ber off to find a place to buy sunglass-
es to replace those he had dropped
somewhere along the way. The rest
of us contentedly sampled our port
by the pool.
The next morning, we were tri-
ply sad. It was too soon to leave the
Douro, our departure signalled we
were coming toward the end of our
ride, and we had to say goodbye
to our friends the staff at Casa de
Azenha.
We were almost pleased by several
minutes of panic, delaying our depar-
ture when One of Our Number con-
fessed, he’d lost the key for his motor-
cycle. Several minutes of everybody
frantically searching around the Casa
ensued – it had to be there some-
where! After all, he had been no
place else since parking it the night
prior – until somebody finally found
it in the driveway outside the gate.
I had one disappointment. I could
find no nata. Nata’s are uniquely
Portuguese, ridiculously rich egg
custard tarts that are terribly addic-
tive. Pasteis de nata is ubiquitous in
Lisbon and Porto. You can even buy
packages of tarts to take with you at
the airport. I craved nata, but I had
not been able to find it anywhere
along the way. Worse, the cook at
Casa de Azenha said she would have
TRAVERSE 83
gladly made me some, homemade, if
I had mentioned it in time.
We rode up the south bank of the
Douro, then up over the steep, rocky
hills through vineyards and then
forests. The higher we rode, the drier
it got, and the browner became the
landscape. The vineyards appeared
older, less tended, with vines seeming
to grow between slabs of slate. Culti-
vated flowers were replaced by wild
poppies and wisteria. We were in the
Douro Alto, hardly any tourists and
abundant empty roads. Marvelous.
When reached the mountain town of
Torre de Moncorvo, we parked our
bikes in the classic town square and