. Listening to the political pundits on MSNBC.  In other words, returning to a normal life.

I always take a day or two to reflect on the past weeks of riding.  It’s still too raw and swirling in my head to comment the next day on what’s just occurred. 

The beaches of Praia da Luz

The day after the ride ended, everyone slept in for the first time in nearly a month.  We all gathered at a more human hour to grab one last breakfast together (9 am instead of our usual 6:45).  Again, we walked the 20+ minutes down the steep hill to the beach for one last shot at a full English breakfast.  Jesse is already having baked-beans-for-breakfast withdrawal symptoms! We were a bit more subdued than during recent meals.  We had already begun the process of decompressing.

Thank goodness we weren't taking our bikes up and down those hills to the beach!

After breakfast and that hill climb back up to the condos, we started the process of breaking down our bikes and packing them for shipping/bringing them on the plane. Thank goodness Gene was part of our riding crew, as he’s the only one certified as a bike mechanic.  His expertise helped make things go faster.  After about three hours, all five bikes were in their shipping boxes.

Gene starts the breakdown process.

The rest of the day was spent napping, confirming seat assignments for flights back home and easing back into the work world (e-mails and text follow-ups, etc.).  At night, we all gathered, and again did the down and up walks to and from dinner for our last night together.  More so than the morning’s food gathering, we spent more time reminiscing on the past three weeks; reliving individual feats, favorite meals, worst climbing days, favorite catchphrases that will live on in our collective memories, etc.

Seat post off, front wheel off, handlebars about to be dropped.

Jesse and I continued our decompression session later that night after dinner by watching multiple episodes of The Newsroom, the Aaron Sorkin HBO series, on the DVDs available in the condo in which we were staying.  It was another exercise in the re-acclimation back into our US-based lives.

And all tucked into its box.

Monday morning was a very low-key last morning cup of tea together with everyone.  Our bags were packed.  The cab was coming in twenty minutes.  And we were looking sadly into each other’s eyes as we hugged and kissed and wished each other well as we entered the final phase of prying ourselves out of each other’s lives after spending nearly the past month together.  Not an easy task among friends you’ve spent parts of the past 4-6 summers together.

The cab came.  Somehow, we managed to fit both Michelle and me and our bike boxes and luggage along with Jesse and his luggage into the van. And then we were off, on our way to the airport in Faro and our flights home.

I am trying to look back on the past three weeks.  Michelle, Jesse and I tried to talk about it in the airport while waiting for our respective flights.  Jesse and I tried to talk about it while flying home.  We all had a hard time putting our feelings into words.  Honestly, it just seems a bit unreal.  Where did the last month go?  

As I sit here writing this, the whirl of the spin cycle of the laundry playing in the background, I still feel as if that ride through Europe was so long ago, as if crossing back over the Atlantic was like flying through some kind of time warp that transported me far away from what just finished a couple of days ago.

                          1 SAG driver.  6 cyclists.  23 days. 1574 miles.  Countless memories. 

I thank all the folks who helped me get through the past month.  Thanks to all the folks at Montclair Bikery, particularly Ken and Anthony, for getting my bike in shape for the long haul.  Thanks to Mike at New York Sports Club for helping get me in shape. Thanks to Michelle for inviting me to this crazy affair in the first place.  Thanks (on behalf of me and all the riders) to my son Jesse for coming up with the insane idea of coming along as the SAG driver.  And thanks everyone else out there who offered good wishes and spiritual support to me before and during the ride.  

And thanks to the cycling Gods and that invisible force of nature that kept us all safe and alive during three-plus weeks of riding through heat waves, rainstorms, forest fires and city traffic.  Jane told Jesse during breakfast one morning that she prayed for us every night.  Jane’s, and everyone else’s, prayers were answered. We all made it safe and sound. And every one of us looked up to the heavens and thanked our respective higher powers for delivering us to the beach in Praia da Luz in one piece.

We few, we happy few.  We band of brothers and sisters.

It was a helluva trip.  A once-in-a-lifetime adventure.  And I had a blast.  

Day 22: Santiago do Cacém to Praia da Luz 84 miles. 5025 feet of climbing.

Up early this morning.  Nervous anticipation maybe.  Not sure you can make them out but it was great to see six or seven vapor trails from all the red-eye flights coming over from North America early in the morning.

If last night was a bit of a pre-finish acknowledgement (but no celebration yet for fear of jinxing our finish) of what we’ve accomplished so far, this morning’s mood was filled with a combination of anxious anticipation and that sense of “oh God, we’ve come this far; don’t let anything happen to us today.”

One last ride through these sleepy little towns throughout our four-country journey.

As we were all saying good night to each other, I went back to my room, carrying a mixed sense of anxiousness, relief and joy.  In the first case, it was praying that none of us got a flat tire or worse on the last day of the ride; knowing that my butt had to endure only one more day in the saddle (I’ve been very mindful NOT to talk too much about saddle sores or other ailments during this year’s blog); and a reserved feeling of “yeah, I actually did this!”

