Ciao, Bella Italia (mainland)

​My daily Bike thoughts: 

-Cars honking at me. All the time. I spend a lot of time deciphering the different honks. Do they love me? Do they hate me? Do they want me to move? Do they want me to die? Do they want me to be successful? saying hello? Go to hell? Good luck? Are you single?  Sometimes you know by the power and position of a honk, a harsh fuck you that goes right up your tailbone, but then sometimes you get one of those and you look beside you and you see a beaten up car with a full family of five waving with grins at you. Back to the Deciphering board. 

- I’m EXCELLING at holding my pee because trying to find a toilet or a secret spot in this country is like trying to find a fill in the blank - leave it in the comments, hint: (it’s REALLY hard!!!) 

    I’m finding that the days are starting to blend together. How long have I been here? How long have I been biking? In the present moment often I think it’s really hard and I often kinda hate it and am questioning my life choices. “Why can’t you just go on a relaxing vacation for once in your GD life!” I say outloud as I walk my bike up a section of road cars are having trouble going up. 

                  (All photos from Solerno) 

My legs ache as I go up the hills again and again and again, with not enough down time (literally) in my opinion to balance this whole upity business, but then when I play it all backwards it’s almost like going downhill. “Damn this is fucking awesome!” I pat myself and my bike Trigger  on the back and let out a big duh for being tired. I spent a whole morning zig zagging up a mountain that was surrounded by many glorious, Rocky Mountain faces and as the wind tornadoed my hair around and I felt so proud for getting myself there, I stopped, closed my eyes, and let pride all the way in. I don’t think we are taught to let ourselves feel pride enough. I highly recommend trying it. A flood of free endorphins the capitalist government doesn’t want you to have! 

I’ve been getting a lot more “attention” now  both in good and bad ways. I’ve had a lot of men pulling over in their cars to give me Kissy faces or hand gestures I spend no time deciphering. Not to the mention receiving a plethora of the “italian stare” that is putting some hair on my chest (it keeps me warm at night.) It was a bad day when an old man in a tweed suit, followed me for a while in his car and even stopped to watch me while I took a swim, until finally I just stood and stared at him back until he slowly got into his car and drove away. My plan next time is to out crazy them, go bananas, maybe foam at the mouth or start spitting and yelling, maybe show them my new strange hairy chest. Anything. (Also plz leave ideas in comment section below). 

Google maps is taking me on some steep climbs that leave my heart feeling like a wild horse stuck in a cage. The views always worth it, days of rolling farmland in between the mountains that separate me and Puglia (that I decided not to go to because of having so much knee pain). I did stare at them longingly all day as I went down an unplanned direction, down the coast towards Sicily. The day chose to go south instead,  my final destination was a wild camp spot that Alessio told me about. I called to ask him “where exactly?” he said “I don’t know it’s been seven years!” on my way there, my front bag fell off, my

Phone flew off into a bush, and a cyclist whom I was ecstatic to see yelled in Italian that my bike post was down. I stopped to put it back up and realize the bolts were coming loose, and I cried out of frustration, quick hot tears because I flew around the corner to a rocky shoreline of brilliant setting sun, full of  fisherman taking off under a rising full moon so shiny it was like a magic coin. I felt safe, especially because I didn’t see a car the whole way down. I made a dinner of pumpkin ravioli, mozzarella balls, and arugula. (My friends will be surprised to hear how little vegetables I am consuming-virtually none) topped with rosa pesto. It was filling and at 6:45 I basically went to bed, but right before getting into my tent, a car slowed down as they passed by and I thought oh no I’m about to get busted till I realized that they were chasing away a wild pig. My food bag was high on a tree (I’ve been warned a few times) but I was woken up in the night to sniffing and honking of pigs right outside my tent and I shook the walls to scare them off… ya, wild pigs!!!

From there, it was zigzagged roads up more mountains to the town of Sapri. All day long I heard the whoosh of the train in the distance and I fantasized about it. I felt so physically wrecked at the end of the day that when I arrived to town, I went to the train station just to see how much a train would cost, just check it out…€15 for a 200km ride. I looked across the station considering my next move and realized that there is a bike…on the other side of the room…fully packed. 

