Join our friend John Shell as he tackles Portugal’s Atlantic edge the hard way: cycling the EuroVelo 1 in reverse from Sintra to Porto.
What starts as a simple bike-packing idea becomes a full-blown adventure: quiet fishing towns, empty boardwalks, brutal climbs, and a final push to the roof of mainland Portugal.
This is John’s honest, funny, often grueling, always beautiful ride report, full of surprises, mishaps, and moments that make you fall in love with the road again.
Full article at https://www.cycling-rentals.com/blog/ride-to-the-roof-portugal-aka-cycling-the-eurovelo-1-the-wrong-wayÂ
Welcome to the deep dive, the shortcut to being wellinformed. Today we are uh buckling up for an exhilarating and incredibly honest look at what it truly takes to cycle Portugal’s Atlantic spine, the famous Eurovo 1. But there’s a well a massive twist in our source material. That’s right. Our deep dive analyzes the report of cyclist John Shell, who didn’t just ride this route. He tackled it in reverse. So instead of gliding gently down the coast, he went south to north, starting near Lisbon CRA, heading toward Porto. And the goal, the singular grueling goal was climaxing the trip with a vertical assault on Tore, the roof of mainland Portugal. Right? So the mission for you, the learner, is simple. We are synthesizing the crucial intersection of, let’s say, preparation, adaptable gear, and the sheer unpredictability of adventure travel. This report isn’t just a travel log. It’s almost a study in logistical resilience, isn’t it? Absolutely. And that tension, you know, between meticulous planning and instant chaos, it begins before the wheels even turn. Shell recounts his first two nights in Lisbon were spent acclimatizing, which uh in this context means superbach and red wine, while apparently making a point of avoiding all fat music. He specifically avoided f. Yeah. Then he leaves Lisbon in a downpour that quickly clears, giving him that immediate, almost superstitious great weather omen. It really sets the stage for a journey defined by these rapid environmental shifts. Okay, let’s unpack that initial warm-up then, which from the sounds of it was anything but easy. This was 3.5 days along the silver coast passing through Aerisa Penish Nazar. Now, when most tourists think of Portugal’s coast, they probably imagine smooth roads maybe. But the terrain here was really a mosaic. You had clifftops, gravel paths, fire roads, bits on road, and dedicated cycleways, too. Yeah. And I found the report’s assessment of the terrain validation fascinating because it immediately justifies his well, you could say polarizing gear choice. He wasn’t using a standard touring or gravel bike at all. John was on a robust 29m TB of full mountain bike carrying a hefty 16 kg of luggage, paniers, and a front bar bag. Hang on. 16 kg of luggage. That seems well excessive for someone aiming to tackle relentless gradients in the roof of mainland Portugal. Did he mention regretting that weight later on? Surprisingly, no. In fact, the report argues the opposite. The weight was a necessary evil. Apparently, he felt he needed the 29 mil TB for the specific intense off-road sections he’d plotted. The key wasn’t so much the frame, but the tires. He actually recounts this highly validating moment. A fellow cyclist described as rather pointed at his rig and just said, “Hey, fat is where it’s at. Fat tires.” So, so that’s the core insight here then, this philosophy of adaptability over specialization. He basically traded pure speed for the ability to handle pretty much anything the route threw at him. He notes that in the past using road bikes he felt stuck on busy direct national routes feeling like he missed the joyous deserted side roads. The fat tires meant he could explore even if it meant some intense off-road climbing with, you know, bumpy piers. Precisely. This choice allowed for immediate sort of self-correctional discovery. Even when his Garmin was, as he put it, chirping away because he was off his carefully pre-plotted course, he was confident the bike could handle whatever deviation he took. And that preparation was needed straight away, wasn’t it? Oh, yeah. The Silver Coast wasn’t flat. He notes pretty media sense, leaving Nazer and also Fosdu Aurelio. These were crucial training runs really for the monster climb that lay ahead at Tore. Okay, so after the coastal push, the adventure makes this crucial geographical pivot from Faggera to Fos. Jon heads dramatically inland following the Mondo River east. And this move completely changes the environment and the challenge, doesn’t it? It really does. The Mondo holds a little geographical feather in its cap. It’s the longest river in Portugal that both starts and ends entirely within Portugal. And focusing on the river wasn’t just scenic. It connected directly to John’s long-term cycling motivations. Ah, yes. his geeky projects. Now, for those unfamiliar with the long haul cycling community, those projects P2P and sole 2, they aren’t just random names, are they? What kind of challenge was he tackling here? Right. These are established quite demanding long-distance feats. P2P often stands for peakto peak or maybe a major pointto-oint journey. And soul to pal is commonly source of life to source of life which usually means