Don't know if this shot really shows how steep some of the hills have been.  I took this shot climbing up after a long, slow hill climb, as we had just descended from that mountain in the distance.

Once again, Deolinda provided us with a wonderful breakfast spread, more sustenance than we could have possibly needed for today.  We packed up our bags one last time, knowing this had been the last night we’d be staying in hotels.  We hugged Deolinda goodbye.  She wished us well in Portuguese.  And, just like that, we were off on our final day of riding.  84 miles and a whole lotta climbing.

That's about as flat as today's ride got.

And, once again, we started out almost immediately back into the hills.  Say whatever you want about Portugal, it is NOT a flat country! Today was one of the highest amounts of climbing we’d do on this entire trip, over 5000 feet in total.  Nice of us to leave it to the last day!  

But even with all the crap roads (some with miles upon miles of potholes that looked as if the roads had not been repaved in decades) and the climbs, we all kept up a pretty heady pace throughout the day.  Wanting to see the Atlantic and the finish of our journey provided a proper amount of adrenaline.  A favorable tailwind through the first two-thirds of the ride was also a welcome blessing.

And, for virtually all of the day, we rode together.  Even if we got separated due to a climb, the occasional traffic light or a busy roundabout, we wanted to ensure that everyone was safe and that we’d ride into the Algarve the same way we left Dronfield…together.

That mountain in the distance was on fire three weeks ago when we started this ride.  The forest fires in Portugal are now in the north of the country.  We truly dodged a weather bullet this trip.

All day long, it seemed as if we were riding along the mountain ridgelines.  Then, we’d swoop down into a valley and then back up again to the next mountain top ridge.  Up, down, up down.  My legs were sore and tired, but the sense that we were near the end really helped propel me.

First look at the Atlantic Ocean.  We're actually there!

As we got closer to the end, the weather changed.  The crosswinds picked up and the temperatures cooled down.  And, either for spite or just a reminder of all the climbs we’ve conquered over the past three weeks, we had a short but hellacious 16% climb up a 100-meter hill about five miles before the end of the day. 

The magnificent seven, on the beach on Praia da Luz. 

After that, we regrouped at the top and rode in a slow 5-mile processional along our last ridge line, still not being able to see the ocean ahead of us.  It wasn’t until we climbed over our last rise about half a mile from the end and then, there it was, the blue sparkling waters of the Atlantic! The rest was literally downhill. And that’s when it hit each of us. We were there.  We had reached the end of our three-week adventure.  We had finished our journey.  

Journey complete.  My favorite cycling victory pose.

The rest of the afternoon was a mix of celebratory photos, beers and crashing (as in passing out, not hitting anything).  

Later that night, we regrouped for dinner.  That involved a very long walk (over 20 minutes but I wasn’t actually timing it) down the steep hill to the beach.  We dined on Indian cuisine, toasted each other several times, and were regaled with a wonderful presentation from our tour host.  

All during the trip, James had been rushing off to a bike shop in one city after another.  He kept telling everyone that he was having problems (partially true) with his bike and was in desperate need of getting a proper mechanic to resolve his bike issues.  Everyone fell for his subterfuge.  In fact, James was planning for this final evening’s event all along, going from shop to shop buying either cycling jerseys or kits from his beloved Sheffield United football club for all the ride participants.  Each gift was personalized to match the attitudes, achievements or peculiar behaviors displayed by our band of cycling gypsies during the trip. It was wonderful fun and we were all so appreciative of James and his gesture; not merely this evening’s entertainment but, most importantly, the herculean efforts of planning and coordinating every route map, hotel and dealing with the financing for this trip.  Good on ya James!  Chapeau.

A post-dinner celebratory drink was in order at Clive’s bar, a local establishment along the beach that James has been teasing us about ever since we started the ride.  We passed on following that up with karaoke as we were just exhausted from both the physical nature of the day as well as the emotions of having finished our three-week ride.  Twenty-plus minutes of slogging our way back up that hill and we all said good night to each other, entered our respective abodes, brushed our teeth and fell deeply into a much-needed sleep.  C’était fini!

Blog extras #6: The food

Let me start off by saying that, by nature, I'm not a foody photographer.  I like eating my food, not taking pictures of it. However, I did make a couple of exceptions on this trip so that you could see what we've been eating.  No enough pictures, as it turns out.  So apologies for that.

England

Having had three days to prepare our bikes, acclimate to the new times zone and ensure we had everything we needed (including a competent SAG driver who had mastered driving on the other side of the road from the other side of the car), we got to sample a fair amount of British food.

There was, of course, a fair amount of sampling of British beers and gins.  I'm not sure how gin & tonics became the drink of choice on this trip but, for a couple of the riders, that was the quaff of the day after a ride.  James was partial to something he simply called "soda and lime," a mixture of seltzer and Rose's lime juice.  That, for me, became my thirst-quencher of choice throughout England.

