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!