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Rain, rain, go away...turning water into wine!
"Hide the pedal
wrench in those bushes" she said… Huh, in the
bushes?" "Yea, it beats carrying it your backpack all
over Italy!" Good idea I thought as I waited for traffic to
clear so that I could crawl onto the highway divider at the exit
of Milan’s International Airport at Malpensa. This was the
third time that Monica and I had landed here in Italy, but the
first time without our touring bikes and panniers. Instead, we
had our sleek Ciocc road bikes and only a small
"Narrowgauge" backpack to carry our belongings. We are
quick studies. There is a difference between weight on the bike
and weight on your back. Into a plastic bag and under the shrubs
went my shiny, heavy Park pedal wrench.
"Nice day eh?" "Yea,
this looks much nicer than all of that weather we flew over as we
crossed England, France and Switzerland." "Sure does,
but let’s keep our eye on it in case those storms head in
this direction" I said.
30 miles of riding through
the Italian landscape brought us to the shores of lovely Lago di
Como. The lake sparkled blue and white. The view of the
Lombardian mountains that surround it’s shore made us
remember the two other times we had been here. We had only ridden
through the city of Como, only stopping for a brief time at
Arnaboldi’s Bike shop for a visit, or stopping to wait out a
cloudburst in a café. But tonight we would stay at an albergo in
centro citta and enjoy the offerings of this lakeside resort. We
spent the evening strolling by the lake, exploring the nooks and
crannies of the city and enjoying our first Italian meal of the
trip.
It must have been about one
o’clock in the morning when I got up from bed and opened the
shutters. I thought I had heard a familiar sound. As I stood at
the window looking down at the glistening "pave" I
exclaimed: "They’re here Monica!" "Who’s
here?" she said in a sleepy voice. "The storms from
England and France, that’s who’s here!"
As we ate our Italian
breakfast of "air bread" and jam and drank the tiny
cups of espresso coffee we watched in horror as our riding day
was being washed away. We had flown over these storms and knew
they were huge. We could see into the mountains that we had to
cross on our way to our family’s village just outside of
Trento. And everything we could see was WET! Or WHITE! Yes, that
was freshly fallen snow up on those mountaintops!
So began what we have come to
know as the "Pappas Punt".
Fourth down and long….
"Hey, this is probably
going to lock us down here for a couple of days."
"Well, what do you think we should do?" Monica said.
"Well, we could make a dash for "il stazione" and
grab a train to Trento!"
We arrived in Trento
with our packs and bikes in a deluge. With no options we hopped
on our steel steeds and headed up the hill out of Trento toward
Fraveggio, Monica’s ancestral home. The sound of pelting
rain on my Gore-Tex rainsuit was reassuring in a way, but my
uncovered feet were captives in shoes full of cool water.
Arriving at home we could see lights on in Monica’s
dad’s window. "Apri la porta…Piove qua
fuori!" (Open the door, it’s raining out here) Monica
exclaimed. Her dad was not expecting us for a few days and we
could hear him proclaiming "Mama Mia" repeatedly. Yes,
he really does say that!
The two years that had passed
since we had visited with Monica’s dad, Ezio Bressan, the 75
year old Director of Sport at the Hotel Solaria in the Dolomiti
di Brenta melted away in a moment. We were welcomed with bowls of
minestrone and glasses of grappa as well as hugs from Mary Lou,
Dad’s new bride….yes, now we were home in Italy!
Relentless. The rain was
relentless. It poured rain day and night for two days. We spent
those days visiting with our wonderful family. We always look
forward to sharing time with Monica’s Zia Flora and Zio Edi,
her aunt and uncle. Their children and grandchildren brighten our
visits to Fraveggio immensely. As we enjoyed our visits we kept
one eye on the weather. It was unchanged. It was wet!
"Firenze Monica!