Dinners became a sampling of pies (steak & kidney, rabbit, chicken, steak & beer, etc.), mushy peas and anything else you would find in traditional pub fare.  Breakfasts in the pubs were usually some variation on the full English:  eggs, sausage, streaky bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, some kind of potatoes and toast.

For the remainder of this trip, breakfasts would be variations on a buffet offering of every kind of pastries, breads, eggs, meats and cheeses, yoghurts, cereals, juices, coffees and teas and fruits and vegetables.

We thought this might become the routine for the entire trip.  Fortunately for our waistlines, it was a one-off, but enjoyable event.

And, in an hommage to the Lord of the Rings, we did enjoy a 2nd breakfast on the road one day.  Scones, clotted cream, crumpets and pots of tea.  

France

We still hadn't developed a formal routine for eating, other than eating breakfast as early as the hotels would open up for service.  Dinners were usually between seven and eight each night.

In France, the pork product of choice (having been bacon in England) became jambon...French ham.  And the delivery of choice, usually when we'd stop for lunch or when Jesse would be able to find a boulangerie along the route:  une baguette avec jambon et fromage (ham and cheese on a roll).  I think we all stayed fueled throughout France with a daily dose of those.

As with all our dining choices in France and elsewhere, we enjoyed simply prepared, local foods.

For dinner, we were now starting to enjoy some wonderfully made fresh salads with local greens, plates of meats and cheeses, etc.  We were also enjoying the fruits of the sea.  Moules et frites (mussels and fries) became the leading dinner option for many.  In Mont Saint Michel, galettes and crepes (both savory and sweet) were washed down with local wines.

In St. Jean de Luz, I got to try what is considered the original macarons, long before Ladurée became mass-producing them in France and the States.  I bought a box for the rest of the crew and they became a mid-day snack until we polished them off.

Spain

Two changes, besides the language, happened when we hit Spain.  With one exception, we stopped eating lunch on the road. Knowing that dinners started much later in Spain (the earliest we usually could eat dinner would be 8:30), we decided to eat a late lunch after we arrived each day.  So lunch became our bigger meal for the next eight days.

Sardines start making their appearance on the menus when we hit Spain.

Paellas (chicken, seafood, mixed, etc.) became a staple for much of the crew.  Yes, we continued to have a burger here and there.  We actually started seeing eggs being served with anything we would order -- on a burger, with our steaks at night, etc.  It became a running joke that we could eat enough eggs for breakfast anymore.

It didn't matter in which country we were, we were always eating something made from pork.  Bacon/Jambon/Jamon.  

As we rode (and ate) our way through Western Europe, there were a lot of food choices each day.  We wrestled with two contrary issues in our food selections:  wanting to try to local fare and eating things we knew (or hoped!) wouldn't upset our digestive systems as we had another long ride the next morning.  Fortunately, we chose well.  No one suffered from any ill effects from the foods we ate.

It wasn't just the good food.  It was also the wonderful people we've met along the way who've served us those meals.

The other important thing to note was that, no matter where we ate, whether it was outside a boulangerie along the ride route in France or dining outdoors at a restaurant in Spain, we almost always ate communally.  Yes, we'd often order our own individual courses, but we also shared plates of local products.  I'm not sure that was by design.  It just happened as a matter of course.

Portugal

The most interesting contrast in food styles has been these past two days in Portugal.  Last night, we dined in the 4-star hotel restaurant in Évora.  The foods offered from the most upscale menu on this trip were outstanding.  John Dory, salmon, Oxtail, cod (bacalhau) and fried sardines to just name a few of the entrées that were spectacular.  The local wines were excellent.  We had two soups that showed the character of both the restaurant and the country:  a traditional gaspacho (Portuguese spelling) that the local farmers would bring to work and eat as a mid-morning snack; and a "typical" tomato soup (that was anything but typical!) eaten on cold winter nights -- a thick, meaty stew of a soup with potatoes and sausage on top of a garlicky toast.

A simple but elegant feast for a bunch of starving cyclists.

The counterpoint to that was today's lunch.  We arrived around 1pm at our Pensione on the outskirts of Santiago do Cacém.  It's in the countryside, hidden away from the main road into town.  Deolinda and her husband run this small, 7-room affair.  Neither speaks English.  And we hardly speak a word of Portuguese.  Yet we were able to communicate with each other throughout the day and evening.  And they turned out a magnificent, simply prepared feast for us for lunch late this afternoon.

Deolinda first delivered for the table a simple cucumber, tomato and carrot salad, followed by a tuna/potato mixture that was just heavenly.  That was followed by a mixed grill of rabbit, chicken, sausages, lamb and wild boar.  Rice, beans, mushrooms served as accompaniments.  Bottles of cerveja (beer) and a couple of glasses of tawny port to polish it all off.  Then, out of nowhere, doces (sweets/desserts) showed up.  Chocolate and butterscotch puddings (heavenly!) and Deolinda's versions of Black Foresst Cake and Carrot cake.  Absolutely the antithesis of last night's meal but every bit as delicious!

