CicloVia Francigena - Part 2
The meanderings of two unusual souls on their way to Rome on the back of steel donkeys
Part 2 – Tuscan hills
The Taro river (which we crossed on day 4) has in our history the importance of the Rubicon, marking the sharp transition to a totally different terrain, the point of no return, no forgiveness. The “pianura padana” was now making way to the first green hills. Unaware of these geographical warnings, we had picnicked abundantly on the banks of the Taro and, having passed the haunted town of Fornovo (and its disturbing animal graffitis), afforded a long coffee break at the first village. When resuming pedalling at 3pm under some threatening clouds, little we suspected that the following 20 km would be nothing less than a gruesome wall of pain. As we were visibly gaining altitude, my mate was visibly losing strength and its grip on the pedals. Breaks were becoming more and more frequent and it was getting desperately late. The hard decision was made to leave him behind and to pedal on in an attempt to block some beds in the next village: Cassio. So my race against the clock started, on an astonishing road that was throwing at me more and more uphill walls till the last liberating descent to Cassio. Beds were secured, and now all the hope was that Seyi would pull his own weight before nightfall. Despite all odds, after probably an hour, I finally see his weary silhouette trudging down into the village. He pulled it off, once again, resurrecting like a Phoenix, with the resolve of desperation!
Needless to say that showing up in those conditions did not leave us much space for negotiations. Instead of being offered a bed in an hostel which had being described to us as very cool (and full of creepy dolls), for the same price we were offloaded in the cold house of a neighbour.
Payback time on day 5, after a short climb to Berceto we could now enjoy the open views of the Cisa pass, with the reassurance that downhill was now waiting for us. The descent to Pontremoli was an exhilarating breeze; in no time we were marching into Aulla, where we stayed in a convent and dined on an glorious terrace. We even had some pilgrim talk with some room-mates, some affected by chronic “camminitis” (= addiction to Caminos), some complaining on the difficulty of the path (whereas I had suspected that it could have been too plain and boring for walkers). An emergency meeting was held with my companion to assess the options for the following stage, facing us with 3 options: 1) death by hearthstroke on a gruesome climb 2) certain death by car accident on the main road, 3) cheating by taking a train to Sarzana. We chose the first option by excluding the other two, driven –respectively- by our deep hate for cars and our high ethical standards.
It’s all about fear and expectations. The climb on day 6 was solid but manageable for those who are mentally prepared. We reach the enchanted and remote village of Ponzanello, wrapped in the mountains, surrounded by an enchanted mist, carved in ancient stone, covered in a perfect layer of musk… Then it’s all a rainy and woody downhill to Sarzana. Lunch at the castle, entertaining ourselves by throwing big chewy chunks of bread to a flock of pigeons and see them fighting. The afternoon is all along flat fields until reaching the sea front for twenty kilometers to Pietrasanta. The nuns who should have hosted us were nowhere to be seen for a couple of hours, so the tension was mounting in the head of my fearful mate. The pressure was relieved when he saw me arriving accompanied by the local padre (Don Stefano), who, upon seeing Seyi, welcomed him as a lost soul, commenting about his skin color (“uno bianco e uno nero!”) and pointing to him the trashbin where to throw his empty ice-cream cup. After tracking down the nuns for us, Don Stefano gave us a pat on the cheek and let us free. We were saved! I have memories of my companion lighting up a candle in a chapel later on that night. His conversion was complete. His likely wish: to get to Rome.
The following day was in line with this resolution, we were crunching hilly miles all the way to San Miniato. No mumbling or the usual unreasonable requests for breaks from my mate, at least until we strayed off the right path at the end of the day, followed by the steep climb into the city. We were rewarded by a stay in the dungeons of a beautiful monastery, but were too tired to fully enjoy an evening stroll in a town where virtually every building is perched on top of a slope. Right when getting back on track in terms of timings, our bodies were sending us a wakeup call: “slow down and enjoy”. An alternative plan was sketched, playing with the idea of tuning down our ambitions to ride all the way to the capital. It was to be an announced, but graceful, failure.
The following 4 days (to S.Gimignano, Siena, S.Quirico, Radicofani) are all about taking it easy and enjoying some of the most beautiful hills in Italy. After a stop in Gambassi Terme we enter S.Gimignano in the middle of the afternoon, but rain and being locked out of our convent spoils our tourist and napping plans. The Hospitalero is a funny Carabiniere who talks a bit too much mainly about his experiences during various caminos (including his habits of stealing petty souvenirs..). He’s definitely a pro, as testified by his special setup of metal rings for carrying both metal walking sticks and a wooden one. On to Siena, where we are also staying in a very beautiful convent. The hospitalero, Dario, is a bit hyperactive and keep us inviting to dinner with the Fathers, which we skillfully have to avoid, in order to save Seyi another evening of unsolicited Italian conversation class. But Dario is strong in insisting and new excuses have to be brought to the table to escape his grip. Another memorable experience was the peek in the guest book where we found some bad comments from an anonymous traveler (praising the food but) accusing the monks of a cold welcoming and Dario of interrupting his meditation in church to ask for a key…to which Dario responded majestically: “Dear Ian Stevenson, we are glad you enjoyed a fabulous dinner,….” then going on blaming the guy of breaking pilgrim’s codes of conduct by leaving the kitchen a dirty mess and by taking other people’s room keys…Hilarious!
