Espresso
Pasta
Steak
Passagiato
Gelato
Pizza
Ratafia
Bed
Happy
Wednesday 29 September 2010
Day 69 - Tuesday 28th September - Giulianova to San Salvo by Alice
130km
Feeling rejuvenated (read - slightly less exhausted than normal) after our day on the beach we enjoy an overload of sugar and caffeine before heading off for the day. Im enticed by a rare selection of cold cuts on display, but as Philippa warns me off them, I realise they are not actually as cold as cold cuts should be and they smell, more than a little strange. So its back to the cakes, which keep on appearing, one after the other, brought in by the gentlemen of the albergo in perhaps an attempt to impress us with their sugary treats. The earlier male diners enjoyed not quite the same large selection and were reduced to the dodgy prosciutto. Hazel and I are dreaming of hot sausages and other savoury treats. We are like the archetypal Brits on holiday, and I think Philippa is probably becoming a little bored of our Colazione complaining. She fully embraces the dry trifle sponges and crunchy little toasts, eating barely more than a small sparrow would (like all true Italians at breakfast time) and Hazel and I are concerned about a potential Colby Crash later when she runs out of sugar.
We continue along our lovely coast road, in much the same manner as the day before, and the one before that. Its flat, and sunny, and Ive treated the boys to a little pumping of the tyres which everyone enjoys. After 30km or some such, we pass the same elderly cycle tourists whom we had seen two days prior in Ancona. In a classic case of the tortoise and the hare, they have obviously been slowly moving steadily for the past few days without dramatic high speed crashes or flaking in the heat when pedalling furiously like us. Of course as we stop for coffee we see them pass by, oh so slowly. To my amazement we actually finally reach Pescara, which I believe has been our intended destination for the past three days. Its name on every road sign has been haunting me, and I almost began to think we were pedalling on a treadmill, with a lovely coastal video being shown in the background, never getting any closer to elusive Pescara. Its another beach, like all the others, and as we sit eating some bread (of course), we are passed by a new group of cycle tourists. They number three, with about two small pannier bags between them, and one of them appears to be a fluorescent tour guide. Recently we have discovered there is a new breed of cycletourist on the block, no longer coach parties but Hotel cycletourists. They deposit luggage at acommodation and are then taken on a guided cycle tour by a hotel employee, who feeds them and tends to their lovely shiny new bikes. It all looks a bit easy and we dont really see them as major competitors in todays race. (its always a race). Fortunately we know that elderly couple from earlier are catching a train from Pescara so weve no danger of being taken by them again.
A few km down the road, we are stopped for a chat by an elderly chap on a bicycle who appears to want us to follow him somewhere to camp, but we explain that we are still 100km from our intended destination, so with a ciao he wobbles off straight into the path of a big yellow bus, miraculously avoiding any collision. We are passed by the fluorescent hotel cycle tourists who seem friendly enough, but its not long before we overtake them again, in a tight peloton formation. Progress continues steadily on the ss16, but on the outskirts of Ortona we decide to take a "shortcut" through the centre of town. It is of course a completely unnessecary deviation up and down a couple of mountains but the views are lovely and weve no complaints as we rejoin the ss16 on the other side. We stop for lunch and everyone enjoys a quick dip in the ocean, although im a little concerned about the sticky anenomes underfoot. Its a leisurely meal, as we are making good time, and believe our destination to be a mere 40km away. The recent sandwich favourite of everyone is a slice of Pugliese bread, onto which you squeeze the pulp of a tomato and then sprinkle with salt. We get back on the bikes and continue on our way. Lo and behold, around the corner we find the hotel cycle tourists in layby, eating what must be a very quick snack. They must have caught up with us by not deviating into Ortona/ not stopping for swimming!
We continue along our way, and the wind really picks up, making progress slow and frustrating. I decide to give my turn at the head of the peloton my full energy. Pushing hard into the wind, I at least manage to get speed up to a healthy 20mph on a slight downhill. I push on into the wind for a further 5km, when I am very relieved to hand the lead over to Colby. Unfortunately it would appear Ive rather overdone things, and am failing to even draft in behind Philippa. I really feel quite unwell, and with a headache brought on by dehydration I request a stop. Fortunately there is a rare service station to hand and we pull in to "Portobello" restaurant. I am shooed out of the inside seating area by an agressive Signora, as I am not eating a three course meal, and so we enjoy our greasy pizza slices and powerade outside. Interestingly this our first isotonic "sports" drink of the whole tour, and I conclude I would have preferred a nice Coke, I really dont buy into the science that much. Whilst we sit in recovery mode, we spot on the otherside of the forecourt, those blasted fluorescent cycle tourists slowly cruising past. Fortunately they dont spot us and we decide to rest for a good half hour longer to avoid yet another duel of overtaking them only to be passed by them at our next stop.
We are now on the outskirts of Vasto, and its not far to go until San Salvo, where we are expected for dinner by Philippas adopted Italian family. Unfortunately the non caffeinated Powerade has done nothing for my alertness and Im about ready to fall asleep on my bike! Breaks are frequent but Im spurred on a little when we find ourselves drafting in behind a couple of lycra clad carbon fibre race bikes. Eventually we roll into San Salvo and are treated to a delicious meal of stuffed turkey and roast potatoes. Theres a slight problem in that Hazel and I are unable to communicate with anybody, but our hostess Lina couldnt be more delighted to continually feed our seemingly endless appetites. Hazel is the perfect dinner guest, never saying no to seconds thirds fourths and fifths. We roll ourselves into bed at a reasonable hour and sleep under the watchful eye of an arctic fox who is pinned to the wall next to us.
Feeling rejuvenated (read - slightly less exhausted than normal) after our day on the beach we enjoy an overload of sugar and caffeine before heading off for the day. Im enticed by a rare selection of cold cuts on display, but as Philippa warns me off them, I realise they are not actually as cold as cold cuts should be and they smell, more than a little strange. So its back to the cakes, which keep on appearing, one after the other, brought in by the gentlemen of the albergo in perhaps an attempt to impress us with their sugary treats. The earlier male diners enjoyed not quite the same large selection and were reduced to the dodgy prosciutto. Hazel and I are dreaming of hot sausages and other savoury treats. We are like the archetypal Brits on holiday, and I think Philippa is probably becoming a little bored of our Colazione complaining. She fully embraces the dry trifle sponges and crunchy little toasts, eating barely more than a small sparrow would (like all true Italians at breakfast time) and Hazel and I are concerned about a potential Colby Crash later when she runs out of sugar.
We continue along our lovely coast road, in much the same manner as the day before, and the one before that. Its flat, and sunny, and Ive treated the boys to a little pumping of the tyres which everyone enjoys. After 30km or some such, we pass the same elderly cycle tourists whom we had seen two days prior in Ancona. In a classic case of the tortoise and the hare, they have obviously been slowly moving steadily for the past few days without dramatic high speed crashes or flaking in the heat when pedalling furiously like us. Of course as we stop for coffee we see them pass by, oh so slowly. To my amazement we actually finally reach Pescara, which I believe has been our intended destination for the past three days. Its name on every road sign has been haunting me, and I almost began to think we were pedalling on a treadmill, with a lovely coastal video being shown in the background, never getting any closer to elusive Pescara. Its another beach, like all the others, and as we sit eating some bread (of course), we are passed by a new group of cycle tourists. They number three, with about two small pannier bags between them, and one of them appears to be a fluorescent tour guide. Recently we have discovered there is a new breed of cycletourist on the block, no longer coach parties but Hotel cycletourists. They deposit luggage at acommodation and are then taken on a guided cycle tour by a hotel employee, who feeds them and tends to their lovely shiny new bikes. It all looks a bit easy and we dont really see them as major competitors in todays race. (its always a race). Fortunately we know that elderly couple from earlier are catching a train from Pescara so weve no danger of being taken by them again.
A few km down the road, we are stopped for a chat by an elderly chap on a bicycle who appears to want us to follow him somewhere to camp, but we explain that we are still 100km from our intended destination, so with a ciao he wobbles off straight into the path of a big yellow bus, miraculously avoiding any collision. We are passed by the fluorescent hotel cycle tourists who seem friendly enough, but its not long before we overtake them again, in a tight peloton formation. Progress continues steadily on the ss16, but on the outskirts of Ortona we decide to take a "shortcut" through the centre of town. It is of course a completely unnessecary deviation up and down a couple of mountains but the views are lovely and weve no complaints as we rejoin the ss16 on the other side. We stop for lunch and everyone enjoys a quick dip in the ocean, although im a little concerned about the sticky anenomes underfoot. Its a leisurely meal, as we are making good time, and believe our destination to be a mere 40km away. The recent sandwich favourite of everyone is a slice of Pugliese bread, onto which you squeeze the pulp of a tomato and then sprinkle with salt. We get back on the bikes and continue on our way. Lo and behold, around the corner we find the hotel cycle tourists in layby, eating what must be a very quick snack. They must have caught up with us by not deviating into Ortona/ not stopping for swimming!
We continue along our way, and the wind really picks up, making progress slow and frustrating. I decide to give my turn at the head of the peloton my full energy. Pushing hard into the wind, I at least manage to get speed up to a healthy 20mph on a slight downhill. I push on into the wind for a further 5km, when I am very relieved to hand the lead over to Colby. Unfortunately it would appear Ive rather overdone things, and am failing to even draft in behind Philippa. I really feel quite unwell, and with a headache brought on by dehydration I request a stop. Fortunately there is a rare service station to hand and we pull in to "Portobello" restaurant. I am shooed out of the inside seating area by an agressive Signora, as I am not eating a three course meal, and so we enjoy our greasy pizza slices and powerade outside. Interestingly this our first isotonic "sports" drink of the whole tour, and I conclude I would have preferred a nice Coke, I really dont buy into the science that much. Whilst we sit in recovery mode, we spot on the otherside of the forecourt, those blasted fluorescent cycle tourists slowly cruising past. Fortunately they dont spot us and we decide to rest for a good half hour longer to avoid yet another duel of overtaking them only to be passed by them at our next stop.
We are now on the outskirts of Vasto, and its not far to go until San Salvo, where we are expected for dinner by Philippas adopted Italian family. Unfortunately the non caffeinated Powerade has done nothing for my alertness and Im about ready to fall asleep on my bike! Breaks are frequent but Im spurred on a little when we find ourselves drafting in behind a couple of lycra clad carbon fibre race bikes. Eventually we roll into San Salvo and are treated to a delicious meal of stuffed turkey and roast potatoes. Theres a slight problem in that Hazel and I are unable to communicate with anybody, but our hostess Lina couldnt be more delighted to continually feed our seemingly endless appetites. Hazel is the perfect dinner guest, never saying no to seconds thirds fourths and fifths. We roll ourselves into bed at a reasonable hour and sleep under the watchful eye of an arctic fox who is pinned to the wall next to us.
Day 68 - Cupra Marina to Guilianova, Phil
34.74km in 1hr30. Avg 23kmph. Odo 5371.9km
Waking in the dim light of dawn. Coffe and bread for breakfast, and back on the road. A little bruised, not the bests nights sleep. Not too far to Pescara though, and then onto San Salvo to catch up with the family (near enough....)
Stop at Lidl to replenish supplies, Hazel is hazy...which makes me a little nervous after yesterday's incident....
Executive decision to stop and have a good nights rest in a hotel... Checkin at 11:30 and hit the beach in Guilianova, much to the teenage-girl-esque excitement of Ali and Hazel who continue to harbour a strange obsession with Australia first female prime minister (who also happened to be born in Hazel's hometown of Barry).
Lazy day of sunbathing, swimming, longjump and coffee, stock up for tomorrow and make plans to cross the country. Decide its probably safe to return to our old habit of hotel cook-ups on the camp stove and enjoy a delicious dinner of pasta with rocket, pesto and fresh tomatoes, marred only by the knock at the door halfway through the cooking of the pasta, that sent me flying across the room to hide the stove and boiling pot of pasta behing the fridge whilst Haezl scurried around madly trying to remove all evidence of food being consumed in the hotel room.... The kind smile on the face of the elderly night porter was surely just a front before we got kicked out of the hotel... my heart racing, I smile back... he just wanted to let us know that we'd left the key in the lock!!! We finish our dinner in fits of laughter and tuck up for the night...big day ahead tomorrow!!!
Waking in the dim light of dawn. Coffe and bread for breakfast, and back on the road. A little bruised, not the bests nights sleep. Not too far to Pescara though, and then onto San Salvo to catch up with the family (near enough....)
Stop at Lidl to replenish supplies, Hazel is hazy...which makes me a little nervous after yesterday's incident....
Executive decision to stop and have a good nights rest in a hotel... Checkin at 11:30 and hit the beach in Guilianova, much to the teenage-girl-esque excitement of Ali and Hazel who continue to harbour a strange obsession with Australia first female prime minister (who also happened to be born in Hazel's hometown of Barry).
Lazy day of sunbathing, swimming, longjump and coffee, stock up for tomorrow and make plans to cross the country. Decide its probably safe to return to our old habit of hotel cook-ups on the camp stove and enjoy a delicious dinner of pasta with rocket, pesto and fresh tomatoes, marred only by the knock at the door halfway through the cooking of the pasta, that sent me flying across the room to hide the stove and boiling pot of pasta behing the fridge whilst Haezl scurried around madly trying to remove all evidence of food being consumed in the hotel room.... The kind smile on the face of the elderly night porter was surely just a front before we got kicked out of the hotel... my heart racing, I smile back... he just wanted to let us know that we'd left the key in the lock!!! We finish our dinner in fits of laughter and tuck up for the night...big day ahead tomorrow!!!
