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February 5 Sunday Bicycle touring Italy Sardinia from a seaside free bike camping spot on the west coast of Sardegna to a beach past Matzaccara Sardinia The sun comes over the small clump of bushes and warms the tent. We lie inside with the tent fly open and write postcards to our neglected friends and family. The wind has died down and it is a short bike ride to the town of Matzaccara where I see an open doorway of a bread shop. Thinking they are open (even though it is a Sunday), I go inside, but they're really not open. I ask for bread anyway. The man brings three buns from a back room where he is working and puts them in a bag for me, then he reaches down into a crate and pulls out two loaves of medium size and another large loaf that he stuffs into a paper sack. When I go to give him money, he slaps me on the back and indicates it's no charge. I tell him we're on bicycles, come and see. His wife and daughter accompany him to the front door. He sees our fully loaded touring bicycles, then asks if we need water. Sure, I say and reach for my plastic pop bottle to be filled. But the wife waves her hand no. The husband has already gone off. He returns with four bottles of mineral water which he gives us and asks if we would like some wine, too. Thinking we are never going to get out of this part of Sardinia because of their generous hospitality, we say, "No thanks, it makes us too wobbly." He laughs and goes inside waving good-bye. We're still trying to strap the water under our straining bungee cords on the rear carriers of our fully loaded touring bicycles when he comes back with a bunch of radishes and hands them to me, saying bon voyage and waves good-bye again. We look for a gas station as we pedal through town, but don't see one. We're out of fuel for our tiny Whisperlite bicycle touring stove. The next large town, Portoscuso, is 12 kilometres away, so we should be able to get some there. We cycle slowly, climbing out of Matzaccara, and come to a newly surfaced road running along the sea. We roll along happily on our fully loaded touring bicycles, admiring all of the great possible free camping spots. There's no traffic on the road. The sun is shining. The view is terrific. Short umbrella pine trees dot the land. What a great day to be a bicycle tourist on Sardinia. The road ends. A sandy road continues toward the beach. We pull our fully loaded touring bicycles to a stop and straddle them, pondering what to do. We decide we may as well have lunch while we decide, so we continue to the beach. We spread our tarp along the sandy bank and lie back, catching the sun's warm rays on our faces. Sharon makes ham, cheese, and radish sandwiches. The place is deserted. Sharon goes in for a swim, wading out in the water. It stays shallow, just over ankle deep for about a hundred metres out, before she turns around and comes back. Families from town come out to the beach. The women wade in the water gathering clams, digging around with their toes. We decide to stay the night, back in the pine forest, sheltered from the blowing wind by a small embankment. |