Let’s go to Firenze." We had planned on visiting the
heart of the renaissance at some point in the future…but the
television weather reports showed pictures of sun in Florence
(Firenze) and we were on our way! Fearing that the weather would
change in the center of Italy we hopped on a train without our
bicycles. This would be a "cultural" visit. Indeed!
Peculiar how things you never
thought of can change your life. Or your outlook on life.
That’s what I thought of as I walked around in circles in
the Galleria dell’ Accademia. In the center of my circle was Michelangelo’s "il David". This statue of the slayer of Goliath,
standing 18 feet tall, was the most perfect thing I had ever seen
created by a man. As I walked around it’s perfectly
proportioned body, I could see no evidence of a chisel. I could
only see a giant of a man…not one who was elated by his
victory, but one who was serene and confident that his battle had
brought justice. I kept wondering how an artist could create such
perfection. How much training? How much practice? How much
patience? How much knowledge? How much heart?
We spent two short days in Florence touring the "highlights". We
climbed the 414 steps to the top of Giotto’s
Campanile. 
We visited the Uffizi Gallery and the works of Leonardo da Vinci,
Botticelli, and Michelangelo. We shopped the gold laden Ponte
Vecchio and the
leather markets on the streets. We wandered about, being
overwhelmed at every turn. We drank cappuccino. We ate Gelato. We
spent our evenings drinking chianti on the roof of our hotel
overlooking the birthplace of the renaissance. We spent every
moment in mutual wonderment of the place we had found ourselves
in.
Hope springs eternal. So,
thinking that the sun must surely be shining in the north we
hopped on the train back to Trento. As we trained through Verona
and Rovereto we noticed that the skies became darker. By the time
we reached Trento it was raining. Still.
The next day brought sunshine
to Fraveggio. The weather forecast however, was for more
"pioggia" in the north, but clear skies in the central
portion of the country. Now on our bikes we said arrevederci to
the family and headed south toward the Tuscan region via Lago di
Garda, the largest lake in Europe.
The
lake is only about 20 miles from the village and the route is
surrounded by wonderful mountains. We took the "long
cut" and headed into the hills. Riding through the tiniest
villages of Commano Terme, Ballino and Tenno was like moving
along on a time machine. Historic old villages laid out in lush
green valleys, surrounded by high mountains makes it apparent to
the visistor that not much has changed in 300 years.
As we descended back toward
Garda we were being followed by large dark clouds. Once at the
shore of the lake it became a race. With the rain chasing us we
rode furiously trying to stay dry. Occasionally little showers
would catch us and spur us to pedal even faster. Finally, almost
at the southern end of the lake near Peschierra del Garda we
emerged from under the clouds into a bright blue day. We were
dry!
The next morning we awoke to
another threatening day. Fourth down and long…punt. We made
another dash…this time for Verona and the train that would
carry us back to Tuscany and the sunshine. Arrevederci Alpi! Ciao
regione di Chianti! Warm sunny bike rides! YES!
Landing in Borga San
Somewhere we realized that we were on the fly. No maps, no plan,
no reservations, no idea!!! Cool. Very, very cool! Freedom to
choose.
So we chose to head for the
wine….always a good choice. As we bicycled for the heart of
the Chianti region we stopped and picked up a map that would show
us the back roads that would take us through Dicomano, Rufina and
into Pontassieve. 
These are the wine
roads of legend. Perfect rolling hills littered with wonderful
vineyards that are sprinkled with olive trees. We arrived in
Pontassieve during the town "Festa". Perfect timing.
Music, dancing, food, wine and games. We discovered penne
al’ arrabbiata. Pasta with a kick! What a great time! As we
found our way back to our hotel late in the evening, the skies
opened up, and the rain found us once again…..
Not to be deterred, we
listened to the weather forecast and found that the weather was
better just a short distance to the south. So once again, we
punted, got on a train and found a sunny day. Sunny Arezzo. Our
visit to Arezzo was brief. The artwork in the Duomo was being
restored and the building was closed. We paid a visit to the home
of Petrarch, the Italian poet and humanist and headed on our way
to Siena.
