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TRANSPORTUGAL MARCH 2011. TRANSPORTUGAL

DAY 4. ALANDROAL-Mourao-MOURA-Ourique-Odemira. KMS 240

In Alandroal slept in a pastry-residential, a curious combination hospitality. The owner also let me park the bike in an annex to the inn yard, and even helped me with the maneuvers, as the bags bumped against the walls of the entrance and the matter was further complicated account. The next morning I saw clearly what was the parking:

Sleeping Alandroal course I had a little detour from the route, so the first thing I did that morning was to retrace my steps and go back to Capelins Terena and where I returned to the track. For good tracks

da Orada arrived at the convent,

and shortly after , following an old road,




Monsaraz I stood in another village monumental castle. Unfortunately, there was no time to waste visiting the town, just let me pause to scan the landscape and get an idea of \u200b\u200bwhat lay ahead of me:


Once completed

Mourao, we returned to the routine movement between private farms




and spectacular meadows.



At the height of a Farm village called farms began to circulate more narrow, on roads less clear, among vineyards and olive groves:

was here where I board a civilian :

"Come over here. Tens a gateway dated. Porta
-dated? But is it possible to continue?
-Mellor here. But after a slide rail tens dated and no chave.
"But I want to go this route.
-Umm. Sign in here. Grans rodas trator. Go mow your bike. First you see vens?
"Yes, go south.
-Bom voyage.

Total man encouraged me to get me through the olive grove, explaining that to avoid the closed door could move through the garden following a deep tractor ruts. The first ruts were in the right direction, then turned away, and then shot appeared dozens of alternatives, it was as if the tractor had made slalom under the influence of a hallucinogen. Thanks to the GPS can correct the course and to sense the output of the farm, and after a while, escape the maze olive.

The day was not bad at all, with glorious sunshine and local aid that we were leaving later.
Shortly after passing
Amaraleja the track became road, but only for about 3 miles. The road gradually descended into depression and suddenly re-emerged on track again. Then I got the explanation:

a nice ford across the River Ardila I expected.

would

by the station or by the recent rains, the case is that the Ardila came very full, and perhaps that ford was possible in the dry season, but that March day did not seem the most appropriate place to cross. I kicked the river in various directions, and saw that he could wade going from island to island, but in the end there was always a bit deep to reach the other side that frustrated the operation. In these cases, this is about the face that you have left:

Intuitively, since it had no map of the area (that bit was not importance was outside the planned route y del cual no me merecía la pena comprar mapa), marché por asfalto con rumbo noroeste, siguiendo de lejos la ribera del río hasta encontrar un puente. De camino reposté en Póvoa de Sao Miguel, y allí me confirmaron que econtraría próximamente un puente y la carretera hasta Moura, donde volví a las pistas,

atravesando, por cierto, un inquietante poblado gitano. Después de esta anecdótica travesía, el trayecto por las pistas volvió a su normalidad de caminos rectos atravesando fincas, algunas de ellas, restringidas:

Prohibitions of this kind and closed barriers made me lose a lot of time near Serpa. Soon I crossed the Guadiana bridge for good, not like this:

Indeed, a railway waiting for me:

I had a little trouble interpreting GPS information but everything pointed to the path would be peculiar, no doubt, we would head to the track.

Circular on sleepers was a torment. On both sides of the road a narrow path was suspected, but the weed, landslides, the narrowness of the embankment and the remains of the railway premises made it a mined road obstacles.

happened that the right scrip hit an iron pole camouflage behind a bush, I suddenly off balance and nearly crashing through the embankment. Luckily I have long legs as I stand on tiptoe in extremis, otherwise I do not know what would have happened.

For safety, and chastened by the startling news, I traveled on sleepers, a few hundred yards that I had to take a detour to the right. Followed tracks wide and endless villages, Quintos, Saved, Cabeça Gorda. Does the ground? Predictable: straight tracks between fences,

with their puddles,



and flooded areas.

Between Inputs and Castro Verde plains became more oppressive than ever. Also, I saw again through farm full of animals and their doors closed better or worse, that or did you stop to blink or you were forced to retreat.

From Castro Verde I chose to move along the service road of the road, and so continued until after Ourique.

The evening was close now, and I saw how my desire vanished reach Sagres and Cape St. Vincent that day. The ocean was still far away and I was running out of daylight hours. The end of the fourth day also meant the beginning of the return, so I had no aim other than the front cover as many miles and you had just fed up with bike that day. Would reach as far south as possible and veríamos hasta donde y, después, pensaríamos en volver a casa.

Cerca del pantano de Monte Rocha abandoné la vía de servicio y me interné por parajes cada vez más sombríos,

sombríos por la abundante vegetación y por la escasez de luz. Pasado Garvao hice mi último intento serio de seguir el track. Esta valla, un poco pesada, me detuvo inicialmente,

but took his courage and continued the march for caminuchos increasingly funny, until a barrier and night convinced me that it was time to find the road and find lodging. Fate led me to Odemira, dark city, industrial and somewhat desolate. The next day we would begin to return.