Ride to the Roof Portugal - AKA Cycling the Eurovelo 1 the Wrong way!

Join our good friend John Shell as he takes on Portugal’s Atlantic backbone the hard way, by cycling the EuroVelo 1 in reverse - from Sintra to Porto. What began as a simple bikepacking idea quickly turned into a full-blown adventure: winding fishing villages, empty coastal boardwalks, monster climbs, and finally, the ascent to the very roof of mainland Portugal.

This is John’s honest, humorous, sometimes grueling, always beautiful ride report, complete with surprises, mishaps, and moments that make you fall in love with the road all over again.

Ride to the Roof of Mainland Portugal

My ride to the highest point in the mainland was like nothing else. Whilst North of Porto offers stunning scenery along the Camino, riding to the Torre of the Serra de Estrela was just as brutal as it was beautiful. As a regular cyclist in Portugal, I had flirted with the Torre over the years but August brings searing heat heading through Alentejo and December the exact opposite; April seemed to be the more sensible choice.

But I still had to be realistic. My choice of ride was a 29mtb and carrying my 16kg luggage in panniers and a front bar bag meant I had to sneak up on this monster via the Alva Valley then launch a ninja style 26km vertical attack. Also, like the previous six days cycling, I would be starting the day hungover.

Lisbon Warm-Up: Beer, Bikes & Good Omens

Two nights in Lisbon. My story started with two nights in Lisbon, acclimatising on Super Bock and red wine, but avoiding all Fado; I ordered my Uber on a Monday morning and set off for Cycling Rentals HQ in pouring rain. However, after great craic with the team and setting up my bike the sun appeared, and it was to be a great weather omen!

The first section was a 3.5 day ride along The Silver Coast, taking in Ericeira, Peniche, São Martinho do Porto and Nazare on the way. A fantastic mix of cliff top rides, gravel paths, fire-roads, on road and dedicated cycleways.

Years ago, I’d stupidly try and cover the lot in a day on busy direct nationals and miss out on the joyous deserted side roads, beaches, woodland and coves.

My choice of bike meant I could discover new areas despite my Garmin Sat Nav chirping away because I was off my pre-plotted course. At São Martinho do Porto a rather grande fellow cyclist came over, pointed at me and said “hey, fat is where it’s at”.

Thankfully he meant the tyres and not me personally. We had a chat about the benefits of wider tyres for exploring the area. He wasn’t wrong because after that there was a pretty intense off-road climbing section that I’d mapped out that was a bit bumpy with the panniers!

Gorgeous though and not a soul around the cliff tops. I chatted with a couple of British cyclists doing training circuits and hikers heading North, and the weather was beautiful for the duration with only a slight headwind, for once.

There were some pretty meaty ascents, such as leaving Nazare, Foz do Arelho and Porto Novo / Maceria – great warmups for what was ahead!

Following the Mondego: From Coast to Mountains

Once at Figueira da Foz the adventure really started as I headed East following the Mondego to its source. The Mondego is the longest river in Portugal that starts and ends in Portugal, its big brothers all starting in Spain.

I’m not in a cycling club, rarely enter sportives or races and prefer to cycle alone so my ‘t-shirts and medals’ include somewhat geeky projects such as P2P – Pier (South Shields, UK) to Pier (Sopot, Poland), SOL2SOL - Stadium of Light (Sunderland, UK) to Stadium of Light (Benfica) as well as connecting various castles, bridges, coasts and setting off at 4am to try and catch the 07:30 train home from Thirsk, and similarly reaching Spennymoor before the 9am church bells!

To tick off the Mondego in its entirety (Source2Mouth) was great, but the biggest t-shirt of all was looming. The ride from Figueira da Foz along the river bank was flat as a pancake and a very popular route, and I was able to leapfrog the Mondego a few times on a variety of road and trail surfaces before settling down on an arrow straight ride for my first ever visit to Coimbra.

There was one road closure which meant I couldn’t go through a tunnel (another geeky thing!) but apart from that it was an amazing morning. Coimbra was absolutely rammed and building work at the City Park meant it was a bit hectic until I found a cut through the construction zone and into the lovely park and riverside.

There is actually excellent cycling infrastructure and signage in Coimbra and I easily found myself through the city and heading east along the N17 and to the gateway roundabout for Penacova on the N110.

Through the arch and a few kilometres in, things really got dramatic as the stunning valley became more pronounced and traffic all but vanishes – there was more birds of prey (Bonelli's eagle I think) than people. The N110 was lumpy but nothing troublesome and definitely a highlight, as was a pint at Bar Reconquinho and a plodge in the Mondego at Penacova.

Return to Penacova and the Road to Base Camp

I’d been to Penacova a few years ago as I eyed the Serra de Estrela one winter. It was December and bitterly cold and wet. I was a lot fitter (and dafter) those days but the cold won.

