Portugal had been on my “list” for a while, so after a bit of research I ended up booking not one but two cycling tours running back to back. I wasn’t totally sure what I wanted to see, so I figured the safest bet was simple: just see everything while I was in the neighborhood. 😉
That’s pretty much how this trip came together.
There are tons of companies that run cycling tours—from small local operators to self-guided setups to full-service packages. I lean toward the guided, mostly all-inclusive kind. I don’t really want to spend the trip thinking about logistics (or anything other than pastry selection, if I’m being honest). I can do it… I just don’t want to.
There are also training camp-style rides, leisurely tours, and everything in between. Road, gravel, or a mix. Lots to consider, but I landed on two tours from Exodus Travel. I hadn’t used them before, but these felt firmly in the more relaxed category. Probably a bit slower than I’d normally ride, but it’s a vacation—not a race—so I leaned into it.
We met for a pre-tour briefing the evening before things started. Everyone was doing the usual “where are you from” introductions, trying to get a read on the group and what the next week might feel like.
I learned our guide, João, would be leading both of my tours. I remember laughing and telling him he was officially stuck with me for two weeks. He smiled politely in the way guides do when they’re not sure yet if that’s good news or not.
We’d find out soon enough.
We got our bikes fitted and nervously tried them for the first time. They were hybrid flat bar bikes, which I’m not used to, so figuring out how to shift gears was… entertaining.
The forecast wasn’t great, and we started off in the rain. I remember thinking, “So I guess we’re riding in this? OK.” At home, I would’ve bailed immediately and just done Zwift in the basement instead.
I also picked the wrong jacket, so it wasn’t nearly as waterproof as I would’ve liked. Not a strong start in the gear department. But it was fine. I didn’t melt. I didn’t crash. So I’ll call that a win.
The first day is always a mix of getting used to the group, the guide, and the general rhythm of things—coffee stops, lunch stops, and the occasional “just because this is interesting” stop in between.
João clearly loved what he did. He’d pull over in what felt like a seemingly random spot and somehow turn it into a story about Portuguese history, food, or coastal life that held even my short attention span.
I’ll admit, at first I was slightly antsy about the frequent stops. But somewhere around day two, my brain basically went: Oh. I actually like this. And honestly… it worked.
Each day brought new scenery, pastries, and plenty of chances to “go.”
Whenever we had a long stretch with no turns, João would glance back at me—since I was usually right behind him—and point ahead.
“You can go.”
Sometimes I’d take off, just to burn through whatever caffeine I’d had that morning. Other times I’d stay right there in the draft, perfectly happy to just roll along and let the day happen instead of chasing it.
That became a bit of a rhythm in itself.
One of the highlights of Week 1 was Nazaré. We only had an hour there, but it’s hard not to be in awe—especially knowing it’s famous for those massive surf waves and competitions.
I used to be obsessed with surfing as a teenager, and apparently that part of my brain never fully retired. Standing there—even briefly—brought that version of me back for a second.
I also bought my one and only hoodie of the trip there, which feels like an appropriate souvenir for a place that’s equal parts wind, ocean, and nostalgia.
Óbidos was the other standout. It’s this completely walled medieval town that feels a bit like stepping into a movie set. I’m not usually an “old town ruins” kind of person, but this one got me. It was just… fun in a slightly surreal way, like a knight on horseback might come down the narrow cobbled street.
Some of our group ended up at a medieval bar for a pre-dinner drink. Fully committed decor—stone walls, low light, tons of “memorabilia” on the walls.
After Week 1, we had what I called an “intermission” in Lisbon, where one group headed home and Team Lisbon to Algarve arrived.
Lisbon ended up feeling a bit limbo-ish. I had gone from being in a group and very structured every day—rides, coffee stops, shared dinners—to suddenly being on my own. It wasn’t bad, just… quiet in a way I wasn’t really used to on this trip.
So I wandered.
I spent most of my time just walking around at my own pace, stopping when I felt like it. At some point I tried a bifana sandwich, which I’d heard about beforehand and felt morally obligated to investigate. It was very good, and I’d happily have it again.
I also went on a side quest to find “Portugal Steve.”
Steve is our horse at home. Whenever I travel, I try to bring back a horse souvenir for my wife, so there’s an ongoing unofficial tradition I apparently have to maintain.
This turned into a full-blown wild goose chase through souvenir shops with no horses in sight. What does Portugal have against horses? Roosters and ceramic sparrows are everywhere, so this mission was ultimately a failure.
It was also a good excuse to slow down a bit and reset. And yes, there was still a fair amount of pastry-related decision making and souvenir browsing.
By Sunday night, the new group met up and we started again. Another group of mostly Brits, plus one couple from Canada. We quickly became “Team North America,” mostly for comedic purposes and absolutely not because of any athletic advantage.
This tour was different right away—mountain bikes and roughly 40–50% dirt and gravel. I didn’t really factor that in when I booked it. Once I’d committed to the “full Portugal experience,” I kind of glossed over details like terrain. That turned out to be one of my favorite parts.
I’m definitely leaning more toward off-road riding now, and these dirt roads were amazing.
The theme of the week quickly became “Sand!”
Day 2 had us riding through rice fields—one of those “how is this real?” moments we didn’t even know we had on our itinerary. At some point early in the week, someone joked that we were basically ticking things off a bingo card we hadn’t realized we were playing, and that one definitely got marked.
Some sections had deeper sand, and in group riding it’s standard to call out obstacles. That’s how “Sand!!” was born.
It could mean anything from warning to laughter to mild panic. We also started tracking falls, which is how I ended up fully joining the Canadians as Team North America in an unofficial falling competition after taking a digger on a trail.
Lots of laughs, some groaning, and general relief whenever pavement returned.
Every day brought another ridiculous coastal view. At one point the running joke became: “Ugh, another gorgeous view.” Honestly absurd how many there were.
My camera roll is coastline after coastline, trying to capture even a fraction of it. At the start of the week they said, “wait until later in the week,” which I didn’t think was possible.
But it was.
Day 3 was the best. More ocean views, a giant sugary pastry, and animal sightings (donkeys, cows, sheep—including a very enthusiastic flock of lambs that felt like another box ticked on the unofficial bingo card), plus long stretches of dirt roads. Porto Covo was a highlight despite a nasty climb.
I called my wife from lunch and said, “I found our retirement spot.” I will need to get her on a plane first.
By the end of the week, we’d settled into that familiar travel-group dynamic where you’re basically a temporary little unit—riding together, eating together, and collectively reacting to sand like it’s a personal attack.
Most days followed a similar rhythm:
Breakfast. Ride. Sand. Coffee. Scenery. Laughs. Lunch. Ride. Drink. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
It sounds simple written down, but it never felt repetitive. Every day had its own chaos, views, or moments. Somehow there was always more sand, scenery, and coffee than this makes it sound like.
I think that’s what I’ll remember most—not any single ride, but the rhythm of it all. The way the coastline just kept getting better every day. My “job” was just to ride, and the rest mostly took care of itself.
And the sand. Definitely the sand.
Kim's Pedaling Passport 
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