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January 28 Saturday Bicycle touring Italy
from a farmer's field near Orroli Sardegna to a forest just past
Villa Salta Sardinia I go back in to get water and the woman leaves the till immediately and the people waiting in line, to usher me into the washroom where a tap is. We had run out of water the day before in the morning and hadn't found any place to refill. Cycling out of town on our fully loaded touring bicycles we came across a huge water filling station and stopped to fill our two pop bottles. We cycled a little farther along and came across another water station in a farmer's field. Of course. We couldn't find any when we were dry. We cycle downhill for a long ways. At an old road bend that a new section of highway bypasses we pull off the road on our loaded touring bicycles and stop to eat. We discover that the bread, which looks like it has been sitting on the shelf for a week, is still warm. It is delicious with our concocted mixture of cherry, strawberry, and blueberry jam. Pedalling our touring bikes up a long climb into Escalaplano, we pass a fellow walking two oxen. He comes right into town. I get a picture of him. We stock up at a grocery store as tomorrow is Sunday and nothing will be open. As I come out, Sharon is surrounded by a bunch of school kids. Earlier the village idiot had been yelling at her when she couldn't understand him. I told her to yell back, "No capiche!" Two police came over next to check us out in their shiny handsome uniforms. I seized the opportunity to ask for a photo. "No," one replies. "Souvenir," I say. "We are not souvenirs," he says. A few more questions and our map comes out. They show us the way to the coast. There is only one road. Satisfied, they are ready to leave. I try again. "Photograph to remember you helping us." "Okay. Take our picture," he says. They both stand awkwardly beside Sharon and a little girl who wanted to buy Sharon's bike. Downhill on our heavily loaded touring bicycles to Ballao. It made for a quick 13 kilometres. We see picnic tables made of solid rock at a park alongside the Flumendosa River. We got lost in town. An old woman escorted us to the correct turnoff, walking alongside us, down the street as we pedalled slowly along, keeping pace with her arthritic gait. Lots of helpful and friendly people when you're bicycle touring in Sardinia. We thought we would be cycling along the river when we looked at our map. But no, we climb high up onto the mountainside, leaving the river far below. The road is new and smooth with few vehicles. Many parts over valleys are on viaducts like Grandfather Mountain on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Lots of tunnels to cycle through, too. We bicycle into a small forest, past the turnoff to Villa Salta. Sharon sees a cabin and checks it out. Fireplace. Bottles on a table inside. Being Saturday night we decide not to stay in the cabin, in case it is a party spot. We choose the forest, above the roadway and valley. It looks appealing with its tall growth of pines. We push our fully loaded touring bicycles through a fallen down gate made of barbed wire and crooked sticks and find a small level spot in a clearing by the path on the hillside. We set up our tiny bicycle touring tent. Once again we are reminded that in Europe one is never far from people. As I cover the bikes I hear Sharon say "chow" and I figure either supper is ready or someone is coming. It is the latter. A fellow with a dog is bounding towards us, up over the rock ledges and through brambles. He has a green uniform and we figure he must be with the park's service. I think we are going to be told to pack up and hit the road. After introductions and a few questions, Sharon asks if it's okay to camp here. "No problem," he says. We share a beer -- Ichnusa -- what we had in the bar. It is smooth and lithe with no aftertaste. "Ching ching," and the ranger drains his in one swig and flings the residue into the bushes with a great swing of his arm and a flick of his wrist. We learn he is not a ranger, but merely a guy out walking his dog. His dog tries to drag off our supper. He admonishes the dog, then they are off, funning back downhill through the brambles. Down below, we watch two workers in a vineyard. I can hear the whine of a chainsaw. Dinging bells of sheep are above us. Some rocks are being moved in the darkness, which is somewhat unsettling. I spitlessly try to blow out our candle lantern so we will become invisible. |