Tomorrow night, we'll celebrate with a meal on the beach in the Algarve.  Maybe crack open a bottle of Champagne.

Day 21: Évora to Santiago do Cacém. 66 miles. 2915 feet of climbing. Another hot one!

Getting ready to ride this morning as we leave Évora.  Notice the cobblestones.  The entire downtown area is cobbled.  Made for some extremely bumpy riding both last night as well as this morning.

bon Dia from Santiago do Cacém.

More of the farmlands we rode through this morning and afternoon.

It was another hot day.  We were able to got out on the road early to avoid the major heat of the day, but it was still another hot one.

In St. Jean de Luz in southern France, there were only three accent colors people were allowed to paint their houses.  As we rode through some of the small towns during today's ride, I saw a similar pattern.  All the houses (and many buildings) were white with an accent trim color around the windows, the doorways and the bases of the buildings.  Above are some of the color choices.

The day started off at a very fast pace.  We all left together and rode on some very nice roads (well paved, but still no shoulders) there were --- wait for it --- flat!  The first time in days we've not started out with rolling hills.

We've been riding by churches with nests on their steeples throughout this journey.  Today, for the first time, we actually saw some inhabitants of those nests. 

Each day we've been asking ourselves, "what state in the US do the areas we're riding through remind us of?"  Mainly, the answers have been Utah, Texas or Colorado.  But, for the past three days, even with the olive and almond groves, the answer has been Missouri or, as people who've ridden across that state would say, "Misery."  Missouri is known for it's "rollers," short, steep rolling hills that come one right after another.  Much of what we've ridden through in Portugal has been very reminiscent of Missouri's rollers.  However, this morning's first 15 miles was a respite from that.

A study in contrasts.  This morning, we left a modern, very nice 4-star hotel in Évora.  This afternoon, we checked into a very delightful, 2-star Pensione, with very nice hosts.  They don't speak English.  We speak very little Portuguese.  Yet, somehow, we're able to communicate.  That's been one of wonderful experiences on this trip...connecting with people.

The second half of the day was nearly all uphill.  Right to the very end.  Uphill.  We rode past a rice paddy, hung a right turn and started the remaining 20 miles of the day's ride with a sustained 16% climb up the side of a mountain.  Fortunately, the gradient got better the higher we climbed.  But it kept going up!

For the first time since leaving France, we had some shade in the morning.  The trees were growing right alongside the road and provided some very appreciated cover from the sun during the morning.  And, for some reason that none of us can figure (other than speculation that we've been riding through fields of wild fennel), there has been an intermittent smile of licorice in the air.

And, once again, we'd be in real trouble were it not for Jesse and his scheduled and unscheduled SAG stops along the route. Just knowing he's on the road, whether we need his help or not, has been so reassuring to everyone.  And, when he's there with a bottle of fresh water to refill our empties, that's even more reason to celebrate is presence on a day like today.

Blog extras #5: The SAG Stops

Our first SAG stop on our first day of the ride.

We would be totally lost without Jesse and all the SAG stops along this trip.  If we were doing this as a solo support effort, we'd have to be carrying much of the supplies (along with our clothing).  Jesse and the car provide us with a major degree of freedom to just ride.

But some of you have asked just what is a SAG stop?

On a typical ride, we usually break about every 20-30 miles.  That's about as long as any of us can ride before we've drunk all our water in two bottles (we average about 15 miles/water bottle if we're going to stay properly hydrated).   And we're burning calories at a rate of around 500 per hour.  Even with a big breakfast, we're still looking for fuel.

Each stop has been planned ahead of time by James, who outlined the entire route.  Jesse will be waiting there for each of us to pass.  He won't leave a stop until everyone has passed.

We stop to get our water bottles refilled and to either pick up energy bars, additional sunscreen or whatever else we'll need. In the late mornings, we might be dropping off our windbreakers or arm warmers.  On days with intermittent rains, we might either be putting our rain jackets on or taking them off, leaving them with Jesse.

About every three days, Jesse and I or Michelle, will go shopping at a nearby Carrefour or other big box store to pick up gallons/liters of water, wipes, energy bars, and sunscreen.

In addition to the planned SAG stops, Jesse will often hopscotch a number of riders to ensure that everyone is okay during their riding day.  Whether it's a potential mechanical problem (we've had a number of flat tires along the way) or other issues, he's just a phone call away to assist and have the necessary supplies.

Jesse is our hero on this trip!

Day 20: Badajoz, Spain to Évora, Portugal: 63 miles. 3615 feet of climbing. HOT!

Bem-vindo a Portugal.

No passports required (except when we check in to our hotels).  We've crossed into our final country on this EFSP 2018 tour, Portugal.

Today took everyone (riders and SAG support, alike) by surprise.  It wasn't that long a day but it was quite hilly.  And the heat came on quickly in the morning.  I felt drained by the 40th mile and just slowed down into survival mode to finish the day.  The heat felt like someone had pulled my power cord from the wall socket.  Just no energy, even after having had a decent breakfast, plenty of water along the route, and energy bars during the two SAG stops.  It just was that draining a day.

