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21 Rae and Nigel After lunch we continued the task at hand-cranking out endless headwind miles across the stark plateau. Sharon's pink shirt was black with road dust and grime. My face, streaked with sweat, had attracted ridges of dust. I looked Spanish-only dirtier. A motorhome with a motorbike tied onto the back passed us. Sharon said, "It sure would look good to have our bikes strapped to that motorhome." "Dream on," I told her. A couple of kilometers farther we saw the motorhome pulled over in a farmer's field. A bloke standing on the roadway watched us approach. Waving us to a stop Nigel, with an Australian accent, asked, "Got time for a spot of tea?" "Usually," I replied. "But we're in a hurry to get to Lisbon to meet a plane on the 20th." "Do you have ten minutes?" "Oh, sure," I said. I knew when I was beaten. The tea and biscuits were already waiting on the table inside the motorhome. Rae and Nigel hailed from Sydney, Australia. They had bought the motorhome in England and were touring Europe for nine months. They were heading into Portugal. They asked us the three usual questions, before asking more biting ones. Learning we were cycling around the world Nigel failed to be impressed. "After all," he said, "it's probably been done by some ninety year old granny. Nothing special really. Some Japanese cyclist has probably done it without water," he jested. We munched our biscuits and drank our tea while Rae and Nigel related a few of their adventures. It sounded as if they were having as much fun dealing with the different cultures as we were. The tea finished, I said, "Well, we better get a move on." "You know," Nigel contemplated, "I've been driving along this plateau at a hundred twenty kilometers an hour thinking how bloody boring it is. I can't imagine how mind numbing it must be on a bike, pedalling along into nothingness for days at a stretch. We'd really like to give you folks a hand. How about if we give you a lift to the Portuguese border?" The border was about a hundred kilometers away. It sounded like a damn fine idea. I also realized I would be looking at divorce proceedings if I refused. We loaded the bikes into the motorhome and set off down the road. "You have to be careful who you can trust," Nigel cautioned. "When we were throwing the bikes into the back, we could have just driven off and left you two standing there." "At this point, Nigel," I replied, "I really couldn't care less to see those bikes disappear." Through the motorhome window, the terrain looked bleaker than it had from the bicycle seat. Somehow, the lack of scenery seemed worse than when we were riding our bikes. Less than an hour later, we entered Portugal on a road that had a no bicycles sign. We passed the border guards with a brief wave. Nigel delighted us in travel tales of his own and demonstrated a great sense of humour. We warmed to Rae and Nigel and enjoyed our ride immensely. We also discovered that our remaining miles through Portugal to Lisbon would hardly be flat. On a narrow, heavily travelled cliff side road, Rae and Nigel spared us several steep climbs and a hairraising descent. A breathtaking view into the lush green valley was provided by the absence of a guardrail. As we bounced along I was grateful Rae and Nigel had saved us from riding that section. Rae and Nigel dropped us off in a dark orchard somewhere outside Covilhã. Folks must have wondered why foreigners were throwing bikes out of the back of motorhomes in the dead of night. Rae and Nigel told us to come and see them in Australia, then pulled away into the black void. Taking care not to fall into the orchard's irrigation ditches, Sharon and I pushed our bikes along a dirt road searching for a suitable patch of ground to hold a small tent. The past four days, we had cycled over six hundred kilometers. Lisbon was still three hundred kilometers away, with only two days remaining before Susan and Vicky arrived. Sharon thought trains or hitching a ride with a truck driver would be a good idea. I figured one hundred fifty kilometers a day-no problem. |
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