Italy for me was the most profound country to cycle through thus far, firstly because Sean and I got to retrace the steps of our 17 year old selves from a high school European art history, and secondly because through those few weeks I actually started to enjoy the riding (or at least hate it less).
After the quiet regal beauty of Slovenia, we charged towards Venice – our first Italian destination. To our surprise, the Italian roads were in horrendous condition despite a booming cyclist culture. The routes were often riddled with cracks and potholes for what seemed to be the length of the country, testing the strength of our bike frames and the integrity of our wheels as they creaked and cried under the strain of constant impact.
To add to poor road conditions, the bike paths also had a tendency to lead into the motorway – which we were not supposed to be on. At times trucks would scream past in thunderous rumbles, close enough to feel the heat of their engines and taste the dust kicked up by their tyres.
What the Italian roads lacked in infrastructural merit, though, was made up for tenfold by the enthusiasm of its people. There was a certain comradery with fellow cyclists, and on occasion motorists, who would wave, toot, or shout encouragements as we crossed paths.
It took us two days’ riding to get to Maghera, an ever so slightly desolate town a few kilometres outside of Venice. Closed shopfronts and unkempt lawns stretched through the streets, almost empty save the pockets of people waiting at the bus stations to go elsewhere.
We took a bus in the morning into Venice, red roof tops and idyllic streets crisscrossing above the canals. Gorgeous wooden boats zipping in between the gondolas on the water as currents of tourists pour over the bridges and paths above.
One of the many 'Gondola' boats in Venice
Sandwhich making outside the Lidl. The olive bread was particularly fresh on this occasion
It's all in the details
The streets of Venice
We couldn't resist the surprisingly cheap Aperol Spritz at a bar in Venice
It was difficult moving in the summer heat, and negotiating the inflated prices of local goods also proved a challenge, but we managed to see a lot of Venice nevertheless – and even found a corner pub for a cheeky aperol-spritz.
Another misc. canal
Water taxis were everywhere. Freddie wants to own one and become a captain of Venice
From Venice we began the odyssey to Rome, which coincided with one of my lowest points of the trip. On our first ride day to the capital we were faced with a steady headwind for most of the 150kms, and long straight roads with little to look at except an extensive gallery of flat farmland. We had trouble finding a campsite, and as rain clouds started coming towards us we chose a spot past some rose bushes next to a swamp.
Immediately upon stopping we were assaulted by parasites. I took a look around the thorns I was to set my tent up in, at the greying clouds and the swarms of mosquitos, and I lost my mind. Infuriated, I instead demanded we go to the paid campsite a kilometre or so up the road, and got us a mobile home for the night.
Here we are not far from the 'Camp of Eternal Doom' aka mosquito heaven. I reached one of my lowest points here
One of our many lunch time sammies. They got better and better as the trip progressed
Of course, after the luxury of a mattress and a solid roof, I woke up to a broken spoke. Under the extra strain, another spoke snapped some twenty kilometres later and my back tyre punctured – revealing that the tyre was in fact starting to rip apart so required a total replacement.
However, in Europe, cycle shops are never far away. We rode on to the next town (Arthur and Freddie taking my bags for fear of my wheel imploding under the weight), found a bike shop, and had everything replaced within the hour.
From there we rode on to Colonella, where we were hosted by the extended family of Arthur’s girlfriend. The house sat on a hill looking out to the sea and the mountains, and offered a full sized table tennis set up which came to dominate our time there. Arthur, to my shame of my Chinese heritage, won every set we played.
A crushing inside out forehand from Freddie. Probably returned with ease down the line for a winner
The hills of Colonella
The central Italian hills were home to many beautiful towns such as this
Too hot for a shirt
Nino and the boys
The despair from the sporting defeats however were offset by the gracious hospitality of Melissa and Nino, our hosts, who not only made us a delicious pasta dish drizzled with homemade olive oil and took us around town – they also offered a bed to us in the next town before Rome, L’Aquila.
The ride to L’Aquila was a splendid climb stretching 30kms through valley views and lush green treelines. To Nino’s disappointment, however, the 130km ride took us a lot longer than the three hours he predicted. Sorry, Nino, we’ll do better next time.
The beautiful riding from L'Aquilla
We lucked out and arrived in Rome on a Sunday so the usual traffic was absent, which meant a tranquil ride in through the cobblestone streets. We cycled through the Vatican City in the afternoon light, then past the Colosseum to the home of Alessia, our Roman host.
The next morning, we lined up/suffocated for three hours in the scorching heat to see the Sistine Chapel. Both Sean and I had seen the collection already from our trip some nine years ago, but this time round it struck a deeper chord. Perhaps I was too young to appreciate the scale and beauty of the works then, or maybe this time around gained some significance from having cycled through Europe to get there. Regardless, the works were truly awesome, in that it inspired full blown jaw dropping awe, and I felt something akin to a religious experience.
