From Florence where my brother and I met up, we headed basically west by northwest. We stopped for 2 days in the Italian coastal port city of Genoa, which also happened to be the home port of non-other than Christopher Columbus. From Genoa we essentially rode the coastal route over too Nice France where my brother then flies home. This is an affluent piece of real estate that we are riding thru, with cities such as San Remo and Montecarlo among them. Indeed there are many days that we felt and looked like homeless bums as we walked among the rich and famous. Equisite ltalian leather loafers, nice suits and the european version of a wild rag around the neck….only they call it an Ascot. Not to mention the plethora of makes and models of fine automobiles that passed us.
For both my brother and I, we gravitate more to the simpler and maybe more rural style of life,food and dress….this piece of the trip was just a little much for our upbringing. To really get back to feeling a little more normal we had to go spend one night in a dumpster……well, okay….over the top maybe, but real close to that. I will explain later.
We walked Genoa and seen as many Cathedrals as a person can stand too see in one day. And I love Cathedrals. We shopped for art…..and I finally found that Don Marley poster I have been looking for. Love that Reggae beat,mon. Some of our time was spent studying traffic and deciding which roads to escape on, and we are glad we spent that time because the escape went very well. Now I know that Italy has a world class food reputation, I dont really doubt it. But we went out for supper 3 times one night, and had about the worst meals you could imagine. Not sure what our problem was, but nothing worked out. We were longing for a Denny’s when it was over, or maybe a Perini’s in Texas hill country.
Made our route choice and left early Sunday morning. Hit the cranks out of Genoa by about 7.15am. The roads were wide open and vacant. I have to interject here with a few thoughts and insights that may well offend my European friends which I dont intend to do. But here goes, who ever is in charge of road signage placement……should probably just be shot….he is an idiot. Then we have to deal with the beurocratic nepatism, pretty sure the first guy we just shot had hired his brother to actually install the signs….he should also be shot. Pretty harsh, I know. But after awhile, when you finally find your sign hidden behind a tree…..or posted some 150 yards after the junction and it is down a hill and around a corner, or worse yet the road number was spray painted on a stray dog.Well, can I just say that by then the humor in it all has vanished. It was our observation that signage really sucks in Italy unless per chance you are doing the Auto-Strada thingy. Its ironic on one hand that part of tourism is inviting people over to enjoy an otherwise beautiful country, when at the ground or roadside level it is so poorly executed…..just sayin, don’t get yer knickers all up in a knot.
The Italian Riviera. That is what they call this portion of the coast that we rode, very few if any are more beautiful. It really was a breathtaking ride to be sure. Our route of choice was on SS1, which is a small secondary road, two lane. It meanders and tangles its way along this cerulean strip of cliff edged paradise, from south of Cinque Terra right up to the French border. Marked as an official cycle route upon many maps and blog descriptions. Along the way we occassionaly found a cycle path by pure accident…..because signs were of little help. The Italian drivers, whether that be in a several ton delivery truck, a Lambo,Porsche of a Poggio….they were too a person outstandingly considerate and courteous. Both of us want to say thanks for that fact.
The road runs right down along the shore, then vaults skyward up over rocky 1000 foot headlands that interrupt that coastal geography. Up, up, we grind. Along a narrow road with pine strewn cliff edge on our left, and a stacked rockwall or a harsh jagged mountainside to the right. At uneven intervals small paved single lane roads would heave themselves further skyward towards some unseen house or Hotel high above our ashphalt path. The houses here actually “cling” upon solid rock, wind wiping foam on mediterranean water at the same time it rips at the facade of myriad houses that dot its coast line. It all became a sort of pattern or rythm, we ride that wave-like decent thru tunnels turns and twists, flatten out a little as we come to the shore line. Wind our way thru narrow streets of yet another coastal village or city. Then repeat the whole process again as we climb yet another headland into the shadow of a setting sun.
We had some interesting visits with a couple “also traveling bikers”, one fellow I mentioned, Wheatsa from Holland. But also, Brian who has blazed his trail on a very road weary antique single speed. And a common lament is that almost all camp grounds for tenters are closed, “and wild camping is just impossible because there are people everywhere. Just want to tell you Pine and Nevada, that we wild camped every night…..no campgrounds for these two. No sireee bob. Some may not have been real pretty, like the camp where we slept behind a 20 inch tall rock wall on a pretty busy road…..and being under a street light really dealt a blow to the ambiance of the whole situation. Or better yet, the camp where we sandwiched our tents between hedges in a street corner park….also a dandy. We did however have some gorgeous camps inwhich the blue sea lay just over our shoulder as did the setting sun, like a comforting mantle at the end of a long day, stony headlands marched on up the coast like soldiers in formation.
Our route would take us thru the fabled city of Montecarlo, which lays within the Principality of Monaco. Folks, this is a place where escape is a heck of a lot harder than entry. My dear God in Heaven, but this is a proverbial rats nest or maze when it comes to roads and traffic. Just unbelievable how tangled a web you can make with roads….I know, we seen it. But in Montecarlo the surface it covered in roads so bad you simply have no room to add to the web created. So, they have moved underground with a maze akin to the Mines of Moria. Yes indeed, a 6 way traffic circle fully underground, 3 road groups were rising to leave and 2 were decling deeper while one stayed fairly flat. And not just one such narrow engineering abstraction……oh no, we hit 3 such collossal granite beasts. Loaded semi’s come rolling round corners so tight that what gets scraped off the right front corners on the way in, is reapplied to the rear left corner upon exit, cars clammer for a lane, horns and flashing lights, dark then brilliant light, you climb in a low gear only to topout, shift and turn into a hard spiralling turn to the left while your eyes try to adjust and your brain attempts to make sense of ” real near ” horn honks and those that are but echoes of a near miss from seconds ago and in some other tunnel. A full 2 hours were taken up trying to escape from a town 16 feet wide by 10 miles long and a thousand feet tall. Beaucoup cranky at the end of that day…..some serious praying done before for safe roads, and afterwards, prayers of apology after for what I was calling them. With Montecarlo now behind us, you could sense a certain amount of relief in the crew (both of us).
