Summer 2024 – From Porto to Mørsvika on Two Wheels
The adventure starts at Bodø Airport. The bike is safely packed, ready for a long journey to Portugal. First stop: Oslo. There will be a few hours of waiting – enough time to philosophise about life’s big questions, such as: “Did I really remember to take everything with me?”…
After a few hours, I land in Porto – and surprisingly, both the bike and I are in one piece. A good start! I quickly get rid of the cardboard box at the hotel – a huge relief, as hauling a massive box around an unfamiliar city isn’t really my style. Then follow two days of relaxation, good food, and a bit of nervous thinking about what I’ve actually gotten myself into.
The Start – July 12th at 5:00 AM 05:00
It’s early morning, and Porto is still half asleep. I roll out of the city as the traffic slowly begins to wake up. A few curious glances from passers-by make me wonder if they’re thinking, “There goes an adventurer!” or “There goes a poor guy who’s lost his mind.”
The goal for the day is Vila Real, about 100 kilometers to the east. But Portugal is not flat – I find that out quickly. My Wahoo keeps showing 20% gradients, and I do the only logical thing: I give up on cycling and start walking instead. A proud cyclist might have pushed through the climbs, but me? I choose to keep both my knees and my dignity intact.
Hills, Heat, and Rough Asphalt
As if steep climbs weren’t enough, the sun starts turning up the heat. Sweat is pouring, and I realize that sunscreen probably should’ve been a bigger part of my packing list. On top of that, the roads feel like a trip back in time – old-fashioned and poorly maintained. Perfect for a nostalgic train ride, less perfect for a road bike.
After a few hours, I decide to take a break in Amarante – a beautiful little town that, luckily, has the essentials: coffee, ice cream, and water. I sit there for a while, enjoying the moment, while quietly wondering if I’ve actually trained enough for this trip (the answer is no).
Leaving the town, my rim brakes aren’t that great. Flying down the steep hills, I get a full-on action movie experience – will I manage to stop before the next turn, or will I become part of a Portuguese postcard scene?
Over Mountains, Through Bushes, and with a Bit of Swearing Thrown In
Ice cream, coffee and cola tasted amazing. Just what I needed before continuing on the road. I knew I had to cross a 1000-meter peak, so I asked people in Amarante about the road to Vila Real. “Is it paved?” I asked, and everyone nodded. “Yes, but it’s tough. Especially with luggage on the bike.
Tough? Well, I had already climbed enough hills to know this wasn’t going to be a relaxing Sunday ride. But I was prepared. (Or so I thought.)
I pedaled on, but after about 20 kilometers, my GPS decided I was due for an adventure. Gravel roads. At first, I thought, “Okay, I can handle a bit of gravel.” But then it got worse—trails, bushes, forest. I had to get off the bike and start carrying it. Not exactly what I had in mind when I planned the route.
I was pissed. Komoot had mapped out a route clearly intended for mountain goats, not a cyclist with a fully loaded bike. I considered turning back and sticking to asphalt. But no—that would’ve felt like defeat. (Bad call, as it turned out.)
Pushing through the undergrowth, I of course managed to rip out some Di2 wires. Suddenly, no gears. Brilliant. It took me two hours to sort it out, cursing technology, bad maps, and my own stupid decisions the entire time.
Finally, after a day that turned out to be the exact opposite of what I’d imagined, I saw Vila Real on the horizon. I had a place to sleep, and luckily, I’d been here before—so I knew exactly where to eat.
Day 2 – July 13: Repairs, Heat, and Even More Hills
I got up early, ready for another day on the bike. Or… almost ready. The chain had slipped off the cassette, and the rear wheel needed re-centering. As if that wasn’t enough, the derailleur was bent, so the gears were working against me rather than with me.
After some tinkering, I finally got going. It turned into a long day – 73 kilometers and 1100 meters of climbing. The sun was blazing, and I felt like a boiled lobster by the time I rolled into Mirandela.
But I made it. And that’s what counts.
What have I learned so far?
Never blindly trust the GPS.
Komoot is a liar.
Di2 wires are fragile little devils.
Portugal is not flat.
Next stage? Well, I hope it’ll be a bit less dramatic… but we’ll see! 🚴♂️🔥