Day 67 - Sunday 26th September - Ancona to Cupra Maritima by Hazel
82km in 3hr39min
Averging 22.4kmph, max 52.6kmph
Odometer 5337km
Alice's phone alarm crashes through to greet us to the morning. Unlike Alice's selection of show classics I have the pleasure of her alarm's shrill tones echoing in my ears for breakfast. Our hotel boasts five floors, nearly one hundred rooms and a large breakfast rrom- which we are the only diners for the start of service. A typical italian affair sets us off onto the streets of Ancona. Or anaconda as I deliberatley misrefer to it as. After the perils of our dual carriage way ascent yesterday we opt for the local roads over the headland to rejoin the ss16 at the coast line. Not in possesion of a topographical map we aren't mentally prepared for the steep rising streets that continu ever up. It's hot, there's much huffing and puffing and complaining of speed bumps. Alice also leads us on a circuit route in pursuit of the road out of town (which allows us to repeat our uphill climb) before finally we leave town. The reason the ss16 choses to deviate around the headland is abundantly clear as we swing up hill then down. Our twenty km up and down cycle has us in duel with a middle aged lady on an electiric bike out for a morning cycle. We catch her on the flat and downhills, but when she hits an uphill strech, she stops jumps off to turn the ignition on her motor and then whizzes away up the hill. She has her ipod in and remains stony faced whenever overtaking or being overtaken. But whilst she regards us as insignificant we are serenaded to many whoops and whistles from the plethora of lycra pelotons that pass us on the other side.
It's early in the morning but the sun is bright and hot. The uphill climbs leave me dripping with sweat, so in hope that this is the end of the hills I don my wind proof for the descent after being frozen for the last one. This was of course an awful mistake. Whilst I do enjoy a temperature controlled downhill I'm immediately launched into an uphill slog up a steep hill. In my black polyester jacket I now feel like a boil in the bag kipper. The jacket is immediately removed when back at the top only for my to suffer an even more perishing down hill as the wind whips my sodden singlet on to my clammy skin. Thankfully we are now at the bottom.
Coffee beach side where a small girl is mesmorised by us and our strange gleaming two wheeled tanks.
Back on the ss16 we zoom along the flat making excellant pace, occasionally cars will pull out and nearly collide, but as Phillipa points out it must be difficult for them. At a glance we must look like we are pushing a heavily stacked cart of reflective plastic bags which is unlikely to be traveling at 30kmph so it's not to be unexpected that cars underestimate our speed.
The day's progressing very well and we are at one stage caught up in a peloton of lycra clad men. There's about 15 of them (all on very shiny bikes, with matching team lycra and overshoes). They chat away to Phillipa, we ride three abrest, when we go around a roundabout all cars await for the procession to pass and it's much fun. But they soon turn off and we continue to Pescara.
It's very hot and at our road side picinic stop I suggest that perhaps the target of Pescara 110miles might be too much in this heat (feeling a litte dehydrated). But the girls are keen to keep pressing on so it's back on the bikes along the hard shoulder of the ss16.
Phillipa ploughes into the back of me, I hear "oh sorry" and then a crashing noise. Turning around I find Phillipa prone on the concrete and Alice in a concrete ditch to the side. Following Phillipa hitting me she fell off to the side, with Alice's front wheel heading straight for her head, so in avasive action Alice took off to the side managing to ride up a steep curb down into the concrete ditch and dismounting in the air. Remarkably all the bikes are fine, Alice is unmarked and Phillipa has only grazes (but no doubt her peachy skin will be very bruised). Shaken and tired we decide Pescara is too far and luckily find that the campsite 100m down the road is open.
So camp made we then head to a deserted beach for a swim, then play some frisbee. We are the only campsite residents until a behemoth camper van containing a german couple pulls up. THey spent an inordinate length of time parking (complete with loud reversing beeps). The two yellow plastic wheel stopppers are out to stop the van rolling (alice informs us). I then start to muse that campervans should have some fancy chasis suspension system to accomodate the terrain on which they park. We decide this would be quite expensive, and that campervanners just have to cope with sloped beds. But Lo! it woudl appear the german's are attempting to acocmodate for the ground level descrepancy with stones and bricks, using a bottle of beer as a spirt level. When finally happy, they drink their beer before a train rushes past on the neighbouring traibnline. She shouts over to us "does that happen all night?", but she shouts in German (of course we a cycle tourists in a campsite what other nationality would we be), we smile and um She asks in english and we call over we don't know, but she's stopped listening and the yellow ramps are put in and off they go to another corner of the site to park up again.
Averging 22.4kmph, max 52.6kmph
Odometer 5337km
Alice's phone alarm crashes through to greet us to the morning. Unlike Alice's selection of show classics I have the pleasure of her alarm's shrill tones echoing in my ears for breakfast. Our hotel boasts five floors, nearly one hundred rooms and a large breakfast rrom- which we are the only diners for the start of service. A typical italian affair sets us off onto the streets of Ancona. Or anaconda as I deliberatley misrefer to it as. After the perils of our dual carriage way ascent yesterday we opt for the local roads over the headland to rejoin the ss16 at the coast line. Not in possesion of a topographical map we aren't mentally prepared for the steep rising streets that continu ever up. It's hot, there's much huffing and puffing and complaining of speed bumps. Alice also leads us on a circuit route in pursuit of the road out of town (which allows us to repeat our uphill climb) before finally we leave town. The reason the ss16 choses to deviate around the headland is abundantly clear as we swing up hill then down. Our twenty km up and down cycle has us in duel with a middle aged lady on an electiric bike out for a morning cycle. We catch her on the flat and downhills, but when she hits an uphill strech, she stops jumps off to turn the ignition on her motor and then whizzes away up the hill. She has her ipod in and remains stony faced whenever overtaking or being overtaken. But whilst she regards us as insignificant we are serenaded to many whoops and whistles from the plethora of lycra pelotons that pass us on the other side.
It's early in the morning but the sun is bright and hot. The uphill climbs leave me dripping with sweat, so in hope that this is the end of the hills I don my wind proof for the descent after being frozen for the last one. This was of course an awful mistake. Whilst I do enjoy a temperature controlled downhill I'm immediately launched into an uphill slog up a steep hill. In my black polyester jacket I now feel like a boil in the bag kipper. The jacket is immediately removed when back at the top only for my to suffer an even more perishing down hill as the wind whips my sodden singlet on to my clammy skin. Thankfully we are now at the bottom.
Coffee beach side where a small girl is mesmorised by us and our strange gleaming two wheeled tanks.
Back on the ss16 we zoom along the flat making excellant pace, occasionally cars will pull out and nearly collide, but as Phillipa points out it must be difficult for them. At a glance we must look like we are pushing a heavily stacked cart of reflective plastic bags which is unlikely to be traveling at 30kmph so it's not to be unexpected that cars underestimate our speed.
The day's progressing very well and we are at one stage caught up in a peloton of lycra clad men. There's about 15 of them (all on very shiny bikes, with matching team lycra and overshoes). They chat away to Phillipa, we ride three abrest, when we go around a roundabout all cars await for the procession to pass and it's much fun. But they soon turn off and we continue to Pescara.
It's very hot and at our road side picinic stop I suggest that perhaps the target of Pescara 110miles might be too much in this heat (feeling a litte dehydrated). But the girls are keen to keep pressing on so it's back on the bikes along the hard shoulder of the ss16.Phillipa ploughes into the back of me, I hear "oh sorry" and then a crashing noise. Turning around I find Phillipa prone on the concrete and Alice in a concrete ditch to the side. Following Phillipa hitting me she fell off to the side, with Alice's front wheel heading straight for her head, so in avasive action Alice took off to the side managing to ride up a steep curb down into the concrete ditch and dismounting in the air. Remarkably all the bikes are fine, Alice is unmarked and Phillipa has only grazes (but no doubt her peachy skin will be very bruised). Shaken and tired we decide Pescara is too far and luckily find that the campsite 100m down the road is open.
So camp made we then head to a deserted beach for a swim, then play some frisbee. We are the only campsite residents until a behemoth camper van containing a german couple pulls up. THey spent an inordinate length of time parking (complete with loud reversing beeps). The two yellow plastic wheel stopppers are out to stop the van rolling (alice informs us). I then start to muse that campervans should have some fancy chasis suspension system to accomodate the terrain on which they park. We decide this would be quite expensive, and that campervanners just have to cope with sloped beds. But Lo! it woudl appear the german's are attempting to acocmodate for the ground level descrepancy with stones and bricks, using a bottle of beer as a spirt level. When finally happy, they drink their beer before a train rushes past on the neighbouring traibnline. She shouts over to us "does that happen all night?", but she shouts in German (of course we a cycle tourists in a campsite what other nationality would we be), we smile and um She asks in english and we call over we don't know, but she's stopped listening and the yellow ramps are put in and off they go to another corner of the site to park up again.
Day 66 - Saturday 25th September - Rimini to Ancona by Alice
103.4km in 4hr9min
Average 24.8kmph
Max speed 61.6kmph
Odometer reads 5254.9km
We awake to find the previous nights rainfall gently steaming off the pavements, another hot day in store. The hotels resident parrot is making noises akin to a baby screaming which makes for a restful breakfast, which, as we are now in Italy aproper, consists purely of caffeine and sugar. Sugar in many different forms of course, sugared cereal, sugared croissants filled with gelatinous substances, sugared trifle sponges, sugared biscuits, chocolate spread, and packets of those small dry little toasts which nobody (save Philippa) really knows the purpose of. Hazel and I struggle and quiz Philippa constantly on how the Italians survive with such measly breakfasts. Philippa drinks her espresso with 3 parts sugar to one part coffee and tries to give the impression that she is not with the embarassing English girls. Alas she has been foiled as a nonItalian by one of the other guests who approaches her at the juice servery and enquires in English "Were you cold upstairs?" A strange conversation opener and this young man, whose nationality we cannot quite fathom, approaches us later to enquire in a strange mockney accent if we are "going for a ride ladies?" Yes we respond, we are cycling 100km down the coast to Ancona, having just crossed the Alps. He doesnt really have a response to this, and with nothing to impress us with, slouches off.
The day begins well enough, and we try our usual trick of sticking as close as possible to the water, in the hope that we dont get lost. It works generally with rivers, and you know where you are with the sea, but this is no isolated mountain range. The whole of the coastline is built up, and town merges into town. Hotels and beach bars abound, but this being "winter" its all shut down, despite the warm weather theres not a soul on the sands. The roads however, are packed, mostly with old folk seemingly defying gravity by cycling at less than 2mph, at which speed logic should decree you would fall off. Still they seem to manage it, cycling three abreast on the road, making it impossible for us, let alone a car to pass them. They glide serenely through red lights, and pedestrian crossings but nobody seems to mind. Maybe they are all mindful of the fact that if once of these cyleiatrics has to stop, they might never get the momentum up to get going again. We are swept along in their slipstream, heading in a generally southerly direction and soon find out where they are all headed, the local supermarket. Philippa and I decide to restock the panniers with biscuits and other sweet treats and join in the shoulder barging and shouting that seems to constitute the elderly Italian shopping experience. It takes a while for the queue to progress as an old lady has now decided at the point of payment, that actually, she needs some Tuc biscuits. Very specifically she is shouting in Italian "Dove lo biscotti Tooook?" to which nobody responds. An elderly gentlemen in front of us lets us take his place in the queue whilst he for some reason wants to rearrange the basket system at the till. He refuses our offers of help and then joins another queue, dragging ten baskets behind him and complaining we have taken his spot.
After all this excitement we decide to leave the old folk behind and hit our new favourite road, the SS16 Adriatic superhighway. We plan to follow him for quite some time, as he will take us all the way down to the middle of the country when we plan to hit the mountains, and cross over toward the west coast and Sicily, being careful to avoid Napoli, which nobody in Italy appears to have a high opinion of. We watched on the television the other night a programme about gangs in Napoli who have taken over the streets and charge people to park in public free spaces, in return for "protecting" their cars. Fearing a fate worse than death for our steeds should we decide to leave them on the mean streets. The road continues in a beautifully straight and flat manner. The peloton is in full swing and we pass many other groups of middle aged men on £3000 bikes cycling in full team lycra at a speed of approx 12mph. Just to clarify, that is SLOW. They seem much more interested in taking up the full width of the road and chatting to each other, and of course, shouting at us. In a friendly way though, so its all good. As a point of interest, the main songs which have been in my head whilst cycling recently are "Thats Amore" and "Send in the Clowns" as sung by Judi Dench. I dont know where or how or why these songs have suddenly taken me over but they have, and I just let them continue to circle. Without ipods or other such distractions, it would appear my inner radio station is really quite old school. For a sneak into my head, click here.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yE3dLzIYKs8
Unfortunately we miss our turn off for the busy port of Ancona and end up on a dual carriageway around it, populated heavily by lorries and fast cars. Its slightly nerve wracking travelling at 10mph compared to everyone elses 110, especially as we have to keep crossing the feeder lanes going up a continuous steep hill. Before long of course, uphill becomes down and we are juggernauts, chugging down through numerous dark tunnels (where have these mountains appeared from again?!) hodling our breath and hoping a lorry will not try to squeeze past. As ever the spirit guides are watching over us and we arrive into town without incident. On spotting our favourite tourist attraction we make a brief stop. Lidl in Italy is seemingly not that popular, at least not with sane people. As we turn into the car park an bearded old man (who may or may not be extremely drunk) passes us in one of those ridiculous little Fiat Pandas, which look like they are powered by putting your feet through them inevitable holes in its bodywork and scooting along with your feet. On passing us he begins shouting and singing along to his cassette (it must be a cassette). We think this is the end of our encounter, but on reaching the turning to the main road, he must decide we might not have heard him, and perhaps we would like to befriend him. So he reverses all the way back up the ramp and stops on a steep hill, singing even more loudly now, whilst looking at us and gesturing. We are not really sure what he expects us to do in return, so we try to ignore him, although everybody else in the car park is looking over and laughing at him/us. Peculiar. It continues for a good ten minutes and we are approached by another gentlemen, who appears to be befriending everyone in the car park, for no apparent reason. We decide to send only one person into the safety of Lidltown and Phil and I stay outside, safety in numbers. Eventually Mr Fiat Panda realises nobody is going to go home with him and drives off. Mr Car Park strikes up conversation with me, in German, which is a usual occurence for me when in Europe. Although I understand him perfectly, I decide to inform him that I do not speak ze Deutsch. Alas he is also in fluent in English and so goes into detail about Manchester Citys latest signings. I dont really have anything to add on the matter but he turns out to be a lovely chap and when I tell him I live in London he is really very impressed. Hes from Bangladesh and thinks London is a very good city, where lots of Bangladeshis live. Yes indeed I say, people from all over the world live in London. Its a shame he hasnt made it to London too, he seems a little wasted on Ancona Lidl car park, what with his three or four langauges he seems able to speak in. After a while I realise why he is there. As people come out from the supermarket, he takes their trolley from their car and back to the queue of trolleys, and some people allow him to keep the Euro that pops out. It makes me a little sad, but he seems like really quite a jolly chap who enjoys chatting to people so good luck to him.