We finally roll into Nice France, once the home port of Vasco de Gama. Our first stop is for coffee and charge at least one phone up so se can find a place to stay. We have a tiny room in an average Hotel and I feel I paid to much. But thats from the twisted mind of a “wild camper” for you. We walked, talked and ate our ay thru Nice, San Remo, Genoa, Florence among many others. My brother and I will part ways as brothers once again, but with a different appreciation for each other and the journey made over these brief 2 weeks. Just want to say thanks to family for making/letting/allowing this trip to happen. And thanks to Jesus Christ for actually blessing the time while we were together. And thanks brother for taking time away from family and friends so you could spend time with me here in Italy.
From Florence where my brother and I met up, we headed basically west by northwest. We stopped for 2 days in the Italian coastal port city of Genoa, which also happened to be the home port of non-other than Christopher Columbus. From Genoa we essentially rode the coastal route over too Nice France where my brother then flies home. This is an affluent piece of real estate that we are riding thru, with cities such as San Remo and Montecarlo among them. Indeed there are many days that we felt and looked like homeless bums as we walked among the rich and famous. Equisite ltalian leather loafers, nice suits and the european version of a wild rag around the neck….only they call it an Ascot. Not to mention the plethora of makes and models of fine automobiles that passed us.
For both my brother and I, we gravitate more to the simpler and maybe more rural style of life,food and dress….this piece of the trip was just a little much for our upbringing. To really get back to feeling a little more normal we had to go spend one night in a dumpster……well, okay….over the top maybe, but real close to that. I will explain later.
We walked Genoa and seen as many Cathedrals as a person can stand too see in one day. And I love Cathedrals. We shopped for art…..and I finally found that Don Marley poster I have been looking for. Love that Reggae beat,mon. Some of our time was spent studying traffic and deciding which roads to escape on, and we are glad we spent that time because the escape went very well. Now I know that Italy has a world class food reputation, I dont really doubt it. But we went out for supper 3 times one night, and had about the worst meals you could imagine. Not sure what our problem was, but nothing worked out. We were longing for a Denny’s when it was over, or maybe a Perini’s in Texas hill country.
Made our route choice and left early Sunday morning. Hit the cranks out of Genoa by about 7.15am. The roads were wide open and vacant. I have to interject here with a few thoughts and insights that may well offend my European friends which I dont intend to do. But here goes, who ever is in charge of road signage placement……should probably just be shot….he is an idiot. Then we have to deal with the beurocratic nepatism, pretty sure the first guy we just shot had hired his brother to actually install the signs….he should also be shot. Pretty harsh, I know. But after awhile, when you finally find your sign hidden behind a tree…..or posted some 150 yards after the junction and it is down a hill and around a corner, or worse yet the road number was spray painted on a stray dog.Well, can I just say that by then the humor in it all has vanished. It was our observation that signage really sucks in Italy unless per chance you are doing the Auto-Strada thingy. Its ironic on one hand that part of tourism is inviting people over to enjoy an otherwise beautiful country, when at the ground or roadside level it is so poorly executed…..just sayin, don’t get yer knickers all up in a knot.
The Italian Riviera. That is what they call this portion of the coast that we rode, very few if any are more beautiful. It really was a breathtaking ride to be sure. Our route of choice was on SS1, which is a small secondary road, two lane. It meanders and tangles its way along this cerulean strip of cliff edged paradise, from south of Cinque Terra right up to the French border. Marked as an official cycle route upon many maps and blog descriptions. Along the way we occassionaly found a cycle path by pure accident…..because signs were of little help. The Italian drivers, whether that be in a several ton delivery truck, a Lambo,Porsche of a Poggio….they were too a person outstandingly considerate and courteous. Both of us want to say thanks for that fact.
The road runs right down along the shore, then vaults skyward up over rocky 1000 foot headlands that interrupt that coastal geography. Up, up, we grind. Along a narrow road with pine strewn cliff edge on our left, and a stacked rockwall or a harsh jagged mountainside to the right. At uneven intervals small paved single lane roads would heave themselves further skyward towards some unseen house or Hotel high above our ashphalt path. The houses here actually “cling” upon solid rock, wind wiping foam on mediterranean water at the same time it rips at the facade of myriad houses that dot its coast line. It all became a sort of pattern or rythm, we ride that wave-like decent thru tunnels turns and twists, flatten out a little as we come to the shore line. Wind our way thru narrow streets of yet another coastal village or city. Then repeat the whole process again as we climb yet another headland into the shadow of a setting sun.
We had some interesting visits with a couple “also traveling bikers”, one fellow I mentioned, Wheatsa from Holland. But also, Brian who has blazed his trail on a very road weary antique single speed. And a common lament is that almost all camp grounds for tenters are closed, “and wild camping is just impossible because there are people everywhere. Just want to tell you Pine and Nevada, that we wild camped every night…..no campgrounds for these two. No sireee bob. Some may not have been real pretty, like the camp where we slept behind a 20 inch tall rock wall on a pretty busy road…..and being under a street light really dealt a blow to the ambiance of the whole situation. Or better yet, the camp where we sandwiched our tents between hedges in a street corner park….also a dandy. We did however have some gorgeous camps inwhich the blue sea lay just over our shoulder as did the setting sun, like a comforting mantle at the end of a long day, stony headlands marched on up the coast like soldiers in formation.
Our route would take us thru the fabled city of Montecarlo, which lays within the Principality of Monaco. Folks, this is a place where escape is a heck of a lot harder than entry. My dear God in Heaven, but this is a proverbial rats nest or maze when it comes to roads and traffic. Just unbelievable how tangled a web you can make with roads….I know, we seen it. But in Montecarlo the surface it covered in roads so bad you simply have no room to add to the web created. So, they have moved underground with a maze akin to the Mines of Moria. Yes indeed, a 6 way traffic circle fully underground, 3 road groups were rising to leave and 2 were decling deeper while one stayed fairly flat. And not just one such narrow engineering abstraction……oh no, we hit 3 such collossal granite beasts. Loaded semi’s come rolling round corners so tight that what gets scraped off the right front corners on the way in, is reapplied to the rear left corner upon exit, cars clammer for a lane, horns and flashing lights, dark then brilliant light, you climb in a low gear only to topout, shift and turn into a hard spiralling turn to the left while your eyes try to adjust and your brain attempts to make sense of ” real near ” horn honks and those that are but echoes of a near miss from seconds ago and in some other tunnel. A full 2 hours were taken up trying to escape from a town 16 feet wide by 10 miles long and a thousand feet tall. Beaucoup cranky at the end of that day…..some serious praying done before for safe roads, and afterwards, prayers of apology after for what I was calling them. With Montecarlo now behind us, you could sense a certain amount of relief in the crew (both of us).
