Shining Sea

Kellen Smetana
When we left Madrid all that remained was a six-day ride to Lisbon.  To Lisbon!... To the Atlantic!... To THE END!  Had we really arrived at the final week of riding?  Throughout the trip, we always planned for the next destination:  8 days to Urumqi, 2 days to Bishkek, 3 days to Samarqand, 3 days to Zaragoza.  This was the final destination.  It was a strange feeling to know that there would be no other afterwards.  No more cycling, no more traveling; only salt water, big smiles, and a cold beer.

It took three long days to speed ourselves out of Spain.  The tail end of Spain included our longest riding day of Europe, yet more glorious sun-drenched Spanish weather, endless fields of olive trees, and enough cured meats to inspire fantasies about future grocery lists.

Glorious sun-drenched olive orchards

Already building grocery lists

Crossing the border to Portugal, one of the first conversations Bill and I had started something like this, “So, what is the deal with Portugal?  I mean, what are they known for?  Is it just a mini-Spain?”  After a quick brainstorm, Bill contributed cork trees and I Port wine, and with that, we had ourselves a nice little stereotype for the country, removing its potential mini-Spain status.  We had a good laugh at our naïve labeling but soon found the stereotypes to be strikingly true.

Oh no! Could it actually be the LAST country?

Not even an hour into the country, we began to see fields of odd-looking, numbered trees stretching to the horizon.  Upon closer inspection, we realized that these trees had all been stripped of their bark and that this bark was actually an inch-thick layer of cork.  We later discovered that the painted numbers coincided with how long ago the trees were stripped and that Portugal is very much known for their cork products: they hold 50% of the world’s cork trees and are responsible for 90% of cork processing.

Cork forest

That's some lightweight bark

On the second to last day, it was not so much cork that interested us, it was wine.  All through Europe we passed vineyard after vineyard after vineyard: we photographed them and slept in them, sampled grapes and restaurant “vino de casa,” debated wine production, wine types, and wine psychology.  But never did we stop in one to chat with the experts and tour the production facility to settle these discussions once and for all.  For weeks it had been on our “to-do list” and it was certainly a lot to hope for, but we thought there was a chance we may get lucky.

Following a funny mix-up at an exclusive spa resort we thought was a vineyard, we did get lucky.  We found a vineyard with a reception and small shop and after we explained our story, it turned out they were thrilled to show us around.  Alberto, the master wine engineer for Vale do Chafariz vineyard, spent three hours with us touring the production, ageing, and packaging facilities, answering our incessant inquiries (at one point he even busted out hydrocarbon atomic formulas), and leading a private wine tasting that left us drunk into the evening.  It was an absolute blast and a perfect cap to all of our wonderful “vinho” and vineyard experiences of the trip.

Waxing rhetoric about appropriate fermenting temperatures

Vale do Chafariz vineyard

Enjoying a nice glass of "vinho"

The next day we awoke with jittery anticipation.  This was the day we would reach Lisbon and the Atlantic; this was the day all riding would come to an end.  We planned it to be an easy, short ride into the city, but – as was a more appropriate end to the trip – it turned out to be much more of an adventure than we expected.

The beginning of the end

After fixing a final flat in the morning, we made it to one of the two bridges across the Tagus River into the city of Lisbon.  As was always the case over the last seven months, we blew through the toll booth without batting an eye.  This time, however, alarms rang and we thought we heard people shouting.  Bill and I looked at each other questioningly: “Ahh, let’s just keep going,” we decided.  “We’ll be in Lisbon before they even care.”  Wrong.  Not one kilometer later we were being escorted off the road by a tow-truck and police car.  Apparently they didn’t want bicycles crossing the bridge.  We played dumb and they were actually very nice while delivering the bad news that we had to ride 60km out of our way to a smaller bridge north of the city that would allow bicycles.  Our easy day just got a lot harder.

Morning flat

Tow-truck that escorted us off the bridge (no photos of the police for obvious reasons)

The bridge we were supposed to take

We had to haul and haul we did: flying to the bridge, wolfing down lunch, and churning back towards Lisbon.  Bill had a Skype date scheduled that evening, and we still had to make it to the city, swim in the ocean, and find the apartment of friends with whom we were staying.  Late afternoon, we cut right across the heart of Lisbon and kept pedaling to the Atlantic.  Fifteen kilometers later, we stopped at the edge of the sea.

