Ciao Bella!

On the overnight ferry from Croatia to Italy we met a friendly American cycle tourist called Allan and hung out with him. He had a very cool ‘Bike Friday’, folding bike and trailer, definitely some bike envy going on as he showed us how he can fold it up and the trailer transforms into a suitcase for the bike, and it can go straight on the plane. No excess baggage charges = happy cycle tourists! Nightmare-esk memories of pulling my bike to pieces, getting a box and getting it on the plane were all too fresh in my mind from our US leg, and I was already contemplating what we were going to do with the bikes when we finished in 2 weeks time.

Bike Friday in the flesh...

Anyway, so we had this great idea of sleeping on the ferry (this was quite a big ferry, like Interislander x 1.5) and arriving fresh in Italy the next day. However the ferry was chocka full with people, and by the time we got up to the lounge area all the couches had been nabbed, all the seats and most of the floor space. We now understood why people were rushing to get on. So we found a quiet spot on the top open deck rolled out our thermarests and sleeping bags and tried to get some sleep. Sadly the developing storm put and end to that. As it turns out, it is quite hard to sleep on the top deck of a ferry in a storm with gale force winds, the lightning crashes getting closer and louder, and the spray from the waves breaking over on us. So we got up and made our way back inside to find a deserted-ish corridor to get some broken sleep in. Wish I got a photo of the top deck to show you what it was like, but in the wind that was so strong you had to lean into it to stay balanced, I really didn’t want to be fluffing round with a camera.

The food of course is a highlight. It’s Italy, what can I say. While Lance bemoaned the lack of domino’s thick crusts, I loved Italian pizza – the ingredients are so fresh and full of flavour. Of course Lance’s general motto around Italy was “culture schmulture”, so I don’t know why I’m surprised. However, after 3 weeks in Italy, it did begin to annoy me that the Italians are so into their food, that you can’t really find anything but Italian food. And as much as I love their food, I don’t like it that much, there is really only so much pasta and pizza one can handle.

mmmm cheese...

So we made it in one piece off the ferry at Ancona, and started the great trek west across Italy to San Gimingnano (forever, and affectionately known as San G now…. ) to meet Jul’s parents for a relaxed week in an Italian villa in Tuscany. My main memory of cycling in Italy are the hills. Admittedly we didn’t have a lot of route choice, and did our best to avoid them, but they were incessant. Together with the heat, 50 km felt like 100 kilometres. I began to even hate, truly hate, downhills, because it meant we would just have to reclimb that lost altitude. Tight, windy Italian roads, coupled with Italian drivers, don’t make for nice cycling either. The worst road we took of the whole trip was in Italy, when at one point we ended up (following the advice of a I’m sure, well meaning camp ground owner that the road would be nice and quiet) we ended up on some tight winding mountain road, which seemed to have every truck and car off the main highway from Rome that were crossing over east. It was bumper to bumper trucks flying by, most actually wider than the actual lane, naturally they had no concept of allowing room for cyclists. So many times I thought I was a goner, about to be sucked under a truck that was a whisker away. Not fun. Very, very glad when we got past that stretch.

Jul entering National Park... (the name of which evades us right now... it really was quite gorgeous)

So it took us about a week to ride from Ancona to San G. Our first stop was our first night (and last, much to Lance’s disappointment) stealth camping in a vineyard, in who knows where, somewhere near Corinaldo. Thanks to arriving in Italy on a Sunday, with everything consequently closed, we had no information about campgrounds, so we were cycling blind. Usually you can find one or two by helpfully placed signage, but we weren’t really on the usual tourist route. So we ended up in someone’s vineyard, where Jul had a terrible sleep, dreaming about the owners finding us all night, and in the morning swore she’d never do it again. Lance slept like a baby – go figure. It doesn’t help not being able to speak Italian, and given the popular image of Italians as a rather hot blooded race. Oh and did I mention this entire area has no trespassing signs posted for miles? That might have been the clincher. Perhaps they had had stealth camping epidemics. Literally every 50m for about 200km there were ‘no camping’ signs, (of course they were in Italian, so we can only presume from our rough translation attempt) Also for some reason Italy seems to have quite the dog barking epidemic. Many a good night’s sleep were interrupted by dogs barking all over the place.

