After weeks of little to no real exercise, laden with pasta and wine, I set out for a 2-wheeled tour of the backcountry. Ok, this is not RG's backcountry, the snow is gone, but with the omnipresent cinghiale (wild boars) roaming about, it's still an adventure. With foot long tusks and a nasty disposition, I began to see why I might be the only one on the local trail. Nevertheless, I was determined to do battle aboard my trusty loaner steed. It's a California Demon, and it goes like a.....well, not quite like a bat out of hell, but most of the gears work and the wheels are almost straight. Under threatening clouds, I found myself climbing towards the forest. Once above the olive orchard, I connected with reconnoitered single track. The rains came swiftly, and the wind was unrelenting. I had been asked earlier what possessed me to ride in inclement weather. The bike I borrowed has semi-slicks, and has likely never been ridden off road. I felt compelled to expand on the origin of the word "mountain bike", and to regale them with the folly that is FT3. Alas, our maintenance guy, Guiseppe, summed it up in a few words. "this bike, she will never be so happy".
So off we went, my little demon and I, in search of happiness and joy. I was met with a good deal of moisture, and lost sight of the trail at some points, but it was a splendid reminder of why I am a cyclist. Upon my speedy descent back towards the villa, I felt a momentary deja vu. I was back in my native Pollywood, frolicking in the forest, dropping the lips, visions of tacos dancing in my head. And then it happened, the unthinkable, I was airborne with no pilot. I thought of Lars, and tried to straight-arm the oncoming tree. It worked, and I careened off the tree and down a short hill to the terrace below. A few minutes of cursing, a mini-exam for injuries, and I limped aboard the Demon for the final drop to our apartment. Moments after my return, the sun burst through the clouds and you could here my cursing from Rome.
So, as our little Appian adventure draws to a close, I can honestly say, "there's no place like home". We'll be back next week, and until then, consider this your long distance call out.
Live well, ride long! Ci vediamo!
Nice write up C'Man.
ReplyDeleteLook forward to your return and lengthy stories of the Mother Land. I can say that as my mother is indeed Italian. On that note, I'd like to give a should out to my Brother and his wife who delivered a baby girl today and named her after my Italian grandmother. They know who they are so their names will be left out.
Next order of business.
ReplyDelete***Still nice write up C'Man. ****
I'm out tomorrow, not b/c I am sore and tired from an awesome Solvang Century but b/c I am in Cleveland OH.
And lastly while I have fully control of the blog.
ReplyDeleteCappy, where is your race report. No March is complete w/out a Cool Classic race and subsequent report. How did the new 9er crush it.
*** C'Man, have you ever been to Italy?****
Glad you found the buried write up. I tried to post earlier, but demands have been high. We just returned from a trip to visit friends in the south. Little different world down there. More on that at the taco table.
ReplyDeleteYes, I've been here now 4 times, and each time I am conflicted. I love the people and the countryside, but things move at a different pace here. No one is in a hurry when it comes to business. They lounge around meals and breaks and any of the many holidays, and most businesses are closed more than they are open. But look out if you're walking/riding along the roads. Everyone moves about as if it's MotoGP or GranPrix racing. A little disconcerting at first, but I appreciate the need for speed. And paying one Euro to use the toilet? Next I'll be paying for each square of TP. Oh well, little grievances among a plethora of platitudes.
Congrats to you for another Solvang Slaughter, and to Cappy for unleashing the new beast on the folks at Cool.
Fautso Coppi, California Dream, those Italians know how to name a bike.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the entertaining read, Council.
Isn't the time of your repatriation is near?
And is this the Call Out? On a night of such drenching conditions I assumed the numbers would be quite high by now.