St Peters Square and the Vatican behind us
The boys riding up to St Peter's Square
My personal favourite, The School of Athens
Masterpieces by Michelangelo and Raphael are tough to follow up, but St Peter’s Basilica put up a good fight. It’s hard to find the right word to describe the sheer size of the interior, and the sensation of entering St Peter’s - feeling as though you’ve been transported to some divine realm.
On our last night in Rome, it was so warm that Freddie, Arthur and I decided to sleep under the stars in the courtyard of our host’s home – our meadow in the urban mess.
Does this need a caption?
Inside St Peter's Cathedral
Swiss Guards. A rather boring occupation but my gosh the stitch is saucy
Trevi Fountain
All the buildings in Rome seem to have fallen down for the most part
Spanish steps. A place of endless romance
The team and our beautiful host, Alesia
Thus ended our Italian detour, and we shot up to Florence. On one evening we ventured into a forest reserve and camped under pine trees, which made for very comfortable bedding. But the signposts showing wolves were somewhat disturbing, particularly during the night when every little sound threatened death.
Thankfully, the wolves didn’t make a visit, or decided they had better game to hunt. And we made it to Florence through Siena relatively intact, meeting our friends from back home, Ainsley and Caitlin, in a rather extravagant Airbnb.
Sean had lived in Florence for a year during his studies, so he took us around to his stomping grounds (including the vampiric, bitingly small apartment he lived in), and served as our tour guide for our time there.
They called it 'The Night of The Wolves'. Here you see a POV shot from the wolf leader. He's eyeing me up
Hitting the 20,000 mark for the boys was a special moment
I hit 5,000kms in Italy. I've loved every second of them
The town square in Sienna where we had an espresso and were told to move along by the police with our bikes
Tuscany. Lordy lord they didn't tell me it was so hilly!
God I enjoy a nice Tuscan red
Sean lived somewhere around here
The riding to Florence was a turning point for my attitude towards endurance cycling. The beauty of riding through the rolling Tuscan hills as the sun baked our backs served as an excellent backdrop to the punishing gradients. Each time the pain started to boil over, when the legs felt like they'd seize and when you've sweated a steady dotted trail behind you, each time the weaker parts of you plead for you to stop – you merely had to look up at the contouring landscape of greens and blues in varying hues, and relish the opportunity to see the world this way.
And, for the first time, the pain from the riding became fun. Because you feel like you’ve earned this view, because you can take pride in simply going this far, climbing to this height, because you’ve braved the heat and the mountains and yourself and you’re still here, still moving.
The Duomo in Florence
Florence from above
From Florence we managed a monstrous 360kms in two days to Milan. We had originally budgeted three days for the ride, but wanted to get to Milan faster to spend more time with Cori and Pietro, family friends of the Gillies’ and our hosts. With speed in mind, we cracked the 200km milestone on the first day, camping in fields by a Romani compound overnight, and pushed through 160kms the next day.
Once we arrived in Milan we were treated to air conditioned rooms and fine Italian cuisine under the care of our hosts. In the night time we bought wine and sat by the canal in the warm summer air, the riverbanks and the canal-side bars choked full of crowds and chatter. On one evening I had a few too many drinks and was separated from the group for some time, but managed to find them after a solo tour of the city – the resulting hangover however left me out of action for the next day.
The bikes, locked to a goal post in a gypsy encampment. They were kind enough to let us stay and shower
My biggest day. I'll point out it involved a mountain pass as well
After some well deserved rest, we cycled to a gorgeous lake some 100km out of Milan, and prepared for the alpine assault into Switzerland. Two years ago, Freddie and I did a small European tour (in the middle of my Masters dissertation period), where we spent his birthday in Milan. Like going through the cities where Sean and I once staggered, Milan brought back memories from a younger self, in a different mind, and made for fertile ground for self-reflection.
You might have read my inaugural blog post, ‘Two Wheels and A Man in Pain’, which described the first leg of my journey with the boys as one defined by unrelenting agony and perennial struggle. What I learned through Italy was that the pain never really changes, only you do. Sometimes I wake up to the 6am alarm in a wet tent (my tent is not very waterproof), facing a journey up a mountain pass promising savage struggle, I think to myself – should’ve done this on a motorbike, why am I even here? But then you ride through Italy and realise, this is exactly where I want to be.
The team with our wonderful friends Cori and Pietro. They hosted us (again) and treated us to a wonderful time in Milan. We can't wait to see these guys again some day soon
Here I replicate the arch behind me. Italy done and dusted, another country ticked off
