bikes

The Passo Dello Stelvio is a mountain pass located in the Dolomites in Italy. At 2,758 metres, it�s the highest mountain pass of any of the Grand Cycling Tours. Two weeks ago, it was supposed to have been one of the finishing stages of the 2013 Giro d�Italia, but the organisers had to switch location because the summit was still snowbound. Today the signs at the foot of the climb still warn that the other side remains closed from just over the summit. So, if I make the top, it�s a u-turn and back down the same way. If I make the summit. I�m ill-prepared for this climb, as this morning I�ve driven four hundred kilometres from Germany, after getting lost twice in the backblocks of Switzerland. This has scuttled my plans to hire a road bike, as all the shops are closed until 4pm for the Italian siesta.  So, after a very quick lunch, I get Craig, my trusty old hybrid out of the car and start the climb. His chain still squeaks from getting drenched in Germany along the Danube and h...

Today�s ride is a 92 kilometre circuit to Noto, a historic Sicilian town, famous for having more churches per square kilometre than anywhere in Italy. It begins in the cool early morning at our B&B outside Ispica in south-western Sicily. We take a quiet back lane two kilometres through olive groves to the beach road, turn left and cycle with the Mediterranean on our right and pastel-painted Casas on our left. There�s a gentle breeze and the Council workers are out whippersnipping the undergrowth. For a few kilometres, we feel back home in Australia with frangapani blooming and eucalypt trees dusty and tall by the roadside. A plant that looks suspiciously like wattle crowds the footpath. At any moment, I�m expecting to see a flattened cane toad on the road.  No, just a hedgehog. In one village, a enterprising local is cultivating a small vineyard in sand. The plants looks green and robust. Cathie and I enter into a debate as to which country is directly to our right, across the ...

I can think of no better way to finish the perfect day than with a cycle up a Category One mountain in Sicily. We started today with a swim in the chilly Mediterranean of clear water and rocky headlands at Scorpello.  For lunch, we tried the local workers meal of Pane Cunzato - a doorstop-sized sandwich of olive oil, salt, tomato, cheese and sardines. After that, I needed a bike ride. Beginning at the fishing port of Trapani on the north coast of Sicily, I cycle up what must be one of the widest main roads in Italy. For a country of Fiat Bambini and Piaggios, here was a road fit for Hummers. Consequently, Italians drive three abreast down the Via. I wobble into the gutter and take the first right-hand turn and find myself confronting a 13% gradient out of town.  Craig, my bicycle, is a staid hybrid with twenty-one gears and is not suited to climbing. He prefers a slow wander on a bike path beside a river. But, we both have no alternative, so I press on and soon join the main r...

There�s a haze over the Piedmont hills as we begin our cycle from the B&B to Casale Monferrato. As the crow flies, it�s perhaps twelve kilometres. As the cyclist wanders between hilltop towns, it�s thirty kilometres one way. It�s the early morning of May Day, so the roads are quiet.  Every time I see the church at Camagna, I shake my head in disbelief that a village of less than 600 residents should have such a crowning glory towering above the town. As we cycle through, a bunch of teenagers are playing a curious game in the main square. It reminds me of royal tennis, where a number of players stand each end of a court, sometimes measuring up to eighty metres and hit a hard tennis ball with a racket that looks like a tamborine with a skin stretched tight over the circular frame. When the teenagers hit the ball, it shoots off the racket with a sound akin to a rifle shot.  There�s a full-size court in Vignale, the neighbouring village. A few years ago here, I watched a tourn...