Day 13: Sunday, 22 May 1983

Start: On the beach, near Margherita, Italy

End: Hotel, San Giovanni Rotondo, Italy

Up with the sun, which means about 4:30 AM, in the narrow strip between the Adriatic Sea and the coast road, near some kind of lagoon. Got on the road immediately and ate my last supply of pastry on the fly.

The old guy last night told me not to miss the Gargano peninsula, so that's where I headed. I hit Manfredonia and started around the peninsula, but the road promptly forked again, with an inland stretch and a coastal stretch. I wanted the coastal stretch, but quickly came to a tunnel with a sign. In Italian, of course, but easy to figure out.

"No pedestrians, no bikes." 

It was still early in the day -- Sunday -- and no traffic around, so I decided to ignore the sign and go through anyway. I strapped on my trusty Belt Beacon and headed in. Within less than a hundred meters my chain jumped off for no apparent reason and I came to an abrupt stop. I turned around, walked the bike back to the entrance where I could see what was going on, and fixed the chain. Based on the narrowness of the tunnel and the speed of the one car that went buzzing through when I was trying to bail out, I decided to walk through. I climbed over the guardrail, lifted Bob over, and began pushing between the guardrail and the wall of the tunnel. Within a few paces, a protruding piece of metal caught my riding shorts and ripped a big hole in them. Jeez, it's not like I'm hauling a closet full of spare clothes with me! I kept going. Of course, the highway maintenance folks had already out-smarted me, and mid-way through the dark tunnel I came up against an anti-pedestrian screen blocking my way. Impassable. By now cars were starting to whiz through, so I could only retreat with my torn shorts flapping at each step.

Okay, okay. Lesson learned. Obey the signs.

I decided my only choice was to turn off and take the inland stretch. This, of course, turned out to be up, up, up, and up. Far more than anything else I've encountered to this point. Plus, my saddle starting squeaking and squawking like mad. Moving slowly in my granny gear, I reached what appeared to be the summit and pulled over to inspect the saddle. Broken and sagging. It suddenly occurred to me, a couple of weeks tardy, that while it's usually okay to pick up Bob by the handle bars and back of the saddle, that's not a good plan when fully loaded. Doing so, the extra weight had snapped a side rail. Probably in the tunnel. Bob remains ridable, but my ass tilts off to one side and the saddle squeaks loudly at every crank. So add a new saddle to the list along with the broken toe clip and pulverized water bottle.

As it turned out, the spot where I pulled over to inspect the saddle wasn't actually the summit. Just another fork in the road. Judging from the sign and my imperfect map, going north would take me on around the peninsula through more mountainous terrain. Taking the other fork would get me down from the mountain quicker, bypass part of the peninsula, and eventually put me back on the coast. So I took the left fork.

Wrong.

That fork turned out to be the road to the summit of Monte Sant'Angelo, still a long hard climb in the distance. By this point I was pooped, low on water, almost out of nourishment, hanging out of my torn shorts, leaning awkwardly because of the sagging saddle, and assaulted by the constant squeaking of the broken siderail. So now my derailleur cable decided to jump out of its guide.

I stopped again, fixed that problem, and continued creeping up the mountain. By about 1:00 I reached the summit, which turned out to be a big tourist destination -- so that's where all the buses were heading as they passed me on the climb -- with great views and, thankfully, water and a restaurant. However, the sign indicated the restaurant wouldn't open until 2:00, so I had an hour to kill. On the other hand, San Giovanni Rotundo was only a few miles away, and it was all downhill. I was starving, so rather than hang around for an hour and wait for the summit restaurant to open, I decided to coast down the mountain and grab something to eat in SGR.

Wrong again.

Even going downhill I was so weak I could barely keep it on the road. I finally stopped and rummaged through my meager reserve rations. The only food remaining was a can of ravioli. No idea where that came from, but I was so hungry I sat on the side of the road and ate the whole can -- cold -- with my fingers. I rested a few minutes and then started back down the mountain. That wasn't too bad and soon the road flattened out, but my belly began to ache from all the cold ravioli and I nearly puked. At that point I could barely turn the pedals.

Without any warning, a bee zoomed out of nowhere, somehow missed my riding glove, and stung the hell out of my left thumb. Ow! My hand swelled up, turned red, and became so useless I couldn't steer, brake, or shift gears with it.

Now everything seemed to be falling apart and I could hardly keep going. [2010 Note: I never realized before, this was Lucky Day 13.]

Miraculously, I found an open restaurant. I was too sick from the cold ravioli to eat anything, but I slowly savored a cool beer and began to feel better as the swelling in my hand subsided.

All in all, it seemed like it had been a pretty tough day, so I opted to grab a hotel in San Giovanni Rotondo. Now I need to get some dinner, try to stitch up my shorts, and regroup for tomorrow's ride.

Gee, I wonder what Mike's up to?

Conditions 

Distance: 88 km 

Weather: Hot 

Road: Okay, except for the tunnel 

Traffic: Busy with lots of cars and buses heading for the summit of the mountain 

Terrain: Steep up and steep down 

Mechanical: Saddle broken, slipped cable, thrown chain, and toe clip still broken 

Physical: Exhausted, belly ache, and bee sting