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Bike Touring Journals by Neil Anderson and Sharon Anderson

Craters on the Moon

Bicycle Touring Portugal

30 Averaging Down

I tried to take a shower. It cost an extra fifty centavos for five minutes. Undressed, I inserted the coin, started my stopwatch so I would know how much time I had left to wash the soap out of my eyes. (From experience I had learned it wasn't easy to find another coin and insert it while soap stung my half open eye.) I turned the red handle and freezing cold water blasted out. I stood there for one minute thirty­five seconds. My arm numbed. I shut off the red handle and turned on the blue. It was just as cold. Back to red. I thought it was feeling warmer. I stuck my arm in farther. No, it was still cold-my arm had just become used to it. At five minutes one second the shower clicked off. It was okay though, because by then I was steamed. I pulled on my pants. I shaved with cold water, ripping out my beard. It was not a good way to start my day.

It cost us eighteen bucks to check out. When Susan paid, I held out my hand. "Fifty escudos," I said. "Shower frio."

He shook his head no. "Close­ed."

"It doesn't say close­ed," I mimicked. "You should have a close­ed sign up or put a piece of tape across the money slot." I continued to hold out my hand.

He reluctantly opened the till and tossed me fifty centavos. Lucky for him he was a reasonable man and I didn't have to resort to Plan B: the elementary school temper tantrum. Results guaranteed-but ugly and embarrassing to all concerned.We headed to downtown Sines stopping by the grocery store to exchange my animali rice and refund two wine bottle deposits, but it was conveniently closed. An Instant Teller wouldn't accept my card. I expected the rejection slip to read: "Minyata, minyata."

The castle turret's vantage point gave views of the colourful fishing boats below. Picking up pastries we went to the harbour front. An old man walked by. I gave him the bag of rice. A half a block away I watched him stop another guy and give him the sack. That rice was making the rounds. I surmised if I waited long enough someone would eventually give it back to me.

Sharon and Susan rode past more lewd and leering young men. Sharon couldn't figure out how they found dirty women clad in oversized tee shirts, ball caps and helmets attractive. She thought they would leer if a cow pedalled past.

Sharon decided she liked the elderly Portuguese men much better. They were cute and amusing. They always nodded or said hi politely when she greeted them. Sharon and Susan couldn't help laughing as I asked two old men directions to Castro Verde. Soon arms were pointing in every direction and Portuguese was flowing as if I was fluent. The two men couldn't confuse me enough on their own; two recruits soon joined them and the four men waved their arms and gave me enough directions to last until spring.

Susan thought it was hilarious. "They were pointing at the sky," she gagged with laughter.

Tired of the rip­off coast we headed inland. I had enough sand in my shorts to last me for a while. The terrain rolled. Bark was cut off cork trees, revealing the dark brown trunk beneath. Cork dried, stacked in huge curving piles, looking like brown roofing tiles. Portugal was one of the world's largest cork exporters. I wondered if they were able to supply all of France's wine corks.

We cycled eighty­seven kilometers-the most we had done with Susan in Portugal. The road alternated between ultra smooth and dreadfully bumpy. I needed a mountain bike with fat balloon tires to negotiate the rough sections.

We did eighty­seven kilometers because Susan wanted to make it to Sevilla to catch a train to Malaga, where she would catch her plane home. At the rate we had been travelling, she was worried she wasn't going to make it out of Portugal. Her legs cramped as we ate supper.

I was happy there were no campgrounds. We camped in a farmer's field, surrounded by cork trees and a canopy of stars overhead, instead of a chain fence and gun­toting guards. It was more to my liking than an overpriced campground. I told Susan "Tomorrow that $24 campground we paid for will be averaged down to $12." I hoped she remembered that when she was squatting in the bushes.

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