I ran over and introduced myself to Gottfried , a 69-year-old Austrian. He doesn’t really speak English and he sleeps on the beach every night. As we tried to communicate, I told him I found a hotel there for 20€, and the rain began to really pour so I said OK! Good luck!  Goodbye! But there was a moment of tension I did not understand, but it’s starting to rain harder and I must leave. As I bike through town I hear a commotion behind me and I see that he’s raced towards me and he’s coming too! He’s packed light and he couldn’t believe how loaded my bike was, he apologize for telling me to hurry up on on the big hill to the hotel. (My friend told me later-it’s not a heavy bike. It’s a light house!) 

The next day Gottfried and I headed to the train station, a 2000m climb awaited him towards Puglia, and a week of thunderstorms was starting. We sat into the train station cafe and thunder shook the saucers. He told me that his daughter was a famous snowboarder, who had gone to the last three Olympics, including the one in Canada.  He said it’s his dream to bike and turn 70 in Morroco, and that he is now a subscriber to my blog. (Hi Gottfried!) Two Swiss bikers showed up too wirh ultra light gear and we all said goodbye, going in different directions.  

I was scared to take the train because I was scared I’d never want to bike again but luckily I was wrong. I found it quite gross and confusing and stressful and Europe is NOT made for anyone with a disability/ or on wheels. I felt sad staring at the ocean with its waves breaking so largely over rocks, it almost sprayed the window. I listened to my brother Sam’s music and pretended I was in a movie, watching all the towns fly by. 

I took the train to my #4 warm showers Gonzo‘s house. A warm, silly, artistic Argentinian, now Italian.  He lives in a town in between towns in a very poor part of Calabria. There’s a dog who lives out who gets so excited to see you. He can’t breathe. Every second building in the town was abandoned and crumbling. The thing to do was go to the mall. We went everyday to buy groceries, daily missions Gonzo does to keep sane, and it was full of teenagers gathering on the roof, and family’s just walking around, stopping to chat. He has his papers now and is moving to Berlin to live with his brother on Wednesday. He hates this town and place and explain that Sicily isn’t run by the mafia anymore, they cleaned up their act and they all became politicians, Calabria is where the guns and the gangs reside. “I really am sorry for my gender.” He tells me. Over beers and pizza we talk a lot about biking and travelling, The Dalai Lama who he recently met in India. We talked about loneliness and what it does to you, and I admit im lonely too and I realize it’s a vulnerable thing to admit too. 

I shared Gonzos bedroom and slept on a single cot beside his underneath an Argentina flag with goodbyes and good-lucks from his friends. His roommate Betty is from Uruguay and he translates a mix of Italian, English in Spanish. It makes me wanna work on my Spanish for real. Although I say this a lot, but I mean it this time! We have coffees at a Russian bar and everybody’s drinking beers at 9 am I realize this is also seeing Italy, it’s as much apart of it as the pistachios and the orange trees, the Roman’s and arrivederci. 

We watch Italian films and drink beer and on the day that I left we had a sweet hour biking in the sunshine through studio Ghibli-esk farmlands listening to C. Tangana. Gonzo‘s dances on his bike, making both of us laugh as we fly down the hills and realize what a good friend i just made. Both of us hate goodbyes and we don’t linger, I feel the moment we part I start climbing up a hill qnd the rain begins to pour, cold and plump. I was headed to Sicily but I stopped in the town of Skilla and had to go to Hotel, whwre i bundled myself in my buff, puffy jacket, under the covers and still took hours to warm up. I made gnocchi secretly in my little camp stove in my room for supper. 

In the morning, a new chapter, on the ride to the ferry I sang Sicilia- you’re breaking my heart, making people smile as I rode along. 

Thankyou for your comments, they really mean the absolute world to me, them and writing the blog into the ether helps with the loneliness, I hope you are having adventures and curiously learning about yourself in the ways you spend your days.