Where to begin? Rome was just fantastic. My Mother and I had a great time relaxing and walking, and it was actually refreshing not to think about the bike for a few days. The only bothersome moment during my time in the eternal city was when I stood in St. Peter's Basilica and thought to myself,
"Would Peter want this?"
But this is a discussion we can have in person some day, otherwise I'll just be spouting viewpoints all over the place.
Anyway, Mum left, and as her taxi pulled away from our bargain of a four star hotel, I felt a genuine pang of fear and loneliness. Fifteen minutes before we'd been drinking complimentary coffees by a swimming pool, high on Garibaldi hill, and all of a sudden my thoughts had to swith from leisure to logistics. I was solo once more.
I set off North the following morning. After 20km in Rome city centre, I finally found my way out. With my recently delivered iPod, fresh undies, and plenty of surplus carbs and fats hanging around, I powered my way through the quagmire of suburban Rome to Viterbo and on to Montefiascone. It was a big day with some serious hills and so, in the failing light, I arrived at lake Bolsena. I found an agritourism on the lakeshore that seemed deserted, so I clambered over the fence and set up camp under an olive tree.
A few hours into the night I heard the terrifying thud of a car door being closed right next to my tent. I sat bolt upright and scrambled into the moonlight to either fight for my life, or; charm the arrivals and agree some fee whilst apologising profusely. It turned out to be a holidaying German family, who were more than happy for me to stay, and then after a great night's sleep, had me over for breakfast! Such kind people.
Having eaten my fill they suggested a bicycle path that would follow the lakeshore, then climb to Bolsena town, saving me 10km of uphill backtracking. I set off and must have immediately taken a wrong turn... I did find my way to the town, but not before climbing three fences and dragging the bike up a road so rough that I was on my hands and knees. I was sure I was going to be sick as I reached the heavenly tarmac.
Upon reaching the smooth, signposted SS2, the next two days were spent cruising through the romantic novel-esque landscapes of Tuscany. Forever rolling waves of hills, either freshly ploughed or covered in enormous vineyards that oozed beautiful winey odours. I don't mean post binge session wino odours either- I was passing the town of Montepulciano, and the famous Chianti region!
Everything was going so well, and I was on target to reach Florence on that third afternoon, when, 10km from the city, I heard a noise come from my back wheel that makes the stomach of every touring cyclist feel like it is about to fall out of their belly button. I looked between my legs and saw the damage- the bolt holding my pannier rack had snapped clean in half, with half still stuck in the bicycle. This was a major problem. With all my weight on the back it was impossible to carry on. The rack was twisting badly and rubbing on the wheel. Nightmare.
After five minutes of thinking the worst, I made the risky decision to ditch the rack and bags (MY WHOLE LIFE), stashing them in a bush by the roadside, and race on unburdened to the camping at Piazza Michaelangelo, returning in a taxi to collect them.
During those 45 minutes I thought of all possible scenarios. I knew the remainder of the bolt stuck in the frame was a major problem- Would I have to ditch the bike and find a new mode of transport? Would someone have found and stolen my belongings in the bush?
What was I to do?
In the end, I got everything to the camping and the bike to a mechanic. He took one look at the damaged bolt, let out a huge sigh, picked up a drill and hack saw, and said,
"You have big problem. Come back tomorrow."
I was nervous. So I did what all nervous Irishmen would do, when they're nervous in Italy. I bought a nice bottle of Chianti. I knew drinking alone in my tent would only darken the situation, so instead I ingeniously disguised the alcohol in a paper bag and took to walking the spectacular city in the warm moonlight!
After some great conversation over Apertivo in a little trattoria, I wound my way past the Duomo with its enormous dome, down to the Uffizi gallery and the little Piazza next to it, where a street musician was playing acoustic reggae covers of pop ballads. A perfect mash-up of genres for a drunken 21 year old.
Surrounded by perfect sculptures of Greek mythology, and in the eyeline of Michaelangelo's "David", I sat and had a little cry to myself.
It felt great, and by the time the musician had finished two songs I felt purged of all nerves and had washed away the fear. Key sera sera I thought. This is all part of the big adventure.
The following afternoon, through the haze of a hangover, I returned to the mechanic, who presented my bicycle repqired, qnd with enhanced fittings! I paid the man and went for a spin along the river, almost falling off twice while catching the eye of some beautiful passer by. Florentine girls are where its at. I decided to set off the following morning, so went to Piazza Michaelangeo and sat in the sunset reading and snacking on delicious, salty, olive oil soaked foccacia bread.
The road from Florence to Bologna is quite simply a road that was made to be ridden on a bicycle. Just over 100km long; ascending straight out of old Florence in to more vineyards for about 40km, then undulating for 20km between two passes, then descending for around 45/50km to Bologna.
In the cool sunshine my spirits remained high all day. It felt great to be on the road again after my little hiccup- but the real inspiration came in a cafe atop the passo di futa when, after ordering a lunchitme espresso, I turned to find myself in the shadow of a wall covered in photographs from as far back as the 1950s,showing cycling royalty such as Jaques Anquetil, Nino Defillipis, and Fautso Coppi zooming past that very spot in numerous Giro d'Italia and a few Tour de France!
