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Grape Expectations Cloudy and foggy, but thank heavens it wasn't raining. The riding was depressing enough without the added misery of cold rain. The gas station opened and we took that as a cue it was time to take our leave and deposited last evening's dishes and teapot with the attendant. "Fratello," she said, and pointed to the house. We asked her to thank her brother and his family for their hospitality. Some time we were just in the right place at the right time. Traveling by bicycle certainly made one open to serendipitous events. The map book we had was very thorough, but we hadn't taken any small roads. It was too hilly for Sherry to get off the main flat one. We gave up searching for less traveled roads, opting for the busier roads instead, in hopes they would have a shoulder. There was much truck traffic on the busy road. Cycling on it was not enjoyable in the least. I kept my head down and concentrated on not wobbling. I thought maybe after all the traffic Sherry would change her mind about the hills. We wanted to make it to Verona before the All Saints Day holiday (two days away), because everything would be closed. The graveyards we passed had been spruced up for the special day and were immaculate. It occurred to me that we had been in Europe for one year. Sherry and Sharon spent two hours shopping for groceries-probably because it was warm inside and they were in no hurry to brave the cold weather. Consequently, having left me to attend the bike all that time I was somewhat cantankerous by the time they finally made their appearance. I was numb and had visions of Sherry and Sharon drinking cappuccino inside while laughing at my predicament. Their lengthy shopping spree also meant Verona would not be attainable that afternoon. They must have been hungry because they came out of the Coop pushing a buggy brimming with food. That was the last time I was going to allow the two of them to go shopping together. We immediately went to an unkempt soccer field and made fajitas with steak. I tasted my first greenskinned orange. Its taste resembled a cross between a lime and an orange. After lunch we headed toward Lake of Garda. From the smell, I thought it should be named Lake of Giardia. The map showed the road going along the lake but with all the homes built along its shore I only glimpsed the lake twice. There were hookers along the road. That was what I called fishing with live bait. And they were making some catches. I wondered if they ever threw any back. Was there a size limit? Finding a quiet field off the main highway, next to a vineyard, we opted to camp just outside Verona and ride in the next day. It was near dark. We weren't overly worried the farmer would be along to do any work at that time of day and helped ourselves to some sweet bunches of grapes. Happily munching our stolen fruit we were surprised to hear a tractor approaching. The farmer was coming to get a last load of hay. He lurched his tractor and wagon to a halt when he saw us. "Are all the grape skins out of my teeth?" I asked Sharon before approaching him. The farmer's face wore a shy amiable smile. Even his dog was friendly. "No problem," he said, and continued down the path. Fresh grapes for supper! |
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