following a river or a water system from its origin to a significant endpoint. So by adding the source tomouth mandego he was engaging in another rigorous self-imposed logistical challenge. Kind of his thing. Gotcha. So initially this river section was flat and fairly easy. Allowed him a first visit to Quimbra. Yeah. He noted surprisingly good cycling infrastructure there despite some construction work going on. But the report says the real drama began further along the N110 near Penova. What happened there? This is where the landscape transformation offered that sort of meditative break from the coastal rush. The N110 became this stunning really pronounced valley. Traffic truly vanished. It was replaced not by people but by wildlife. He recounts seeing more birds of prey. He thinks maybe Benelli’s eagles than actual human beings. Wow. Yeah. It was solitary. very manageable and definitely a highlight after the um the bustle of the coast. That isolation brings us to one of the most, let’s say, uniquely memorable moments of the trip, the dinner incident at Peace Sustra. It’s the kind of beautiful breakdown in communication that only really happens when you’re truly off the beaten track. Oh, absolutely. This is where we pivot from physical prep to navigating cultural variables. You know, after his initial attempt to order food using gestures failed completely, now he went back after a shower. The manager comes over, pulls out his mobile phone, and starts googling images of farmyard animals. No way. So, he’s forced into this culinary version of charades with the locals watching. Pretty much, he just points at the picture of the cow. The manager then jumps in his car, vanishes. Vanishes. Where did he go? Don’t know. But he returns 10 minutes later carrying a deep fat fryer. Okay. Bit strange, but the result thankfully a delicious steak. So success you and the whole thing whether it was translation issues or just the manager having fun it broke the ice. It ended with the manager and John bonding over music. Specifically the uh superior nature of the British ‘9s scene. Ah the important stuff. Exactly. Soundtrack provided by the charlatans. The cure and apparently the unforgettable moment when right said Fred bmed through the speakers. Right said Fred. Amazing. It’s incredible that after all that physical hardship and isolation, the universal language that bridged the gap was the sheer irony of I’m too sexy, right? So, with a stomach full of Google translated cow and uh the mind relaxed by ’90s nostalgia, the big confrontation loomed that 26 km vertical attack to Tori. This wasn’t just a scenic detour. This was the brutal climax of riding the route in reverse. And this section really highlights the importance of learning from failure. Shell had tried this climb before back in December. He failed then due to bitter cold and completely waterlogged gear. So choosing April this time was the sensible tactical move. Much better conditions potentially. But tactics also included meticulous self-care. Right. The report emphasizes a really crucial health lesson learned the hard way. Before the climb, he executed the strategic well caloric bomb. A massive breakfast. Scrambled eggs, bacon, yogurt, and gallons of water and coffee. Yeah. This deep commitment to hydration stem directly from past severe dehydration incidents near Serpa and Castanara Depera. It’s easy to forget, isn’t it? When you’re climbing in cold air, your body can mask how dehydrated you’re getting. John realized those pre-climb gallons of water were arguably far more critical to success than even the protein. It’s a vital lesson for anyone tackling high altitude effort, really. He chose the M518 route, which meant immediate exposure to just a backbreaking gradient. He even noted getting a thumbs up from a passing ambulance crew may be a perfect signpost for the difficulty level ahead. Huh, probably. But the biggest challenge wasn’t actually the steepness itself. It was a completely unforeseen logistical nightmare just outside Quebec. Ah, the preparation versus surprise theme again playing out perfectly. Ahead of him, the road was completely blocked. massive fence, a JCB digger because a hairpin turn had literally crumbled entirely into the valley landslide. His detailed planning meant absolutely nothing against geology at that point. So he had to become his own road crew basically. What did he do? He had to to get past he was forced to strip his bike down completely. frame, wheels, luggage, everything separate. Then make these dangerous, really muddy, slippery crossings using only a narrow path worn by construction workers just to bypass the massive hole where the road used to be. Wow. And those 16 kg of luggage certainly wouldn’t have helped right then. No, definitely not. But again, the flexibility of the 29 milit allowed him to strip it down and carry it across where say a sleek road bike would have been totally impossible. So the final 18 kilometers from what he called his forward camp were just agonizing. He faced frequent 14 and even 16% gradients. He was worried constantly about cramps, absolutely devouring his supplies. And the mental warfare sounds intense, too. He even mentions a macobed thought while looking for water. Yeah, seeing a dead sheep upstream from a potential