Sines to Sagres and the Finish Line

Ha'ving spent a good evening with the couple of German engineers at Angelas bar, I commenced the final stretch to Sagres on a sunny morning.
The route is a largely uninteresting stretch, except for the final 30 kms, which travels through the rolling hills of the Parque Natural of SW Portugal.
Rolling hills twisting roads, sunshine and a scarcity of cars made this stretch a bikers paradise.
The moment arrived for me, when after climbing one hill I saw the Atlantic straight ahead of me to the south and also more importantly to the west and the east.
I knew I had made it or at least the bike had.
Down to Sagres and a cheese and ham toasty and a couple of beers to celebrate before heading to the futhermost point of Cabo de Sao Vincente

The problems started again and the bike spluttered to the furthermost tip before eventually kicking into life and acting as a normal bike should behave.
Leaving Sagres to head for Lagos the bike suddenly cut out and I presumed it was the usual plug problem.
I pulled over and removed the plug.
However the engine had overheated and the plug had almost welded itself to the cylinder head and in the process of removing it I managed to remove the thread out of the head too..
I was 12 kms out from Lagos and in spite of a number of British plated cars looking at me struggling, none cared to stop to offer any assistance. Nor did any Portugese either for that matter, although they all tooted their horns, out of sympathy I guess.
There was only one thing left to do and that was to push it to Lagos.
I arrived at 8pm dripping in sweat but managed to find a resting place in the covered market area near the bus station.
I shared this area for three nights with a strange woman who I believed to be a schizophrenic with tourettes.

I asked her the first night if she was Portugese and she immediately started telling me about lizards snakes, rattazinhos and mouses, but I got the feeling she was talking about 'them', the authorities or people who were out to get her. After an hour she told me I was OK as I understood.

I was woken in this covered area in the middle of the night by her, as she shouted at imaginary people.

The following day I saw her on many occasions in the small square in the town, screaming abuse at anyone she passed.

She totally blanked me when she walked pat me for which I am grateful and having said that she didn't scream or rant at me either.

I managed to arrange somewhere to lock the bike up, which cost me 30 Euros and then find the English pub called Fools and Horses to watch the Chelsea game. There were only four of us and we were all supporting the reds. One of my fellow supporters was a scouser called Eddy who had lived there for twenty years or more. After I explained the story of the ride he immediately went and ordered me chicken nuggets and chips with a dip.

It was a good night but the weather had turned and it was back for an early night in the market area with mad Mary.

The following day I asked eddy in the pub to lend me the tools necessary to remove the cylinder head and arranged with Walter whose house the bike was located at, to get the head off before  I left for Faro on the Wednesday and the flight hiome. Walter told me Tuesday was a good day so I spent the day walking around Lagos waiting for tools to arrive.

Apart from Mad Mary, theres not a lot happening at this time of the year so I finished up during one of the dry periods, having a kip on the beach.

The weather didn't hold so I finished up back at the Fools and Horses where I met a couple of German lads and proceeded to have a good night there.

I returned to the market and Mad Mary only appeared fleetingly, had a rant at noboby then disappeared.

I wonder where she spent that night as it was the windiest and wettest night I had known during the whole ride
















This was Mad Mary giving one of the locals down the banks.
 I use the word Mad in the context of her being angry rather than her mental state and hope that doesn't cause anyone any offence