We finally roll into Nice France, once the home port of Vasco de Gama. Our first stop is for coffee and charge at least one phone up so se can find a place to stay. We have a tiny room in an average Hotel and I feel I paid to much. But thats from the twisted mind of a “wild camper” for you. We walked, talked and ate our ay thru Nice, San Remo, Genoa, Florence among many others. My brother and I will part ways as brothers once again, but with a different appreciation for each other and the journey made over these brief 2 weeks. Just want to say thanks to family for making/letting/allowing this trip to happen. And thanks to Jesus Christ for actually blessing the time while we were together. And thanks brother for taking time away from family and friends so you could spend time with me here in Italy.
Finally free wheeled into downtown Florence, which for many folks is the hearstopping center of Italian Art. For me, it is the confluence of not only art but also the meeting point for my older brother Niel who flew over to ride with me. The road in, over those last few pulls was a wee bit of a test of my mental attitude. While not overly tall by any means, they bit my legs hard, and I guess that was because I had concluded heck we are there when indeed we weren’t quite. By 3pm I rolled in under the long shadow cast by the illustrious Duomo Cathedral. What a city, really has a good feel to it for me. This, my second visit to the fabled art city of Michelangelo and DaVinci, Florence, home to art and culture in Italy.
Brothers flight was just fine, he had so many concerns about leg room and other things, but he was just fine. You know how it is with that first international flight, all those worries and concerns seem to be an anchor halting ones ability to enjoy the moment. Once on the ground and rolling in a taxi, I could see him let down and accept mentally that he was among the survivors of yet another international travel expirience. Once again, I had rented an apartment, we put his gear away and headed out for a quick bite before calling it a day. We walked the cobbled streets of city center Florence, under a waning moon and the yellow cast light of a meager few street lamps. Vendors bjsied themselves packing thier wares into thier sidewalk hawking carts! Rolling vestibules of capitalisim in this communist leaning goverened country called Italy. Produce sellers, sorting thru spoiled produce, and a few would-be partiers were just starting thier evening, ebullient and loud, while we were ready to call it a day.
The following morningbegins our day begins afresh, we awake to the 6clarion call of Italys favorite vehicle…….the bedamned scooter, with it’s raspy, smoking breath. That weedeater on steroids, driven by some pimple faced teen, making it’s roar/whine sound combination, akin to a vocalist just a little off key and not quite as endearing……thats Italys fabled scooter. The sound of swishing brooms and shuffling feet greets our timpanic membranes, as we make our days plans sitting in a small cafe shop……….”holy crap, thats a cup of coffee”…..pretty normal sound eminating from the lips of a person out on the streets of europe for the first time. There are so many things to become accustomed to on that first visit, many of them are so different that they set us back in our effort to just enjoy that which is new. over time though, it seems we can relax and take it in stride. The tastes,the smells and sights, we can become comfortable with, if not downright enjoy the differences for that short time that we are here.
Begin the day with a walk down thru the central market, a huge venue in downtown Florence hosting sellers of every edible product known to man or grown or made in Italy. Italy markets its food-self with a great deal or pride and boast as to quality and organic freshness. A host of local catch fishmongers greet us as we walk thru the front doors. The chill of ice, the smell of fish and the loud clamour of buying and sellling begins. The onrush of senses awakens our sleepy pituitary, and arouses the “old-factory” glands lying idle at the moment. Hawkers of dried fruit and Indian spices make thier pitch as we pass, further along the famous Florentine Bisteak is being hand cut and sold by kilo as we stroll. Another local favorite I have come to love, is a good piece of Schichiatta bread with its airy texture and olive oil and salt flavor, low and flat like a house slipper and almost as chewey. We buy a few items to munch as we walk, after all, we are men on the hunt so to speak. In quest of the famous Lampredotto or what we would call a boiled tripe sandwich. Found it AHAH….. at Florences most famous shop for such a delicacy……and really wished we had taken a wrong turn somewhere along in our search. Turned out to be boiled strips of inner tube in a dry crusty bread roll……..”food writers”, what a lying bunch of dogs they are. As a group, they are about as dependable as the UN. If a food writer describes this local delicacy in more than one short paragraph and without expletives……you know danged well they never actually ate one they are just regurgitating something else they have read about it.
The Duomo, which is one of the best known cathedrals in the world I think, yes, even beyond that of St.Agathe Manitoba, was on the list of “TODO,S” while in Florence. Not ragging here, but the outside is indeed that part which is a must see. It is quite simply described as, fabulous. The art work achieved by the varied artists and designers is stunning. The interior, while it is both massive and wonderfully done is rather austere in its character when compared to most or many Cathedrals. Massive white marble octagonal pillars, some 20 feet across, support the flying buttress roof design which vaults some 75 feet above the tiled floor of this God inviting sanctuary. The Duomo’s dome, known as the “Cupola”, hosts a mural of striking beauty……Spong Bob Square Pants meets Moses as they part the river Thames. Some 7,575 steps later, or what felt like that many, after climbing up the tiny staircase which threads its way to the top of the Cupola. All at the same time that those who are coming down have to thread past you…..all a little close depending on which part of what anatomy you are left hugging, and how sweaty it is. Once we top out and take in the view, it all comes home as to how worth while the climb really was, even on a cloudy day as we had it is awesome.