Riding our way out of Arezzo
we were passed by a local cycling squadra. We latched on to the
back of the pack as the boys in green and yellow blew up the
road. We stayed on for about 10 miles chatting with the team
about the local competition, their homes here in Tuscany and
their high-tech Cinelli team bicycles. At about 10 miles we
realized that we had no idea where the team was going, and that
maybe we had better stop and check our map. We discovered that
the team had been on track with our plans, but when we got back
on the road we truly missed their presence. And their draft!
Our route took us through
Laterina, Mercatale, Bucine and over the soaring climb of Monte
Lucco. This was the most interesting of Tuscan climbs. Steep at
times, but ever rewarding with spectacular views. We climbed from
the vines to the pines. What an awesome change. As we looked over
our shoulders while climbing, we saw the valley falling away as
each switchback took us higher and higher. Finally, lungs and
legs full of fire, we reached the radio towers at the summit.
Here at the top is a fragrant, lush pine forest! Incredible!
The descent on the narrow,
bumpy road toward Siena should be negotiated with caution. Tight
turns and the variable road surface command attention. The
splendid views are an ever present treat. But the reward at the
end of the road is:
Siena.
The most unadulterated of the medieval cities, this maze of high
dark buildings with streets only wide enough for carts can easily
lose the inattentive tourist. This mysterious city, preserving
it’s original character more markedly than any other in
Italy is built on three sienna-colored hills. It features roads
constructed on 20% plus grades. "My god" I asked,
"how did the people of centuries ago ever move their goods
up and down these streets?" "Teamwork" Monica
joked. "Two people to help get the carts up the hill, and
four or five to put the stuff back in at the bottom!"
Each year the residents of
Siena celebrate the "Festa di Palio delle Contrade". This is a brutal horse race and pageant
that is held in the shell shaped Piazza del Campo…the place
where the three hills of the city are joined. As luck would have
it we showed up as over 100,000 people were celebrating the big
event. Having our bikes and arriving late, we could not make our
way into the piazza. The throngs of people around us watched the
event on the televisions that had been placed in all of the
city's shops. The race is known for it’s brutal narrow
course around the piazza. Bareback horses and riders fall or are
knocked to the ground by being struck with the clubs that the
competitors carry during the race. Although the race itself takes
only minutes, the day long pageant that precedes it creates a
frenzied crowd. The contrada (region of the city) whose rider
wins gets the privilege of donning drums and beating on them
while marching along a serpentine course throughout the city
until the sun rises in the morning. We will never forget the
spectacle of hundreds of drummers waving the flags of their
contrada as we dined outside in the piazza. Wine and grappa
flowed freely. The drummers who drank the most were at the back
of the line and beating way out of time. It simply did not
matter….their rider had been victorious!
We toured the colorful shops
and made our way to the lighted Duomo that evening. The inspiring
architecture, the enticing stores and the circulating mass of
flag waving, grappa drinking drummers made the entire journey
worth while.
"Here
comes the sun, da
da da da, here comes the sun…." I love old Beatles songs, and I really loved the warm sunny morning
as we walked along our farewell tour of Siena. The city is known
for its language schools and their ability to make even
struggling speakers into masterful Italian orators. For this and
its beauty, we will return.
Cycling
the Tuscan hills is not unlike cycling through the familiar
Sierra Nevada foothills near our home in Sacramento, California.
There are some differences however. Castles, walled cities like
Monteriggioni and green foliage rather than the dry brown grasses
of the western U.S. are some of them.
San Gimignano is the most
striking of the walled cities. It has a skyline of towers built
centuries ago that has earned the nickname of "the Manhattan
of Italy" The town can be seen for miles and miles away
and
is truly a "not to be missed"
site. Our maps paid off as we cycled over the seldom used back
roads throughout the Tuscan region. We passed hundreds of
manicured vineyards. We rode by ancient castles, olive groves and
fields ablaze with sunflowers. We enjoyed the hills, the scenic
narrow roads and the warmth of the Italian sun. At last the
weather had improved!
