Day 17: Thursday, 26 May 1983

Start: Campground, outside Rimini, Italy

End: Hotel Morelle, Russi, Italy

I dawdle in the morning and eat a leisurely breakfast because I need to kill a little time until everything opens so I can take care of the chores I didn't get done yesterday while awaiting Bob's arrival on the freight train.

Having leapt up the coast by train, I'm now a bit out of synch. Although it was never likely Mike and I would actually reconnect in Genoa, this probably means there's no chance of a rendezvous unless he sails through Pisa and Florence, which I wouldn't count on. I'll likely be riding solo for the remainder of the expedition, unless the Greek maiden Fasa or redhaired Geraldine -- maybe both of them? -- unexpectedly purchases a bike and pedals like mad to catch up with me. Just kidding.

Basically, this means I really need to start thinking about my own plans and goals, and in a sense it's here in Rimini where I really take control of my own private expedition to London.

To begin with, I found a bike shop with a good saddle. Replaced my broken one and finally installed the replacement toe clip and strap I bought a couple of days ago. Picked up spare water bottles. Changed money. Bought a good road map of northern Italy. Went into a pharmacy and tried to get some kind of anti-bacterial ointment to spread over the ugly, cracking film on my raw ankle. Had trouble communicating with the pharmacist, even when I put my foot up on the counter and pointed at the damage. He sold me a packet of powder which seems to indicate that it needs to be mixed with water. Not sure if I'm supposed to drink it or slather it on the wound.

Much later than I would have preferred, I roll up the road along the local "Riviera." This is a ritzy holiday-at-the-shore area full of north Europeans, mostly Germans. In fact, most of the noise last night seemed to be coming from Germans watching a big soccer match against Italy on TV. This is basically city traffic and I don't make good time, but it's an interesting cruise. I eat lunch in a pine grove along the beach: Cheese, tuna, cookies, and an apple.

My new map is much better than the free one given to me in Bari. I mark a likely route, finish my apple, and swing out of town, west into the valley of the Po River.

Beautiful! All of a sudden, Italy really comes alive for me. This is flat, lovely, agricultural land with good roads, arching trees, minimal traffic, and occasional small towns. Exactly what I had visualized for a bike tour through Europe. Perfect. Bob is in tip-top shape -- my butt no longer slides down one side of the old, sagging saddle -- and I tell him how cheerful I'm feeling today, but Bob never answers. Despite the late start, I'm sailing along and making great time.

However, the weather turned bad. A severe thunderstorm rolled through and drenched everything. Growing wiser, I pulled over before it hit and waited it out with a brew in a small tavern. When it passed, I got back on the road.

But the weather turned distinctly colder and it started to drizzle. With sky darkening, I gave up for the day and ended up by sheer chance in the Hotel Morelle because I didn't feel like camping in the rain. Wet and grimy from the road, I almost regretted tromping into the place and dripping all over the nice carpet. But the proprietor welcomed me and even helped me wrestle Bob into my room. Wow! Not quite luxurious, but absolutely charming, and only US$11. Easily the best accommodations so far. I'll need to remember this place if I ever pass through here again with a lady friend. 

The Morelle's restaurant is equally impressive and I consume a fresh, delicious feast and most of a bottle of wine.

Apparently word gets around that I'm on a bike. A pleasant Swede businessman buys me a drink and tells me about his youthful riding days. An elderly Dutch couple spots me admiring a great print on the wall: A redhead on a bike, circa 1900. They take a photo of the print and promise to mail it to me in the States, then give me their card and invite me to visit them in The Hague. [2010 Note: They kept their promise, and when I got back home there was a big envelope with a photo of the print on the wall at the Morelle. A few years later, my wife and my sister tracked down the real print and framed it for me for Christmas.]

Eventually I toddle off to a soft bed. A little damp today, but Italy is looking better and better.

Conditions 

Distance: 75 km 

Weather: Beautiful, then wet 

Road: Smooth and nice 

Traffic: Light 

Terrain: Flat 

Mechanical: Everything back in great shape 

Physical: Feeling good except for sore ankle