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February 13 Monday Bicycle touring Italy Sardinia from the sacred Santa Cristina well near Paulilatino Sardinia to a sheep pasture past Bosa Sardegna It was 1:30 AM before we got to bed last night. At six in the morning Francesco's boots hit the floor -- a little more slowly than yesterday morning. He will be glad when we're gone so he can do his chores and get some sleep. We are barely up by the time he is back with the morning's milking and another pot is poured and put on the stove. We hurriedly drink two bowls so that he can deliver the milk. The sky is overcast as we exit the farmhouse to our fully loaded touring bicycles, in exactly the same spot we had left them when we arrived a couple of days prior. A cat has taken up residence on Sharon's bike seat. Sharon puts the cat down and she immediately climbs back up and lays down on the seat again. As Francesco accompanies us to the gate by the road, after closing the gate, he passes us in his three-wheeled truck on his way to the dairy. In Paulilatino I stop to buy bread. The ladies are friendly, asking questions. I even understand some words after Francesco's intense two day crash course in Italian. We meet the girl that works at the bar. She is getting milk from a house. At a crossroads, a ubiquitous three-wheeled truck honks at us as we stop to reconnoiter our map. It is one of the guys from the bar last night. I jokingly point to my watch to indicate "What took you so long?" He points to a flat tire in the back. As we laugh -- guess cycle tourists aren't the only ones to gets flats -- a car honks at us and stops. It is Francesco from the bar. We merrily say our good-byes and good wishes again. They ask if we will be back next year. Yep. Cycle around the world but couldn't get off Sardegna. With Francesco's recommended route we head off towards St Leonards with its seven fountains. Just before St Leonards we see a picnic table by the road, and since we don't come across many picnic tables, we wouldn't want to miss an opportunity. We stop our bicycle tour long enough to have lunch. We are finishing up when two guys from Catel, a phone company, stop for lunch at the other table. They invite us to join them. They offer us a thin, fried lemon pastry that's super. Mario's wife makes them for the lent festival. They have sandwiches and tiny bottles of wine. Marcos says he's 42 --but he looks 32 or less. He has six sons. His wife is a school teacher. He knows some English. Mario, 50, looks like Tom Selleck. Somehow they tell us Marcos is single, probably because we didn't believe his age. And I practice my Itliano saying Marcos is a "pastore," meaning a shepherd -- like most shepherds are single because lonely shepherds don't get much chance to meet women. Then I choose an unfortunate time to practice my other word. "Pecora" -- sheep. Mario thinks this is a highly funny joke and reaches across the table to shake my hand. He hasn't comprehended much of our conversation until this point as Marcos only interprets when it suits him and Mario says because of this Marcos takes advantage of him. This is true. They live in Oristano. We ask about the carnival. Yes, they will have their horses there. Marcos says Mario has a big horse because the big boss man needs a big horse. Marcos gets a paper and then sketches my face. He is talented. He looks at it and says brutto. Ugly. Is he talking about his drawing skills or his subject? They invite us to go to work with them to climb a pole and phone anywhere we want, but we don't want to leave our touring bikes, so we decide no. As it turns out they were only gone about ten minutes and passed us on their return before we had even finished packing up our bikes. Maybe we could have phoned home? They asked us if we have pasta in Canada. We say Yes. "Real Italian pasta?" they want to know. Yes. I think we should start saying no. Maybe we'll get more invitations for supper that way. "Pasta? What's that?" I'll say. Sound convincing? With my luck it will be Scotland where we're invited in for haggis every day. Haggis in Canada? "You bet," I'll say. Heck -- in Canada even McDonalds serves them -- McHaggis. That's what I'll say. We cycle our fully loaded touring bicycles to St Leonards and see some fountains. We fill our water jugs. There is a lot of forest around this area. We bicycle out of town, heading toward Bosa on a back route. I am looking for a free camping spot. I stop at a driveway to wait for Sharon. A police car coming towards me stops and rolls down his window. He ask me what I'm doing here. Waiting for my wife, I tell him. I chat like a pro -- he even understands some of my words. Sharon arrives on her fully loaded touring bicycle and we continue. The forest ends. We see the coast. The pink cherry blossoms look cool. We cycle through Bosa. We take a long bicycle ride along the coast. It is fenced off on both sides of the road. One gate is tied with a rope. It is getting dark. Not seeing anyone around to ask permission, we untie the gate and go into the field where we set up our bike touring tent between some rocks. Our free camping spot looks out over the ocean and back toward the lights of Bosa. When I remember the cheese in my pocket I take it out. I had it wrapped in a napkin. When I open the napkin the cheese is crawling with little white worms. |
