Epic 2,000-Mile Cycling Adventure from Cornwall to Portugal with Surfboards in Tow

Embarking on an Unforgettable Journey

When Martin Dorey wheeled his bike off the ferry at Roscoff, northwest France, in the summer of 2024, the furthest he had ever ridden was the 99-mile Devon Coast to Coast route over two days. Yet here he was, about to embark on an epic journey, unsupported, towing a trailer with two wooden surfboards, a tent, and wetsuits strapped to it. His wife, Lizzy, 62, and he had rented out their house and lent their campervan to friends, so there was no turning back.

Lizzy was also towing a trailer with two belly boards and the rest of their camping kit. She, the veteran of many long rides in her 20s – one of which took her across the Andes – was full of quiet confidence. Martin was excited beyond words to be setting off on a new adventure, but also terrified of what the road might reveal about him. He had no idea whether his 57-year-old body or soul could cope with cycling for days on end, climbing mountains, or setting up a tent every night for three months.

As their route out of Roscoff took them down a narrow, overgrown track with brambles brushing their legs and panniers, Martin started to wonder what they had got themselves into. Would they have to ride on paths like this all the way? What were they thinking?

The plan was to cycle from home in Cornwall to Cape St Vincent in Portugal, Europe’s most south-westerly point, surfing as they went. The journey, Martin reckoned, would be at least 1,900 miles (over 3,000km). He had travelled to surf in Europe many times before, but only in a campervan and, in his late teens and 20s, a series of clapped-out cars.

His friends and he went to Europe to surf, drink cheap red wine, smoke Gauloises, and live out their Californian Beach Boys fantasies. They were following in the footsteps of those who had made the trip in the 1960s and 1970s, leaving the UK to surf in the sun on world-class waves. In time, the journey became a rite of passage for all surfers: get beaten up in the powerful French shore breaks, find new waves in northern Spain, and lose yourself on the wild coasts of Portugal.

The prospect of doing it all again, but this time on two wheels, thrilled him. Martin had become disillusioned with travelling by van and needed time out. He loved the idea of chasing waves without the faff and environmental impact of van life and wondered if living with less would make him happier. Would stripping back to basics – a surfboard, a wetsuit, a tent, a meths cooker, and a change of clothes – make for a bigger, more meaningful adventure?

Travelling by bike, Martin argued while planning this trip, would allow them to follow the old roads and forgotten paths their surfing forefathers had travelled and give them the kind of access to beaches that is impossible today.

Eventually, the bumpy lanes outside Roscoff gave way to smooth, flowing tarmac, following the course of a muddy river, and they cruised along easily, their trailers rumbling happily behind them. Dare he hope it would all be fine?

The truth was, at that point, Martin doubted he was up to the adventure. In 2023, he had severed his anterior cruciate ligament (ACL), an injury that left him in a knee brace and on crutches for weeks. In the early days of recovery, he feared he’d never surf again.

The NHS consultant told him "most people your age manage perfectly well without an ACL." Martin felt the sharp sting of ageism. But he wasn’t ready to be written off just yet. He had the ligament repaired privately and, when the surgeon recommended cycling for rehab, he took him at his word.

Riding ebikes made the trip possible. The psychological effect of knowing he had a little in the tank if things got difficult worked wonders, even if they rode in the mode that delivered the least power most of the time.

They followed La Vélodyssée, an 800-mile, mostly off-road cycle route down the west coast of France to Hendaye on the border with Spain, joining the Nantes-Brest canal for the first 190 miles. The riding was mostly flat, and they bimbled along happily. Martin loved the attention they got: he guessed there weren’t many middle-aged cyclists pulling surfboards along the towpath.

At about 6pm each day – after about five hours in the saddle – they’d stop at a campsite, cook, and collapse on to their blow-up beds. They’d prebooked some sites but mostly took their chances that something would turn up. On the one occasion it didn’t, they checked in to a hotel. Clean white sheets – heaven!

Despite daily drenchings from rain showers, Martin loved being self-sufficient and outside all day. When they finally found some good waves, at Seignosse, a little north of surfing’s spiritual European home, Biarritz, hitting them was all the more satisfying.

Spain, and her terrible hills, gave them a shock after the level paths through France’s maritime pine forest. Just after crossing the border, they climbed Jaizkibel mountain in rain and fog. It was a 5-mile slog from sea level to 450 metres, en route to San Sebastián. Martin resisted the urge to press the ebike’s power button despite it being a "classic climb" that has been featured in the Tour de France and Spain’s equivalent, La Vuelta.

When he reached the top, he was wet, cold, and exhausted – but elated. If it hadn’t been so misty, he could have looked back at France behind him and seen how far they had come. They had ridden 870 miles since leaving home, and Martin had loved it. He had surfed some excellent waves too, at Biarritz and Hendaye, as well as Seignosse, and had got his mojo back after months out of the water. He decided it was just like riding a bike: you never forget how to do it. He was definitely ready for the more serious Iberian waves to come.

After Jaizkibel, Martin’s legs were tuned up, and he was starting to relish this life-affirming trip that would see them follow the coasts of Spain and Portugal for another 1,200 miles over the next two months. They surfed some hallowed spots at Mundaka, Peniche, and the World Surfing Reserve at Ericeira; mended multiple punctures; pitched their tent 67 times; climbed another 20,000 metres; and completed two legs of the Camino de Santiago. Arriving in Praza do Obradoiro, the main square in Santiago de Compostela old town, was a highlight. But they still had another 500 miles to go to their final destination of Sagres in the Algarve.

Martin may not be as fit as he was in his 20s – but the thrill of adventure remains the same.