Today we smashed out Spain. All of it, right to left. Gone were yesterday’s mountain hairpins and gravity-defying lunacy – today was a straight-line slog through sun-bleached motorway and deja-vu landscaping adorned with continuous yellow bushes.
The mission? Cross an entire country and roll into Portugal before sunset. The results? Wildly varied.
Some teams smashed out a direct drive, arriving at the coast by 3pm with time for a splash in the sea and an existential nap. Others chose the scenic route – river dips, mystery towns, and frequent coolant top ups. Arrival times ranged from “early doors” to “is that the moon?”
Dumball One’s tiny two-seater – the little banger that could – flirted dangerously with the idea of becoming a roadside sculpture. Despite some impromptu mechanical TLC (read: removing anything that kept it warm or stopped out breathing), it stubbornly limped all the way to the finish line. Dumball spirit? Absolutely. Reliable? Not even slightly.
Some teams hit the casino, some the beach, and some… just about found the right car park. All were greeted by the Atlantic breeze, Portuguese tiles, and the warm, inexplicable satisfaction of a hotel that wasn’t on a mountain.
From mountains to motorways, this was Dumball at its most eclectic – a scattergun of routes, stories and sunburn. Portugal: achieved.