The border crossing from England to France is, obviously, very pronounced.  We crossed the English Channel/La Manche. The border crossing between France and Spain was less so.  We crossed a medium-sized river and saw a number of signs in a new language, as well as a couple of border guards on the opposite side of the street.

I kid you not.  This was about a official as it got for an acknowledgement of the border crossing.

This morning, three miles out from our starting hotel, it was even more discrete.  We crossed over the Rio Caya, at that point a tiny little creek of a river and, boom, there we were in Portugal!  No major signs.  No border guards.  Just a whisper of a new country in the form of a faded, and tree-covered region sign.

About as discrete an introduction to a new country as you could imagine.

Ever since leaving England and France, we've also lost whatever tree/shade cover we might have enjoyed against the sun. Spain was just so.  Portugal is following suit.

Elvas was a major border fortress town in the Middle Ages. It was our first big climb of the day.  And, yes, Jesse and Michelle saw a guy who looked just like Elvis on a bicycle!

First impressions of Portugal:  The folks who drive here do so FAST!.  Whether they are driving along side of us or following ever so closely to one another (tailgating might be considered a national sport down here), they are doing it very quickly.

We kept hearing what sounded like gunshots during the morning.  I was told it was to help keep the birds away from the olive trees as they near ripening and ready for harvest.

The roads are as badly paved as in parts of rural Spain and England.  As was the case in England, there are virtually no shoulders on the road (so far) so staying as far right to allow the speedy motorists their way was a challenge all day. Contributing to that challenge was the fact that there are bushes growing right next to the roadway that are not cut down. As a result, at the same time we are trying to stay as far right as we can, we are also dealing with the switches and the thorns from those same bushes and veering into the road whenever we're free from traffic.

I should have shot this as a (music) video instead of merely taking the picture of these goats in their pasture.  The sounds of all their bells around their necks made for such a wonderful musical interlude along today's ride.

We rode today through groves of almond and olive trees, pasture lands for cattle and goats, and pig farms (just read an alarming report last night about there being more pigs in Spain than people and the negative effects -- CO2, less crops being grown for human consumption, etc. -- that might be causing).

The heat in the summer supports why siestas are taken and why dinners don't start until late at night.  It's too damned hot in the middle of the day!

Two more days and we'll reach the Atlantic Ocean!

Blog extras #4: The machines that help get us there

It probably goes without saying that there’s a human element to all of this.  But it’s also important for a “chapeau” (the cycling term, coming from the French, that acknowledges a “tip of the hat”) to the machines that help get us from Dronfield to the Algarve…our bikes, our Garmin computers and James’ BMW.  Without those, we’d be hitchhiking our way across Europe.

The bikes

Everyone’s got his/her favorite bike.  Some are on this trip.  I was amazed last night at dinner when some of our crowd were talking about the number of bikes that they own and why they choose that particular bike for this trip. Some own four bikes.  Some more.  I’ve got just my Specialized Roubaix, a lightweight carbon fiber bike. I’ve had it for all of the rides up the Mississippi, across the country and down the Atlantic seaboard.  I used to have a steel Dibernardi as well. Loved that bike.  It was such a comfortable ride but, being a steel-framed bike, was fairly heavy – not the best for climbing up the Rockies.

My horse.  Complete with aerobars (which come in very handy on days with strong headwinds), the Garmin computer (in between the aerobars) two water bottles, a saddle bag with extra inner tube and multi-tool, front and rear flashing lights and gator skin tires (which are slightly thicker and help prevent flats, although I've already gotten two this trip).  The bikes are all very lightweight and handle well on all road surfaces and in all weather conditions.

We handle our bikes with great care.  We’re careful where we store our bikes (preferably in our own rooms each night, although some hotels frown upon that and make us put them in some kind of storage facility), where we put our bikes down (always leaving the derailleur off the ground), and how often we make minor or major adjustments.  This morning was such an example. 

Before we left for our day’s ride, Gene (a trained mechanic) was able to identify a clicking sound coming from Laura’s crank (her large gear assembly).  I had some skipping yesterday when trying to shift from some of my middle gears.  In both cases, Gene was able to diagnose the problem and make an easy adjustment.  We clean our bikes when it rains.  When it’s nice, we might do that once every two-to-three days, applying new lubricants about every other day.

James had a more serious issue with the ball bearings in his crank.  He wound up taking it to a local bike shop here in Badajoz and was able to get a replacement made before they closed for lunch.

Every night, we are checking our tires for any potential problems – a loose piece of glass or wire that might be trying to get into the tire, a crack in the tread, etc.  We charge up our front and tail lights.  We check our shifters and our brakes. Although none of us, other than Gene, are qualified as trained mechanics, over the years we’ve all learned the basics of keeping our bikes in good running shape.

