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March 21 Tuesday Bicycle touring Italy from Lake Bracciano Italy to Lake Vico Italy Sunrise placed the intensity of its rays directly on our little cycling abode. In a short time we grew uncomfortably hot. It was the only time today Sharon was comfortably warm. She complained of being too hot while climbing the hills on her overloaded touring bike, and then, too cold at the top, and downhill was way too cold from the cool breeze blowing almost directly on us. Unfortunately for her, most of the day was a series of up and down hills. Only the morning was flat cycle touring for about six kilometres along our little jewel of a lake. I peeked out our cycle touring tent's rain fly this morning and the sun's rays were being split by plants growing along the water's edge, cutting the sunbeam into a stream of sparkling diamonds. The Italian countryside is remarkably similar to anywhere in North America. I saw a field of yellow with a small red building atop a knoll. Oops. On closer inspection I see that the olive trees are out of character for a similar scene in America. The hilly terrain favours small-time farming as it would be impractical to get large machinery onto the small tracts of land. I was reminded of this by a group of men clearing a small treed area. They were cutting the trees down by hand with axes. Another incongruity that reminded me I was no longer bicycle touring in America is when we reached the village of Ronciglione. It was of medieval ancestry with washing hung on rock walls, and there was a stone church peeking through a rock arch that once probably had a door leading to the walled city for fortification. Sharon and I bumped along the cobbles on our skinny-tired fully loaded touring bicycles into the old portion of town. I filled my water bottle from an elaborate bronze fountain with sculpted unicorn and lions' heads spouting water. I didn't have to ask if the water was potable. A fish was 'swimming' upside-down on the water's surface. Earlier, in Sutra, we visited an amphitheater hewn out of tufa rock. It had been used for religious ceremonies and funerals and is thought to be built around the last years of BC or the first years of AD. We also visited a Roman necropolis. A entire church had been carved into the massive rock with three names and several pillars. Frescoes from long ago adorned side walls with crumbling and peeling paint. We were hungry from our bicycling adventure. Sharon saw people carrying breadsticks from a shop down the street. We cycled over and I went in to get some. Not knowing what the breadsticks were called, I made a stretching motion with my hands. "Baguette?" the woman asks. No. Smaller. "Loaf?" No. "Rosette." No. She pulls a breadstick from one of several bags on the counter. "Si!" I exclaim. "No," she says. Apparently they had sold out and now what they have left is for their regular customers only. It was a nice try, though. I bought some baguettes instead. When I come out of the store, an old woman leans out of her upstairs apartment window and starts yelling at me in a husky voice, "Senor!" She yelled a bunch of other stuff to me that I didn't catch. Oh, Romeo. Romeo. She was hoarse by the time we rode away on our touring bikes. So, I had bought bread for sandwiches at one shop. Then I bought cured ham at another shop and was introduced to an English-speaking man from Brazil. At a third shop I bought cheese, but I couldn't get across that I wanted ten thin slices for sandwiches, so had to settle for four thick slices that the shop's man hacked off with a knife. Usually, in Sardinia at least, they have a machine that slices the cheese. By Lake Vico, we pull our bicycles and baguettes over for lunch. A few puffy clouds march over the face of the sun and obliterate its puny warmth from us in the cool wind. Each time this happens for long periods. We ruefully note that the other side of the lake is in constant sunshine ... just to make us more cold and miserable I'm sure. Bicycle touring Italy in March can still be rather cold at upper elevations. Sharon complains of bodily aches in her back and legs, and a new one for her -- her stomach muscles. I crink her back for her and she smiles weakly. We have cycled a measly 30 kilometres since breaking from our free cycle camping spot. I want to continue, but Sharon insists she is bone-tired. She wants to set up here beside the lake. I remember what happened the last time, when we were cycle touring on Sardinia, and I foolishly passed a great spot beside a river where Sharon wanted to set up. This time I agree. So, at two in the afternoon, we set up our lightweight cycle touring tent beside tiny Lake Vico in a little treed area. The wind increases and shakes the tent walls. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all. It's not much fun bicycle touring into a frigid wind. |
