Our afternoon’s wandering was topped off by dinner at a curbside ristorante. Curbside doesn’t really do it justice, for we were actually dining out in the road, taking up at least 3 or 4 parking spaces (maybe even more by Italian parking standards, where pretty much any angle goes), with Gina’s head in serious danger of being nicked by passing scooters.
The next morning, to get our biking trip underway, we took the local train north to Pisa. Gina slept most of the way while I made friends with the man next to us, who spoke no English but gave us the universal gift of friendship – a fresh banana. This, we were to later learn, was a treasure, not to be found in all of Pisa.
We navigated away from the train station by setting our sites on the Leaning Tower, where we once more pushed through the hoards of people. It is quite surreal being there in person, after all of the pictures that you have seen in your lifetime. It actually felt a bit like Disneyland, as though the tower itself were a replica, even though it was the real deal.
The town of Pisa … frankly, a bit of a dump. To get to our campground, we were subjected to a serious Italian roundabout. It looked like a circle with clearly marked yields, but no one was yielding and yet everyone was making their way around it – at incredibly high rates of speed, I might add – except us. There seemed to be no way to navigate it with the bikes – not a single crosswalk to be had – just the campground sign teasing us, pointing in a direction we could not go. Eventually we were able to dart across, although the image of ‘darting’ might be a bit of a stretch given the 65+ lb loads we were pushing.
The campground to which we were headed had included a photo on its website of the view of the tower that could be seen from one’s tent. This simply was not true. Sure, you could see the tippy-top of the tower from the campground sign posted out on the highway about a quarter mile away, but even if that was somehow still on campground property, I don’t think it should have counted.
Nonetheless, we had made it there in one piece and were relieved to be off the road. We picnicked that night next to the Baptistry, where we had the following two revelations: (1) that you’ve got to just go with doing and seeing the things in life that you are passionate about (Pisa turning out to not be one of them) and (2) Pisa is the new Victoria B.C. (you feel like you should be having a better time than you are).
Our initial plan the next day had been to leave the bikes locked up at the campground and head out on foot for the Cinque Terre for a few days of coastal sightseeing. We scrapped this pretty quickly after checking out our secure storage options – a room that most everyone in the campground could access. A simple bike lock or two was not going to bring us the peace of mind we needed to move forward with our plan. So, as we often do when bike touring, we came up with another plan, which was to head for the walled town of Lucca. This would require another train, for the biking was far too dangerous between here and there.
As it turned out, the train was pretty darn dangerous too. We barely avoided disaster at the Pisa station when a crafty pickpocket nearly stole Gina’s handlebar bag (think passport, money, premature end to our trip, etc.) right off the bike while she was busy helping me heft my bike through the 6-inch wide opening onto our imminently-departing train. The event left us somewhat shaken, but was a good reminder that we needed to be ever vigilant while traveling in Italy. Even Rick Steves had warned us of that.
The walled city of Lucca was fairly cute and much quieter than Pisa, and after pushing our bikes around town looking for shelter, we finally found it at the Magnolia B&B. We spent many an hour in the garden outside our room pouring over our maps, looking for a safe route out of this northern region that so far had us pushing our bikes more than riding them. After much studying and highlighting, we had our plan in place, knowing it would be a tough day of route-finding, but looking forward to finally being in the saddle – what we had come here to do.
We left Lucca the next morning, on a route that yo-yo’d from bad to good and back again practically all day. Roads that looked difficult to find often were; others that looked as though they would be quiet, were not. We had a few helpers along the way, though, from the mechanic at the Fiat shop who tried valiantly to point us in the right direction to a young man on a racing bike who insisted on riding right next to me through every hairpin turn and shoulderless mile.
The worst of the day was the two, back-to-back highway overpasses we had to cross. Sometimes in the States these are only as long as a city block. The ones stretched out before us near San Romano were a solid few miles long. Stopping to look at the map and thinking that we must not be heading in the right direction once again, as no cyclist in their right mind would put themselves out there with the trucks and cars barreling along at 70 miles an hour, we were shocked to see two Italian men ride by, headed right out onto the road ahead without so much as a sideways glance at the oncoming trucks. Saying a small prayer and mustering up all of the courage that either one of us had left, we pumped our legs after them and hoped for the best. If you’ve ever been passed by a fast-moving semi, inches away from your left shoulder, you’ll know what we felt getting across that first overpass. Harrowing is an understatement. Apparently the universe decided we’d had enough for one day, as the second crossing was truck-free.
The really good news was that our effort paid off in Montopoli, where we arrived to camp in a beautiful, tiny, hilltop town. Could it be that we had finally arrived in Tuscany? Time to hang our clothes out to dry and order a liter of wine followed by a mountain of gelato for dessert – we earned it.
The next day brought us what we had been seeking – quiet backroads – the kind pictured in the biking brochures beckoning you to experience Tuscany by bike. We don’t know how those glossy magazine people arrived there, but I would wager a guess that they didn’t come the same way we had.
But no matter, we arrived in San Gimignano, where we camped outside of town with amazing views back toward her picturesque towers. It was here we broke our wine bottle opener – overuse, perhaps – but just our luck, our camping neighbors were more than happy to pop the cork for us.
Onward we pedaled the next morning, up and over many, many hills with swearing at many, many drivers, arriving in the Chianti region, which was really quite beautiful as well. Pleasant riding since then through Greve in Chianti, Radda in Chianti, and Chianti on our tabletop at dinner.
