Sienese butcher, depleted tourist.
It became a running joke between Sean and I, when we arrived in the old city on our bikes, that what we really needed to nourish us back to mental and physical equilibrium after 9 hours in the saddle (66 miles of pavement and 44oo feet of vineyarded and forested hills) was a nice boar's head reduction, a fantastical elixir derived from simmering a famous Sienese boar's head in a cauldron for at least 2 days, letting the meat, fat, and cartilage, not to mention the eyes and brain, dissolve into a uniform gelatinous sauce to be poured over everything we eat: pasta, bread, vegetables, coffee, you name it. If this little flight of fancy doesn't give you a sense of the lunacy that followed our grueling, life-altering adventure on two wheels, nothing will. Not even these pictures:
25 miles and one long climb in, Dudda, Italy.
Above breathtaking Lucolena, Italy, after our hardest climb, the 30th mile or so. The forests up there remind me of Santa Cruz.
Vineyards, vineyards everywhere, and not a drop to drink! No but really, there were tasting rooms everywhere. Wine, however, was the last thing on my mind. Water! Somewhere around the 40 mile mark.
Ca. 40 mile mark, with plenty to go.
The home stretch, sunflowers and sunbeams and bumblebees (not visible, though they were enormous), a few miles outside of Pianella, Italy, 10 miles from Siena, give or take.
I have neither the time nor the wordsmithy to adequately write about the ride in any detail. I will say this: we confirmed yet again how difficult it is to stay on the route as planned. Italy just doesn't provide the traveler with very good signage. What road is this? Your guess is as good as mine. Just keep your eye out for a name you recognize and go thataway. When we arrived in Greve in Chianti, I knew something was amiss. We weren't supposed to arrive in Greve. We were supposed to skirt it in the hills to the east. Having learned that the piazzas are the place to get water and info and other essentials, we rolled into a fairly large specimen and located the informazione office, now closed for siesta (of course). But in Italy almost everyone is approachable and forthcoming with helpful answers, and we duly discovered that the next left turn up the main drag would take us, steeply and windingly, into the hill town of Dudda, and hence back to the route as planned.
But then I had an accident.
In the piazza, I failed yet again to get my cleat in the pedal in time to avoid a pair of pedestrians trending toward my path and I fell over, breaking my cleat and essentially hobbling me for the rest of the ride, unless I could find a replacement. And as these things go, we had spied a bike shop on the other end of the piazza, which surely would have replacements, right? Well, they too were closed for siesta, and just as I was cursing my fate and my clumsiness, the proprietress comes back and unlocks the door, and hearing me lament my misfortune, informs me that yes she is now open but no she does not have anything that "specialized" (her shop sells mainly bike-related clothing and other non-mechanical items). Woe is me! But wait! There is a bona fide bike shop just down the road called Something-uzzi or -azzi, and this is something they are more likely to carry. So we ride very slowly down the main street with eyes peeled for bikes in window displays or on the sidewalk but find nothing. We split up and reunite with only disappointing news. Then Sean asks a local. The shop is down that side street near the creek. We check. There it is (with no signage)! Closed for siesta. Hell, we're hungry anyway so we find a cafe (The Jolly Cafe) around the corner and eat what might be one of the five best meals of our trip. My caprese (yes I ate mozzarella) was so fresh I could taste the cow, and Sean's rigatoni was world class. It had some kind of coconut milk/porcini/red pepper sauce that blew my mind. We have both sworn to try our hands, respectively, at this miracle of flavor.
Our repast over, we returned to the bike shop, bought replacement cleats, screwed the right one on, and headed up, and up, and up. The next 45 miles seemed, in retrospect, to take place over several days. A different stage of experience came with each bend in the road; a new day dawned with each unfolding vista. We suffered, we rejoiced. I saw 2 young deer bound across the road in a blink. Unidentified little black insects with yellow spotted wings seemed to rule the ecosystem up there. They were like butterflies but smaller, and more like dragonflies in shape. Primeval forests heavy with moss and creepers sprang up after miles of vineyards. Just indescribable beauty. It came in snapshots, those pockets of relief from the pain in my legs and lungs when the road would relax its punishing grade for a minute or two. I found that within seconds of recovering normal respiration, I would instantly be floored by the sights and sounds and smells around me. More often than not this inevitably gave way to more punishment, but reward just as likely would follow again, and the so the cycle (no pun intended) went.
We thought the descent into Siena would be just that: a descent. And until we reached the perimeter of the city, it mostly was. But once we made that right turn toward our hostel, we faced another 4 km climb, this time in mad traffic with dangerously low blood sugar. I was incensed. Sean was woozy. Rage fueled me all the way to the Soggiorno Lo Stellino on Via Fiorentina, 4 kms. outside of the city center. I don't know how Sean made it. Sheer will power no doubt. We checked in, utterly depleted and sweaty and jittery from hunger and exertion, climbed the two flights (!) of stairs to our room, carrying the bikes on our shoulders, showered, and immediately began the hunt for food. Our host recommended the pizzeria a few doors down, and we went. I drank a half liter jug of red wine and gorged on bruschetta, green minestrone, and penne arrabiata, and returned to life. It was an unbelievable feast, and our waiter reminded me of Ducky from Pretty in Pink, but Italian. We ate there again the next night, had the same waiter, and feasted just as royally. We were regulars. The other tables were full of locals, many with small children playing with their glasses and their pasta and pizza. It was very pleasant. I loved it there. I'd go back to Siena just to eat there.
Tomorrow I'll post some photos of the city, but I think I've already mentioned my favorite thing about Siena, aside from the ride there.
1 comment:
The hills around LA will be a piece of cake after the Italy experience.
You never know what's around the corner - had your cleat not broken, would you & Sean ever have discovered that fabulous red pepper sauce - likely not.
Pops
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