All of my gear was waterlogged and I couldn’t get anything dry – even taking bin liners out of bins to put on my feet. This time though I was determined to see this one through and left Penacova first thing for an important ride to what I called ‘base camp’.

I set off in damp misty conditions – lights on! I didn’t have time for breakfast so I would catch up with fuel later, and luckily, I passed a brand new petrol station / diner for a bite to eat pointing at anything that didn’t look like a cake or tart!

The weather picked up the further East I headed – crisscrossing major roads on what seemed like my very own spine road and private roads; locals cheered me on as I went through tiny villages and I had one conversation, in French, with a lovely man called Joseph. A couple of really hard climbs kept me on my toes in the now beautiful weather.

It was a brilliant day, I had plotted a great route and felt a sense of relief as I reached Lourosa and a sense of dread and awe as I took in the mountains at Santa Ovaia. I had a quick pint at Café Milenio before dropping back down to sea level through Levadas and to the River Alva, a tributary of the Mondego.

The Steak, the Bar, and Right Said Fred

I checked in at my hotel and headed out in my cycling gear to the one and only restaurant in Pte. das Três Entradas for a few pints in the warm afternoon sunshine. I asked if it was ok to eat, making the ‘knife and fork’ gesture, mumbling ‘comer’ – or was it ‘menu’ - and the waitress said ‘nao’ which I thought was a bit strange because everyone was eating!

So I disgruntledly walked back to the hotel after a pint, got showered and changed and went back for one more try; there was another restaurant about half a mile away if I was rejected again!

After ordering a pint, I was asked ‘would I like to eat’ by the barman – maybe it was my cycling socks, or my aftershave! The (probably) manager came over to me, pulled out his mobile phone and googled what could only be ‘farmyard animals’ and showed me the results…‘please, you pick animal’.

Now the centre of attention from the silent locals in the bar and feeling like a Portuguese mini Squid Games contestant, I pointed at ‘cow’. I was hoping for a ‘Portuguese steak’, as in the Algarve tourist fayre, picking out ‘rice’ and ‘potatoes’ in our limited conversation.

He then jumped in his car, and ten minutes later came back with a deep fat fryer! Oh well, at least I’m getting some chips with my cow! It was actually a delicious steak in sauce with rice and chips.

I was bought a pint by a local, and as a bar we had a good chat about music and how the British 90’s was the best scene and I was in my element; as well using his phone as an abattoir shop window, the manager bluetoothed some tunes from The Charlatans, The Cure, Blur and Happy Mondays.

When Right Said Fred boomed through the speakers, I decided to say goodbye to my new friends, probably missing out on Mr Blobby.

The Big Climb Begins

So the day had arrived and after a good sleep the hotel had agreed for me to have breakfast at 7am then an 8am departure chock full of scrambled eggs and bacon and umpteen coffees.
I’m not normally a massive breakfast eater, I’m more interested in the coffee and filling in my diary of the day before; read ‘cow’…’I’m too sexy for my hat…’.

I hardly used to hydrate which is a massive flaw and I came a cropper once a few years ago in Alentejo whilst cycling and camping in Serpa. As I arrived at the campsite at tea-time, I pitched my tent in what was boil-in-the-bag conditions.

I was hit with what I can only describe as confusion and dread, like I was lost, all alone and miles from home. I was so hungry but couldn’t eat and so hot but I remember feeling cold. Awful. I went back into the camp office and booked another night, altering my trip.

I knew I had made a big mistake. It took hours to pull round and lift my head up and for my heart, and myself to calm down. The same happened on a winter ride; just because it’s freezing cold doesn’t mean you neglect your drinks.

I remember getting that ‘feeling’ just North of Castanheira de Pera; I was exhausted and phoned Catherine at Cycling Rentals HQ, I needed someone to tell me to pull in as soon as possible, drink lots of water, have a cuppa and refocus – I just had to speak to someone and thankfully she was there with the advice I needed to hear.

Sorry for digressing, so on the big day I stuffed my face with cereal, eggs, bacon, yogurt and gallons of water and coffee. A new set of cycling gear top to bottom (I have a 4 day rule!) and I was ready for the day. Heading East on the N230 was an absolute dream; a hanging mist and the sun doing its best to blast it away, I had the whole valley to myself as I arrowed towards Vide and my take off.

I had a choice of routes to the top, via ‘forward camp’ and I’d opted for the M518 and immediately into a back-breaking gradient; I got a thumbs up from a passing ambulance (!) and a ‘meu deus’ from a man as I stopped to strip out of my warmer layering.

I pensively climbed into Muro, welcoming any flat or downhill sections with relief then just outside of Cabeca…road closed…a massive fence and JCB blocking my way.

