July 5, 2012
A tunnel of rain and a land of apples: Prato del Stelvio - Terrano
WE HAVE HEARD a lot about the Adige bike path. And nothing has done it justice. It is not simply a path but a road, a road just for cyclists, which starts at the foot of the Stelvio and goes on and on for days. It is superbly surfaced, it has traffic signs, rest areas and lovely countryside. We thought Switzerland didn't do a bad job for cyclists but it's nothing compared to Italy.
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And it's not just this path. It's the way that cyclists are treated, the respect they are given. There are the crowds of racer lookalikes, of course, individuals and clubs, but there are also families out for slow, ponderous rides and others, usually women but not always, who ride confidently with shopping bags hanging from their handlebars. You just go by bike and you're respected for it. It's normal. There's no statement involved.
"I don't think there's any doubt that the car is king in Italy," Steph said, "but the bike is certainly queen."
Today we rode all day through orchards and stopped for coffee and cakes.
Mike was slow getting packed but, after the day he experienced over the mountain, he could be forgiven anything. We rode through unfenced orchards - how much is an individual apple worth to merit a fence against its theft? - and at one moment, a lengthy moment, through a tunnel of rain poured down on us from an alley of sprinklers.
It hardly mattered; it has been so enjoyably warm that a good dousing was welcome.
It was on the path that we met another Crazyguy, Darrin Hynes, an American living in Copenhagen. He said he recognised me "because you haven't got much hair." For that unkind truth, I did my best to persuade him to ride the Stelvio. He wasn't keen because he'd ridden a col the previous day and not wholly enjoyed the experience.
"Go on, do it!" I urged him. "You can't ride so near and then not do it. You'd kick yourself afterwards:"
Not much hair indeed!
Mike stayed at a camp-site just up the road from where we found bed and breakfast in a house heavy with religious symbols. Why did we go on further? Because, frankly, we didn't think the camp-site with its slightly sloping and distinctly gravelled pitches was up to the job. Fine in a camping-car, yes, but not in a tent. On top of which, and the stronger reason, we took against the strident and unhelpful woman running the site. Whenever we suggested an area of grass we'd found, she refused and said it was the gravel or nothing.
Well, she won't miss our trade, I'm sure, but we got a satisfaction from denying it to her.
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