From the Duomo strait in to see the great works of Italys best sculptors, Michealangelo not among the least. Thanks to hawkers on the street, we aquired tickets and pretty much walked right in past the sweltering que beside the building…..hahaha I say to myself……..it pays2pray. Now even a person who does not care a great deal about art and sculpture can walk among these pieces unaffected. Viewers are caught short of breath when they for the first time come face to face with the likes of David or The Rape of the Sabine. These and others like them, are not simply scanned like a bar code and walked past, these works will wrench emotion from rocks let alone the human, a unique combination of inspiration, art, spatial design and yes even math comes into play ( if only my highschool Math teachers could have told me this instead of….if you dont learn this you will end up digging ditchs ) turning the heads of even the dullest viewer………..something Picasso just cannot do for me…..I always like the back of his pictures better than the front, while the work of Rubens canleave you with tear filled eyes. A day well spent, and a bit of a cultural&art filled overload……if you hail from Claresholm where “paint by number” still rules the day…..but some of it is really good….just saying.
4 long years ago now, both mykids were over to Italy during the summer and ate S well as RAVED about eating at IL PORCHINO RESTUARANTE…….ya just gotta bo there to know what its is really like. So fast forward 2 years, and last Christmas we spent it over here in Europe….France, Switzerland and Italy ….to be exact. And during that trip we took in Florence for 2 reasons. Obviously to eat at the Il Porschino but also forthe art and cathederals. It was fabulous, and the cathederals were great as well. My brother arrives and I am sick, I cannot find the little restaurant anywhere, I call my kids. ?……….I call my wife?……I am panicked and distraut?……..it is gone,closed,might as well leave Florence now there isnothing to see. I leave dejected from my cafe stool and walk some 200 yards down the street……..walking rather zombie like…….excitement and life had left my limbs…..and one eye……….”what the heck, look at the size of that bike hub JimBob its hugger than yours”……….I bend over smart like and begin to feel the synapses fire again as the blood invigorates my thinking all the time burying the loss of Il Porchino further back in the rusty filing cabinets of my mind……..”Hey,you like my bike or what”? says a well dressed old guy on the sidewalk (gosh he had to be close to sixty, didnt evenknow someone that old could still throw a leg over”…….and so as JC would have it a conversation about hubs ensues and I even take his bike for a quick spin…..all while he holds onto my wallet, my dog, and my pants…….I love the whole trust your brother thing. With our bike conversation drawing to a close I decide to segway into another directkon, I ask if he is local here and if he has ever heard of the Il Porchino Restaurant………….a slow wide Italian smile erupts…….why yes, I am born in Florence it is always my home for 59 years ( my self thinking- holy crap, he’s alot older than I thought) and yes I did hear of the little Porcupine. Great I am thinking, do you know where I can find it? Certainly he says, with a smile like the Cheshire Cat, just step this way and I show you……..I move maybe 2 or 3 feet towards him and the sidewalk he stands on, all the while thinking this vantage point will allow me to see in a direction that I have not yet looked……..Now, says my host, lean right there on this post……….I feel likeI am playing Simon Says now, but I do it dutifully as he asks………..my right hand shoulder high on the black post, and I am still looking strait at a stone wall?????……..Okay says my epicurian guide, look strait up to you right hand………and voila, like that. What I am looking at,maybe 2 feet above my hand is the sign welcoming you to dine at the Il Porchino…………..now, did I feel like the village idiot…….no, not at all. The village idiot walked by me though, to rpoud orembarresed to ask and talk to those whom Christ places in your path. Was God giving me a lesson…..I think so. If we were to seek him as diligently as we would seek a simple restaurant……..I wonder what the results would be. To conclude this missive, we did indeed dine at this fabulous restaurant,and yes we again had Franco as our waiter. We had, squash blossoms deep fried, outstanding. Then we had what looked like a ravioli but much bigger and a different kind of dough, served with melted butter it was stuffed with squash with a hint of nutmeg and trecal sugar……WOW, now that I could Wrangler Founder on. Then we went on to full on Ravioli served with fungus ( for Kendra and Kate, think mushrooms ) and wild bore sauce bedded on sawdust…..haha just kidding but caught’ya didnt’eye. Our ravioli, to put it as elequently as a food writer would, were bedded on crisp arugella leaves and coaxed in between delicate slices of scallion…….or as a cowboy, my little macaroni wrapup thingy’s were jammed between skinny onions and lettuce lookin stuff. But hey, it was all good no matter how you describe it. Topped of the evening in 3 delightfull manners, we had a great 1.25ounce Espresso, followed by Tiramissu and a conversation with 2 young attractive women sitting next. The whole meal had been rather a Shakesperean comedy feel to it, we got advice from 4 people sitting behind us on what was the best entree of the day……we got advice again on which ravioli was best today………Franco, did not remember me………he only remembered my wife…..”WHO, Is that embarraseing for”……..so being red faced he offered to help out these language stunted yankees and just ordered for us. As it turned out, both gals sitting next were art major students from Sweden ( another country full of finger painters ), one a degree in Music History and round dance ( she didn’t even know who Billy Ray Sinus was…….no foolin…..King of line dance doesn,t even get mention…..go figger, thats European education fer ya. And the other, a Masters in fine art. A mere 2 hours plus after the last bite was swollowed by all in attendance, we untied our attention deprived students and bid them good night.
