I passed several miles of fences the night before, so this had to became my second to last campsite in Spain. The plan was to hide behind the wall, but there was an inordinate amount of rusty barbed wire back there. So no, It wasn't the greatest campsite I've ever had, but the price was right.
Rural Southern Spain is a beautiful place to cycle. I forget the name of this village, but fortresses on hills surrounded in white Spanish tiled buildings was somewhat of a common sight down here.
I would have liked to slow down and explore more, but I had a plane to catch, my first real deadline in nearly a year.
As I'm not a fast cyclist and I'm on a slow heavy bike, I rode from sunrise to well after sunset to get in the miles. That meant seeing more scenes like this one.
A day before arriving in Portugal, my bike chain broke in a rural area. Then a few miles before crossing the border into Portugal, it started to rain just as I got a flat tire. I couldn't tell if Spain was trying to keep me or trying to make me give up and put out a thumb.
I would have liked more time in Portugal. I expected it to be much like Spain, but it actually felt quite different. For one, a lot of people spoke fluent English.
Often the view in Portugal reminded me of Indiana.