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.
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