ALL THE FORTES

The track to Forte e Bateria do Zavial was more sand than road, and I was riding solo. The Algarve sun was sharp, the ocean beside me a never-ending blue tease. I'd taken a wrong turn, then another, following signs with names too long for my brain to hold. Forte de Santo Inácio do Zavial. Forte e Bateria do Azavial. I started calling it All the Fortes. It felt fitting, every sign pointing to strength, defence, old battles.

And then I stacked it.

Tyres spun useless in the sand, and down I went. A lucky muffler miss for my leg, one handlebar half buried, helmet full of swear words. I sat there, laughing into the silence, not because it was funny but because the absurdity had a flavour I recognised.

I grew up stacking things. Cubby houses made of armchairs and fitted sheets. Pillow forts in the loungeroom, where my brother and I would belt each other with couch cushions until Mum cracked it. Our greatest invention: Hallway Gridiron. Pillows jammed down our shirts for padding, stack hats on our heads, and two rolled-up footy socks for a ball. We’d sprint full pelt down the narrow corridor, throw the sock backwards between our legs, then collide like bulls. It always ended in a grounding or a brawl or both. Childhood was imaginative and rough. The far corners of the NSW bush will raise you like that.

So here I was, decades later, in Portugal, wiping sandy petrol off my leg with the same dusty resilience. The forts I used to build were to defend against boredom or brothers. These ones, stone and sea worn, were built to keep out pirates and kings.

I picked up the bike. No damage. Just a bruised ego and a heart that, somehow, felt full.

I mused on how much I had endured and achieved just to stand in a place that once lived only in the corners of my mind. The wind carried echoes of old wars, and a busload of tourists came into view. I dusted off my pride and rode on.

Still chasing all the fortes.

Check out the close-up!

Oil on stretched canvas / 50 x 70cm / framed in Tasmanian oak and ready to hang.

*This painting is still drying and will not ship until early October 2025