Climbs that make your skin crawl

The first time I climbed the Tower, in Serra da Estrela

By Carlos Gomes

I fell in love with cycling when I was still a child, like most of us. At the time, however, I was not truly aware of the impact it would have on my life. That realisation only came later, when I started cycling again after the foolish years of adolescence and young adulthood.

The Day Everything Changed

I know the exact moment when cycling entered my life in a resounding and definitive way: the day I climbed to the top of Serra da Estrela, to the famous Tower, for the first time.

Cycling helped me connect the loose ends of my life, overcome barriers and organise my feelings and emotions in a fluid and organic way, effortlessly — as if it had always been that way. But it wasn't always like that.

I was never — nor am I — a great athlete. But, armed with stubbornness, I threw myself into this somewhat crazy goal for someone who, until then, only cycled on Sundays, between 30 and 50 kilometres.

Balocas: The Starting Point

Balocas was my starting point. I know that the name of this tiny village in the Serra do Açor means nothing to most people, but it is my father-in-law's homeland and it has also become a bit of a cycling homeland for me. To give you an idea, the only access road is 1.8 kilometres long with an accumulated elevation gain of almost 250 metres. From the centre of Balocas to Torre, it is about 40 kilometres, with a little over 2,000 metres of accumulated elevation gain.

To give you an idea, the only access road is 1.8 kilometres long with an accumulated elevation gain of almost 250 metres. From the centre of Balocas to the Tower, it is about 40 kilometres, with a little over 2,000 metres of accumulated elevation gain.

The bike I had at the time — and which is still Grupeto's delivery bike today — was a 2006 KTM Prowler, weighing about 15 kg. It was this bike that opened my eyes to what we can do on a bike when we are resilient (or, in other words, stubborn).

The Departure Before Dawn

That day, I woke up at five in the morning. I ate toast with good butter, drank coffee with milk, water from the tap, and got myself ready. I was ready. Out on the street, all I could hear was the windmills cutting through the wind, like giants worthy of Don Quixote. Thinking of Cervantes' character, I grabbed my bike and set off on my quest with my donkey — but without Sancho Panza.

‘You're going to face some climbs that will make your balls curl up.’

First it was downhill, no problem. Then it started to climb... and never stopped. I didn't have GPS, so I kept stopping to ask if I was on the right track. Of the answers I got, one stuck with me forever. A villager, whom I asked if I was on the right track for Torre, replied:

‘Go this way, but you'll encounter some climbs that will make your balls curl.’

With this motto in mind, I set off. I realised that a small town like Vasco Esteves can have about fifteen signs indicating its location, that Loriga is beautiful, with its river beach and the icy waters of the Zêzere, and that when we arrive at the Serra da Estrela Natural Park, we already have about a thousand metres of accumulated elevation in our legs... and we already feel ready to turn back.

Adamastor and Humility

I climbed Adamastor, along those wide roads with landscapes so impressive that they overwhelm us and reduce us to our insignificance. With little energy left in my body and my stubbornness wavering, I had only one motivation left: to take a photo at the Tower, with my bicycle in my arms above me.

Every pedal stroke, every breath, every metre conquered was an effort. But I made it. I was delighted. Really happy. A little proud, as if I were an adventurer who had just accomplished a unique feat. I looked for someone to take the infamous photo, but at that hour there was not a soul in sight. Until other adventurers arrived on road bikes, and I asked them for help. It was done — or so I thought.

In conversation with these cyclists, I learned that, on that same day, they were going to climb the mountain from all four sides. A kind of ‘Star of the Star’. My pride in my achievement then gave way to humility, transformed into a simple desire: I'm going to buy a road bike. And so I did.

But I will never forget my KTM mountain bike, nor what it gave me.

The Freedom That Cannot Be Bought

She was the one who “explained” to me that the freedom to go wherever we want through our own efforts is a value that cannot be sold or bought. It is achieved. And it is a freedom that opens horizons — both geographical and internal. Every mountain we climb opens something inside us, pushes us to go further and peek behind the veil that laziness and ignorance hold so dear.

My father-in-law picked me up from the Tower by car, because my legs were too tired to return to Balocas. But since that day, I have climbed the Tower dozens of times — and always returned under my own steam.