Atlantic

October 21, 2011.  203 days, 16,497 kilometers, 3 bouts of food poisoning, 32 flat tires, and 53 dog chases after setting forth from Hong Kong (4,979km from Istanbul) we finally reached the Atlantic Ocean.  It was the symbolic end to possibly the greatest adventure of my life.  We both wore huge smiles and ran out into the water like little kids.  I felt very proud for actually making it from sea to shining sea – Portugal certainly seems far when you’re navigating the jungles of Southeastern China.  Standing on the rocks, watching the sun drop in a hazy sky out over the Atlantic is an image that will be forever burned in my mind as one of accomplishment.  This was a moment I knew was coming and one I had thought about in one sense or another nearly every day for the last year; now it was one I will never forget.  The bikes survived, we survived, and we had a little fun along the way.  And the icing on the cake, as you may have seen in his comments to the Pyrenees blog post, is that we just “pipped” Central Asian partner and dear friend Theo, who cycled into his home in Norfolk, England on October 22 (beat you by one day, Mr. Brun… haha).

Victory!

Splashing into the sea like a giddy little kid

Happy campers

I don't think any future bike rides will be this long...

After an ocean-size photo shoot, we turned from the Atlantic back into Lisbon.  In one hour we procured a map, ripped the map, borrowed cell phones, lost cycling gloves, crisscrossed Lisbon, and found our friend’s apartment with 15 minutes to spare for Bill’s scheduled call.  (We're getting pretty good at this)

Borrowing phones to find our friends

After his Skype chat it was finally time to decompress.  We were staying with a couple of girls Bill had met at the hostel in Istanbul while waiting for Cory and me to arrive.  Bill and one of our hosts Alexandra had challenged each other to a race from Istanbul to Lisbon; she took a plane, we took our bikes.  We lost, but it seemed to work out well because she was there waiting for us to arrive.  Continuing the tradition of the Iberian Peninsula, they were absolutely wonderful hosts.  We had our own room in the apartment and the first evening they invited us to a delicious Portuguese dinner they were hosting.  We shared stories with this jovial, funny crew and celebrated the end to our trip late into the night.

Alexandra and Catarina host the gang

The next day we boxed up the bike, packed away the gear, and prepared for the arrival of Bill’s dad and brother.  Sunday morning, Mr. Conry and Mike landed in Lisbon for a week vacation in the city.  We quickly had them out and about, soaking in Lisbon’s sights under our first rainy sky since Italy.  We toured the old castle, the main city squares, continually tested Mike on his impressive Portuguese skills, and even practiced the age-old wisdom of ordering another bottle of wine to outlast the storm.  We had a great time together and though there was much more to do in this underrated city, we left it for Mr. Conry and Mike to tackle alone.  It was time to head home.

Exceeds carry-on luggage dimensions

Exploring the castle

Statue in Praca do Comercio

Enjoying a wonderful last supper

Monday I flew home to the US, followed two days later by Bill.  It was really over.  The day I departed for Hong Kong I wrote that I was surprised to not be bouncing with excitement for the journey – we all know that changed quickly.  But now that I was coming home I was not surprised at my melancholic mindset towards the fact that all that cycling was done.  Even one week after touching the Atlantic it has not yet truly sunk in.  It is weird not having to open a Michelin map and compass to navigate to my parent’s house, to wear shoes without metal cleats in the soles, and to have conversations over some fancy device called a cell phone.  I’m sure it will take some adjusting.

Goodbye, Eurasia

The ride is over, but don’t worry, this is not the end of the blog, website, or anything!  (We have plenty more to show and tell).  Stay tuned in the coming weeks as we post thousands of photos, stats, videos, and other fun, relevant materials.  And as the magnitude of the adventure we have just finished does begin to sink in, we will have plenty more to reflect upon and share (don’t you want to know which was my favorite country…?)

For now the simple mission statement Hong Kong to Lisbon.  On a bike. has become past tense.  And I am proud to say, it feels good.

Hong Kong to Lisbon. On a bike.