Sunday morning, we load our vehicles of chain driven labor and head for the extremities of Florence, to the west, its a setting sun we seek as we creak and pedal. No, the chain is oiled, as are the pedals and hubs……its hips and knees and lungs, yes even they make noise. The big guy, brother to me, tags behind as I act in Pines roll of navigator. We weave and thread our way thru low hills, olive orchards, terraced vineyards and a few steep pitchs towards our destination city of Lucca. It all happens shall we say….outt,a the blue…..when exuberance takes precedence over diligence,…….and when excitement precludes caution. We had topped a long for us series of switchbacks along the costal range, you know that point when you realize you have topped out and everything in front of you is a high speed decent……that point where you set deep in the saddle……lean over those bars……..take on that “mean as heck” look and set forth downhill on that asphalt luge to enjoy the fruits of our labor. Inside crank set high, legs stiff, we plunge into the curves………..AHHHHHH………CRIMINY………..Ahhhhhh…..my racers edge reflexes kick in and I peer into my rear facing mirror to see two huge eyes………and a tongue frantically trying to formulate an audible sound………man his face is red I think to myself?………… I wonder if hes getting to much sun?………..I can hear it, my oratorical devices snap into that lock on like radar position, both ears now pointing backwards……..my brain is computing distance to the sound of dragging metal and canvas……my emotion detectors that come on at the first sense of movement……..are trying to analyze the facial gestures and contortions in the mirror……….why doesnt he take his tonge outt,a his left eye so he can speak………DANGER WILL ROBINSON……. a red alert light goes off just milliseconds after all that information was fed into the mental computer that God designed not IBM. I apply a hefty brake and find a guardrail to lean my bike against, just in time to see big brother wheel his steed off the road way and onto a patch of grass. During our delight in bolting the bike back together…… niether of us double checked the rack bolts. As a result, the entire rack and panniers, as well as top load bag all flipped back behind the rear wheel in one unit……sure causes steering and control issues. All are fine, no one hurt, and bike shorts are easily washed out.
Our route takes us right thru the walled city of Lucca. Considered to be the best intact medium-evil city in Europe. If these guys are ranked as Medium -Evil, hate to meet to really evil ones. I really enjoyed the jibe of Lucca, with its huge walls dating back to early 1500. The walls are now lined with Sycamore trees instead of cannons, and there are more joggers than jousters. The city center sits wrapped in a cobweb of cobbled streets, more akin a labrynth than a mindful layout. Should fog shroud the streets and a moon glower over, breaking thru at brief moments, it would take on a Poe’esh ambience for sure. From Lucca, we head now more northerly than true west. After much debate and discussion about riding the fabled Cinque Terre, which I drove last year with my family and know it is indeed steep, we arrive at the conclusion that we may struggle just a tad much with soft legs and a loaded bike right out of the chutes. Our option is to skirt round the eastern flank of the Cinque Park region on minor roads. The route is simple enough, as it is the old road prior to the upgraded Autostrada which races back and forth above our route for the most part. Where cars see long tunnels and huge bridges spanning chasms 500 feet deep, we see the climbs of old that made both cars and bikers overheat. Every once in we while we would pull over and let loose the radiator cap so we could cool down, we could ponder the grand landscape spread before us……what a great gift we are given here this earth that we roam.
No climb to long, no climb to steep for men like us……as long as we have ice cream bars and Fanta we can/would/did tackle all of it in stride. Did we huff and puff, and did we smell bad, of course, but it was worse after we started cycling. Several climbs near conquered us, we took our rest stops while other cyclists rode on past. Keep in mind they were under 35, had empty 12 pound bikes. We had 150 pound bikes in the back of a truck………ah, sorry just kidding. We have ridden everything since departing the train way back in Russia. There is a point where cycling along thru the hills on the Ligurian coastline of Italy, that you fall off a ridge at a steep 12 percent pitch and can see city on coast for as far as can be seen along the azure waters that greet the eye. The mind relaxes, the muscles loose some of that natural tension that comes from many inclines, relaxation softens the spine till you resemble Sid the Sloth from Iceage. And then it hits……all along the coast there are these steep short pitches that take you up along or in some cases over the rocky headlands that dot the coast, and you realize its not over till its over and that will be in Genoa for us tonight. While stopped atone particularilybeautiful overlook, we happened to meet another fellow cycling our same route. Wheatsay, is from Holland and is cycling from Sicily to Nice for his vacation. Had a great visit and learned much from another perspective……even if he is wrong. jk
For several reasons, we ride and spend more time thinking about Italy, than the Croatian countryside that I currently cycle thru. My wife is gone, and I have departed south along the shoreline, headed for a coastal town called Split. I’am really looking ahead to Italy and the Appenines. Mainly because in my mind this body of water that we call the Adriatic is that symbolic barrier between myself and home. odd when I think about it, I know the Atlantic is far bigger, but the Adriatic is the wall that I mentally have to get over. And second, as far as reazons to be thinking about Italy. My older brother Niel will be coming to ride with me if all goes well. And that will be a blessing. And third, I have already been to Italy and know that it has a lot to offer in the way of natural beauty and plenty of artifacts of historical significance…..and I love history.
This is very common on the back roads, between a hood ornament and a hard spot
Riding south along the azure Adriatic coastline, it reminds me to look and think about the beauty of home. I tend too lean towards thinking that home is not as beautiful in it’s own way when indeed it is. While I cant explain why a person would fly away from this sort of beauty, or the beauty of where I live…..so that they can see Los Angeles or San Franciso. Thats a hard one for a guy like me to figger. Leaving Zadar about 10am, kissed Colleen and we parted ways till Christmas if all goes well. she is back home and already shipping boxes out, I just talked to her this morning.
A
Right now I am in Split and waiting to board a ferry over to Ancona Italy. Rode across the Adriatic, slept out on the deck in my bag of sleep to save a few bucks, glad that I did. Arrived Ancona Italy at about 6:45am, depart the boat and pretty much head uphill from the shoreline. Had a beast of a time reading my Google maps, the darned little roads all blend right into the maps background color. I’ve had to resort to borrowing all the reading classes at the retirement home just to read the darned map. We are riding the tiniest white roads shown on Google, and POOCHY MAGGIE, do those roads get steep. Seen some real beautiful country by taking the back roads, a lot of farming on very inclined pitches.
While not tall by mountain standards, the old roads that traverse the Appenines are indeed steep. For sure when climbing up thru the Appenines, you will be required to sweat your way to the summit. This, my second visit to Italy, I had forgotten just how loud a simple conversation over a cup of coffee can be with just 2 or 3 Italians engaged.