We cruise around town for a while and pass a couple of elderly cycletourists acting in much the same manner*. We eventually find the only open albergo in city centre and book into the Roma & Pace. I initially misread the sign as RomaFace, and was a little disappointed to find ourselves not in a Lady Gaga themed hotel, but the most dated room I have seen, including the Czech Republics Eastern Bloc offerings. The hotels claim to fame is that a young Stalin attempted to secure work there as a night porter in 1907. As a homage to this, it would appear they have kept all the original fixtures and fittings from that momentous day. I absolutely love the place. Its like sleeping in Mussolinis office, it has every trace of its history marked on the door handles. The phone is a dial and drag affair and Im reminiscing for times I wasnt alive for. We eat our Lidl dinner and enjoy a nice Passagiato and Gelato before bed, and strange dreams of Stalin, who now looks a lot like the singing old man in the car.
*Later befriended by Philippa, we learn the two were completing the last leg of their journey which they had started the year previous....incidentally it was the same North Cape to Sicily sojourn as us!
Average 24.8kmph
Max speed 61.6kmph
Odometer reads 5254.9km
We awake to find the previous nights rainfall gently steaming off the pavements, another hot day in store. The hotels resident parrot is making noises akin to a baby screaming which makes for a restful breakfast, which, as we are now in Italy aproper, consists purely of caffeine and sugar. Sugar in many different forms of course, sugared cereal, sugared croissants filled with gelatinous substances, sugared trifle sponges, sugared biscuits, chocolate spread, and packets of those small dry little toasts which nobody (save Philippa) really knows the purpose of. Hazel and I struggle and quiz Philippa constantly on how the Italians survive with such measly breakfasts. Philippa drinks her espresso with 3 parts sugar to one part coffee and tries to give the impression that she is not with the embarassing English girls. Alas she has been foiled as a nonItalian by one of the other guests who approaches her at the juice servery and enquires in English "Were you cold upstairs?" A strange conversation opener and this young man, whose nationality we cannot quite fathom, approaches us later to enquire in a strange mockney accent if we are "going for a ride ladies?" Yes we respond, we are cycling 100km down the coast to Ancona, having just crossed the Alps. He doesnt really have a response to this, and with nothing to impress us with, slouches off.
The day begins well enough, and we try our usual trick of sticking as close as possible to the water, in the hope that we dont get lost. It works generally with rivers, and you know where you are with the sea, but this is no isolated mountain range. The whole of the coastline is built up, and town merges into town. Hotels and beach bars abound, but this being "winter" its all shut down, despite the warm weather theres not a soul on the sands. The roads however, are packed, mostly with old folk seemingly defying gravity by cycling at less than 2mph, at which speed logic should decree you would fall off. Still they seem to manage it, cycling three abreast on the road, making it impossible for us, let alone a car to pass them. They glide serenely through red lights, and pedestrian crossings but nobody seems to mind. Maybe they are all mindful of the fact that if once of these cyleiatrics has to stop, they might never get the momentum up to get going again. We are swept along in their slipstream, heading in a generally southerly direction and soon find out where they are all headed, the local supermarket. Philippa and I decide to restock the panniers with biscuits and other sweet treats and join in the shoulder barging and shouting that seems to constitute the elderly Italian shopping experience. It takes a while for the queue to progress as an old lady has now decided at the point of payment, that actually, she needs some Tuc biscuits. Very specifically she is shouting in Italian "Dove lo biscotti Tooook?" to which nobody responds. An elderly gentlemen in front of us lets us take his place in the queue whilst he for some reason wants to rearrange the basket system at the till. He refuses our offers of help and then joins another queue, dragging ten baskets behind him and complaining we have taken his spot.
After all this excitement we decide to leave the old folk behind and hit our new favourite road, the SS16 Adriatic superhighway. We plan to follow him for quite some time, as he will take us all the way down to the middle of the country when we plan to hit the mountains, and cross over toward the west coast and Sicily, being careful to avoid Napoli, which nobody in Italy appears to have a high opinion of. We watched on the television the other night a programme about gangs in Napoli who have taken over the streets and charge people to park in public free spaces, in return for "protecting" their cars. Fearing a fate worse than death for our steeds should we decide to leave them on the mean streets. The road continues in a beautifully straight and flat manner. The peloton is in full swing and we pass many other groups of middle aged men on £3000 bikes cycling in full team lycra at a speed of approx 12mph. Just to clarify, that is SLOW. They seem much more interested in taking up the full width of the road and chatting to each other, and of course, shouting at us. In a friendly way though, so its all good. As a point of interest, the main songs which have been in my head whilst cycling recently are "Thats Amore" and "Send in the Clowns" as sung by Judi Dench. I dont know where or how or why these songs have suddenly taken me over but they have, and I just let them continue to circle. Without ipods or other such distractions, it would appear my inner radio station is really quite old school. For a sneak into my head, click here.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yE3dLzIYKs8
Unfortunately we miss our turn off for the busy port of Ancona and end up on a dual carriageway around it, populated heavily by lorries and fast cars. Its slightly nerve wracking travelling at 10mph compared to everyone elses 110, especially as we have to keep crossing the feeder lanes going up a continuous steep hill. Before long of course, uphill becomes down and we are juggernauts, chugging down through numerous dark tunnels (where have these mountains appeared from again?!) hodling our breath and hoping a lorry will not try to squeeze past. As ever the spirit guides are watching over us and we arrive into town without incident. On spotting our favourite tourist attraction we make a brief stop. Lidl in Italy is seemingly not that popular, at least not with sane people. As we turn into the car park an bearded old man (who may or may not be extremely drunk) passes us in one of those ridiculous little Fiat Pandas, which look like they are powered by putting your feet through them inevitable holes in its bodywork and scooting along with your feet. On passing us he begins shouting and singing along to his cassette (it must be a cassette). We think this is the end of our encounter, but on reaching the turning to the main road, he must decide we might not have heard him, and perhaps we would like to befriend him. So he reverses all the way back up the ramp and stops on a steep hill, singing even more loudly now, whilst looking at us and gesturing. We are not really sure what he expects us to do in return, so we try to ignore him, although everybody else in the car park is looking over and laughing at him/us. Peculiar. It continues for a good ten minutes and we are approached by another gentlemen, who appears to be befriending everyone in the car park, for no apparent reason. We decide to send only one person into the safety of Lidltown and Phil and I stay outside, safety in numbers. Eventually Mr Fiat Panda realises nobody is going to go home with him and drives off. Mr Car Park strikes up conversation with me, in German, which is a usual occurence for me when in Europe. Although I understand him perfectly, I decide to inform him that I do not speak ze Deutsch. Alas he is also in fluent in English and so goes into detail about Manchester Citys latest signings. I dont really have anything to add on the matter but he turns out to be a lovely chap and when I tell him I live in London he is really very impressed. Hes from Bangladesh and thinks London is a very good city, where lots of Bangladeshis live. Yes indeed I say, people from all over the world live in London. Its a shame he hasnt made it to London too, he seems a little wasted on Ancona Lidl car park, what with his three or four langauges he seems able to speak in. After a while I realise why he is there. As people come out from the supermarket, he takes their trolley from their car and back to the queue of trolleys, and some people allow him to keep the Euro that pops out. It makes me a little sad, but he seems like really quite a jolly chap who enjoys chatting to people so good luck to him.
We cruise around town for a while and pass a couple of elderly cycletourists acting in much the same manner*. We eventually find the only open albergo in city centre and book into the Roma & Pace. I initially misread the sign as RomaFace, and was a little disappointed to find ourselves not in a Lady Gaga themed hotel, but the most dated room I have seen, including the Czech Republics Eastern Bloc offerings. The hotels claim to fame is that a young Stalin attempted to secure work there as a night porter in 1907. As a homage to this, it would appear they have kept all the original fixtures and fittings from that momentous day. I absolutely love the place. Its like sleeping in Mussolinis office, it has every trace of its history marked on the door handles. The phone is a dial and drag affair and Im reminiscing for times I wasnt alive for. We eat our Lidl dinner and enjoy a nice Passagiato and Gelato before bed, and strange dreams of Stalin, who now looks a lot like the singing old man in the car.
*Later befriended by Philippa, we learn the two were completing the last leg of their journey which they had started the year previous....incidentally it was the same North Cape to Sicily sojourn as us!
Day 65 - Bologna to Rimini, Phil
130.6km in 5hrs48min, avg 22.4kmph. Odo 1515km.
Bright and early start, we're on the road by 7:30am, much to the surprise of both ourselves and a bleary-eyed Simone, who insists on making our morning coffee before we set off!!! Following detailed instructions from Simone, I manage to negotiate our way out of the city in next to no time, and we're flying along the SS9 into the rising sun...Straight, straight, straight road....what more could we ask for?!?!
Stopping for coffee number two 30km in, there's little slowing us apart from the odd roadworks and traffic accident. We pass through Imola (home of Formula One) to Hazel's excitement but don't notice anything of interest. Roadside picnic, happy horns are honking at us, and the Italians have plenty of smiles to spare. We pause again in Cesena, where the Bologna boys have advised that we can't continue along the lovely SS9 as it somehow attains motorway status... We head into the countryside and weave towards the beach, where sadly the clouds have begun to roll in, as per the forecast so its a quick paddle but no swim, before we decide to carry on to Rimini...
Much to Ali and Hazel's consternation, any form of open accomodation seems few and far between. (Up until this point I have found myself struggling to explain the concept of summer season in Italy - come mid-september, everything, hotels and beaches included, closes up for the winter regardless fof how warm it continues to be. This is of course less prevalent in the larger cities, where a few hotels will stay open year round, and in southern Italy where the warm climate allows a longer summer season.)
Finding our way back to the coast road we arrive a little ragged around the edges, and I pop in to our favourite city destination, tourist info where we are treated to a booking in a near-seafront hotel, for just €65!! Bargain!!
Bikes locked safely under the verandah under the watchful eye of the resident parrot, we enjoy a delightful dinner of fresh salad with smoked salmon, mozzarella and fresh foccacia...delicious! Plans for gelato are scrapped with the increasing sound of raindrops, not to mention my increasing desire to get to sleep earlier and earlier.... On this particluar occasion, I'm pretty sure I was sound asleep on my chaise lounge well-before lights out!!!
Bright and early start, we're on the road by 7:30am, much to the surprise of both ourselves and a bleary-eyed Simone, who insists on making our morning coffee before we set off!!! Following detailed instructions from Simone, I manage to negotiate our way out of the city in next to no time, and we're flying along the SS9 into the rising sun...Straight, straight, straight road....what more could we ask for?!?!
Stopping for coffee number two 30km in, there's little slowing us apart from the odd roadworks and traffic accident. We pass through Imola (home of Formula One) to Hazel's excitement but don't notice anything of interest. Roadside picnic, happy horns are honking at us, and the Italians have plenty of smiles to spare. We pause again in Cesena, where the Bologna boys have advised that we can't continue along the lovely SS9 as it somehow attains motorway status... We head into the countryside and weave towards the beach, where sadly the clouds have begun to roll in, as per the forecast so its a quick paddle but no swim, before we decide to carry on to Rimini...
Finding our way back to the coast road we arrive a little ragged around the edges, and I pop in to our favourite city destination, tourist info where we are treated to a booking in a near-seafront hotel, for just €65!! Bargain!!
Bikes locked safely under the verandah under the watchful eye of the resident parrot, we enjoy a delightful dinner of fresh salad with smoked salmon, mozzarella and fresh foccacia...delicious! Plans for gelato are scrapped with the increasing sound of raindrops, not to mention my increasing desire to get to sleep earlier and earlier.... On this particluar occasion, I'm pretty sure I was sound asleep on my chaise lounge well-before lights out!!!
Thursday 23 September 2010
Day 64 - Thursday 23rd September - Rest Day Bologna Hazel
We have the full day off at Simone's in Bologna so Phil can catch up. Lie in, chocolate breakfast (coco pops, nesquick, and nutella on "toast" in true Italien style. Double Gelato. Dinner in the English empire pub (free all you can eat!?).