The Garmin computers

An example of the turn-by-turn directions
and graphics on the Garmin

Everyone riding on this trip has one form or another of the Garmin bike computers.  Before the trip, we downloaded the 22 days of riding from a “Ride with GPS” website onto our Garmin’s.  Although we know where we’re heading each day, the Garmin’s are invaluable in giving us the specific turn-by-turn directions.  I’ll get an audible “beep” cue about one-tenth of a mile before the turn.  On my screen will be a map showing me in which direction I should be riding.  One of the interesting things about these turn signals is that, in Europe, we are riding around so many roundabouts, so we actually get two cue “beeps,” one when we are entering the roundabout and the second when we’re advised which exit of the roundabout to take.  And considering that not all our cues include the actual route number or name, seeing the turn cue on the ride map on the computer helps us immensely when we’re entering a roundabout with four or five exits.

The end of ride summary screen.

The Garmin’s aren’t foolproof.  Occasionally, they will want us to take a parallel path, usually to avoid major car traffic.  But, in at least five cases that we’ve dealt with so far, those cues want us to go on unpaved roads.  In those cases, we’ll ignore the “off course” alerts and stay on the paved roads, especially as we can see from the expanded maps on our Garmin’s that we are remaining parallel to the cue and will shortly be back on course.  But even with those infrequent hiccups, we could not get where we need to be without those computers.

The SAG car

This would have been a far more challenging ride if we had to do this unsupported and with touring bikes. Touring bikes are much heavier, slower riding bikes compared to our road bikes.  But, most importantly, a touring bike would have been carrying a series of panniers, those saddle bags that would hold our clothes and our supplies. Those bikes, fully loaded, weigh upwards of three times what our road bikes weigh.

The morning load out.  Luggage goes in the "boot," water, energy bars, first aid, etc. in the back seat along with easy access to everyone's windbreakers or rain jackets, just in case.  Two bike racks on the roof, also just in case.

Having Jesse driving a car that’s filled with our luggage (which meant we could all bring more clothes/supplies than on a self-sustained ride), gallons of water, energy bars, sunscreen, wipes, and first aid kits (which, thank goodness, have rarely been used!) has been invaluable.  In addition to merely carrying all of that stuff, Jesse has been able to ride back and forth to provide support (spare inner tubes and a floor stand tire pump) in cases of roadside flat tires, or just extra water during some really long and hot stretches of the route.

Day 19: Cáceres to Badajoz: 55 miles. 1925 feet of climbing. Cool, with headwinds.

The valley ahead of us as we started our descent out of Cáceres this morning.

Today was one of those days we all long for...a shorter, easier day that would let us recuperate while still riding.  It wasn't too challenging and it ended quickly.  Just what the doctor ordered.

Tomorrow's hills in the distance.

We got a good start out of Cáceres with the first 13 miles being on a slight downhill grade.  That made for a very fast exit from the city.  Today, again, we were basically on the same road for the entire 55 miles.

Whatever these grassy areas are called, we passed a number of active grazing lands and working farms today.

The early arrival allowed a few of us to find a nearby laundromat for one final proper washing.  I now have really clean clothes to last for the remainder of the ride.  Joy!

Cattle and sheep were on display much of today.  We'll probably ride back into olive and almond groves tomorrow.

I kept seeing signs for "Sierra" this and "Sierra" that, the names weren't important.  I always thought a "Sierra" referred to the grasslands near the mountains.  Turns out, especially in Spanish-speaking countries, it refers the the jagged mountain chains themselves.  Well then, that's what we've been riding through this past week for sure!

We passed a number of these cork trees that had their bark stripped off.  

The region that we've been riding through the past couple of days, Extremadura, is the main region in Spain for olive growing.  We've passed many olive orchards but wondered why there was no much activity going on.  Turns out, like grapes, they will be ripening and picked next month.

About 210 miles to go.  Maybe a nap is in order first.

Blog extras #3: The people we've met

Tonight, our dinner conversation turned to a bit of reflection on the events of the past nearly three weeks.  We were comparing the beers, the hotels, the landscapes (which areas reminded us of Utah or Texas or Colorado, etc.), the food and much more.

But soon, we all started sharing our thoughts about all the people we've met along the way.  And how our attitudes have been revised based on our recent experiences.  In some cases, as was pointed out to us by James, our British colleague on this trip, we Americans have had a far more negative view of ourselves.  Or, more precisely, how we felt we might be perceived by Europeans.  Even those of us who have traveled extensively throughout Europe and elsewhere had thoughts that we might not always be welcomed as Americans, especially given the current resident in the White House.  But our receptions to date strongly point otherwise.

If there is a stereotype of the indifferent or intolerant European, let this blog counter that image.  Along our daily routes, we've encountered wonderful fellow cyclists from all over the world.  They've all said hello or shouted words of encouragement (and, often, in English!).  We've had people such as the cafe owners yesterday morning, go out of their way to accommodate us and our breakfast hunger needs (which, by the way, we've also paid back through a series of 5-star reviews).