I am armed with a road map as well as full google map service, and I feel on the verge of lost every moment of the day. Several things lead me to this destitute feeling. When asking the Carabineri (police) which roads I can ride upon, I get 3 different answers. Signs, well in Italy…..signs are an issue. I swear, its the only place where you can come to a 4 way traffic circle and have signs for 9 different countries and 47 different cities/villages…..and non of them will be on your road map. I have also come to a 4 way traffic circle and found my desired town on 3 out of four of the roads that make up the traffic circle. Pretty sure that I spend darned near as much of my time double checking my google map as I do peddaling. Not complaining, just making note that going forward here is far slower than I had anticipated. Totally unlike rolling thru anything country prior to landing in Italy
Also finding that wild camping is much harder to do now that I am in Italy, as most ground has iether a house or farm product on it, so finding that just right spot has been pretty tuff do do. And yes, to answer that nagging question you have in the back of your mind……does he ever just ask permission……YES, but only when I see an adult male out in the farm yard somewhere. Never stop if its just a women or kids, to much hassle and to likely it could go south. And never stop and knock…..the home owner may not be home……but I bet the sleeping farm dog is. And we sure dont need to wake him up now do we. Tonight, I am pitched in a olive orchard, not my fav because they are usually ant infested places. This ones not bad actually. My days have been averaging just 50 miles per, a little lower than Balkans region average.
One last thing of note, fellow bikers DO NOT STOP, even if you holler and wave your arms……they are far to busy winning that imaginery time trial going on in there mind. Tried three of them now, as I needed directions…..they seen me, they made eye contact and kept right on rolling like nothing was said. That seems rather odd to my way of thinking, as back home and most other places we have been up till now, when cyclists meet they most often have a quick visit. Not sure of the whys and what fors, but it struck me as odd.
I made it Florence, not such a bad trip all in all. Finally figured out I can switch views on my Google map, and that has helped in a huge way. I find so far at least, that the drivers are quite polite and for that Iam very grateful. I was down to the last 30 miles coming into the busy city of Florence, and would’nt ya know it someone put 3 small stiff climbs in there just for fun. A little dissappointed that my route was based entirely in getting here for my brother and precluded any time for sightseeing. I missed several hill top fortifications that Italy, or better yet Tuscany are renowned for, for another day another visit. Think I will wrap this one up and say goodnight to you all, be well and be blessed. Better yet go out and be a Blessing.
Last view of a small Croatian village before leaving.
Blog Posting has been a real pain, due to really bad wifi connections. Putting that aside, we recently got 2 posts up a`d as a result have had several folks ask about the changes they see within the images. Enough people asked that I feel it warrants an explanation.
#1- the same photographer is behind the camera
#2- up until very recent, I had been doing all my image editing on PS Photosop Touch and I love the app. But it took forever to go thru the basics. So, I downloaded Pixlr Express on my phone and tablet and really like it because it does the basics so quickly. In addition, it allows you to create frames around images, also antique overlays etc to add sort of a retro look to post images. Am I guity of overusing the various filters, probably…..yoou let me know if its a little much and I will make changes.
#3- I have finally got a little better at shooting in HD setting and I have used it alot at least since sunshine has been added to the travel package along with some fall color.
#4- JW has packed his phone mostly as a pocket brick and nothing more. My buddy Nemad in Belgrade gave me a quick lesson on shooting panoramas and now I love it and always have it out. Plus I have found that image clarity is amazing for such a tiny lense, some of the pics are just wow, I am so stoked. I only wish I had known and used it sooner.
So, now you know everything that I know about my shooting. I toyed with the idea of buying a cheap tripod but passed in favor of leaning on guardrails and sign posts of stone walls.
JW
We are adventuring south, and battling the backroads of the Balkans, where bumps are plentiful and wifi is almost nonexistant. Have we been having fun, without any doubt. Am I a happy man to be able to share some time with my wife, Colleen…..indeed Iam. I would prefer to have my entire family along, and maybe the good company of say Darren to round out the conversations and help fill the car properly. But, such is not the case this time around.
Where have we been you ask, well, ae traveled the coast of Croatia south as far as Split. From there we turned inland so that we could take in Krka’s Natkonal Park. We then headed still further south, all by the smallest most obscure backroads of the type that you would cycle on. These are time consuming roads to drive, average daily is maybe 40km per hour. We entered into Montenegro so we could aim our ashphalt missle at Mostar and take in the famous bridge. What you say, a famous bridge. Why yes, built in 1475 for Suliman the Magnificent. From there we headed east to Blagaj, where we took in a Dervish House which is a Muslim Holy Prayer house. The dervish house sits right beside a 1000 foot rock cliff, actually built partially into the limestone rock face. At the base there is a gaping black hole, maybe 50 feet diameter out from which spills the coldest, clearest water that you can imagine. Millions of gallons a day spue forth, to turn further east, and join yet another river.
From Mostar we head up, which is officially a direction over in this region and it is used very frequently. I mentioned that Croatia should be marketing ROCKS, and I think that Herzghovina spent alot of money before the war investing in the CROATIAN ROCK market, they have alot. Our road took us up, very long grades where you wind your way around for mile upon mile of sparcely vegetated terrain and there are limestone rocks out the “wazoo”. For those who hail from the east coast or “fouren”shores, a wazoo is a tiny orifice that god gave cowboys but nobody else…..so, if ya dont wear a hat, dont even botber lookin to see if you have one. The side of the mountain range that faces the adriatic coast is dryer than a pop-corn fart. Very little but sparce grass and short brush grow here. Once you pass over the crest or divide, then you hit a rainfall rich piece of country where trees (that they log) are abundant. Along with better grass and more livestock.
Within only a short distance you pass out of Herzeghovina and back into Bosnia, which wraps around the latter as if hugging it. As does Croatia to the greater Bosnia. Croatia wraps almost 3/4 the way around Bosnia. So, after the war, these are just the hugginest countries you have ever seen. And after another short drive and some very steep grades full of switchbacks, we find ourselves entering Montenegro. Montenegro is for sure on my bucket list to see again, and a little more in depth. It is stunningly beautiful, rich in remote natural landscapes. I have told both my kids to throw out the old worn out honeymoon favorites like Hawaii or Carlin Nevada. Instead be bold, and take in Croatia and Montenegro. We really wanted to get into Albania this trip as I have been told several times it is very beautiful. Sadly, they turned us back at the border. They told us our rental car is to ugly to steal,……aparantly car theft is the number one GDP product. Following that are prostitution and drugs, they do make some honey, olives and push-brooms.