"Andiamo
visitare il torre Monica!" I said, practicing my Italian.
(" Lets go see the tower!") "Great idea" she
said, "after all, we’re so close!" Pisa is a busy
place. Lots of traffic. Pedestrians and cyclists buzz about
seemingly without focus creating a swarm for the uninitiated
cyclist to ride through. As we swerved and dodged our way through
the masses I began to look for a glimpse of what could be the
most recognizable building on earth. As we turned around a corner
and my eyes first saw the "Leaning tower of Pisa" my
jaw hit my chest
with a thud that could be heard for a
block. "Jeez Monica, today must be the day!"
"What day might that be?" she asked. "The day the
damned thing falls on all of those people taking pictures under
it!" I replied. "It really leans." she commented.
"The laws of gravity are being violated each moment that it
stands." I heard a voice say in English. There has never
been a picture that does the lean justice. It is an amazing
sight. The tower and the artwork in the Duomo may be the only
things that Pisa is known for, but they are grand.
"Well Monica, I think I
am finally Duomo’ed out" "Me too, you want to head
back up north?" "Yea, lets go back up to Fraveggio for
a couple of days and ride the "neighborhood" before
heading back to Milano."
We have great riding in
California, and consider a 100 mile ride with over 7,000 feet of
elevation gain to be a challenge. Rides with 10,000 ft. over a
100 mile course are considered very, very challenging. The rides
in the mountains that surround our Italian
"neighborhood" make our tough courses look tame by
comparison. Consider our cycling adventure from Ala just north of
Rovereto to our village of Fraveggio. Only a 50 mile jaunt. As we
began to climb about 5 miles out of Ala we felt fresh and ready
to go. We rode through spectacular little villages with names
like Ronzo, Chienis, and Cimone. Much of the way afforded us
great views of the Val d’ Adige far, far below. As we came
to the top of the ascent at mile 40, high on the shoulder of
Monte Bondone, I looked at my altimeter to note that we had
already climbed 8,000 ft.!
"Look!" Monica
shouted as we turned onto the road that would take us down from
Bondone and back to the Sarca valley and Fraveggio. "Mama
mia!" I screamed, doing my best impersonation of her dad as
I slammed on my brakes. There in front of us was my favorite view
in all of Italy. Rising high over the Gruppa di Brenta mountains
on the other side of the valley were the Adamelo and Presanella
glaciers. Looming over the landscape like guardians, these two
glaciers gleaming in the late afternoon sun were the payoff for
our tough day behind the handlebars. We stood there shivering as
our sweat dried in the cold alpine breeze. Looking, not wanting
to leave we held each other, sharing our warmth. We talked about
our hopes of dividing our time more equally between the U.S. and
Italy at some point in the not too distant future. When we could
no longer fend against the cold we put on our Gore-Tex for wind
protection and warmth and dove down the screaming descent to the
valley.
Fraveggio is a magical little
place in the mountains of Italy. Picture a village some 300 years
old resting on a steep hillside at the end of a narrow river
valley. From the village you can look far out into the valley as
the afternoon breezes from Lago di Garda blow through your hair.
The front of our families home is on the village piazza, still an
evening gathering place. The part of the house where
Monica’s father lives is at the back and overlooks a small
vineyard. If you look up from the kitchen window you can see the
large cross which has been a reminder of the villagers faith
since her dad was a boy. The village is quiet and street vendors
visit a few times a week to sell meat, vegetables, bread and
cheese. There is no store in the village. The one that Monica
remembers as a child is gone. Monica’s cousin Andrea and his
wife Sabrina share the home with her Zia and Zio (aunt/uncle) and
her dad. Cousin Louisa and her son Davide live a few doors away.