Our next plan is to ride south/southeast toward Pienza, Montalcino, and Montepulciano. We intend to stay at a farmhouse (hopefully) and, as much as possible, leave all of our panniers behind so we can bike like everyone else here – faster, sleeker, and down the middle of the road getting honked at, but with helmets.
Hope all is well at home. Although a bit overrated, we are still enjoying ourselves here in Italy. Next year … back to Germany, where bikers have roads of their own. The only problem with that is that the food is oh so much better here in Italy.
Oh, and we will never, ever, ever drive Fiats. Although we do really love Siena.
Email Sent 27 September 2007
Tonight we are writing from our warm, dry and cozy room in the castle here at San Giovanni d’Asso. We are not quite to Pienza yet, having been driven indoors this afternoon by some uncharacteristically stormy weather, but we’ve set our sights on her Renaissance streets for tomorrow, when there’s only a one in three (rather than 9 out of 10) chance we’ll get wet. We like those odds better.
After composing our last email, we continued to enjoy the sights and sounds of Siena. What a truly fabulous city. We climbed the 330 steps of the City Tower (after Dena was brought back from the brink of a claustrophobic panic in the pinhole sized stairwell), strolled around the magnificent Duomo twice (the second time unintentionally, but it’s easy to get disoriented with the narrow streets, tall stone buildings, and half liter of wine with lunch), imagined the racing horses at the Il Campo, and had dinner with a view mere steps outside of the converted convent in which we were staying. We also made new friends – Jeff and Jolene from Glenwood Springs, Colorado. They were going to rent a car to continue their travels with; we told them that if it included bike racks, we’d buy them dinner.
From Siena we headed south to a campground outside the tiny town of Casciano. The sun was out, the roads were perfectly paved and quiet, and we realized that we had finally arrived in Tuscany. This was further validated by the presence of 30+ bicycle tourists on an Iron Donkey tour, who let us lead their peloton for a good 5 or 6 miles. So what if we were fully loaded and they weren’t; our week of cycling Italian roads had clearly given us a confidence they had yet to attain. Since then, we’ve also seen VBT and Backroads, so we know we’re in the right territory now.
The camping was also magnificent … tent site with view, Olympic size swimming pool with hot tub, clean clean clean shower facility, a garden terrace and restaurant, and a friendly Italian dog named “Bernie”. We miss him.
From our Dirty Dancing campground we did a few day rides (sans panniers) west to San Galgano and some very scenic mountain roads, and then east to Asciano, through the Sienese Crete, with it’s rolling farmlands and herds of sheep crossing the road. This is the Tuscany we were seeking – we plan to make our own calendar of what we’ve traversed through. In fact, Gina now plans to join the Italian women’s racing team, so look for her on the cover.
Our next goal is to do the two big M’s – Montalcino and Montepulciano – from a home base in Pienza (one by saddle and one by bus). The legs could use a day off. And then we’ll slowly make our way toward a train station, where we’ll catch a milk run train back to Rome. We hope to catch a glimpse of the Pope; preferably in his Popemobile.
Email Sent 5 October 2007
Well, we are safely back in Rome, after 400 miles of pedaling uphill, gawking at the Tuscan scenery, and praying that that revving engine was going to finally brake before hurtling into the hairpin curve behind us. Rome is still a hot cauldron of people, scooters, and all other objects that make noise, but we enjoyed touring the Forum and Colosseum and St. Peter’s Basilica nonetheless. Plus, we were much more savvy about not getting pickpocketed today, thanks to Rick Steve’s advice … assume you are being stalked and then relax and have fun.
Our travels from the castle took us to Pienza, where we were so in love with the scenery, we stayed for four nights. We had a fun B&B where Vasco, the proprietor, took very good care of us, and where we were able to enjoy sweeping views of the Val d’Orcia from his front yard. We abandoned our panniers for some fabulous loop rides out to Radicofani and Bagno Vignoni, where the views were endless, the Fall colors beginning, and the cars few and far between. On our “off” day, typically thought of as a day to rest, Gina had us hike 8 miles to the highest hilltop town in the entire universe, also known as Montepulciano. Thank goodness there was a bus to get back home.
From Pienza we headed east, skipping Sarteano, where we had intended to stay, and landing instead in the much quainter village of Cetona. Here, we created quite the spectacle in the town square, as it required several older villagers who spoke not a lick of English but who yelled quite well in Italian, along with a mother of two who unexpectedly spoke English, to communicate to us that there were rooms above the restaurant, only the restaurant was closed … on a Tuesday. But then as luck would have it, strolling into the plaza (perhaps out of curiosity as to what the commotion was), came the owner of the restaurant, who quickly and kindly rented us a room. We spent two nights there, marveling at the old fortress of a city and spending our final full day cycling to San Casciano dei Bagni.
Our last leg took us to the train station in Chiusi, where we met some nice folks from Illinois with lots of relatives in Italy. They shared their pickpocketing stories with us … even savvy travelers can get scammed. Out on the platform, we were feeling pretty smug about having the trains down pat now, until the announcement came that the train was switching from Track 4 to Track 6. We jostled with the elderly to carry our 65 lb loads down and up the stairs, only to hear next that ha ha, the train was really coming in at Track 4. I don’t know who was worse for wear after that … us with our loads or everyone else with their arthritic joints.
Tonight we will venture out into the mayhem that is Rome for one last peek at a few sites, then tomorrow it is off to the airport to come home to our fabulous SAG, Julia. Btw Julia, we have picked out the perfect Preggio for you to drive as our SAG wagon next year (more details to come). The only disappointment of the whole trip – no Popemobile today.
See you in Seattle!