Day 63 - Wednesday 22nd September - Verona to Bologna by Alice
141km covered in 6hr11
average speed 22.7kmph
max 39.7kmph
odometer reads 5021km
Flat, flat, flat is the word of the day. And fortunately we are referring to terrain rather than tyres. The day passes much without incident as we roll in true smooth peloton formation from town to town on smooth Italian country roads, empty save for numerous tractors and peculiar three wheeled harvesting machines. The constant and steady progress is enjoyed by all and its a relief to be achieving big distances again, with not a mountain in sight. In fact there is nothing whatsoever on the horizon, this is quite possibly the flattest place I have ever been. On consulting the trusty Italia road map we learn that the whole area is in fact completly flat, and the only change in altitude is an area next to the coast which is actually a depression, and lies a little below sea level! Its all quite a change from the mountains we have grown to love. As we roll into the outskirts of Bologna however, things start to get a little busier. As we head towards a city ringroad we stop to consult our map. Of course, this being us, we are soon being questioned by a slow moving passing car as to our intended direction. He has time to shout a quick straight on before the traffic moves on again. Of course, the traffic comes to a stop once more and as we undertake the line of stationary traffic we meet this new spirit guide once more. The guy has parked up on the side of the road, and as we approach he sprints across the heavy (and fast moving) traffic on the other side of the road to direct us off onto a side road! He is quite insistent so with his assistance we make our way across the busy ring road, in between cars, and meet him on the otherside of the road. He gives extensive directions to fluent Philippa as Hazel and I smile blankly. We follow his directions which we soon discover are obviously more suited to lightweight mountain bikes than heavily loaded tourers. We end up dismantling panniers to carry bikes down and up two long narrow flights of stairs under a railway and then end up on a "cycle path" along a "canal" which the spirit guide insisted was "bella" and would take us straight into town. Unfortunately for us the path consists of cobbled steep bridges, boulders disguised under meadows and narrow steep embankments. Oh and more flights of stairs! Many people are delighted to see us, but unfortunately nobody seems to wish to carry our bikes up and down stairs for us! Darkness falls but the spokey dokeys do their job as we weave our way now through packed city streets. This is how we imagined cycling in Italy. Mopeds everywhere, no indication and tooting abounds. With Colby Compass at the lead however we negotiate closed roads, and streets crowded with football fans to eventually arrive at the doorstep of her friend Simone who is kindly hosting us. We eat some delicious Pakistani pizza (when in Bologna, do as the Bolognesians do) and retire to our beds, absolutely exhausted by sunshine!
average speed 22.7kmph
max 39.7kmph
odometer reads 5021km
Flat, flat, flat is the word of the day. And fortunately we are referring to terrain rather than tyres. The day passes much without incident as we roll in true smooth peloton formation from town to town on smooth Italian country roads, empty save for numerous tractors and peculiar three wheeled harvesting machines. The constant and steady progress is enjoyed by all and its a relief to be achieving big distances again, with not a mountain in sight. In fact there is nothing whatsoever on the horizon, this is quite possibly the flattest place I have ever been. On consulting the trusty Italia road map we learn that the whole area is in fact completly flat, and the only change in altitude is an area next to the coast which is actually a depression, and lies a little below sea level! Its all quite a change from the mountains we have grown to love. As we roll into the outskirts of Bologna however, things start to get a little busier. As we head towards a city ringroad we stop to consult our map. Of course, this being us, we are soon being questioned by a slow moving passing car as to our intended direction. He has time to shout a quick straight on before the traffic moves on again. Of course, the traffic comes to a stop once more and as we undertake the line of stationary traffic we meet this new spirit guide once more. The guy has parked up on the side of the road, and as we approach he sprints across the heavy (and fast moving) traffic on the other side of the road to direct us off onto a side road! He is quite insistent so with his assistance we make our way across the busy ring road, in between cars, and meet him on the otherside of the road. He gives extensive directions to fluent Philippa as Hazel and I smile blankly. We follow his directions which we soon discover are obviously more suited to lightweight mountain bikes than heavily loaded tourers. We end up dismantling panniers to carry bikes down and up two long narrow flights of stairs under a railway and then end up on a "cycle path" along a "canal" which the spirit guide insisted was "bella" and would take us straight into town. Unfortunately for us the path consists of cobbled steep bridges, boulders disguised under meadows and narrow steep embankments. Oh and more flights of stairs! Many people are delighted to see us, but unfortunately nobody seems to wish to carry our bikes up and down stairs for us! Darkness falls but the spokey dokeys do their job as we weave our way now through packed city streets. This is how we imagined cycling in Italy. Mopeds everywhere, no indication and tooting abounds. With Colby Compass at the lead however we negotiate closed roads, and streets crowded with football fans to eventually arrive at the doorstep of her friend Simone who is kindly hosting us. We eat some delicious Pakistani pizza (when in Bologna, do as the Bolognesians do) and retire to our beds, absolutely exhausted by sunshine!
Day 62 - Tuesday 21st September, Trento-Verona, Phil
103km covered in 4hr28
average speed 23kmph
max speed 55kmph
odometer reads 4880km
We arise for the usual breakfast and bakery action pre-departure. Our excitement on seeing a swarm of cycle tourists congregate in the square below our window, and consequently evacuate, could not be adequately captured on film....
We re-join the river path, and enjoy a delightful day of cycling in the sunshine. Points of note include:
- Race with peloton of road cyclists, obviously impressed with our ability to keep up with them at 35kmph;
- Stop at 'Bicigrill', especially designed rest stop for cyclists on the Adige cycle path;
- Helmet-cam, fixed insecurely into position atop Ali's helmet with a bunch of cable ties in a very artistic manner, yet somehow not drawing as many looks as low-cut cycling tops.... go figure...
-Picnic in a vineyard, where we enjoy pizza, as well as our customary rolls, with the bonus attraction of a excessively tanned, Italian cyclist in his 60's, clad solely in cycling knicks (obviously still working on the tan), who paused at our picnic stop to say a quick prayer...
- Coke stop on the road to Verona, where we're informed of yet another bike path that will take us into the city centre, which inevitably takes us up the only mountain that remains in the region, but is nevertheless the lovely smooth tarmac we enjoy;
-Relatively painless arrival in city centre, despite lack of map, with assistance from local very elderly gentlemen, who I enjoy stopping to ask for directions at regular intervals;
-Hotel round the corner from l'Arena, with lovely receptionist who couldn't be more helpful, we enjoy (?!) some pre-dinner blogging, bikes safely in the computer room, we head to bed after thermos coffee and biscuits.
average speed 23kmph
max speed 55kmph
odometer reads 4880km
We arise for the usual breakfast and bakery action pre-departure. Our excitement on seeing a swarm of cycle tourists congregate in the square below our window, and consequently evacuate, could not be adequately captured on film....
We re-join the river path, and enjoy a delightful day of cycling in the sunshine. Points of note include:
- Race with peloton of road cyclists, obviously impressed with our ability to keep up with them at 35kmph;
- Stop at 'Bicigrill', especially designed rest stop for cyclists on the Adige cycle path;
- Helmet-cam, fixed insecurely into position atop Ali's helmet with a bunch of cable ties in a very artistic manner, yet somehow not drawing as many looks as low-cut cycling tops.... go figure...
-Picnic in a vineyard, where we enjoy pizza, as well as our customary rolls, with the bonus attraction of a excessively tanned, Italian cyclist in his 60's, clad solely in cycling knicks (obviously still working on the tan), who paused at our picnic stop to say a quick prayer...
- Coke stop on the road to Verona, where we're informed of yet another bike path that will take us into the city centre, which inevitably takes us up the only mountain that remains in the region, but is nevertheless the lovely smooth tarmac we enjoy;
-Relatively painless arrival in city centre, despite lack of map, with assistance from local very elderly gentlemen, who I enjoy stopping to ask for directions at regular intervals;
-Hotel round the corner from l'Arena, with lovely receptionist who couldn't be more helpful, we enjoy (?!) some pre-dinner blogging, bikes safely in the computer room, we head to bed after thermos coffee and biscuits.
Day 61 Bolzano to Trento, Monday 20th September. Hazel
69.09km
2:58hours
average 23.1kmph max 38.8kmph
Odometer reads 4777.3km
Where did we wake up? Ah yes the four star hotel.
Breakfast features strudel- I'm terribly excited as I'd been hoping for this since arriving in Germany! But sadly I can't give it my full attention as I have to blog. Whilst I'm tapping away on the computer, recreating a day some days ago, Phillippa flirts with the old men waiters. Much chest puffing out and looks over shoulders but no special favours in coffee or cake unforutnately.
The bikes are released from their conference bedroom, and out under Mr Sunshine we impress ourselves no end by fixing Alice's front derailer. Having spent sometime at breakfast, blogging and now bike maintanance the day is already well into it's midday heat, therefore plans are already made only to get to Trento not Verona as I had hoped (But 200kmish for a midday start is ambitous even for me).
So we continue down Italy's remarkably good cycling network. We whizz along with bravo calls as we zoom. The sun is shinning, the mountains have a blurred dazzle in the UV haze, the orchards are scrumped and it's everything I imagined cycle touring would be. It is flat as a pancake and naturally there are cycle tourists aplenty (Phillipa's terrorising bell ringing overtaking begins again). There are also an extraordinary number of middle aged men in lycra on ridiculously expensive feather light racing bikes traveling some kmph slower than us. Unlike in London when overtaking an "all the gear" would be followed by a desperate huffing and puffing effort from them the Italien's are quite content to be overtaking by regazze.
The flat is also some relief for me after my rather disorientating day of fast descent yesterday when I wasn't sure if I was in fact going up or downhill. This was some variation on normal where much to the girls amusement/annoyance I find it very difficult to discern bewteen incline and flat.
The journey into Trento isn't without hitches as we loose the bike path and find ourseleves in an industrial estate near the motorway. Double back, unable to relocate bike path we nip onto the dual carriage way into town and ecco we are at tourist info. Booked into a two star right on the town square with magnificent views (but no lift, which seems the only factor in differentiating between stars).
Gelato, expresso, pizza. buona notte.
2:58hours
average 23.1kmph max 38.8kmph
Odometer reads 4777.3km
Where did we wake up? Ah yes the four star hotel.
Breakfast features strudel- I'm terribly excited as I'd been hoping for this since arriving in Germany! But sadly I can't give it my full attention as I have to blog. Whilst I'm tapping away on the computer, recreating a day some days ago, Phillippa flirts with the old men waiters. Much chest puffing out and looks over shoulders but no special favours in coffee or cake unforutnately.
The bikes are released from their conference bedroom, and out under Mr Sunshine we impress ourselves no end by fixing Alice's front derailer. Having spent sometime at breakfast, blogging and now bike maintanance the day is already well into it's midday heat, therefore plans are already made only to get to Trento not Verona as I had hoped (But 200kmish for a midday start is ambitous even for me).
So we continue down Italy's remarkably good cycling network. We whizz along with bravo calls as we zoom. The sun is shinning, the mountains have a blurred dazzle in the UV haze, the orchards are scrumped and it's everything I imagined cycle touring would be. It is flat as a pancake and naturally there are cycle tourists aplenty (Phillipa's terrorising bell ringing overtaking begins again). There are also an extraordinary number of middle aged men in lycra on ridiculously expensive feather light racing bikes traveling some kmph slower than us. Unlike in London when overtaking an "all the gear" would be followed by a desperate huffing and puffing effort from them the Italien's are quite content to be overtaking by regazze.
The flat is also some relief for me after my rather disorientating day of fast descent yesterday when I wasn't sure if I was in fact going up or downhill. This was some variation on normal where much to the girls amusement/annoyance I find it very difficult to discern bewteen incline and flat.
The journey into Trento isn't without hitches as we loose the bike path and find ourseleves in an industrial estate near the motorway. Double back, unable to relocate bike path we nip onto the dual carriage way into town and ecco we are at tourist info. Booked into a two star right on the town square with magnificent views (but no lift, which seems the only factor in differentiating between stars).
Gelato, expresso, pizza. buona notte.
Day 60- Sunday 19th September - Brennero to Bolzano by Alice
93km in 3hr17
average 28.2kmph
maximum 55.5kmph
odometer reads 4708km
There is a definite nip in the air as we awake at the top of a mountain range, one foot in Italy, one foot in Austria. The temperature is hovering around 5 degrees celsius and we are fully ensconced in thermals and windproofs, hopeful of a long fast descent into Italia aproper. Despite the Germanic language of this area of Italy (Ein Tirol!), breakfast or colazione is definitely Italian. The coffee is superb, by far the best in Europe, but food option is minimal and small! After cleat adjustments on my delightfully yellow new cycling shoes, we depart this peculiar town of two countries and multiple discount outlet shopping centres. I would like to point out at this point that my original cycling shoes were from Lidl in Tooting and cost just £16, yet they lasted a good 4700 km and could have gone longer if they were not unbearably smelling of cat piss. It just goes to show, you dont need expensive kit to cycle across Europe!
We set off on the only road out of town (apart from the motorway which we decide not to attempt) and to our delight we find a newly built cycle path running alongside in beautiful black tarmac with sparkly white lines. A pleasant surprise, and we are cruising in style, barely pedalling, brakes ascreeching down the mountain. Of course, this being a cycle path, before long its taking a detour round the mountain and down into a village in the valley. We have cycled a few extra km but enjoyed the descent all the same.
We stop, and realise we have cycled through about three seasons in 45 minutes. Its now glorious sunshine and around 20 degrees! Off come the thermals and out with the shorts and tee shirts, its alpine tan time! Before long my nose is as rosy as a tomato and we stop for more coffee in Vipiteno, delighted with swift progress today. I feel almost guilty cruising downhill, but I figure we deserve a break after all the ascending for the last week. We switch on and off road for a while, before attempting to be well behaved and follow the official bike path to Bolzano. Off we swoop and onto a wooden bridge over the main road. Unfortunately, the cycle bridge has not been designed for cyclists of our speed, and as she ascends the ramp with much force, Hazel manages to discard of all her panniers off the bike. We peek around the corner and note the bike path has decided to take a detour up a mountainside (classic). We decide to return to the flat road, but first unhelpfully decided to eat our lunch on the narrow bridge as other cyclists squeeze past, apparantly looking to enjoy an unneccessary 15% climb uphill. One chap with light panniers on a mountain bike gives a smile and cranks up his pace, obviously looking to impress.
After a fairly long break we return to the road, and fly along, enjoying the straight and flat for once. Before long we find ourselves caught up with the aforementioned mountain bike chap, who obviously has taken the long way round on the bike path.We find his pace a little slow, so Colby begins to pull out in order for our peloton to overtake him. As it is a busy road, she calls out that she is passing him, so he knows. He looks at us as we begin to roll past, turns back then does a double take, as if he cant believe he is being overtaken by three glamourous (ahem) young ladies. Unfortunately at this point his back wheel falls off the tarmac and for a terrible minute it looks like he is toppling over as we pass. Gratefully his mountain bike knobblies can cope with the off roading and he rights himself, we cruise past with apologies and stifled chuckles.