The village is alive with other Zia’s and distant cousins
making our visits busy and very social. Makes leaving Italy all
the more difficult too.
As we began cycling toward
Garda on our way back to Milano I began to look forward to
exploring the mountains that we had planned to ride through at
the beginning of our trip. We climbed out of Riva del Garda
through the long (2+mile) tunnel that led us up to Lago di Ledro.
The lake was a crystalline blue in the center with a blue-green
shoreline. We enjoyed the park at the west end of the lake and
pushed off for our evening destination at Lago d’ Idro. This
part of the famous "Lake District" of Italy is the best
kept secret of the region. The tourists see the big lakes, Garda,
Como, and Maggiore. But these smaller lakes are much more
secluded and less visited. I’ll never figure out why. They
are alpine jewels perched high in these mountains and just
waiting to be found by the crowds!
With only two more riding
days left on our trip, we arrived once again at the shores of
Lago di Como. We have visited this lake on each of our three
trips to Italy, and always find its shoreline villages to be
welcoming. We stayed in the city of Como on our first night of
this trip and have visited Bellagio in the past. "I want to
ride up to Varenna" Monica said. "What’s in
Varenna?" I curiously replied. "Dunno. But Rick Steves
the PBS travel guy had a show on it and I thought it was
pretty!"
Charming.
That’s what Varenna is. It is charming…and romantic. As
we rode into town I could not believe what was in front of me.
This has to be the prettiest little town in all of Italy. Nestled
on the steep shoreline of Como, the streets leading up and away
from the lake present a challenge for the walker. The locals all
look well exercised! There is a walkway that winds its way along
the water through taverns and garlic scented restaurants. As the
sun went down we enjoyed the lakeshore stroll, stopped for
dessert and wine, and listened to the street musicians as they
entertained the guests of the city.
The next morning we decided
that we would take the ferry from Varenna across the lake and
ride to Lugano up in Switzerland. The ferry ride took only 15
minutes and deposited us in Menaggio. There is a steep pitch out
of Menaggio, but before too long we found ourselves along the
shores of Lake Lugano. When we crossed the border into
Switzerland, we remembered from our past visits that this is the
country where the money is. A cup of coffee costs three times
what it did a few miles away, the clothes in the stores are real
high end….$1500 suits are everywhere. Food in the
restaurants is priced way out of reason. But the roads are
immaculate…the shops are inviting, and everyone is well
dressed. After exploring the town of Lugano and its old centro
citta (center of the city) for a few hours we got back on our
trusty Ciocc’s and headed back for Italy, Lago Maggiore and
financial sanity.
As I looked down from my
airplane window I could see the top of Mt. Cervinia (the
Matterhorn) peaking out from the clouds. I remembered how our
original plan for this trip involved riding into the Alps and
Dolomite mountains. We had been determined to ride over Passo
Gavia in the Italian Alps and along the Austrian/Italian border
in the Dolomite region. We had wanted to visit Cortina di
Ampezzo, the internationally known ski area. I remembered our
frustration during the first few days of our vacation as it
rained buckets and caused massive evacuations in the city of Como
the day after we had left it on our way to Fraveggio.
But this, "The Pappas
Punt" trip had shown us that in Italy, with the right
attitude, the cycle tourist can be flexible, traveling without
plans or hotel reservations. On the fly, we saw art that changed
us. We rode through the hilly Tuscan countryside, visited Siena,
and rested at San Gimignano. We shared wine on a rooftop in
Firenze. We watched as the laws of physics were being broken by a
tower in Pisa.
"Well, Monica this was
sure a different trip than we had planned eh?"
"Yea, but not
bad…"
"Not bad at all, not bad
at all." I repeated.
As the TWA jetliner headed
across France I could already feel the pull of Italy tugging at
my heart.
"…Little darling, I
feel the ice is slowly melting. Little darling, it seems like
years since it’s been clear. Here comes the sun, do, do, do,
do, here comes the sun…it’s all right…"