spring and wondering about, you know, dysentery. Not ideal thoughts when you’re pushing your limits. grim, but the reward, finally reaching the summit. Immense, he made it. Fueled by bruised bananas and sweets, he found that massive sense of achievement. And despite still riding in relatively minimal gear compared to others up there, he recounts having a mock snowball fight with a fully insulated Spanish family. Brilliant. A peak moment literally and figuratively. See, exactly. A huge physical and mental triumph. Okay, here’s where it gets really interesting. I think you’ve conquered the roof of Portugal. You expect the descent to be your reward, right? this massive 5,169 ft drop. But the trip still had more psychological and physical tests waiting for him. Absolutely. That descent was initially temperate. Yeah. But the very next day brought this unexpected climbing volume. Just to reach the town of Kuramulo, John registered nine distinct clims on his Garmin. The recovery was constantly being interrupted by more effort. And this section included arguably the toughest single climb of the entire trip. Apparently due to a poor tactical decision, he spotted a shortcut on the map known as the Caramalo tourist route. Looked appealing on paper, I suppose. Appealing maybe, but brutal. It meant climbing 1500 ft in just 1.5 km. Wow. That is an outrageous, unrelenting gradient. The source flat out calls it the most outrageous gradient of the whole journey. It was a catastrophic failure of root analysis. Really, compounded by the fact he was racing the clock. He wanted to reach Karamalo in time to watch a Sunderland football game. Oh dear. Bad combo. Terrible combo. The physical stress plus that external time pressure made it a brutal, unforgettable mistake. So, after tipping over to the Atlantic side again, the cold hit hard, didn’t it? He left Carmulo the next morning. And within 45 minutes of descending, the cold Atlantic wind just struck with force. Ah, the return of the coastal environment, but this time as a weapon. The windchill, he reckoned, must have been easily into the minus column. It turned the descent into a rapid hypothermia risk. He said he was absolutely blue, completely frozen, forced to stop in a place called Restaurante Almeida in Salvo just to defrost and well, gather himself. Yikes. And the final approach to Porto introduced yet another hazard. A genuinely dangerous element this time. Something completely unplanned. That’s right. As he neared the coast again, closer to the icy roads, traffic was really heavy because the Easter holidays were ending. Lots of people heading home. Near Pria Deir, he experienced the most genuinely hazardous moment of the entire trip. Strong crosswinds literally tore part of an aluminum shop front off a building. Off a building? Yeah. It hit the ground with an almighty crash, then cartwheelled across the road like tumble weed, narrowly missing him and a passing car. Good grief. That’s terrifying. He had to pull over just recover from the adrenaline spike. He realized if he’d been maybe 3 seconds quicker getting to that spot could have been really serious. Flying architectural debris. It just perfectly summarizes the trip, doesn’t it? Planning prepares you for grads in hydration, but the world throws random high velocity aluminum panels at you. Couldn’t make it up. He completed the final leg to Porto via the Aero Lagoon. Navigating slippery wooden duck boards on the cycleways, busy paths through Emer and Espino, and the journey found this kind of poetic symmetry. At the very end, he reached the Doro River in Porto just as a terrible storm hit. Mirroring the heavy rain start way back in CRA. Incredible. What a fantastic journey to unpack. This report just captures the essence of self-guided adventure. I think the necessity of choosing gear that allows for maximum adaptability. Truly, fat is where it’s at when you face fire roads and landslides. and that stark punishing contrast between Portugal’s, you know, serene coastal infrastructure and the sheer mountain brutality of the Seridist Straa. Yeah. And if we connect this to the bigger picture for you, the learner, the entire narrative illustrates that rigorous preparation, the right bike, the massive breakfast, the pre-plotted routes is constantly and immediately tested by these external unexpected variables. Whether it’s a crumbled road, a cultural misunderstanding over dinner, or a near miss with flying debris, the real value of the experience often lies in that adaptation. So, what does this all mean for you? We learned that even when you plot every single meter of a route or maybe an intense project you’re working on, the most memorable character-defining moments are often the unplanned ones. The Google translated cow dinner, the mandatory strip down of the bike, or that terrifying near miss. Which raises an important question for you to consider maybe the next time you approach a difficult task or try to gain mastery over a new field. How much of the ultimate value in pursuing new knowledge is in strictly following the planned route precisely? And how much is in adapting to and really learning from the completely unforeseen side roads and obstacles that only actual experience can reveal? Think about that flexibility next time you hit a