We stop for more refreshments as Hazel is starting to feel a little faint, most probably from a lack of water and change in season from winter to summer! We find a nice bike path along the river (no mountain detours this time) and follow it all the way into Bolzano, through various tunnels and past a great many other Sunday cyclists. It really is a cycle superhighway, quite a surprise as we really hadnt expected Italy to provide such traffic free facilities. Despite feeling flaky, Hazel insists we keep up our superfast daily average speed (approx 17mph) and we fly straight into central Bolzano. We check ourselves into a Best Western as it is the first place we find, and it appears Hazel is not up for a long trawl around town. Delightfully as it is a well appointed Hotel, we are given a whole conference room in which to store our bikes, and also a bath! (For us, not the bikes) After a red blood cell boosting steak we retire to bed and sleep soundly.
average 28.2kmph
maximum 55.5kmph
odometer reads 4708km
There is a definite nip in the air as we awake at the top of a mountain range, one foot in Italy, one foot in Austria. The temperature is hovering around 5 degrees celsius and we are fully ensconced in thermals and windproofs, hopeful of a long fast descent into Italia aproper. Despite the Germanic language of this area of Italy (Ein Tirol!), breakfast or colazione is definitely Italian. The coffee is superb, by far the best in Europe, but food option is minimal and small! After cleat adjustments on my delightfully yellow new cycling shoes, we depart this peculiar town of two countries and multiple discount outlet shopping centres. I would like to point out at this point that my original cycling shoes were from Lidl in Tooting and cost just £16, yet they lasted a good 4700 km and could have gone longer if they were not unbearably smelling of cat piss. It just goes to show, you dont need expensive kit to cycle across Europe!
We set off on the only road out of town (apart from the motorway which we decide not to attempt) and to our delight we find a newly built cycle path running alongside in beautiful black tarmac with sparkly white lines. A pleasant surprise, and we are cruising in style, barely pedalling, brakes ascreeching down the mountain. Of course, this being a cycle path, before long its taking a detour round the mountain and down into a village in the valley. We have cycled a few extra km but enjoyed the descent all the same.
Wednesday 22 September 2010
Day 59, Sat 18th Sept, Watten to Brennero, Phil
62km covered in 3hr20
Average speed 18kmph
max speed 50kmph
odometer reads 4615km
Average speed 18kmph
max speed 50kmph
odometer reads 4615km
Arising early in anticipation of the big day ahead, we realise breakfast is starting late as its saturday... Not to worry, we take a spin into town and pick up our daily bread and catch a bit more BBC world news, before a basic breakfast. Much confusion with language, as the cleaner tries to tell us she doesn't speak German, and the key to the storage room where our beloved bikes have been locked away seems to be missing... A few phone calls and winks from the elderly gentleman who seems to be in charge and we're on the road again, with our usual plan to cut off a few kms with little shortcut...
Finding ourselves at a dead end with the only other option to start climbing mountains again, we retreat to the safety of the Inn river and head into Innsbruck, where we treat ourselves to a bakery stop before the real climbing begins. And what a climb it is, 200m in a matter of kms, we head out of the city to the sound of air raid sirens heralding our departure...or perhaps warning what was to come....
But strangely, although the climb is constant for some 20km, it doesn't compare to Krimml and the haripin turns. Other cyclists and motorists seem astounded that we are attempting this route - finally, Alice is rewarded with clapping and a photo from an elderly Italian gentleman as we huff and puff our way past his parked car, wheels spinning furiously. The breaks are plentiful and whilst we're all feeling the cold as we head south into the Alps, the cycling is enjoyable and we're maintaining a reasonable pace.
A sudden steep ascent looms ahead but we're buoyed by the prospect that the border must be somewhere soon... and indeed it is, much to our surprise as we pop out from under the motorway into the little town of Brennero. WE've made it to Italy!!! Or at least we think we have, being somewhat confused as to the mix of Italian and German that greets us in every locale. However, all thoughts of the border are swept from our minds when we chance upon a bike shop on the edge of town... Going in 'for a look', we return to our bikes with excited smiles and slightly lighter purses, Hazel in possession of a racy red long sleeve jersey, and Ali having finally found a suitable pair of replacement cycling shoes (sadly, this does mean that the fashion shoot that was to involve the full Lidl outfit can no longer take place).
We cycle on through town in the drizzling rain, all cold now that we've slowed down after our ascent and only wanting a dry place to put ourselves. We almost cycle out of town and its a quick about turn, when thankfully we chance upon the Hotel Olimpia. The lovely hostess speaks Italian, and its a relief to be able to finally speak to someone and get ourselves sorted without requiring the use of excessive gesturing (apart from the ones I use all the time when speaking Italian). Dry clothes and a quick coffee stop and we head back into the rain to find out what it is that brings people to Brennero...the answer of course, is outlet shopping!!! A hop, skip and a jump and we're into the Designer Outlet shopping mall, where Ali proceeds to purchase her SECOND pair of shoes for the day (about time really as she's been wearing flip flops in 5°C), and Hazel also decided its time to invest in new pair of sneakers as her current pair are letting water in through the soles... I watch on in amusement as the two of them proceed to put on new, and discard old shoes before heading back out into the rain to the hotel, all of 50m away!
We dine in the lovely restaurant downstairs, where I'm delighting in speaking Italian with the various women behind the counter, although I'm becoming more and more confused by the 'Tirolese', who seem to be neither Italian or Austrian and speak an odd dialect involving both languages and possibly Catalunyan as well...
We are seated next to an Australian couple from Melbourne- he disappears into his crossword, whilst I am regaled by travel stories (and unneccessary personal details) by the septogenarian who Ali rather accurately likens to Dame Edna. Much to the amusement of the girls, she refuses to talk to them apparently for fear of misunderstanding, and continues to ask for 'the Australian girl'... Unfortunately our hosts get a little involved in their entertaining and we go without tiramisù much to our dismay, but all is not lost, as we have a few leftover bread rolls, chocolate and biscuits to tide us over until morning!
Tuesday 21 September 2010
Day 58 Friday 17th September - Krimml to Watten by Hazel
89.9km in 4hr 26
average 20.2kmph
max speed 49.7kmph
odometer reads 4552.6
We begin our climb up to Gerlos pass after a happily portion controlled breakfast. The sun isn't yet properly up to peek over into our perch at Krimml. The road winds around looping over, then double bends, wiggle waggles and hairpins up the mountain. Blue plaques adorn bridges and cliff cut ins updating us of our metres above sea level. At some 1300m altitude we are enveloped in cloud and the view of Krimml fades. The mist clings, our breath fogs, and still the road climbs. Eventually we reach 1526m up and stop to marvel at the krimml vasserfall vantage point, which we believe should be about the height of the pass having consulted our Europe road atlas earlier.
This morning we are only afforded a view of the tree tops below us. Pressing on and upward, still it winds up the mountain at 14% proudly proclaimed. At last the top, the toll, the toilets and only 1630m. Merinos sodden through are stripped and dry thermals on. Thermos coffee and cake from our sheltered bench. Discussions of how many layers required for our decent continue ling enough for the rain to stop and the sun sneak through the clouds.
Scream past the toll, no payment required, and down to the actually pass at 1500odd. Down we swoop off to Zell am Zimmer(500m odd altitude) we zig zag down getting stuck behind a chain of cars behind a tractor. We swing off to breathe in the view and wait for some clear road only to run into a land train limited to 10kmph. Thankfully the our screeching brakes echoing in the tourist ears was worth them pulling in for us to overtake!
Coffee, multiple strudels then hit the flat up the valley along a bicycle path, racing past the "opposition" cycle tourists.
But Mr sunshine is not feeling up to the job today and so the heavens open. A brief shelter under a willow to eat a chilli (leftovers from Alice and Hazel Catering) roll clealry gives little reprieve as we stop soon after under a road bridge for more food.
Then round into the next valley swinging east to Innsbrook. After much map disection the previous night the girls have opted for a moderated route to Brenner which will avoid us getting lost in the great city of Innsbrook.
So we find ourselves in Watten, home to a very large Swarovski building and what the tourist board proclaims as crystal waters spewing forth from a giant topiaried female face. A little unnerved by her we choose to cycle away from her in hope of a town centre. Endless turns down residential streets, crossing and recrossing junctions. But fianlly tourist info, a Gasthaus booked. Then pasta and now bed, Italia tomorrow.
average 20.2kmph
max speed 49.7kmph
odometer reads 4552.6
We begin our climb up to Gerlos pass after a happily portion controlled breakfast. The sun isn't yet properly up to peek over into our perch at Krimml. The road winds around looping over, then double bends, wiggle waggles and hairpins up the mountain. Blue plaques adorn bridges and cliff cut ins updating us of our metres above sea level. At some 1300m altitude we are enveloped in cloud and the view of Krimml fades. The mist clings, our breath fogs, and still the road climbs. Eventually we reach 1526m up and stop to marvel at the krimml vasserfall vantage point, which we believe should be about the height of the pass having consulted our Europe road atlas earlier.
Scream past the toll, no payment required, and down to the actually pass at 1500odd. Down we swoop off to Zell am Zimmer(500m odd altitude) we zig zag down getting stuck behind a chain of cars behind a tractor. We swing off to breathe in the view and wait for some clear road only to run into a land train limited to 10kmph. Thankfully the our screeching brakes echoing in the tourist ears was worth them pulling in for us to overtake!
Coffee, multiple strudels then hit the flat up the valley along a bicycle path, racing past the "opposition" cycle tourists.
But Mr sunshine is not feeling up to the job today and so the heavens open. A brief shelter under a willow to eat a chilli (leftovers from Alice and Hazel Catering) roll clealry gives little reprieve as we stop soon after under a road bridge for more food.
Then round into the next valley swinging east to Innsbrook. After much map disection the previous night the girls have opted for a moderated route to Brenner which will avoid us getting lost in the great city of Innsbrook.
So we find ourselves in Watten, home to a very large Swarovski building and what the tourist board proclaims as crystal waters spewing forth from a giant topiaried female face. A little unnerved by her we choose to cycle away from her in hope of a town centre. Endless turns down residential streets, crossing and recrossing junctions. But fianlly tourist info, a Gasthaus booked. Then pasta and now bed, Italia tomorrow.
Day 57 Thursday 16th September - St Johann to Krimml by Alice
99.3km covered in 4hr35
average speed 21.6kmph
odometer reads 4462km
After the disappointing progress of the past few days, we are up with the larks (or suitable alpine wildlife equivalent, marmot perhaps?) and raring to get a good days climbing under our (ever tightening) belts. Unfortunately for us the blue skies and bright sun have disappeared completely, to be replaced by rains of biblical proportions. Still, its not snow, so we set off, skins cloaked in all manner of once waterproof items. On the path along the Salzach we bump, the sound of rain on dirt ground punctuated only by our frequent hollers of POZOR! (Czech for Danger!) as we avoid various potholes, slippery wooden bridges and tight mountain corners. Its not long before we abandon bike path and hit the trusted road once more, avoiding unneccesary 15% climbs to visit random (and lovely Im sure) alpine churches that seem to be the standard waypoints for international long distance bike trails. As we are on the road, we do encounter a number of dark and slippery tunnels through the mountain, which we are not entirely sure we are allowed in, but the spokey dokeys are flashing away and the motorised vehicle drivers behave themselves, crawling along behind us without so much as a toot.
In one of the many towns we encounter, we stop to consult our map, wondering whether to stay with the tarmac tongue or the safety of the circuitous cycle path. Of course, this being Austria, as soon as the map has been unsheathed from his waterproof case, a man has crossed two lanes of traffic and stopped his car on the side of the road in order to offer us directions in German, whilst we try to explain where we intend to go, in English. He helpfully directs us to the correct road to Kaprun, but wait! Whats this? Two more spirit guides have arrived. Having heard the gentleman direct us onto the road, they are insistent that their directions are superior, and I ascertain from the lady (using hand gestures) that there is a lovely superflat bike path through the fields for us to follow. We leave the three to discuss the merits of their different routes (navigating seems to be the Austrian national sport) and we speed off on the bicycle path. Spirit guides were correct, its superflat, smooth and fast! Before we know it we have covered another 40km through the river valley, mountains high above us on either side, even the road is having to climb a little, but not us!
We seat ourselves outside a huge Spar supermarket and eat our leftover lentils from last nights dinner, Hazel and I commenting that our Mums would be most proud. Its at this point I realise I have actually turned into my parents, Ive just replaced rambling with cycling. Hazel does in fact keep commenting upon my manner of innapropriate jokes which is making me resemble my father more each day. We hit the road once more, and after 30km we arrive at our penultimate town of Neukirchen. We have been climbing gradually all day and are at 800m above sea level. Alas over the next 5km or so we must ascend a further 300m to the 1100m altitude of delightful Krimml. We decide therefore to stop for a coffee and toilet break, as Philippa has not been able to locate a suitable wilderness spot for her ablutions. As we stop on a street corner, another delightful gentleman on a bicycle starts talking to me in German (its always me they talk to, its my healthy Austrian demeanour they are drawn too). I have no idea what he is asking me but I inform him I seek a cafe. Not content with giving directions, this chap decides to lead us to his favourite. Wobbling precariously on his ancient steed, I try very hard not to crash into the back of him as we proceed downhill at approx 2mph. After cappucinos we are on our way, and begin our ascent. Controversially, we decide to opt for the offroad bike path rather than the road for our final climb, as it leads us straight to the Krimml Wasserfall (waterfall). Soon enough we realise our mistake as we attempt to crawl up a 15% hill over boulders and streams. Hazels unbalanced bike, with unladen front wheel, starts bucking, and rearing his head in the air, as she tries to keep both wheels on the ground and drag her ten tonne back wheel up the mountain. After 6km, and gasps of wonderment from unladen cyclists who have resorted to walking up, we are level with the town, and still no sign of the waterfall. The track is growing steeper and steeper and so we abandon bikes, and go to look around the next corner for the elusive Wasserfall. We spot him, far off, perhaps another 10km up the mountain, and decide that perhaps, a challenging mountain bike trail is not for three fully loaded tourers. About turn and in a jiffy we are in the tiny town of Krimml. Views are delightful, folk are friendly and we find accommodation in the home of the Gruber family, a charming elderly Austrian couple with whom we have a complete inability to communicate. We do our usual trick of smiling a lot whilst they yatter on in German, and when she realises we havent a clue what shes saying, Frau Gruber is endlessly amused. Chuckling away as she leads us through to our room in her check dress and pinny, she is without doubt, my favourite person of the tour so far. I throw in some laughs and we continue in this delightful manner, all of us speaking in our own language and chortling on at our own jokes. The room and mountain view are beautiful, I really am struggling to take in the Alps, impossible to photograph, or indeed describe, this is like nowhere I have been before, and traversing it by bicycle makes me feel a connection to the terrain I have not known before. We are at 1076m above sea level, and we have cycled here from the North Cape of Norway. Nearly 3000 miles across lands, powered only by our own bodies. I am struggling to comprehend what is actually happening but I am immensely proud and feeling altitudinally elated.
average speed 21.6kmph
odometer reads 4462km
After the disappointing progress of the past few days, we are up with the larks (or suitable alpine wildlife equivalent, marmot perhaps?) and raring to get a good days climbing under our (ever tightening) belts. Unfortunately for us the blue skies and bright sun have disappeared completely, to be replaced by rains of biblical proportions. Still, its not snow, so we set off, skins cloaked in all manner of once waterproof items. On the path along the Salzach we bump, the sound of rain on dirt ground punctuated only by our frequent hollers of POZOR! (Czech for Danger!) as we avoid various potholes, slippery wooden bridges and tight mountain corners. Its not long before we abandon bike path and hit the trusted road once more, avoiding unneccesary 15% climbs to visit random (and lovely Im sure) alpine churches that seem to be the standard waypoints for international long distance bike trails. As we are on the road, we do encounter a number of dark and slippery tunnels through the mountain, which we are not entirely sure we are allowed in, but the spokey dokeys are flashing away and the motorised vehicle drivers behave themselves, crawling along behind us without so much as a toot.
