Bomb not bomb I arrived in Rome … (as a famous Italian song says) oh yes I did it, but it’s only the first part, I hope. However this, more than other times, was a real adventure. Programming; the indispensable minimum, not to say almost zero, the only thing planned was the place of departure and the desire to reach it by train and bus, skipped almost at the last moment due to the general strike of May 26th. I had the help of friends Luciano and Francesca who accompanied me to the start of Casere with my car. Training; practically nil. The spring climate hasn’t been very kind to the cyclists, the participants in the Giro d’Italia know something about it, so only a few small training sessions, about 100 km in all, but little to face such a commitment. Itinerary, the only certainty, arrival in Rome. Doubts about my athleticism; many. Desire and incentives to succeed; many, many more than the many fears and many doubts.
And ask me if I’m happy! Of course they are, who wouldn’t be. It’s a test with oneself, with one’s body, loading all the ailments of age on the bike, which are there, there are! Do you think going to the gym or walking takes years off your body? The only method is to pretend to be 40 years younger and believe it, otherwise you collapse in yourself and feel sorry for yourself: “I’m old now, it’s not for me anymore”. You probably age when you indulge in pity; “I will never succeed” and you stop even before thinking about the trip. Slow down, feel the limit of the body and support it, but keep going, never give up, never surrender.
The journey satisfies, creates self-esteem, enchants with places and encounters. I scroll through the film of this trip in my mind. I realize that, of the moments that have remained most impressed in my heart and mind, I have no photos, no video footage, as if to give them the sacredness and absolute attention they deserve, without distractions of any kind.
Realizing that I am a citizen of the world when someone in San Michele all’Adige shouts at me from a car: “Crucco get out of the way” (softened version). Even if my reaction was almost immediate, but honestly suffocated and I said to myself, all this makes me understand that like this, cyclist, with bags, helmet, I am a citizen of the world, I lose my national identity for something much bigger, something totally inclusive, you wouldn’t feel like a stranger anywhere in the world, because you are part of the world. And I had other proofs of this, such as at the end of the first real climb, towards Rivoli Veronese, with the meeting with the two Austrian pilgrims, also on bicycles, also on their way to Rome. In an instant a fraternal spirit of sharing was established, overcoming the obstacle of language and natural embarrassment if the situation hadn’t been mediated by our three bicycles, by the effort of the climb, by the common goal. Not to mention the emotions in St. Peter’s Square on the day of return. Arrived as far as the balustrade in via della Conciliazione, you can’t go any further without going through police controls, people stop me and want to know where, how many kilometers and why I did it. A Swiss with his wife tells me that he too arrived by bicycle from Switzerland, a Canadian tells me of his bicycle adventures in Canada, another asks me if he can take a picture of me, then I look at the time, I’m late I have to take the rental car at the station, run away!
The thrill of seeing a country as it once was almost everywhere; Borghetto on the border between Veneto and Trentino, in the municipality of Avio. Sitting at an outdoor table in the square where the walls echo the cries of children playing soccer, you hear the snap of forks on plates during the community lunch, the chirping of swallows darting from one side of the square to the other . The parish priest, who upon seeing the foreigner, immediately comes to welcome you, to ask you where you come from and what you will do. It’s not curiosity, it’s human contact, it’s serenity experienced in that corner of the world.
I can’t deny that I felt a little bored on the route along the Adige, mitigated by the beauty of the castles in the distance. The track passes too far from the villages and it is impossible to visit them all, and where there are villages there is a busy state road. The Adige cycle path is safe, but boring if done alone. Even more boring is the cycle path of the sun from Mirandola to Bologna, almost always along the railway. I’m not complaining, safety is important, but my curiosity remained unsatisfied and I only remember the big sun in the stylized logo on the asphalt and the one in the sky that warmed me well, the eyes of the suicidal coypu, the loud songs, so much there was hardly anyone.
From Bologna the music changes, it is a succession of emotions and adventures. Water drains, embankments, the deep impression felt in the visit to the sanctuary of the victims of Marzabotto. What could pass through the mind, the heart, the unspeakable anguish in those moments lived by these poor men, women and children, who knew very well that they were about to die. I think of how lucky I was to be born after the war, not to have directly experienced this violence, with the hope, often disappointed, that the world has become better. The coincidences that lead you to get excited seeing Boccaccio’s house in front of your window in Certaldo, I didn’t even know he was born and died here, all this just because a storm stopped my journey to Siena. The human emotions felt at the Castle of San Fabiano, where those who knew how to listen to me gave me spiritual help to overcome my doubts and fears. The thrill of entering Rome, of having managed to reach the Eternal City on my own strength, overcoming obstacles and fears.