Montenegro, we drove plenty. All on the most obscure back roads we could find. WOW, WOW, WOW, we done the Komarnice canyon as well as the Tara river gorge, and the National Park. This is a phenominal piece of Gods awesome hand at work. This is not the result of some accidental collision of gas balls 400 years ago. Pretty sure the Angels were standing akimbo, sort of half teasing God (you know how youngsters can be), asking him if he has ever made a gorge or a mountain, while another asked about making blue water rather than muddy brown water. Finally God grew tired of the Angels good natured ribbing and stuck his hand into the creation quagmire, that mirey primordial ooze, stirred it violently lifting his hand out forming both peaks and valleys, blew his soft breath over it bringing forth clear cold blue water, winked once at the nearest angel standing in disbelief as they watched trees and grass carpet his creation. It has remained that way up until the time of man’s enlightenment and Charles Darwin…….and so shall it remain till the end. Darwin is but a blip on Gods radar screen, an anomoly of no significance over the long haul. If by chance you are a hiker, mountain biker, kayaker or just plain fresh air breathing nature lover, the Montenegro would be your spot.
Over the mountain ridges we roll, where rocky gorges line our path, the stirrings and ruminations of an approaching fall have begun to make themselves visible. With golds and crimsons, along with purples and the rust brown ferns adding color to the seasons palette. Rocky white cliffs once besieged by the verdant green of summer grass and leaves, not are mantled in those colors that bedeck all falls in alpine regions of the world. Summer meadows stand golden with the last of the grass waving at the passing season, leaves of festive coloration now blow and gather in collective wreaths at tree lines and ditches. The men with scythes have been busy from valley fold on up to very near the mountains peak, as loose hay is staked high and plentiful in the tradtional beehive forms. Sheep dot the golden landscape, thier white wool Is thickening for yet another winter which will follow on the heels of a beautiful autumn. The quaintest little red roofed houses, repleat with tiny chicken coops and sheep folds, barns that lay under the house which house the cows and pigs, lay anchored to the rocky soil by faith and hardwork knowing they will see another winters gale pass, and another season of promising blossoms……just as has happened in this rugged country for several hundred years.
As we top a ridge, trees are thick and plentiful, the mountain sides so steep that each man brings along a small piece of flat ground just to relax and stand on. So steep are the sides that as you pass thru this country it seems even the trees lean back away from the edge as if they too sense the steepness of the grade that they find anchorage on. Mom and I are blazing along at nearly 20km an hour. Hey look at that……..7 guys sit under trees………….and 4 yoked pair of oxen stand idly by, while everyone takes a break. This is one of my bucket list items, to see men work oxen and do the heavy work that they had been known for. We stop and visit, take a few pictures and have simple conversation for awhile. Then work has to get started once again……so, we ask if we can join them and watch. To thier great amazement and considerable laughter, they agree and away we go some half mile deep into the bush (growing up in Canada it was always called the “bush”, and never forest, that was a term used by city kids) the slopes are steep, the ground is festooned with moss covered limestone rocks, ferns grow in tiny private forests where ever sunshine pentrates the tree canopy and warms the ground. Men talk and bellow to thier horned charges. Chain links clink out that logging song melody to the swing and sway of the heavy yoke bar that captures each steers neck. A small hand whip is whirled around the animals heads to encourage, to show direction changes and otherwise annoy flys. The talk seems loud, as steers must be inherently hard of hearing, except for the black Angus I think. Have you ever noticed how they always show up first to the supper table!. A heavy hammer adorns each yoke, and with it the handler then drives a pinch link into the bottom or first hooked log. The handler can sidepass his steers, he can back them, not real great on the piaffes but basically put his steers anywhere he wants so that all logs can be hooked up. Each pair of “OXEN” are capable of pulling 3 or 4, full length hardwood logs at one time. The forest floor looks like nobody had even been there after they are done, no tire tracks, no ruts, it was really pretty amazing too watch. We are blessed everyday in so many ways, and for me this little piece of time travel was indeed special. We hope your day was the same or better. Good night and may God Bless.
No sooner was I talking about it being a lovers coast, than I should meet a beautiful women in Zadar. A women with long Blay hair and cowboy boots…….God does listen to Prayers folks……….I mean how or who else would know I am sucker for the color Blay and cowboy boots over stillettos……only God can know those sort of intimate details. So for those wondering just what is going on in this paragraph opener……my wife flew into Zadar to meet me and spend about 8 days with me here on the adriatic coast. We had a nice supper out in the old town center, with waves washing up against the “wave symphony”, an ingenoius musical harbor platform inwhich wave action drives musical notes from harbor horns mounted under the platform which sits out over the harbors edge. The night sky turned dark and crystal clear, with a crimson sky as our backdrop.
We were actually up pretty early so we could hit the road in very typical Watt fashion………we have some sort of inner fasinaction with gas pedals and steering wheels. We left Zadar in a spray or small rocks and gravel, we are headed south hugging the pine tree lined coast and staring at the azure colored sea in awe and amazement. The coast line color and clarity are such that I am not even going to try and describe it because you will think that its false or maybe I have added a filter to the camera to hieghten or enhance what we seen. So, get out ol,Merriam’s and just look up BEAUTIFUL BECAUSE IT ABOUT COVERS IT.
W
Pulled over and had our first 1/4 cup of coffee. If you haven’t been to European climes, then you may not realize that a cup of coffee here is about 2oz in volume. Somehow then mix 1.75 ounces of boiling water with 2.25 pounds of superfine Espresso grind coffee beans…….and like a Pen&Teller act, they pour that entire concoction into a cup with 2oz capacity. 3 cups of this stuff injested in succession could put and end to Califoria’s death row issues.
On down the road we blazed, we hit village after village, some we stopped and walked around in, other villages, we simply pulled a few of the pedestrians who had gotten stuck in our grill out which convieniently leaves them close to home albeit with a limp……and blazed on still further. We took a hard left off the coast line and beat a path for Krka National Park and we are so pleased that we took this detour from our very beautiful coastal route.
