Day 175 from France: Virtual Fruit Stand Between My Thighs

Shaboom sends us her update from Paris Portugal...

Oh my word, I can hardly move. My inner thighs and butt cheeks are so freaking sore from the 65 miles I rode uphill, both ways, into the wind, through the mountains of southern Portugal yesterday. HELP ME. Everything is so swollen it's like I'm growing a lime out of each butt cheek and an orange out of each inner thigh. Oranges are made for squeezing into delicious juice. They don't belong under my very chaffed skin. I'm just saying.

Breakfast today...

Small seaside village in the Algarve...

A crazy 20º grade hill I managed to get down without re-breaking my shoulder...

Just so I could climb right back up this crappy hill...

I don't understand why anyone ever thought it would be a good idea to balance all their weight onto two teeny-tiny tires less than an inch thick. It's even more of a mystery as to how I was coerced into getting my out-of-shape lazy ass onto a bike for 65 miles a day. And why am I torturing myself by doing this more than once? How many days are left of this so-called vacation??? Just kill me now.

Did I mention 65 miles a day?

On a bike?

And that bike seats are very uncomfortable when you don't have what I've learned is called "bike butt"...

I don't care how gorgeous the scenery is on the ride, I'm too busy trying not to fall down and die of exhaustion to even look and my surroundings!

But I built up quite an appetite for dinner tonight and ate THIS ENTIRE FISH. I'm not kidding.

Mama mia, I can't move. I'm told it'll be even worse tomorrow.