Our stealth campsite...photo taken on the run

So we cycled via Corinaldo over to a surprise favorite Italian town ‘Gubbio’, a gorgeous medieval fortress town, that, best of all is off the tourist track. I’d never heard of it but it was a real Italian gem, an old medieval town, and to get to it we had to ride one of the best descents down a new snaking Italian road. Nothing like that new smooth tarmac and windy corners that you can really lean into, and more speed than you are brave enough to use. Lance’s highlight was the making of a fast and firm friendship with a homeless kitten at the top of the mountain pass before Gubbio, who must have been dumped up there. He named him ‘Mr Smoochy’, and after much petting, feeding of bread soaked in water, he finally had to let him go… but not before trying to put him in his panniers and take him down to Gubbio with us. While Mr Smoochy wasn’t so sure about that, he did throw himself down the highway after Lance, for quite a ways…. It was a dark time for Lance.

Mr Smoochy and Lance...

The run in to Gubbio

Gubbio!


The campground at Gubbio....

Next up was Tuoro sul Trasiemo, on Lake Trasiemo. The overwhelming memory of this ride was the mammoth hill climb up and over a mountain pass, oh and that and losing lance (who had biked on ahead and stopped at the summit, and as I passed was obscured by some passing tourists….one hour later after much concern, and lance riding back down the mammoth mountain pass to see if I had crashed somewhere, he finally found me at the bottom of the other side… there was no way I was climbing back up to find him!)… I think the lake was lovely too.

We then went via Montepulciano, which is lovely as far as Italian hill top fortresses go, but the killer hill climb up to it (seriously – its so bad it has giant signs screaming out the gradient, warning no trucks to venture up etc) rendered the whole thing totally not worth it – not to mention they have thee most useless tourist information office). You can see a pattern emerging here… way too many hills. We did meet a really nice American couple who were also cycle touring, Jo and Julie, from Niceville, Florida. Lance drooled over their bikes (which also were very pimp and airline friendly thanks to the S&S coupling links.... am I the only one who has to box my bike the old fashioned way??) . I drooled over their Magnum PI poster they took with them everywhere to take photos with.... as you do.

The ever popular 'scooter-truck'

We then camped in Casciano, taking the most random, ½ lane dirt tracks to get there – which yes, were actually marked on our maps, but which made people’s driveways look like four lane highways. Casciano, as far as Italian towns go, is relatively inconsequential, but it did have a fantastic little campground on an organic farm (Il Casale) about 10 km out, 20 km thanks to the lack of signposting meaning we passed it, cycled on and had to survey literally about 6 people to work out where it was before turning back. Anyway, Il Casale has about 10 campsites, breakfast served in a lovely little dining room, a little terrace and joy of all joys, no mini discos. It also came with our own personal donkey and cat determined to get our dinner and food bag. They sort of tagged teamed each other, one moving in while the other was being shooed away – very annoying.

Great sign if you want the 500 route, not much use for anything else...

Jul... totally over it

Finally making it to lovely Il Casale (the town which we biked to and from in the )...

There ain't enough beer in this town for the two of us...

Finally making it to Tuscany...

We then made our way in a final push to San G. We got there a day early, oh so ready to get off those bikes (another mammoth hill climb into San G…. dam those hill top fortresses) and have a relaxing week catching up with Jul’s parents. Unfortunately there was a mix up in communications and we were supposed to be meeting them that day at the Villa. So while we relaxed at our campsite and chilled out, Jul’s parents were having visions of us dead on the side of the road when we didn’t turn up. Thankfully the villa’s owners were total angels and helped them through that rather dark night, calling the police (who were apparently very pro-active and helpful) and hospitals etc (yes, seriously!) – we were infamous all around San G) …. And we were tracked down in the morning at the campground, woken up to a rather distressed, sobbing mother – much to our total confusion!

The view of the towers of San G from our Villa...

Phew – that’s enough for now. Watch this space for Italy part two.