Bike Touring Journals by Neil and Sharon Anderson
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Happy Valentine's Day
In the morning (astutely remembering the drop-off
to the sea), I was extra careful not to stumble around. Since
our campsite was well hidden amongst the Mediterranean bush we
didn't feel our usual urgency to pack up and make a hasty getaway.
Instead, we took advantage of the camouflaging foliage, and ate
a leisurely breakfast while gazing out towards the sea and cloudless
azure sky. By mid-morning the temperature had skyrocketed.
The little bushes that surrounded us didn't provide much protection
from the sun's direct rays, and the air inside the tent became
so hot we felt as though we were a couple of Orville Redenbacher
kernels about to pop. The heat sapped any remaining energy. "Isn't this a perfect day to kick back,
relax, and not turn one pedal stroke?" I said. Sharon nodded her head in total agreement.
"We need a rest day," she agreed. We exited our fabric oven, and sat on the
cliff edge watching seabirds. Their preening gave me an idea
for Sharon's Valentine's Day gift. The previous day, about a
kilometer before our camp spot, we had stopped and filled our
water containers from a pipe jutting out of a concrete retaining
wall. "If we walk back to that water, I'll
wash your hair for you," I suggested. Sharon had her towel
and shampoo before I barely finished my proposal. I took it as
a "yes." Maybe one didn't need flowers and chocolates
after all. At our improvised shower I stripped off my
top layer, confident that alongside the virtually traffic-free
road we wouldn't be disturbed. However, as usual, I was wrong.
Before I even had the soap out of my ears, a car stopped. I squinted
through one soap-free eye as the driver got out with a rag in
his hand, filled a bucket, and nonchalantly began to wash his
car. There we were, in the middle of nowhere, and someone had
shown up at the same time we were there. "What a coincidence,"
I said as I rinsed myself off. I busied myself shampooing Sharon's hair.
Before I had finished, another car drove up and the driver proceeded
to unload and fill seventeen plastic jugs. "Hmmm. Maybe
it wasn't such a coincidence, after all," I said as I rinsed
Sharon's scalp. A few minutes later -- as if to thoroughly
convince me we weren't as far off the beaten track as I imagined
-- a shepherd arrived to water his flock. "Surely, that's
everyone within ten kilometers," I said, applying cream
rinse. But, I was wrong again. My words still hung
in the hot air, when, almost surrealistically, a young man materialized
in the thick brush above us. He jaunted down through the shrubbery,
strolled across the highway, nimbly jumped a fence, and within
two eye blinks, had disappeared back into the undergrowth. We
were both too surprised to say anything. It was one of those
instances where you question yourself "Did that really
just happen, or did I imagine it?" As I combed Sharon's long hair and plaited
it into a tight French braid, she gaped silently towards what
we had thought was impenetrable bush. "It feels like there's
not one stone on this island that hasn't gone unturned,"
Sharon said finally. It was true. No matter where we went on Sardinia, we always felt we were never truly alone. "Happy Valentine's Day," I said as I kissed her full on her soft lips. And I didn't care who might happen to be around to see. |
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