In one of the many towns we encounter, we stop to consult our map, wondering whether to stay with the tarmac tongue or the safety of the circuitous cycle path. Of course, this being Austria, as soon as the map has been unsheathed from his waterproof case, a man has crossed two lanes of traffic and stopped his car on the side of the road in order to offer us directions in German, whilst we try to explain where we intend to go, in English. He helpfully directs us to the correct road to Kaprun, but wait! Whats this? Two more spirit guides have arrived. Having heard the gentleman direct us onto the road, they are insistent that their directions are superior, and I ascertain from the lady (using hand gestures) that there is a lovely superflat bike path through the fields for us to follow. We leave the three to discuss the merits of their different routes (navigating seems to be the Austrian national sport) and we speed off on the bicycle path. Spirit guides were correct, its superflat, smooth and fast! Before we know it we have covered another 40km through the river valley, mountains high above us on either side, even the road is having to climb a little, but not us!
We seat ourselves outside a huge Spar supermarket and eat our leftover lentils from last nights dinner, Hazel and I commenting that our Mums would be most proud. Its at this point I realise I have actually turned into my parents, Ive just replaced rambling with cycling. Hazel does in fact keep commenting upon my manner of innapropriate jokes which is making me resemble my father more each day. We hit the road once more, and after 30km we arrive at our penultimate town of Neukirchen. We have been climbing gradually all day and are at 800m above sea level. Alas over the next 5km or so we must ascend a further 300m to the 1100m altitude of delightful Krimml. We decide therefore to stop for a coffee and toilet break, as Philippa has not been able to locate a suitable wilderness spot for her ablutions. As we stop on a street corner, another delightful gentleman on a bicycle starts talking to me in German (its always me they talk to, its my healthy Austrian demeanour they are drawn too). I have no idea what he is asking me but I inform him I seek a cafe. Not content with giving directions, this chap decides to lead us to his favourite. Wobbling precariously on his ancient steed, I try very hard not to crash into the back of him as we proceed downhill at approx 2mph. After cappucinos we are on our way, and begin our ascent. Controversially, we decide to opt for the offroad bike path rather than the road for our final climb, as it leads us straight to the Krimml Wasserfall (waterfall). Soon enough we realise our mistake as we attempt to crawl up a 15% hill over boulders and streams. Hazels unbalanced bike, with unladen front wheel, starts bucking, and rearing his head in the air, as she tries to keep both wheels on the ground and drag her ten tonne back wheel up the mountain. After 6km, and gasps of wonderment from unladen cyclists who have resorted to walking up, we are level with the town, and still no sign of the waterfall. The track is growing steeper and steeper and so we abandon bikes, and go to look around the next corner for the elusive Wasserfall. We spot him, far off, perhaps another 10km up the mountain, and decide that perhaps, a challenging mountain bike trail is not for three fully loaded tourers. About turn and in a jiffy we are in the tiny town of Krimml. Views are delightful, folk are friendly and we find accommodation in the home of the Gruber family, a charming elderly Austrian couple with whom we have a complete inability to communicate. We do our usual trick of smiling a lot whilst they yatter on in German, and when she realises we havent a clue what shes saying, Frau Gruber is endlessly amused. Chuckling away as she leads us through to our room in her check dress and pinny, she is without doubt, my favourite person of the tour so far. I throw in some laughs and we continue in this delightful manner, all of us speaking in our own language and chortling on at our own jokes. The room and mountain view are beautiful, I really am struggling to take in the Alps, impossible to photograph, or indeed describe, this is like nowhere I have been before, and traversing it by bicycle makes me feel a connection to the terrain I have not known before. We are at 1076m above sea level, and we have cycled here from the North Cape of Norway. Nearly 3000 miles across lands, powered only by our own bodies. I am struggling to comprehend what is actually happening but I am immensely proud and feeling altitudinally elated.
Day 56 - Wed, Bischofschen to St Johan, Phil
10km covered in 45min
Tarmac cycle path along river, acsent into St Johann, descent to Pensione.
After another lovely portion controlled breakfast, we are slightly at loose ends as we await the bikes to be restored to suitable touring conditions. Unfortunately this state of affairs doesn't agree with my need to either be physically active or asleep, and assume the space cadet role, blindly following Ali and Hazel through the town. We are carrying our panniers (which doesn't do much good for anyone's back as I'm pretty sure they weigh close to 35kg and aren't particularly easy to transport when not attached to bicycles), and luckily the lovely girls in tourist information are more than happy for us to leave bags with them for the morning. Panniers deposited with relief, we have a quick coffee then head up the hillside to check out the world's biggest summer ski jump. I'm lagging significantly at this point and the girls are starting to worry about my ability to walk back to town let alone cycle anywhere. We decide to check on the status of the bikes, which to our surprise have been patched and polished, well before lunchtime!!! We are most impressed with the service and the service, not to mention the possibility of purchasing a sewing machine in the same shop?!?!
Panniers collected, executive decision is made to get out of town, even if we only make it a few km down the road. Deterred by talk of steep inclines ahead as per the TauernRadweg guide, we stop in St Johan rather than having to deal my inability to climb hills. The weather forecast doesn't bode well for camping, so despite Ali's desire to get the tent out again, I'm left tucked up in the pension to read a weird art book/murder mystery Ali acquired in Copenhagen, while the girls go to play frisbee while the sun in still shining.
Hazel cooks up a storm, and we resign ourselves to eating a litre of walnut icecream so that we can use the container to take the leftover chicken and lentil soup for sandwiches tomorrow. The clouds are rolling in, and I tuck myself into bed to the sound of rolling thunder and rain on the windowsill, as Hazel and Ali battle it out for bragging rights at gin rummy...
Monday 20 September 2010
Day 55 Salzburg to Bischofshofen Tuesday 14th September... Hazel
70km
Today there is a mountain range inbetween us and Zell am See. Phillipa learns whilst browsing the coach tour pamphlets over breakfast that this range hosts "The Eagles Nest" aka Hitlers Alpine retreat. The tour leaflets wax lyrical over it's beautiful views and that many of their guests make return journeys, we decide it's not worth a detour and get on the road with intentions to nip back through into Germany before hitting the Zell.
Some 40minutes winding around the Salzburg streets precipitates the desicion that following the river out of Salzburg might be 15km longer but would be much quicker. So about turn and with little effort we're soaring along against the stream up the river path. Now in the Alps we are spoilt with serene clear turquoise rivers and lakes, the Thames must be quite a shock for them...
Thermos Coffee and cake stop at a lake. Comments of shoddy bike route map accurate map depiction with our feet dangling into the lake 90degrees off where diagramatically they should be.
Wheels turn, the Eagles nest soars into the sky and clouds somewhere to our right, no doubt with avid cooing coach tourists at it's peak. My bike has started to make a clinging noise. It's regular and persistant, and not my speedo. Unperturbed we continue. Over our first alpine pass, at Lueg. Through the tunnel the clinging amplifies so we pull over to examine once on the other side....
One of my back wheel spokes is broken, with several of it's neighbours loose and of course the wheel gets heartily stuck on the brake at this point. Carrying no spare spokes we tighten up the loose ones, surgical tape the ill spoke up. Lighten my heavy rear loaden panniers and limp 20km up and down the road to the nearest town where Phil makes friends with the tourist information girls, Ali buys some new shorts, as I stay with the bikes. Then we nip down the road where all the bikes are booked in for a full service (much arm gesticulation in a charades "the whole thing" manner). Our message succesfully conveyed we retreat to our Alpine Pension hosted by a lovely elderly Austrian couple. Limited common language skills. Phillipa is ecstatic with the room's hot plate and cooking utensil provisions and whips up a pasta dream. The little old lady during Colby Citchen anxiously knocks on our door exclaiming "fahrrad!". Reassured with a spanner and screw driver action that they were being fixed and had not been stolen from their garage she breaths a great sigh of relief.
Colby's in bed before 9pm, jubilation.
Today there is a mountain range inbetween us and Zell am See. Phillipa learns whilst browsing the coach tour pamphlets over breakfast that this range hosts "The Eagles Nest" aka Hitlers Alpine retreat. The tour leaflets wax lyrical over it's beautiful views and that many of their guests make return journeys, we decide it's not worth a detour and get on the road with intentions to nip back through into Germany before hitting the Zell.
Some 40minutes winding around the Salzburg streets precipitates the desicion that following the river out of Salzburg might be 15km longer but would be much quicker. So about turn and with little effort we're soaring along against the stream up the river path. Now in the Alps we are spoilt with serene clear turquoise rivers and lakes, the Thames must be quite a shock for them...
Thermos Coffee and cake stop at a lake. Comments of shoddy bike route map accurate map depiction with our feet dangling into the lake 90degrees off where diagramatically they should be.Wheels turn, the Eagles nest soars into the sky and clouds somewhere to our right, no doubt with avid cooing coach tourists at it's peak. My bike has started to make a clinging noise. It's regular and persistant, and not my speedo. Unperturbed we continue. Over our first alpine pass, at Lueg. Through the tunnel the clinging amplifies so we pull over to examine once on the other side....
One of my back wheel spokes is broken, with several of it's neighbours loose and of course the wheel gets heartily stuck on the brake at this point. Carrying no spare spokes we tighten up the loose ones, surgical tape the ill spoke up. Lighten my heavy rear loaden panniers and limp 20km up and down the road to the nearest town where Phil makes friends with the tourist information girls, Ali buys some new shorts, as I stay with the bikes. Then we nip down the road where all the bikes are booked in for a full service (much arm gesticulation in a charades "the whole thing" manner). Our message succesfully conveyed we retreat to our Alpine Pension hosted by a lovely elderly Austrian couple. Limited common language skills. Phillipa is ecstatic with the room's hot plate and cooking utensil provisions and whips up a pasta dream. The little old lady during Colby Citchen anxiously knocks on our door exclaiming "fahrrad!". Reassured with a spanner and screw driver action that they were being fixed and had not been stolen from their garage she breaths a great sigh of relief.
Colby's in bed before 9pm, jubilation. Monday 13 September 2010
Days 53 and 54 - Sunday 12th and Monday 13th September - Salzburg Rest and the Skyspace
It was with eager anticipation that I approached Salzburg, despite the gruellling climbs to get here, as I knew for me, a treat was in store. The mountain side modern art gallery here is home to one of James Turrell´s Skyspace pieces, of which there are only a few in the world. Although there is one in Yorkshire in the UK, I have never really been in the vicinity of its remote forest location, so a quick stop off on the route of my European cycle excursion to see a piece I have been obsessed with for a number of years seemed to good to be true. For those not familiar with the work, the Skyspace series are basically composed of a constructed and perfected `viewing space` into which the visitor can enter and gaze up at a neatly cut aperture in the ceiling, which has been champfered so that there is no visible depth to the edge of the roof. White interior and blue (for arguments sake lets say the sky is blue) meet in a perfect line, so that the eye could not logically tell if the white was in the foreground or the blue. The longer the time you spend looking at the piece, the more the cones and rods of your eyeballs become saturated by the colours and the aperture begins to vibrate and shimmer, almost like a projection upon the ceiling rather then a window through it to the real world outside. A concise exercise in framing, Turrell encourages us to spend time observing both the gradually changing colour of the sky above which we share, and also observing the physiological reactions of our eyes. Seeing the way we see. As you can probably infer from my writing, its something I`ve spent a lot of time reading about, and even watched a video of late night tv documentary about it, which consisted purely of a silent shot of the aperture in a skyspace as it changed from day to night, in real time.