Some random daytime Tuscany highlights were the break in a poppy field for lunch which was so windy we had to lie down not to be carried away, the experience of the Giro d’Italia ( more than 2 hours waiting for a group of cyclist in lycra passing by in a flash…), the contemplation/meditation on the fine façade of the Duomo di Siena, the sighting of a fox, a deer, some beautiful birds, flowery hills in bloom.
The arrival in San Quirico, racing to be there before the latest check-in time of 6pm, is again more challenging than expected – but we’re all of one piece. The hostel is bustling with pilgrims (as testified by the snoring levels in the room and the bowel sounds mixed with heavy teeth-brushing from a nearby toilet), including Marie-Lou, our new French friend for the next 2 days, and Mirko, the Italian young dude who we had already met in Siena. Despite such a sparkling environment, the choice from “the Boss” (as he’s now being called) is to “eat out”…and then we found ourselves again running to the nearest supermarket to buy more food… Perseverare diabolicum….
The stage to Radicofani is essentially another rest day, the feared uphill failing to materialize, allowing us an early arrival, exploring the fortified town and getting to know the statue of its local hero: Ghino di Taco, a sort of Robin Hood of its times, stealing to pilgrims but in a fair way and running a life outta law full of passion and revenge. We will often sight his frightening shadow ready to seize us in the next few days…
The evening in the hostel with Marie-Lou and Mirko is pure Pilgrim party: cooking pasta, writing (more or less) inspirational messages for other pilgrims on the tea sachets and staying up almost as late as 10pm!
Getting out of Radicofani was not exempt of adventures, as my travel-mate did his best to make the day memorable. We were faced with the toughest downhill stretch of the entire journey, wandering why our (normally very conservative) App did not mention it. After skittling a large number of pilgrims (including Marie-lou for a last farewell) I suddenly hear a loud whizz, as if a snake was on the verge of attacking. In no time I see the usual Seyi wrestling down the bike before finally being ejected and landing (for once) on his feet. Less than 48 hours had passed from its last puncture and his back wheel was again flat as a pancake. At least this time we were not in a industrial area and most importantly we had the pleasure to say good bye to Marilou (again)… as well as to greet a series of other bemused pilgrims. We were surprised not to see Mirko, who was behind us and had a more decent bike pump – where the heck is he?- and moved on. After greeting Marie-lou (for the 4th time), the road connects again with a paved stretch which we start following at full speed. We are finally crunching the miles! And –look!- there is another cyclist going the opposite way. Looks like another over-equipped German nut going the wrong way! As we greet him I hear distinctly the words (in Italian) “But where the fuck are you going?”. It was Mirko. In a flash, everything started to make sense: we had gone down the pedestrian route and then reconnected to the cycling route but we were doing it in reverse, heading back to Radicofani. Mirko, who couldn’t stop laughing (and rightly so), informed us that the descent for him was smooth and gorgeous. Obviously.
Back on track, we now take the right turn and get into a long straight stretch whizzing past a large group of pilgrims. I had just warned Seyi at the back to keep a good safety distance, when I feel some rubbing on my back wheel and some swerwing sounds. Of course, it was him. He had got straight into me, had been tipped out of his already fragile equilibrium, and was now rolling dangerously on the edge of a ditch. A disastrous fall was now imminent. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, with the bike sloping gradually on the right side until complete tip-over. Instead of jumping off, Seyi stayed glued on it and his body disappeared from view behind some thick bushes. We found him still there, clasping around in the thorns in search for his spectacles which had been ejected. Our day had been made.. and so was the day of the large group of pilgrim witnessing the scene from behind. (Note to the faithful readers: The last stages of the stunt and the recovery of the body from the bushes were filmed by Mirko’s ‘go-pro’ camera and are available as a premium material upon request).
Graced again by the Gods of the Way, we spot a football field and have a last penalty match. Even this apparently innocuous choice is not exempt of consequences. Mirko forgot his sunglasses near the goal. Seyi and I, eaten by the guilt of having dragged him in into the game, decide to go recover them. The uphill we had to face to get back to the pitch was a gruesome reminder that, in the Pilgrim’s world, pain is the currency with which sins are paid.
The rest of the day was smooth and included the beautiful descent to the fortified city of Bolsena from the sides of the lake, in bloom with flowers of multiple colors.
The following morning we would head to Viterbo – our final destination- but not after a visit to Montefiascone, where the 360° view on the lake and the surrounding hills represented the authentic cherry on the cake for a trip that has been demanding (expecially for my travel companion) but, again, memorable.
