I am going the wrong way up a short but wide stretch of road out of Praia da Luz when a rusting jalopy swerves straight towards me, forcing me and my bike into the gutter and onto the pavement. A superannuated hooligan shoves his head out of the window and issues a string of Anglo-Saxon expletives about tourists. I notice a distinctive Cork lilt but before I can give him the benefit of my thoughts he’s roared off in a pall of oily smoke.