Krka Park, not a real common tourist stop in comparison to say Plitvice or several of the Adriatic cities that dot the coast. Krka,is even hard to put to words, but for you I will give it a try. Croatias largest export product should be ROCKS, they are literally covered in those rascals. Its so bad that folks have to stack rock walls of immense size and number……not because they want a fence but rather just so they can get to some dirt to begin growing something. Limestone is maybe the most abundant type of rock they have, and Krka is based at the fot of limestone cliffs. Water, and I mean water from every possible direction and orifice comes boiling out of the ground, over the ground and from the heavenly skies above. All waters gather and disgorge in a crystal clear fashion over the rough hewn limestone cliffs and crags that constitute what we see as Krka, an elaborate system of waterfalls and spill ways. The limestone in the region have been washed now for several thousand years, and there if very little dust and dirt washing downstream. The water works its magic by activating the calcium carbonate which forms a mild acid and now the limestone is eaten or etched into immense underground waterways as well as those we see above ground. The washing of the limestone formations is also slowly eroding the surface liemstone and depositing it onto the stream bed surface which does 2 things. It creates a crystalline structure which reflects light differently, but it also induces an algae formation, both these aspects now play a part in the coloration of the water we see spilling over the whitish limestone rock. Thats the scientific dope, or we could simly say OMG but it is so darned beautiful to see with the naked eye. Which is also wierd when ya’think about it, how many times do you head out to look at something closely when yer naked????
Water spills over the ground in stunning volume and from every direction you can imagine. I really have come to love the way that the Europeans handle the whole park and nature scenario because you feel like you are right there in the wild natural habitate. It is indeed very different and some would\will be insulted and angry at my attempt to describe what and how it is made so. For one, they are logging all over within this NAtioanal Park, just like every other National Park I have gone thru over here. And you know what, thier forests look to be very healthy as compared to ours which are in total ruin especially in California. There are no warning signs, no protective baricades, no yellow tape, no nti slip matts, no wire mesh fence to catch you……..there are not even hand railks to hold. If your that damed dumb to fall in, jump in, or push your friend in…….then adios idiot, because you are no longer in the gene pool. The Park folks have over time, beggining from as far back as 1865, built walkway completely over the fast flowing rivers surface……..no, no, not some 100 feet over with a plexi glass side and flor and constant caution signs ttype thing…..no, no. This is a walkway that skims the very water surface so that you feel as though you are simply walking the surface. Twist after turn, sharp corners and around trees that are not only alive but the walkway is built fully around them, you make your way, no handrails, nothing to impede your sensation at being right within the waters flow. At times the boiling water sprays up over the boards abd pas angrily at walkway corners. Boards are wet and slippery, and those with a solidified brain stem understand one listep and you are ina current that no one will rscue you from. Amazing to see and witness the awesome strength of flowing water. If ever you go to Croatia, which I thnk is a must for folks who love to trvel and nature, then Krka is on the must do list.
We spent 4 hours up at the falls and arrived back in the little village with not enough light left to drive to Sibenik that night. So, we got a cute little room for 20 Euro which was just fine. Walked down into the tiny stone walled town center and dined with the locals on fresh fish and sea food. Fish 2 times a year for Jeremiah is some sort of milestone………..and my Pastor on the other hand has GILLS.
Left that tiny village with empty bellies, and no coffee. To wind our way up and out of the Krka Park over some 10 miles of steep grades and switchbacks on barely 2 lane sized road. Pulled into a tiny village awash in Adriatic coastal spelndor by 8am and had a wonderful espresso and pastry from a local Pekarna along with some hand picked and unwashed locaal fruit from a rad side fruit seller. Imagine, we ate that fresh fruit and didn’t even wash it with our “organic sanitizer foam fruit and vegetable spray”………what the heck is the big deal about a little diarhea anyways.day seen us walking the cobbled streets of many small unknown and well known cities alike. Tried coffee in aqll, had pastry in each, plenty of fresh fruit and drove many miles doing it. Each turn, each steep grade and each tiny rustic village made the whole that much more enjoyable. This place is so subdued and quiet LOOKING as compared to almost anywhere in USA, it becomes a real noticeable visual treat after just a few days. The only NEON sign that we have seen is that of a Pharmacy which is a green cross, or a Hospital which is red.
By the time that I am writing this, we have jumped out of Croatia and into Herzegovina, no, dont ask me too explain this tiny little piece of the world because I do not yet understand it myself. Different everything here including cultures and currency. Hardscrabble rocky ground makes farming almost non existant….I said almost.There are fruit trees and olive trees which also are known to have once grown on the moon……so, no surprise seeing them here. Sheep and some mixed beed cows. On those slopes facing southwest……..there aint anything…….no, I said nothing. On the other side of those same slopes there will often be a small loggingindustry, more grass and more sheep just due to rainfall conditions. Stopped in Mostar to see that very famous bridge built in 1450 to appease a request by grand Sultan Suliman the Magnificent……….great name to have in WWF. It spans a rock sided gorge that is at the confluence of 2 rivers. Both flow fast and clean towards the southen seas. We got to the bridge by 6:30am and took walks and pictures till about 9am.
Made our way out east to Blagaj, where we took in a 1225 Dervish House that has been built rught over a huge hole in the cliff face. Out of this gaping maw spills millions of gallons of fresh crystal blue water daily. The Dervish house is used by Muslims as a place of Prayer. On up over the rocky mountinside we go, always up it seems. Till we crest and then begin an ardous trek across the serpent like ridge on this mountain road. We stopped and ate under the roof edge of a Church built 1862, and at the very tiny tip top of a mountain peak with nothing but lush green valley surrounding it. Further down the road we would cross over into Bosnia for maybe 30 miles and then on into Montenegro. We took in a tiny Orthodox Monestary in Montenegro at Venovici. You would ner know it waas there but for an tiny plaque at rads edge. The 3km drive back in is just beautiful, thru spartan oaks, and red brambles, green grass and sheep. And the omnipresent rock walls which lay labor traces over the infertile soil as a slug lays traces over a tilled garden. Good night and God bless to all those who have Prayed for such. And blessings to those who have as of yet been afraid to Pray.