On the descent I met two South Koreans, who didn't know each other, but camped at the same site in Bologna, were both in their 20's, and were both going to Madrid! Its amazing what a trip can do. They said they were now good friends, gave me some sweets, then we parted to the road once more.
From Bologna I entered the pancake gradients of the Po valley and surrounding plains. I made good time to Ferrara where I met Coach Cate- an American lady cycling from London to Athens doing some research on the healthy living styles of the Europeans. We shared ingredients to prepare a great dinner, and shared thoughts to make a great night time conversation.
From Ferrara I took the Po cycle path, all the way along the levee of the great river, to Verona. Torrential rain and heavy fog finished the day and so I checked into a hostel with a grand open fire and complimentary cat!
A day off to dry out seemed a wise idea, so after exploring Verona, gazing up at Juliet's balcony, and getting a damaged crank replaced for €50, I met Julien; a French wine trader travelling Europe.
We teamed up with Anna, a local girl he'd met that day, and a bottle of Grappa, and wandered all over town. It was great fun- catching a Mexican Apertivo along the way and finishing up on the ancient Roman bridge under the stars, that were visible for the first time in days. This night time clear sky let the temperature drop, so when the rain returned the following morning, it was sharp and freezing and blowing straight into my face as I battled to reach Vincenza.
A day of total misery convinced me to stop at a shop and pick up decent waterproofs and serious boots, so as I finally rolled into Venice 24 hours later on a crisp sunny afternoon, I looked more like a polyester Yeti than a trim cyclist.
Venice! I had arrive at the magical city on the sea, and, two hours later, so did my best mate Pat! He and some fellow students had come to study architecture for a week, and they'd managed to get an amazing deal on an MTV Cribs worthy apartment. Under the cover of BROAD DAYLIGHT, we hauled the bike across too many bridges and I moved in to sleep on their floor for three nights.
Venice really deserves a chapter to itself. We had our own kitchen, so each evening we cooked 5* meals for cheap. I spent the days relaxing, wandering along countless canals, getting lost and eating a mountain of Gelato while the others studied at the Biennale.
On the second night, Venice experienced the worst flooding in 22 years! 1.5m of wqter spilled on to St. Mark's Square, brought to our attention by the eerie, pan pipe warning siren that wouldn't be out of place in Doctor Who.
Julien from Verona joined us, and we continued our cheap, yet incredibly glamourous way of life for a few more days. Just like Rome it was so good to switch off from survival, and adventure in a much more luxurious manner. Strolling pqst the house of Marco Polo, drinking varieties of coffee, eating all sorts of foreign food and sampling wine and beer by the bottle are all great adventure in Venice. It was tough to leave.
To save myself the boring repetition of cycling back along roads I'd taken East to Venice, I took a train West to Torino, catching a glimpse of lake Garda,through the trees, and picking up some fine mixed nuts at a stop over in Milano- leading me to the doorstep of the Alps.
If Torino is the doorstep, then the Val de Susa is the driveway. A great slice of relatively flat valley floor that puches right into the heart of possibly the most spectacular moutain range on Earth. Towering, snow capped peaks lined the road all the way to Susa, then the roqd switched back on itself and began to gain altitude very quickly.
In minutes my flat valley ride was over and I was surrounded by a panorama of golden forest, snowy peaks, and some of the finesrt cycling world over.
Two hours of tough ascending took me to the town of Salbertrand, already 1000m above sea level. Upon arrival I was immediately invited to a session of roasting chestnuts and drinking hot wine with the local community, and through that, picked up an invite to dinner in a caravan! It was such a great day. My heart was so warmed by the generosity of the human spirit here, that it took some time for me to notice the piles of snow lying around! Winter has arrived.
After a great sleep I climbed to an Aaron Gordon record height of 1860m on the Col de Montegenevre, and entered France! A freezing fog was blowing through the ski station, so I hastily layered up and descended through the snow along an amazing Alpine Tour route, passing road paintings such as "Allez Tommy Voeckler!" into the picturesque town of Briançon; from which I write this entry.
A storm has blown in which I hope passes by before the morning, as I will reach a new record altitude crossing the Col du Lautauret at 2058m, before descending to Le Bourg D'Oisans at the foot of the mighty Alp D'Huez! A little test of fitness amongst my 8 hours riding per day.
Italy really was fantastic. The highs of cycling along routes of bicycle folklore, and the comforts of Rome and Venice, balanced with the stresses of brutal weather, mechanical troubles and internal dilemmas, combined to make a thoroughly worthwhile section of this adventure.
I have loved every second, high or low, in altitude or in spirit. Now to soak up the Alps before crossing the great expanse of France.
It's funny- life on the road now seems so normal. Maybe it was the supernatural Alpine scenery I find myself in, but today all I could think about was today. I wasn't concerned with the future for the first time in ages. The more I think about it, I've been slipping into this frame of mind over the past two months.
It feels great.
The only time is now. Enjoy it.
You're definitely a champion, keep it up for those of us stuck at uni!
ReplyDeleteINCREDIBLE. You hero keep er lit
ReplyDelete