I digress, back to our tale. We have decided to take a day off in Salzburg, partly because we are about to cycle across the Alps, but also because I have to see this piece of work. The day dawns deliciously bright, the sky is azure and the Tauern river a peculiarly bright light turquoise. Its a perfect day for sitting and staring at the sky. I do some pre breakfast research on the internet and manage to deduce that it is at the Museum de Modern up on the mountainside, although it is not mentioned on the Musuems website. I view a fellow Turrell fans` photo of it on Flickr and learn that it is perhaps only open at twilight, which I find strange as it is supposed to be a piece that can be viewed at any time, in order to appreciate how different it is throughout the day. Anyroad, after a leisurely lunch, I pay my euros and ascend to the art gallery in a lazy lift. I have after all, cycled from Norway to see this piece, so I don`t feel too guilty about not climbing the hill today. I´ve already purchased my ticket for the museum at the bottom of the mountain and so head straight to front desk to ascertain the wherabouts of my desired art. The `information` assistant seems not to really know much about the skyspace, but points me out of the gallery into the adjoining park where we find cylindrical stone building, much to my joy. Gearing myself to head inside, I'm surprised to be met by a (slightly smeared) glass door, sans handle. There´s a sign on the door in German, from which I can deduce nothing, and so give the door a hopeful push. It is, of course, locked. I peer again at the Times New Roman script taped onto the door on A4 copier paper, and think that it is referring to a key, perhaps, in the cafe. Unsure by my random deciphering, we return to the information desk. I enquire as to the opening time of the skyspace to which she responds, `Oh, well, it´s only open for 15 minutes, when it gets dark, the time is different every day you know?´
´So it is opened after the gallery has shut for the day?` I respond
`Er, yes, maybe 6.30pm, I don´t know actually maybe 7.30?´
It´s not the most reassuring of guarantees that I will gain access today, but these vagaries are all I´ve got to cling to so I start making my way ever so slowly through all of the galleries in the Musuem, reading every label, watching every video piece through to its conclusion, I´m determined to stay until the close of the gallery and until twilight, when I plan to stand outside the skyspace and wait for the elusive keeper of the keys to let me at the art. By 4.30pm I´m exhausted and retire to the ridiculously overpriced cafe for a reviving coffee. Its nearly 4 pounds a pop, but the panorama of the city is worth the asking price. Recalling the sign on the door from earlier, we decide to quiz the waiter, just in case he should know anything about the opening of the piece.
`Oh yes` he says and my eyes light up
`We have the key here, and the guest can borrow it to go inside`
Music to my ears!
`But the problem is, we´ve lost the key!`
I´m a little incredulous
`Only one key then?` I ask, not sure if he understands I´m not asking to use the toilet, but to see an internationally famous artwork
`No we had two, but then we lost one, and then we borrowed the final one to a guest and he went home with it in his trousers`
Im unsure how to respond, so he smiles and walks off jauntily. . I knew it was just too good to be true.
I digress, back to our tale. We have decided to take a day off in Salzburg, partly because we are about to cycle across the Alps, but also because I have to see this piece of work. The day dawns deliciously bright, the sky is azure and the Tauern river a peculiarly bright light turquoise. Its a perfect day for sitting and staring at the sky. I do some pre breakfast research on the internet and manage to deduce that it is at the Museum de Modern up on the mountainside, although it is not mentioned on the Musuems website. I view a fellow Turrell fans` photo of it on Flickr and learn that it is perhaps only open at twilight, which I find strange as it is supposed to be a piece that can be viewed at any time, in order to appreciate how different it is throughout the day. Anyroad, after a leisurely lunch, I pay my euros and ascend to the art gallery in a lazy lift. I have after all, cycled from Norway to see this piece, so I don`t feel too guilty about not climbing the hill today. I´ve already purchased my ticket for the museum at the bottom of the mountain and so head straight to front desk to ascertain the wherabouts of my desired art. The `information` assistant seems not to really know much about the skyspace, but points me out of the gallery into the adjoining park where we find cylindrical stone building, much to my joy. Gearing myself to head inside, I'm surprised to be met by a (slightly smeared) glass door, sans handle. There´s a sign on the door in German, from which I can deduce nothing, and so give the door a hopeful push. It is, of course, locked. I peer again at the Times New Roman script taped onto the door on A4 copier paper, and think that it is referring to a key, perhaps, in the cafe. Unsure by my random deciphering, we return to the information desk. I enquire as to the opening time of the skyspace to which she responds, `Oh, well, it´s only open for 15 minutes, when it gets dark, the time is different every day you know?´
´So it is opened after the gallery has shut for the day?` I respond
`Er, yes, maybe 6.30pm, I don´t know actually maybe 7.30?´
It´s not the most reassuring of guarantees that I will gain access today, but these vagaries are all I´ve got to cling to so I start making my way ever so slowly through all of the galleries in the Musuem, reading every label, watching every video piece through to its conclusion, I´m determined to stay until the close of the gallery and until twilight, when I plan to stand outside the skyspace and wait for the elusive keeper of the keys to let me at the art. By 4.30pm I´m exhausted and retire to the ridiculously overpriced cafe for a reviving coffee. Its nearly 4 pounds a pop, but the panorama of the city is worth the asking price. Recalling the sign on the door from earlier, we decide to quiz the waiter, just in case he should know anything about the opening of the piece.
`Oh yes` he says and my eyes light up
`We have the key here, and the guest can borrow it to go inside`
Music to my ears!
`But the problem is, we´ve lost the key!`
I´m a little incredulous
`Only one key then?` I ask, not sure if he understands I´m not asking to use the toilet, but to see an internationally famous artwork
`No we had two, but then we lost one, and then we borrowed the final one to a guest and he went home with it in his trousers`
Im unsure how to respond, so he smiles and walks off jauntily. . I knew it was just too good to be true.
Day 52, Sat 11th Sept, Linz to Salzburg...Phil
147.84km covered in 6hrs51min
Avergae 21.5kmph
Max speed 52.7kmoh
Odometer now reads 4290.6km
Austrian breakfast is much like the other European continental breakfasts. We stuff a few extra condiments in our pockets, thankfully the girls have done the shopping last night so the cupboards are stocked and we're on the road bright and early. And bright is definately the word for it, as we head off into the glorious sunshine... Ali instinctively leads us in the opposite direction to Salzburg, but redeems herself with some excellent map reading to lead us to the National Road 1, which we intend to follow all the way to Salzburg (once again, deciding that the straight road is infinitely better than taking the river route via Passau adding an extra 100km to our journey!). We greeted with a lovely roadside bike path, and enjoy sharing with (read: overtaking) other cycle tourists, in possession of by far the snazziest panniers we have seen on the trip (we are fairly sure they are made of shellsuit material). Confusingly, it seems that most of Austria's towns do seem to be out of town, as we cycle past innumerable Eurostop type complexes following the river out of Linz...
We endure considerable confusion as the bike path dips into the small town centres and we lose the main road time and again...refuelled by strangely milky macchiatos and last night's left over pizza, we are making good time and enjoying the warmth on our shoulders after the chill of the mountains.
Confounded by a gaping tunnel our road disappears into, it now also seems to have become the A1, which worryingly appears to be a motorway. Attempting to follow the B road signs, we end up back where we started, at the mouth of the tunnel. We decide to head back into town, where Hazel had exchanged pleasantries (well, a nod and a smile) with a man scooting along in an awesome adaption of wheelchair to handle-bar propelled bike. Thinking it must be a good omen, we choose to take them same route as the man in the wheelchair-bike, and looking back we decide he must have been yet another spirit guide*, assisting us on our journey.
We eventually arrive in Vocklebruk, with the Alps in view ahead of us, and stop for a much needed lunch break. Alice sources the tourist info, and obtains a a slightly more accurate map of our remaining journey from a tourist magazine. Then she hits gold, finding the only open shop in town on a Saturday afternoon is the bookshop, which holds a wonderful selection of maps. We leave Hazel sitting patiently with the bikes and pour over the information on offer for at least 20mins before purchasing three lovely maps for the days ahead.
Refuelled and confident of our direction, Hazel suggests a lakeside road of similar distance to he national road, as the A1 is becoming more heavily trafficked and definately becomes a motorway at some point! Our spirit guide continues to have a prescence, as an elderly gentleman, who sees us looking confused at yet another intersection, pulls over and directs back to the correct route via the bike path, with a combination of German-English, tourist map, and exuberent gestures.
We duly follow the road, round a bend and are all three struck by a magnificent lake, its turquoise waters cradled by snow covered peaks. Rolling alongside the lake for some 35km, we stop for two lakeside picnics (picnic spot location improving dramatically), and attempt (unsuccessfully) to capture the beauty of our location on camera... as Ali put it "I think its the most beautiful thing I've ever seen...."
However, time is ticking on, and Ali is becoming increasingly concerned re: oncoming nightfall. Hazel and I are confident that we can get there but before dark? Our tourist map has no indication of scale or contour, so our estimations are educated guesses (I had previously talked Ali out of purchsing the map for the afternoon's journey...surely we could make do with our little tourist sketch!!). On we pedal into the setting sun, but the legs are starting to feel a little empty. We stop at the top of a hill and allow a cycletourist to cruise past, envying his lightweight, unloaded bike, only to realise its electric!!! We shake our heads at the absurdity (how can that possibly be considered cycletouring?!!) and continue towards Salzburg...
Cold sets in as the sun disappears behind the mountains, and after a 5 km downhill stretch, find ourselves pedalling again up a mountain... We pause breathless at the top of the hill to turn on our lights - its 7:30pm and darkness is rapidly encroaching. The 5min stop becomes 20 as Hazel digs through her panniers to locate the spokey dokeys that have been carted 4000km across Europe. Blue, red and white lights flashing, we turn the corner at the top of the hill to be greeted with "Salzburg 7km"! Now in pitch darkness, we slowly cruise down the hill in tight formation to arrive in the suburbs of Salzburg. There is a moment of panic as I lose my bearings in the middle of a busy intersection and cut across 5 lanes of (luckily empty) traffic - it seems Colby Compass only operates correctly in daylight hours....
Arriving in the the centre, we are stopped (interestingly by a small blonde lady*) who is amazed by our journey, our panniers and the intermittently blazing lights of the spokey dokeys, which have been attracting stares from all and sundry. She offers directions to the nearest youth hostel which we initially take slightly offensively (we may look a bit scraggly but we do have money!) but then re-assess as spirit guide reassuring us in our quest to find accomodation (and also, encouraging Ali that she doesn't actually appear middle-aged to the general population). Hazel and I are very doubtful of any hostel reception being open at 8:30pm, and we begin to trawl the streets for a suitable hotel. It seems that we've left it a little late, and after enquiring at 10 hotels and being informed the entire city centre is booked out and we should head out to the airport to find a room, we return to the 4 star Villa Carlton, which can only offer us a double and single room (Ali and I having previously baulked at the €200 per night price tag). As it turns out, the receptionist is lovely and we're booked in by 9:30pm, a mere 13hours after departing Linz.... Delightful dinner of bread roll, peanuts and two bottles of beer carried all the way from Praha, we have time for a quick soak in the tub, before finally sinking into bed sometime after 11....a long day but well earned rest ahead in Salzburg!!
* Our spirit guide, Bobby J, has accompanied us for thousands of kilometers. He/she assumes many different forms, and communicates with each of us although Hazel has a unique relationship with her female form. There are far too many to detail every encounter, however I will atemp to cover the most significant/memorable guides.
The elusive (read: invisible) Bobby J was first identified by Alice at the breakfast table in Norway. At this time (in our minds), he took the form of a balding, middle aged man with a beer belly, who was our support driver (and conveniently ate from the fourth place setting we routinely occupied at every meal we attended, hence allowing us to walk away from the breakfast table with a days worth of food in our handbags and mountain of crockery in our wake).
As we left Sweden and headed to Denmark, Hazel informed us that Bobby J was actually a small, blonde girl, wearing football shorts, who rode along on her unloaded bike to assess the road ahead. She was instrumental in our eventual arrival in Copenhagen, when we observed a young girl on her pushbike continue through a barricaded section of river path which had been partially washed away in recent heavy rainfall. Following her lead for some 3km, we hopped on and off our bikes as she did, and arrived in the city centre without incident.
Alice and I duly noted that in fact, Bobby J-little-girl-form is a child version of Hazel herself, which would hence explain Hazel's slowed city pace, resulting from her spirit-self being separated from her bodily-self to provide direction and guidance through the cities.
There were three spirit guides on our trip to Salzburg (as mentioned above), Bobby J also presented as the receptionist at Villa Carlton, who befriended us after learning of our journey and advised against departing Salzburg on Monday (when it turned out to be freezing, raining, and probably snowing at our intended destination of Zell am See).
Avergae 21.5kmph
Max speed 52.7kmoh
Odometer now reads 4290.6km
Austrian breakfast is much like the other European continental breakfasts. We stuff a few extra condiments in our pockets, thankfully the girls have done the shopping last night so the cupboards are stocked and we're on the road bright and early. And bright is definately the word for it, as we head off into the glorious sunshine... Ali instinctively leads us in the opposite direction to Salzburg, but redeems herself with some excellent map reading to lead us to the National Road 1, which we intend to follow all the way to Salzburg (once again, deciding that the straight road is infinitely better than taking the river route via Passau adding an extra 100km to our journey!). We greeted with a lovely roadside bike path, and enjoy sharing with (read: overtaking) other cycle tourists, in possession of by far the snazziest panniers we have seen on the trip (we are fairly sure they are made of shellsuit material). Confusingly, it seems that most of Austria's towns do seem to be out of town, as we cycle past innumerable Eurostop type complexes following the river out of Linz...
We endure considerable confusion as the bike path dips into the small town centres and we lose the main road time and again...refuelled by strangely milky macchiatos and last night's left over pizza, we are making good time and enjoying the warmth on our shoulders after the chill of the mountains.
Confounded by a gaping tunnel our road disappears into, it now also seems to have become the A1, which worryingly appears to be a motorway. Attempting to follow the B road signs, we end up back where we started, at the mouth of the tunnel. We decide to head back into town, where Hazel had exchanged pleasantries (well, a nod and a smile) with a man scooting along in an awesome adaption of wheelchair to handle-bar propelled bike. Thinking it must be a good omen, we choose to take them same route as the man in the wheelchair-bike, and looking back we decide he must have been yet another spirit guide*, assisting us on our journey.