The road or rather hairpin had subsided and just crumbed into the valley. Luckily, construction workers had worn a path into the valley sides so it was possible to get around the ‘hole’ and over to the other side, so I stripped down the bike and made a few muddy and slippery crossings.

OK I had to move some barriers and fences a little to get my bike through but it was hardly a desecration. A few bemused locals had started to assemble to watch me from the village 100m ahead, and there was a lot of chatter as I pulled into a coffee shop for a breather.

After a short rest and relief that I wasn’t going to end up a wicker man, it was time again to hit the road and yet another brutal climb out of the village and North East towards Torre. The views were jaw dropping.

Forward Camp and the Final Push

Forward camp was at the roundabout where M518 hits the N231 and of course there was a ‘road closed’ sign pointing where I had just came from! I had a good 30 minute rest, refuelled and called my Dad back home.

A road sign let me know that all mountain roads were open and I was soon right amongst it; With 10km bagged, it was only 18km to the Torre, nothing more than my daily commute back home where I can get to work in 40 minutes; But this was something else, like nothing else.

Jaw dropping scenery gave way to agonising climbs and fake flats. I can’t remember the exact gradient signs but 14% and 16% were common. There was nothing pretty about my riding style and the ticking of my drivetrain and creaking of my panniers was in sync with every breath.

Winds were mercifully light and cooling as I inched my way forward in the bright sunshine. It was head down, don’t look up stuff. My knee that had been giving me some stick was sore but worryingly I could feel cramps building in my calves. I stopped frequently on the hairpins to consume a gel (I bought 7 in Lisbon) and have some water.

Trouble was I was devouring my supplies rapidly, and then thought about topping up from a natural spring but getting dysentery from a dead sheep upstream and dying alone in a cave.
But seriously I was worried about nutrition and hydration. The climbs went on forever and my whole body ached, especially my hands and forearms; more false flats, ramps and climbs.

I met the N339 crossroad and another project milestone. Fuelled by the bruised bananas and sweets from the reception desk it was 8k to the golf balls and the Torre. Turn right. The scenery was again unbelievable as I gathered impetus and loved all the waves and encouragement from passing traffic which had increased significantly.

A swarm of flying ants couldn’t discourage me; I even felt buoyed to make my first ever Portuguese snowball and have a mock snowball fight with a Spanish family. Sunshine made way for clouds but despite the temperature drop I carried on in my shorts and t-shirt, waving goodbye to my fully insulated and gortexed amigos.

It was taking an absolute eternity crawling to the Torre but finally I was on the home straight and I crossed the finish line with relief and a massive sense of achievement.

Time for a can of Coke and a free chunk of bread and a chat with super friendly English women who drove past me on the way up. I gathered my breath, took it all in, took some photos, and about turned. Ready to descend the 20k into Seia.

The Angry Descent and the Cold Atlantic Wind

Martin forewarned me about the descent and how cold it could get but it remained temperate as I carefully made my way along the N339, descending 5169 feet and ascending 470 feet! Again, film set scenery meant I was constantly pulling over to take a photo. The M513 via Sao Romao was completely devoid of traffic but it was nice to get a cheery wave from a bunch of hikers as I made my way to Seia.

In all honestly, I thought I’d be a wreck but progressed at a good pace on the flat which just goes to show the effect altitude has, and of course the gradients.
But I was not out of the woods yet. A very misty Seia morning meant a lights-on ride and my Garmin registering NINE climbs on my way to Caramulo.

Oh god. As usual, the sun burning through the mist as I rode through Nelas, Santar, Parada de Gonta and Coval. Another gorgeous ride along quiet roads, and it was very up and down – nine times! At Santiago de Besteiros I spotted a ‘short-cut’ which meant I could chop off a big loop a few km’s from Caramulo.

The ‘Caramulo tourist route’ was actually signposted, but what wasn’t signposted was the most outrageous gradient. Of course, something had to give when you look at the figures – climbing 1500ft in 8.5km or climbing 1500ft in 1.5km.

Option B looked good on paper but the look on the face of the fork lift truck driver at (checks Google maps) Nutrofertil - Nutrição e Fertilizantes didn’t! It was absolutely crazy, as tough as anything the previous day.

Maybe the toughest climb; and I was against the clock to be at Caramulo for 15:00 to watch the Sunderland game. Caramulo was actually pretty windy and cold because I was now just about to tip over to the Atlantic side of the mountain range. Due to the Easter Holidays the local eatery did not have much produce so it was a few beers and crisps, but the hotel did knock me up a nice sandwich and a bowl of soup to warm me up!

I left Caramulo the next morning and climbed (for a change) on the N230 for maybe 45 minutes and then the cold Atlantic wind hit me, and as I descended at speed it really hit me – it was absolutely perishing.

At 9 am the sun had no effect; I did have some gloves but they were at the bottom of my bag and I had no cycling leggings, just shorts. The wind chill must have been easily into the minus column as I descended towards Agueda and I was absolutely blue.