Yes, it wasn’t all an easy journey, every day situations to solve, decisions to make, fears to overcome. Fears, many that are accentuated in solitude, no one to share with, to advise, for a mutual word of support. The bogeyman of the Apennines, which turned out to be such that I didn’t realize I had reached the summit. I didn’t believe in my possibilities, I saw the Apennines as a huge giant. Hard sections, but not very hard, all pedalable. The descents were more complex, the brakes progressively held less, even if they didn’t hold much at the start, until the definitive split in Montefiascone on Sunday. Luckily I found angels in the Decathlon guys from Viterbo who pulled me out of the heavy embarrassment. The greatest fear up the water drain of Castefiorentino, where covered in blood from the brambles and thorns, I could neither go forward nor go back, the wounds to suffer would have been the same whether continuing or giving up. I found myself praying, even though I was devoid of faith, I never cursed, aware that I needed higher help if any, and that otherwise I would have just wasted my breath, and I really needed everything! The inner struggle of the last day, I will never make it, I have to make it, I will never make it, I have to make it, and I did.
Of course you who are reading are not inside me, I try to convey those emotions to you, but they are difficult to relive even just by writing these few lines. The moment, the now here, the present are difficult to transfer, they are also, in addition to emotions, reactions of the body, nerves that stiffen, muscles that harden, drops of sweat, thorn pains and the bicycle crown that they plant in skin and flesh, salty sweat and blood mixing and burning skin and eyes, sunburn.
So ask me if I’m happy, but you already know I am! This trip has been able to increase my happiness, correct my way of seeing the world and people, because the more I get on with the years and the more I know my character, the more I know how to empathize with those I meet, the more I understand what mutual benefits can open up, communicate with people, don’t be afraid of being judged. Maybe someone will think that I’m a chatterbox, I may even be, but maybe they didn’t understand that I don’t do it just for me and that happiness comes through sincere sharing. To love you have to trust and entrust yourself, if you don’t love you withdraw, you run away, you hide and after childhood, you can’t consider shyness!
Thank you all for following me and I hope I can let you read the rest of this adventure.
With all my heart, I love you.
Paolo
PS: some photos of the day of the return, to Termini station by bike, then by car.
Photo 1: Roma. The statue of Giordano Bruno in Campo de’ Fiori, where he was burned as a heretic in 1600 Photo 2: The fountain of the mask at the end of the street of the Hotel and just behind Palazzo Farnese. The mask perhaps of ancient Roman origin, adapted to a fountain in the 1600s. Photo 3: Castel Sant’Angelo 15th-century re-adaptation of the 2nd-century AD Mausoleum of Hadrian, now the National Museum Photo 4:The arrival in St. Peter’s Square Photo 5: St. Peter’s Square Photo 6: Castel Sant’Angelo and the Tiber River Photo 7: Altar of the Fatherland or Victorian Photo 8: Colosseo Photo 9: Sutri. Clock Tower which follows the Quirinale tower, but it seems that the one in the photo was erected a year earlier almost as a test for the residence of the Popes and now the residence of the President of the Italian Republic Photo 10: Sutri. Fountain in Piazza Cavour very similar to another fountain in Viterbo Photo 11: Sutri. Ancient washhouse already existing in the XIII century Photo 12: Sutri. Ancient washhouse already existing in the XIII century Photo 13: Sutri.Church of the Madonna del Parto, completely underground (unfortunately closed as it is Monday), built on a previous temple dedicated to the god Mithras from the 1st century AD. Photo 14:Sutri. The Roman amphitheater Photo 15: Viterbo. Palace of the Popes, XIII century Photo 16: Viterbo. Cathedral of San Lorenzo started in the 12th century Photo 17:Viterbo. Papal lodge 1267 Photo 18: Viterbo. Interior of the Cathedral of San Lorenzo
THE STAGES OF THE JOURNEY
@ErmesT @LuigiZ @DENIT33 @PattyBlack @DeniGu @TravellerG @renata1 @Stephanie_OWL @AntonellaGr @Mukul_Anand
ma lo sapevo. Poi come ben vedi non è mai solamente un racconto di itinerario, anzi un editore non me l’accetterebbe mai come guida ciclistica, uso pochi termini tecnici e stradali, uso molto di più le vie dei sentimenti e del cuore, delle emozioni che ho provato in quel momento, per me molto più importanti di trovare tutto già bello pronto e non dover superare le difficoltà e la sorpresa del percorso, no , no, tutto deve essere vissuto e se ce la fai, raccontato!