We've had very patient restaurant waitstaff help us through menus not in our native language.  We've been able to buy what we need at food stores, get help at bike shops and order gin and tonics or beers with little difficulty.  Patience has been key, but it's worked out in virtually all cases.

We've communicated through pantomime, through broken French and Spanish, through misunderstood English accents, and through Google translate.  When we were questioning our Garmin's and not sure of the route to follow, policemen, motorists or fellow cyclists helped us find our way and got us on the right roads.

No one sneered at us.  No one called us ugly Americans.  No one yelled at us.  Most people have smiled.  And, whether or not they've spoken any English, they've been helpful.  Even this morning, as we rode through a bustling small village and by a restaurant with a very busy outdoor breakfast service, people were waving hello and cheering us on.

We compared this tour's experience with those of our collective pasts, whether on previous cross-country cycling adventures or when driving across the country.  And what we've all felt is basically the same thing... and it applies to our experiences here in Europe.

While we read about the indifference, the intolerance or the antagonistic behavior of people, it's usually spoken about in terms of stereotypes.  Yet, when we're actually on the ground, going from village to village, meeting people up close and personal, that's not, for the most part, what we experience.

The takeaway for us all is a strong reminder that the human condition, the actual relationships between people on the ground, is far different from what we read in the papers.  It's not the political machines, the politicians that represent our countries, that are the heart and soul of humanity.  It's the woman running the small cafe.  It's the couple walking along the road heading to church.  It's the kids playing in the street, waving at us as we ride by.  It's the old man and his dog, sitting nearby and holding up his glass of wine and toasting us and celebrating with us the end of another successful day.

So as we drank our last glasses of beer or gin and tonics of the night (ginebra y tonica -- it helps to learn how to order it in the local language), we sat back and smiled.  The newspapers can report the troubles around the world.  But here on the ground, things look a bit more peaceful.  And the human condition survives and prospers.

Day 18: Plasencia to Cáceres: 52 miles. 2950 feet of climbing. Testy headwinds

The Old Cathedral in Plasencia.  It was right outside our hotel room window.

I'm not sure how well you'll be able to see the cities on this topical map.  I saw it this morning in the lobby of our hotel.  In the upper right, you can see the two mountains we rode over yesterday.  We continue to head southwest towards Portugal.

Thank goodness it was a short day today.  I didn't get much sleep again last night and I could really feel it as we rode out of Plasencia.

We've passed these "clubs" during the past few days.  James reminded us NOT to stop there, even if we needed a bathroom break.  Turns out, "clubs" are brothels.

The ride took us, once again, along our road companion these past few days, Route N630.  At times, it was a well-paved highway.  Other times, it was merely a service road alongside the superhighway; a cracking, rippling mess of a road.

Jesse took this from the bridge over the arroyo we've ridden through during the middle of the day.  The bridge in the distance is part of the new Linea de Alta Velocidad, the high-speed rail line being built to connect Madrid to the Portugal border.

I'm not sure if it was the sleep, the heat or merely the accumulation of miles, but not long after checking and and grabbing a bite to eat with Jesse, we both retired to the room and passed out.  We were both long overdue for a good nap.

We weren't the only ones trying to keep out of the sun today.  These guys are all lying in whatever shade they can find.

Blog extras #2: The physical v. the mental challenges of a ride

Many aspects of this long ride can be broken down into two parts:  The physical and the mental.  

Physical

The physical aspects are easy to appreciate.  Cycling for five to seven hours each day is all about working.  

It took all of us months to train for a ride such as this.  It’s not simply getting one’s legs in shape.  It’s also about building up core muscle strength, to help relieve the pressure on the lower back.  Arm strength is also important, especially when climbing.  There is so much work your arms do in helping “pull” you up the mountain.

But when the ride comes, all the prep work is put to use.  Immediately.  I really feel it in my thighs, especially after a long day of climbing.  And, even after stretching and rolling out my legs and lower back, they still ache.  We’re not having much luck finding ice available at the hotels after a day’s ride, so I can’t ice my knees and thighs.  Biofreeze helps a little but it’s palliative at best.  So I just grin and bear it.  

But fatigue does set in, especially when there are daily climbs.  There are no “rest” days on this trip that consist of a totally flat stage. Every day of this tour has included either mountain or steep hill climbs, or rolling hills.  Yes, the latter are less challenging, but they still require your legs to get you up them.

Besides my legs, there are sometimes issues with my hands.  One of the reasons I’m moving my hand positions during the day’s ride is to alleviate the pressure put on them.  The constant pulling from my hands as I climb up miles of hills can create a numbness in them.  Even on long, fat sections of the ride, the same sensation can occur.  Many people think that all your weight is on your seat when you ride.  In actuality, much of the weight is divided between your feet and your hands.  You want as little weight on your seat as possible as that can increase the potential for saddle sores (discussed previously so, as a promise to readers from the past, I won’t go into detail on that subject J).

