Life has been very busy the past several weeks, and access to a computer has been limited, so this blog has been on hold—but that has changed. Three weeks ago today (Saturday) I had begun what turned out to be a wonderful time cycling with a friend from Bilbao, Spain, to Faro, Portugal.

I had wanted to go through the Basque country of Spain and the Picos de Europa, a small but impressive range of mountains in north-west Spain, and that is what we did. At the same time there were parts of Portugal I wanted to experience, and we did those also.

Then from Portugal I flew to London, where Nancy and I met, spent the night, then boarded the plane for Thessalonica, Greece, and then the bus to the Torchbearer’s Bible School in Erseke, Albania, where we are now. High speed internet just came to Erseke, so I should be able to do some updating of this blog, but in Spain and Portugal that was not the case.


Cycling in the Basque country of north-west Spain means hills—and sometimes mountains. And we faced them. Some of the territory reminded me of northern California, with its pine forests, and some reminded me of the dry land of eastern Washington. The Picos de Europa was beautiful and majestic, and the other mountains and hills impressive as well. Climbing them on a bicycle was hard work, but the roads were fine, the traffic sparse, and the weather perfect. Each day began with a small breakfast at our hotel then proceeded with a day of cycling—a short stop for a snack in the middle of the day then to our destination and finding a place to sleep. Good meals highlighted the evenings, although as the Spanish do not start eating dinner until 9:00 at the earliest, those meals were always much later than hungry cyclists would want.


From the Picos into Portugal our route went nearly straight south, over hills and through wine fields, into the Duoro River Valley. That valley is one of the world’s great wine growing regions, and it was harvest season. Descending into the river valley there were nothing but terraced grape fields as far as the eye could see—it was quite a sight. And the river itself is worth a trip.

From Pinhao, on the Duoro River, we went by train to the Portugese west coast, arriving at Porto in the afternoon. They we cycled down the coast to a seaside resort, Espinho, for the night. From there our route followed the coast for several days, and through some very rough roads, to the port of Nazare, north of Lisbon. Wanting to miss the Lisbon traffic we took the train through the city to its south side and then proceeded on the coast road, cutting across to Lagos, on the Portugese Algarve coast, then to Faro.


All in all in the two weeks we cycled just over 800 miles, during which there was nothing but good weather and good traveling. On a cycle trip life is reduced to the simple things—food, water, a bed to sleep in, and pushing a pedal down tens of thousands of times. You try to keep away from the destinations tourists flock to, as the roads there are usually more crowded. You look for little roads, small towns, and unknown places.


If a tour bus is stopped at a café you pass that one by, but if locals are congregated you know it may be a good place for a good meal. Since you are carrying all your things with you wherever you go, that means space limitations and weight to haul up hills, so you do not purchase many souvenirs or gifts for others.


You do not have to worry about eating too much or stopping too often at a local bakery, since you are probably burning up more calories than you can easily consume. And cycling in a foreign country means you are not constantly bombarded by news of economic disasters, election scandals and the like.


In short, unless the weather turns bad, there may not be a more relaxing way to travel—and by God’s grace I was able to enjoy it again, able to gaze at some of the wonders of God’s creation, and as I went along sing How Great Thou Art…