We eventually arrive in Vocklebruk, with the Alps in view ahead of us, and stop for a much needed lunch break. Alice sources the tourist info, and obtains a a slightly more accurate map of our remaining journey from a tourist magazine. Then she hits gold, finding the only open shop in town on a Saturday afternoon is the bookshop, which holds a wonderful selection of maps. We leave Hazel sitting patiently with the bikes and pour over the information on offer for at least 20mins before purchasing three lovely maps for the days ahead.
Refuelled and confident of our direction, Hazel suggests a lakeside road of similar distance to he national road, as the A1 is becoming more heavily trafficked and definately becomes a motorway at some point! Our spirit guide continues to have a prescence, as an elderly gentleman, who sees us looking confused at yet another intersection, pulls over and directs back to the correct route via the bike path, with a combination of German-English, tourist map, and exuberent gestures.
We duly follow the road, round a bend and are all three struck by a magnificent lake, its turquoise waters cradled by snow covered peaks. Rolling alongside the lake for some 35km, we stop for two lakeside picnics (picnic spot location improving dramatically), and attempt (unsuccessfully) to capture the beauty of our location on camera... as Ali put it "I think its the most beautiful thing I've ever seen...."
However, time is ticking on, and Ali is becoming increasingly concerned re: oncoming nightfall. Hazel and I are confident that we can get there but before dark? Our tourist map has no indication of scale or contour, so our estimations are educated guesses (I had previously talked Ali out of purchsing the map for the afternoon's journey...surely we could make do with our little tourist sketch!!). On we pedal into the setting sun, but the legs are starting to feel a little empty. We stop at the top of a hill and allow a cycletourist to cruise past, envying his lightweight, unloaded bike, only to realise its electric!!! We shake our heads at the absurdity (how can that possibly be considered cycletouring?!!) and continue towards Salzburg...
Cold sets in as the sun disappears behind the mountains, and after a 5 km downhill stretch, find ourselves pedalling again up a mountain... We pause breathless at the top of the hill to turn on our lights - its 7:30pm and darkness is rapidly encroaching. The 5min stop becomes 20 as Hazel digs through her panniers to locate the spokey dokeys that have been carted 4000km across Europe. Blue, red and white lights flashing, we turn the corner at the top of the hill to be greeted with "Salzburg 7km"! Now in pitch darkness, we slowly cruise down the hill in tight formation to arrive in the suburbs of Salzburg. There is a moment of panic as I lose my bearings in the middle of a busy intersection and cut across 5 lanes of (luckily empty) traffic - it seems Colby Compass only operates correctly in daylight hours....
Arriving in the the centre, we are stopped (interestingly by a small blonde lady*) who is amazed by our journey, our panniers and the intermittently blazing lights of the spokey dokeys, which have been attracting stares from all and sundry. She offers directions to the nearest youth hostel which we initially take slightly offensively (we may look a bit scraggly but we do have money!) but then re-assess as spirit guide reassuring us in our quest to find accomodation (and also, encouraging Ali that she doesn't actually appear middle-aged to the general population). Hazel and I are very doubtful of any hostel reception being open at 8:30pm, and we begin to trawl the streets for a suitable hotel. It seems that we've left it a little late, and after enquiring at 10 hotels and being informed the entire city centre is booked out and we should head out to the airport to find a room, we return to the 4 star Villa Carlton, which can only offer us a double and single room (Ali and I having previously baulked at the €200 per night price tag). As it turns out, the receptionist is lovely and we're booked in by 9:30pm, a mere 13hours after departing Linz.... Delightful dinner of bread roll, peanuts and two bottles of beer carried all the way from Praha, we have time for a quick soak in the tub, before finally sinking into bed sometime after 11....a long day but well earned rest ahead in Salzburg!!
* Our spirit guide, Bobby J, has accompanied us for thousands of kilometers. He/she assumes many different forms, and communicates with each of us although Hazel has a unique relationship with her female form. There are far too many to detail every encounter, however I will atemp to cover the most significant/memorable guides.
The elusive (read: invisible) Bobby J was first identified by Alice at the breakfast table in Norway. At this time (in our minds), he took the form of a balding, middle aged man with a beer belly, who was our support driver (and conveniently ate from the fourth place setting we routinely occupied at every meal we attended, hence allowing us to walk away from the breakfast table with a days worth of food in our handbags and mountain of crockery in our wake).
As we left Sweden and headed to Denmark, Hazel informed us that Bobby J was actually a small, blonde girl, wearing football shorts, who rode along on her unloaded bike to assess the road ahead. She was instrumental in our eventual arrival in Copenhagen, when we observed a young girl on her pushbike continue through a barricaded section of river path which had been partially washed away in recent heavy rainfall. Following her lead for some 3km, we hopped on and off our bikes as she did, and arrived in the city centre without incident.
Alice and I duly noted that in fact, Bobby J-little-girl-form is a child version of Hazel herself, which would hence explain Hazel's slowed city pace, resulting from her spirit-self being separated from her bodily-self to provide direction and guidance through the cities.
There were three spirit guides on our trip to Salzburg (as mentioned above), Bobby J also presented as the receptionist at Villa Carlton, who befriended us after learning of our journey and advised against departing Salzburg on Monday (when it turned out to be freezing, raining, and probably snowing at our intended destination of Zell am See).
Sunday 12 September 2010
Day 51 - Friday 10th September - Cesky Krumlov to Linz by Hazel
76.26km Covered in 3hrs25 Average Speed 22.2
Max Speed 62.2
Odometer reads 4142.0
"So let's Draw back the Curtains, and let the Sunshine in" Julia Gillard
The morning in South Bohemia is lovely sunshine, which bodes well as we had been warned about cold conditions.
Colby returns the kettle*(1) to the UNESCO world heritage site reception before we dine on our breakfast. The paneuropean theme of cold cuts, cheese, ultra hard boiled eggs with cereal on the side continues. There is a toaster which makes a change.*(2)
Bags loaded we roll out of the cobbles and up the mountains into the Bohemian Forest that forms a natural geographical border between Ceska Republika and Österreich. I have finally convinced the girls of the benefits of careful road-map consideration route finding, versus religious bike route following. Today we are supposed to be meandering on some graveled goat trail before crossing over. Thankfully we opt for a road heading due south striaght into Linz. It's obviously a winner as we are amidst a classic car tour so enjoy a lovely, riverside, slow inclining, mountainous, forest lined, silky tarmac stretch; whilst being overtaken by a fleet of old Astons, Jags, Ferraris and Citroens... We are moving at some pace with everyone's legs feeling strong for the lighter series of days and before we know it we are at the border.
Alice and Phillipa don the cameras to snap the remmants of iron curtain, I can't see any but find Jake the Slow Worm. He and I become great friends in our ten minutes together, and it is with some sadness that we say our ahoys. Unfortunately there wasn't sufficient time, nor materials, to fix up a shelter for him atop my pannier bags.*(3)
And now Austria... Suddenly the quaint, beautiful, bohemia of Czech fades into brilliant green fields, bursting blue sky and snow topped peaks. It feels like we are cycling through a butter advert. The cows have cow bells- so it's also like being on Ski Sunday.
Obligatory roadside picnic... Check. Then it's the last 15km into town. I had deliberately chosen this route with the hope of a valley descent then flat cycle into town. There was remarks that my topographical map skills could be way off and actually we would be cycling along a needle fine, steep ridge.
Luckily it is a descent, and what a descent. We drop some 800m into town and it's the quickest 10km ever-a no-pedalling 50-60kmph "cruise" into town straight to the Tourist Information.
Hotel Locomotive- complete with illuminations, is booked.
Into the hotel, Colby is feeling a little tired so Alice and I go to fetch dinner and supplies. Asian maybe?
This weekend is some food and drink festival in Linz (?Octoberfest, there are Lederhose aplenty...). But alas there is no Asian food to be found. We trawl the street, and side streets, lot's of bratwurst stands, and peculiar small bars in shop fronts, but no Asian affairs. I resist Alice's McDo suggestion and after much consideration and deliberation we return wearily with pizza. There is the excitement of a glass coke bottle vending machine. Dinner then sleep- big breakfast to prepare for tomorrow!
*(1)
There were explicit instructions not to use open flames (e.g. Colby Camping Stove) for brews and the like. As this is heritage we go along with it- as opposed to our normal hotel/pension modus operandi
*(2)
A toaster for guests to use unsupervised- not sure if UNESCO is aware of this
*(3)
Since my front pannier racks broke I have been rear loaded. My bicycle set up looks like a heavily loaded donkey and handles like a surly Blackpool beach one to boot. See day 37 Oranienburg to Berlin footnote
Thursday 9 September 2010
Thursday 9th September - Day 50 - Ceske Budojovice to Cesky Krumlov
Distance covered ca 35km
Unsure as to whether I'm still viral or suffering from some sort of altitude sickness, I continue to find the constant grinding uphill exhausting and am struggling to chug along in my normal happy manner. I therefore make a controversial request that we have a super short day and stop over in the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Cesky Krumlov. I do this in part due to not feeling at full strength and partly because I can't imagine my father would ever forgive me if i cycled straight through a world heritage site without stopping! It would be like cycling straight through the whole of Dorset and not even taking a peek at Durdle Door. So a proper cycle touring day it is. Up hill and down dale, we see the most interesting furry critter try and run himself over under my wheels, whom we can only assume was some sort of stoat or weasel. Much cooing abounds followed shortly by a coke break before our final descent. We enjoy watching an entire coach party of Americans puffing their way up the hill. There's much technical clothing, matching bikes and absolutely no luggage to be seen. If I'm honest I'm today a little jealous of them. What I wouldn't give to arrive at my destination and find a coach had transported all of my bags into a four star hotel on my behalf! Colby comments that the other Colbys (regulars on the coach trip cycling scene) would not enjoy the 12% incline.
We screech down the long long hill, brakes pulled on hard and still not slowing we eventually arrive in Cesky Krumlov after opting for major highway into town rather than off road forest route. Hazel and I manage eventually to source accommodation without Compass Colby's assistance and we drop off bags at our lovely castle apartment. Thats right, an apartment, in the world heritage site, for 20 quid each. Bargain. Dr Learner informs us that we must eat some red meat in order to build more red blood cells to assist with our altitude training. We therefore are forced to enjoy some rather fine steaks at Hotel Dvorak and even manage to charm the grumpy waiter into a laugh and smile, despite paying him half in Kroner and half in Euros. At one point I did get out the Swedish Kroner but there is a line.
By the time we've finished afternoon coffee and blogging its once again time for dinner, and since we´ve a long day ahead tomorrow we are not allowed to cut carbs. Logically since we´ve had steak for lunch, we opt for a vegetarian restaurant, and boy are we in for a treat. We have a choice such items not previously seen on our travels through smalltown mainland Europe such as Houmous! Bulgar Wheat! and all sorts of other delights. We are seated right next to the river and inhale our new types of carbohydrate with wanton abandon, bulgar wheat, rice, chick peas, flat bread, and more. Down the hatch it goes. Our charming host, whose name I hope was David, is much amused by our frequent outbursts of honking and overenthusiasm about exotic carbs, despite the fact we seem to be driving away the rest of the clientele. Of course as ever we enter conversation about our journey and he, like everyone else, thinks we are crazy. But in recognition he does give us free dumpling dessert and tea. He also has in the kitchen, a squash which was larger than a pig, which he says will last a week! So a big thumbs up to the Restaurant Laibon in Cesky Krumlov, do stop by if you´re ever cycling past.
Unsure as to whether I'm still viral or suffering from some sort of altitude sickness, I continue to find the constant grinding uphill exhausting and am struggling to chug along in my normal happy manner. I therefore make a controversial request that we have a super short day and stop over in the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Cesky Krumlov. I do this in part due to not feeling at full strength and partly because I can't imagine my father would ever forgive me if i cycled straight through a world heritage site without stopping! It would be like cycling straight through the whole of Dorset and not even taking a peek at Durdle Door. So a proper cycle touring day it is. Up hill and down dale, we see the most interesting furry critter try and run himself over under my wheels, whom we can only assume was some sort of stoat or weasel. Much cooing abounds followed shortly by a coke break before our final descent. We enjoy watching an entire coach party of Americans puffing their way up the hill. There's much technical clothing, matching bikes and absolutely no luggage to be seen. If I'm honest I'm today a little jealous of them. What I wouldn't give to arrive at my destination and find a coach had transported all of my bags into a four star hotel on my behalf! Colby comments that the other Colbys (regulars on the coach trip cycling scene) would not enjoy the 12% incline.
We screech down the long long hill, brakes pulled on hard and still not slowing we eventually arrive in Cesky Krumlov after opting for major highway into town rather than off road forest route. Hazel and I manage eventually to source accommodation without Compass Colby's assistance and we drop off bags at our lovely castle apartment. Thats right, an apartment, in the world heritage site, for 20 quid each. Bargain. Dr Learner informs us that we must eat some red meat in order to build more red blood cells to assist with our altitude training. We therefore are forced to enjoy some rather fine steaks at Hotel Dvorak and even manage to charm the grumpy waiter into a laugh and smile, despite paying him half in Kroner and half in Euros. At one point I did get out the Swedish Kroner but there is a line.
By the time we've finished afternoon coffee and blogging its once again time for dinner, and since we´ve a long day ahead tomorrow we are not allowed to cut carbs. Logically since we´ve had steak for lunch, we opt for a vegetarian restaurant, and boy are we in for a treat. We have a choice such items not previously seen on our travels through smalltown mainland Europe such as Houmous! Bulgar Wheat! and all sorts of other delights. We are seated right next to the river and inhale our new types of carbohydrate with wanton abandon, bulgar wheat, rice, chick peas, flat bread, and more. Down the hatch it goes. Our charming host, whose name I hope was David, is much amused by our frequent outbursts of honking and overenthusiasm about exotic carbs, despite the fact we seem to be driving away the rest of the clientele. Of course as ever we enter conversation about our journey and he, like everyone else, thinks we are crazy. But in recognition he does give us free dumpling dessert and tea. He also has in the kitchen, a squash which was larger than a pig, which he says will last a week! So a big thumbs up to the Restaurant Laibon in Cesky Krumlov, do stop by if you´re ever cycling past.
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