You were right Martin, you just didn’t say which bloody mountain! I stopped to defrost at Restaurante Almeida in Souralvo and made friends with a canary.

Wind, Traffic, and a Near Miss on the Coast

The next few hours' ride was quite bizarre as I headed towards the coast and Praia de Mira. Looking back, I’d try to re-map this section. For the first time I’d hit very heavy traffic, probably due to the Easter holidays now being over, but I was also heading due West over and under the IC1, IC2, IP1.

When you see signs for Averio, Porto and Lisbon it’s understandable that traffic will be a concern. Most drivers of course give you plenty of room but it was very uncomfortable on fast busy skinny roads around Palhaca and Santo Andre. It wasn’t pleasant.

Traffic thinned out as I closed in on Mira but the wind had picked up significantly enough to be a problem and I battled strong crosswinds. What I thought was a big lump of cardboard getting blown around in mid-air about 50 ft in front of me was actually part of an aluminium shop front that the wind had torn off. It hit the ground with almighty crash and cartwheeled across the road, narrowly missing me and a car on the opposite side.

I actually pulled over just to take in that had I been 3 seconds quicker I could have been in quite a serious accident. The winds at Praia de Mira were so strong that outside areas were closed and I had to enjoy my pint indoors after being sandblasted on the promenade.

That night I enjoyed many a Guinness in a lovely bar that honestly only played Genesis! Have they not heard of Right Said Fred?

Coastal Spin to Aveiro and the Final Push to Porto

The penultimate day’s cycling and a kind of rest day with only a 20k hop to Aveiro. Unfortunately, the awful headwind ruined what should have been a gentle stretch along the coast. Thank God the worst wind was for the shortest ride. More good luck weather!

The final day had arrived and as always, it was a mixture of sadness and pride; I’ve never bothered looking at the timetable for the ferry to Bairro dos Pescadores so like always I just headed to the port. If the ferry is in – great, if not, it’s a good time to sit on the quayside and take it all in. I could now place the mountains to the East – the Serra do Caramulo and it was such a clear day I could make out where I came over.

I met a Welshman on his motorbike who was on his way to Morocco and a guy from New Jersey came over for a chat about my tour. I disembarked the ferry and onto the N327, which is a lovely road and always light in traffic but popular in cycling!

Flanking the Aveiro Lagoon it’s a real chance to score some serious speed heading North – as long as the wind was in your favour, and today, much to my surprise…it was!

The wind had totally died down. The 55k ride to Porto is a great final stage and has a little bit of everything – apart from climbs. The only downside was the bar on the lagoon where I usually stop for a coffee had closed down.

At Carregal (Ovar) I took a left and back onto the Atlantic coast for a short while at Furadouro, before I picked up a lovely dedicated cycleway through the Parque de Merendas do Furadouro. Although the weather was dry, it had been raining (more weather fortune!) and there was lots of surface water so extra care was needed on the slippy wooden duckboards.

There is an airbase in the forest and the GNR had taped off a section of the cycle path because of what looked like an accident at the back of the runway - as if an aeroplane had missed it and crashed through the forest path. I took a left at Cortegaca and again it’s a dedicated cycle track back on the Atlantic coast and a breather at the beach.

The twin cities of Esmoriz and Espinho offer a curious mix of housing developments, working Portugal and tourism with the hustle and bustle hemmed in by the alluring Atlantic Ocean and wide beaches. The cycle path was busy as always and it’s impossible to cover ground quickly.

Roadside eateries and cafes were packed, fishermen tended their nets and cyclists and walkers enjoyed the sea front. I can come back in 100 years’ time and there will still be public works along the railway line so it was a bit hectic at the very North of Espinho, thankfully more duckboards along the beach meant I could continue North without too much adjustment and into Porto district proper.

Traffic was heavy but never burdensome, roads and paths were wide and there was always ample opportunity to get onto the Atlantic coastal path amongst grand residential buildings.

It’s a slight climb to Porto, hardly noticeable amongst all of the cafes, wine bars, bistros and apartment blocks overlooking the sea for the final few kilometres and the Pedra do Cão – the dog stone – and a first glimpse of The Douro and a final glance back South to where it all started 9 days previously.

Crossing the Finish Line

I enjoyed a beer on the quayside then pedalled the last few kilometres to one of Cycling Rentals partners to drop off my bike and pick up my couriered case from Lisbon. I chatted to the friendly staff about the trip and stripped down the bike of my bags and lights and threw everything into my case – bike number 131 we made it!

It was handshakes all round and a pat on the saddle for 131. I picked up my suitcase and opened the door and I was met by a terrible storm, it was horrendous, just like back in Sintra. Still, it was only a short walk to my hotel, uphill of course!

Saúde!