I had planned to take the bus to Muxía for that day and then hike back along the Rias to Camarinas. That is about 25 kilometers. The sun burned from the sky and I got out of bed late as so often. So I rejected this plan and decided to go on a bike tour. Our bridge neighbors from Milena Bonetti borrowed mountain bikes and enthusiastically told us about the beautiful bike routes. So why not. Jörg said I could take the on-board bike, a Brompton folding bike. I don't have to walk to the rental. As it turned out later, it was a really good idea.
The bike was quickly opened and the tires inflated. I had two cold cans of cola and a bottle of water in my backpack, sunglasses on my nose and safety sandals on my feet. My goal was the lighthouse “Faro de cabo Vilán” on the Costa da Morte. I drove off.
The road climbed steeply just beyond the marina. A little foretaste of what to expect. The asphalt ended behind the first curve. It continued on a forest path. Time to take a breath, because it became flatter again and because of the many stones and potholes I could only drive very slowly. At a fork I turned left to take a break at another smaller lighthouse.
After a short rest we continued. Brompton crawled over stick and stone at a snail's pace. If I jogged, I would be faster. Wanderers looked at me and my vehicle in amazement. When I got to a beach I had to get off and push a bit. The tiny wheels just got stuck in the sandy slope.
From here on it was all uphill. It occurred to me that I had only seen these bikes before on the subway or on the train. Before e-scooters, this was a popular choice for commuters to walk the last hundred meters from the stop to the office. In the Taunus, on the single trails, nobody rides a folding bike. Why not? Sport is supposed to be contagious. With a mountain bike and 300 gears, it is much too easy. I drove in first gear. Of the three courses, this seemed to me to be the right one. After kilometers of agony, the path led me back to an asphalt road. A little relief. My thighs and lungs were burning. I rested for a moment on the side of the road and got a first look at the lighthouse.
I now understand why Don Quixote's fight against the windmills was so hopeless. The things are here on every corner along the coast. They just don't turn. I would have liked a little cooling wind. Inspired by the thought that I am almost there now, I drove on. My effort should be rewarded with a great view of the Costa da Morte.
The way back was a feast. After a short time I turned into a forest and the road went downhill. I shifted into second gear. The cool wind gave me new energy. Third gear. The Brompton shot across the street. In the drift, the tires painted black stripes on the asphalt. Potholes were no longer a danger. I just flew over it. At least that's something I remember. I returned exhausted that afternoon and took a cold shower.