A derelict guard station at a border crossing and a small sign that reads 'Italia' and we are into the spiritual home of cyclists. It is EU to EU, after all, so noone stamps our passports or otherwise acknowledges our arrival. We take it upon ourselves to yell 'viva italia!' as we roll down the hill from Slovemia into Trieste. After weeks of bike free roads we are suddenly surrounded by riders of all ages, who wave and call 'ciao' as they pass. My bianchi receives nods of approval from old men throwing back espresso after espresso in cafe bars. Cars don't hoot cheerily like they do in the balkans, but they drive like people are used to bikes.
In Trieste, Matt has kindly researched and found us a place to stay, which just happens to be 300 metres above sea level, starting from sea level. I climb off and push my fukly [an appropriate typo - ed] loaded bike for two kilometres up a 13% hill, calves burning in a way that would make Lou Ferrigno proud. The spagghetti con vongole at the top feels well earned.
From Trieste, we head for Venice. The ferry ticket seller looks at our bikes in disbelief. There are no bikes in Venice. No way. She would like to help us, but probabky the police would stop us. After much deliberation, we leave the bikes behind and head for what is arguably the most beautiful city in Europe. All built on wooden pylons driven into the sea. Amazing! Ridiculous! Almost as ridiculous as the wealth poured into venetian churches. I inform Matt that should I cark it, I expect a tomb like Titian's. He says it is too expensive. I am unimpressed. I think it is an appropriate time to make the request, since the streets are awash with small ghouls and witches, who clearly have Venetian parents capable of making halloween stylish.
We wave farewell to Venice and start making our way across the flat lands of northern italy towards Torino. En route, we stop a night with the adorable Enrico, crazy mountain and enduro cyclist with the energy and humour of an imp. We pass through Mantua, Piacenza and are now in Lomello, staying with Ausilia, a Paris Brest Paris cyclist who lives beside a tumble down church built in 1200 AD which her brother now uses to store the rice he harvests.
Torino tomorrow, if Matt can get the chewing gum off his knicks..
