Western Algarve Portugal, Cliff Running

Off at 7:40 a.m. Headed off in a westerly direction this morning over the cliffs towards Cape St. Vincent; The end of the world as the ancient mariners used to say before setting forth on their voyagers of discovery across the Atlantic Ocean. Most people in those days thought the world was flat and they would fall off, mind you there are still some folk who think that’s still true.
This is a shift up a gear from the other day, a fair bit further; the cliffs are quite rocky and you have to keep your eyes on the ground to avoid tripping. Views are breath-taking and with the sun burning a hole in my back the early start seems worth it. Over an easy sandy, scrubland bit of terrain and I’m flying along; poor Mo Farah is struggling to keep up (in my head). There is a man–made path up ahead now and progress is good with time took to look around. The path was originally built as a kind of mini promenade on the cliff in front of soon to be built millionaires’ mansions. The path has eroded away, the mansions never built.
I reach the end of the man-made stretch, and turn and take a breather admiring the view intending to head back because I’ve done enough and know what’s up ahead! What the hell; it could be a long time, if ever, that I do this run again. The path becomes dirt and then rocky again and in some places is very narrow; one false slip and I’m food for the fishes. I arrive at the crack, a small valley with a dry river-bed, overgrown with bushes and scrub. There must be some water here because I can here frogs croaking. This is my last chance to turn around now.
I look over the crack and there it is: the hill: not particularly high but very steep with only loose gravel underfoot; I don’t think I have ever made it to the top without having to walk. At last I make it, out of breath, but rewarded by all round panoramic views. The moment ends and I start back home for a shower and breakfast.
Running back, even though the views are equally as good, I can’t help but dwell on the devastating atrocity committed in Woolwich, London on Wednesday 22nd. Words are impossible to find, and this occupies my thoughts on the return back, all I can do is go online and buy my Help for Heroes Tee-shirt.


About Trevor Burton

Trevor was born in Manchester and now divides his time between Cheshire and the Algarve, Portugal. He began writing after a career in finance, and director of a training company. Caught in a Trap is the third book in a series, featuring the Gent as the enigmatic sleuth from ENODO (Latin for analyse) agency. Away from writing he walks daily and plays golf weekly.
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