I see every rider doing the same exercise with their hands.  One hand will come off the bike just to get the circulation flowing back again. Then it’s a switch of the hands and the other hand gets the same treatment.  That routine will repeat itself about once every five miles or so. 

After two weeks of riding, the physical toll of our riding begins to creep in.  We are slower getting up in the morning.  We are slower to get a good rhythm going when we start to ride.  Some of the better riders are, two weeks into this ride, starting to become aware of their leg fatigue.  So it’s not just wimpy me feeling that way! J  And starting and stopping, as when we break for lunch along the ride route, can also be a challenge.  My ability to rebound after a prolonged break shows how long it’s taking for me to recover.

Mental

The mental aspects of the ride are, in many ways, even more challenging than the steep mountain climbs. Why?  Because the minute I stop paying attention to the road, something bad can happen.  I might miss a turn.  I might miss seeing a pothole or other debris in the road that would damage a tire, the wheel or the bike itself.  

Just as physical fatigue kicks in either at the end of a long day or after two weeks of riding, mental fatigue can do just the same.  It can result in my daydreaming and not focusing on the road.  Or it can cause me to lose my focus on something as simple as picking up my water bottle to drink while riding at 18 miles per hour and absent-mindedly putting it back in a slot that doesn’t exist (I’m looking at the road ahead and not down at my bottle cages).  Result?  My water bottle goes careening off my bike and onto the roadway.  

Another example is the simple act of moving my hands around the handlebars.  I might readjust my hand positions, usually to relieve pressure on certain parts of my palms.  In doing so, if I’m not deliberate in placing my hands in just the right spot, I might hit the top of the bars or the brake cowlings (not the brakes themselves). That simple act of bumping into something could cause the bike to veer off and lose my balance, potentially causing a crash if I totally lose control.  Yes, it’s that kind of simple thing that requires me to remain focused all during the ride.

And there are distractions that can cause that loss of focus.  A rabbit running across the road.  A car suddenly appearing out of nowhere from a side street and starting to enter the road in front of you, even if it doesn’t actually make that turn. All those thing as well as great sights along the way, can cause me to lose my focus.

A typical ride day

There’s another aspect of the mental challenges of a long day’s ride.  You could almost break up a day into three parts:  The morning ride out of the hotel, the last miles into the next town, and everything in between.  It’s like an Oreo cookie.  The starting section out of town and the ending section coming back into another town are two halves of the same cookie.  All the spaces we ride in between those population centers is the cream filling.

We start off early in the morning with a bounce in our step and a fresh perspective on the day.  There’s an enthusiasm for the day ahead.  Bodies are fueled.  Minds are fresh.  We’re off on another adventure.  

The morning ride is sometimes a slow-going affair as we wend our way through traffic to get outside of the city.  We are awake so we are cautious of on-coming cars and trucks and it’s usually a cool, bright sunshine morning.  We’re all smiles.

Once we’re out of sight of the town and in the countryside, we’re the “in-between” section, which can range from 40-90 miles.  We hopscotch for one town to another with few aspects of an active human population in between.

For me, it is all about getting through the day.  There are days when we are riding past one farm after another.  Or past a series of industrial complexes.  Or through canyons or along rivers.  All those sights can take my mind off of the road, or the miles yet to ride.

But even if there are many interesting things to see along the route, as the miles go on, I usually am doing a series of mental exercises to figure how far I need to ride.  I use the various distances from my training rides to remind myself that, for instance, yes, I can do the next 50 miles; it’s no different than my training ride for Point A to Point B.  

I also am “playing music” in my head.  We don’t ride with headphones.  It’s too dangerous on these long rides.  In the past, some folks have hooked up Jawbone speakers to their Camelback water backpacks, so they can listen to music that has been connected to their phones via Bluetooth.

Depending on my cadence (how fast/slow I’m spinning), I am usually listening to a song at that same tempo (anything from Green Day to Squeeze).  But things along the route can trigger a song (a “long and winding road” – The Beatles; a long road to nowhere – Miles to Nowhere – The Smithereens, “ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go” – James Taylor, etc.).  My head is like an iPod.

The last five or so miles of the day is almost a repeat of the morning, but in reverse.  When we start seeing signs for the finishing town, we all wake up just a bit more.  Not because there will be more traffic (although that’s important) but because we’ll soon be in a hot shower and off our bikes.  There’s also a bit of urgency, especially after a grueling day dealing with the distance, the hills, the heat or any combination of the three. We just want to get there.  

There’s a keen sense of that anticipation as we see our bike computers counting down the miles.  The pastures and the barbed wire fencing are behind us.  We change our cadence and our tempo.  We wind down from the long hours in the sun along emptier and less well-paved roads.

But the entering into a new town also wakes us up in another way.  The roads are now filled with signs, with people walking along the sidewalks. We have traffic lights and cars to deal with again.  There’s a spring in our step; an acceleration in our pacing.  We’re almost home for the day.