Porto – Cinfães – Valença do Douro – Foz do Sabor – Saucelle – Salamanca: 395km

The first kilometres with Marijn. The first kilometres towards the first kilometres of the second chapter. Marijn and I set out for Madrid. From there; a plane to Canada. Our plan is to ride south. 10 months ago I left with a similar premise; ride east. It’s starting over again. This time on another continent, and with my friend Marijn.

We ride off underneath Porto’s famous bridges. With every peddle stroke our excitement for what’s to come grows. It feels like this ride to Madrid is just a pre-course to our main. But what I pre-course it will be. It’s a new dimension riding with somebody else. Of course, I’ve done it before with Donna, Max, Luki and Anna during this trip. Marijn and me have even ridden together a couple times too. But this time it’s different. We’re not together for a week, this is not a sprint, we’re here together for the long haul. Marijn is the only friend I can think of to do this with. Most of my other friends can’t ride a bike. But his relaxedness, his independence and his can-do-attitude and always in a good mood character make him the perfect companion.

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Online we’ve found a route that we’re following. It takes us along the Douro river; Port wine country. The views are spectacular, vineyards cover every hill as far as the eye can see. We find the most perfect camp spots along the river every single day. We cook on open fire as we watch the sun set over meandering waters. We’re organically falling into routines. I tend to cook, Marijn does the dishes after. The first morning coffee I make, as Marijn prepares breakfast.

Then the climbing starts. The day we cross the border into Spain is an especially hard one. It’s over 35 Celsius and the gradients are often in the double digits. I haven’t had much climbing lately and I’m reminded of why I both love and hate climbing simultaneously and with the same vigour. The relentless pain, not seeing the top, to keep pushing and pushing seems both like the most absurd and nonsensical thing one can do. At the same time it seems like life in its purest essence. Sure, the views are incredible, the feeling of conquering a steep slope is fine, but the fight within myself is much more fun. I both love and hate pushing against the pain, seeing how far I can take my body, and which one is stronger; my mind or my legs. Later we discover that the route we’re following is rated as one of the hardest ones in Europe…

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So, back in Spain. I like it here. Our first stop and a rest day; Salamanca. I might have heard of it sometime, or somehow, but I really can’t remember where or when. Turns out to be a pretty nice place. The church towers greet us as we get closer, the medieval bridge leads us into town like a red carpet, the majestic town square filled with terraces and gelato sellers. Everybody is pretty in Salamanca. It’s Saturday when we arrive and the locals are in their weekend-best. Marijn and I stay at a campground not far from the city centre and move back when night falls. We drink, we party and end up with a group of exchange students that we have to bail out on because the kilometres in our legs and the age difference is playing us parts. We’re dying on the dance floor and soon return home to get some well-deserved rest on our inflatable mattresses. Our first couple of days together are perfect I think as I fall asleep dizzily. Off to new adventures.

Next day we rest.