Brand New Day

The Road to Rome

They say all roads lead there…which is handy seeing as we definitely didn’t take the most direct route to get to the Italian capital this summer.

We’ve recently spent two weeks driving from the UK to Rome to begin our next adventure. The car was full to bursting with everything we might need for the ensuing six weeks before our removals arrive and of course our two bikes and little dog! Our last evening in the UK ticked every quintessential British box with a walk on the white cliffs of Dover, a pint in a pub and Fish and Chips by the sea. The next morning the road trip began in earnest with an early channel tunnel crossing followed by eight hours of hassle-free driving down France to our first stop at Lake Annecy.

We spent a week at this pretty Savoyard town on the edge of the French alps, where we mainly cycled, hiked, swam and ate our way around the area. The lake is surrounded by a fantastic (almost entirely) traffic free cycle path of 42km which is a great way for all the family to get out and explore the lake. It was extremely busy though (as you’d expect in August) so I’d recommend going out of the school holidays if possible. Whilst we enjoyed our time here we were very excited to hit the road again and continue in to our new country of residence.

The morning we left Annecy was very grey and cloudy and we questioned our choice of taking the ‘No Tolls’ route and bypassing the Mont Blanc Tunnel. But we had time on our hands and decided to go for it. The route wound its way alongside the lake, down the valley and soon started climbing. We took the Col du Petit Saint-Bernard, a 30km pass from the town of Bourg-Saint-Maurice to the French-Italian border at the top. It was so cloudy and grey that at times we couldn’t see the end of the car bonnet. At the top we stopped to quickly take photos in the cloud at the border before continuing down the other side. However, we’d driven only about 200m from the ‘Italia’ sign when something absolutely incredible happened. The cloud slowly started to thin out and blue patches of sky appeared. Within less than a minute we were faced with the most beautiful mountain scene with a back drop of bright blue sky and not a cloud in sight. It was as though someone had turned up the sharpness and everything had changed from a fuzzy, grey to the highest clarity and colour setting. At the risk of coming across slightly unhinged, it literally moved me to tears. It was the most incredible welcome (back) to our new country that we could ever have imagined. A few hairpins later we were greeted by the beautiful sight of an alpine restaurant where we stopped for a coffee. (A proper one! Not what the French think constitutes a coffee!)

Our destination for that night was an authentic agriturismo (farm stay) called La Ferme du Gran Paradiso at the end of a valley in the Gran Paradiso National Park. We spent the afternoon hiking up the valley past waterfalls to a remote mountain rifugio before sampling some typically local dishes that evening. The highlight of which was the nettle risotto!

The next stop on our road trip was the coastal town of Ravenna in Emilia-Romagna. We’d been here before, a few years ago but due to covid restrictions none of the sights were open so we had unfinished business. The main attraction in this ancient city are the beautiful, Byzantine mosaics that fill the temples and churches. I’m so pleased we made the effort to return, words cannot describe how incredible these intricate mosaics are. They need to be seen for yourselves. So go to Ravenna! We did a night time guided tour which was just magical, if slightly tiring, as it was in Italian! However it was good to get in to the swing of things with the new language.

Then our final stop was two nights in the countryside on another agriturismo just outside the town of Tivoli, less than an hour from Rome. We were keen to explore this area as it would be our nearest countryside escape from the city. La Cerra was the perfect place to go to relax, unwind, hike, cycle and eat. The staff were absolutely lovely, the setting was perfect with amazing views and the food was absolutely delicious! We’ll definitely be back here!

Before we knew it, we were back in the car for the last time on our road trip and arrived in Rome on Saturday morning. Just over 1,500 miles, 13 days and 3 countries later we’d made it to our new home. Our first morning was spent wandering the streets early to soak it all in, of which the highlight was the sunrise over the Roman Forum…yet another incredibly beautiful welcome.

There’s something about packing up all your worldly possessions and moving house (especially to a foreign country) which can cause a slight melancholy, or at least promotes heightened emotions. Whilst on the one hand it seems an idyllic life (don’t get me wrong I am very excited to be here and I understand what a privilege and opportunity it is) on the other, it has some tough aspects too. Leaving the same country as loved ones, for me is always emotional and something which I don’t think I’ll ever fully get used to. Having now moved six times in the last four and a half years one would think a degree of complacency and state of blasé would set in, as though we should be used to the disruption by now and the gravity of the situation diminishes each time. For me though, that’s not the case…it’s not something I’m immune to yet. It does, however, highlight the importance of relationships, friendships and connections and makes me appreciate my nearest and dearest so very much. Taking on this two week journey, where we’ve effectively been homeless, makes me think of a poem which means a lot to me. My favourite school teacher shared this poem with us in our leavers assembly at school many moons ago. When I find myself being caught up in the small details, not taking time to appreciate the little things or wishing time would speed up for something in particular I think of this poem. It gave me hope through cancer treatment and it helps to bring a sense of perspective, for which I’ll be entirely grateful to my wonderful English teacher. It seems quite apt to share it with you now, as one “journey” ends but the true journey continues.

That’s enough pensiveness for today…I’m off to get a gelato!

The Station

Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision.                       We see ourselves on a journey that spans the continent.                   We’re traveling by train.

Out of the windows we drink in the passing scenes of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at a crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of row upon row of wheat and barley, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls.

But uppermost in our minds is the final destination.                   On a certain day at a certain hour we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving.                                     Once we get there so many wonderful dreams will come true. Pieces of our lives will fit together like a completed jigsaw.               How restlessly we pace the aisles, damning the minutes for loitering … waiting, waiting, waiting, for the station.

However, sooner or later we realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all.

The true joy of life is in the journey. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us.

"When we reach the station that will be it!” we cry.               "When I’m 40!"                                                                                   "When I buy a new car!"                                                                "When I've put the kids through university!"                              "When I've paid off the mortgage!"                                                      "I shall live happily ever after!”

It isn’t the burdens of today that drive men and women mad.        It's the regret over yesterday and fear of tomorrow.             Regret and fear are twin thieves who rob us of today.

So, stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles.

Instead be bold and courageous with yourself,                      Climb more mountains,                                                                     Eat more ice cream,                                                                            Go barefoot more often,                                                                    Watch more sunsets,                                                                     Laugh more,                                                                                          Cry less.                                                                                                   Life must be lived as we go along.                                                  The station will come soon enough.

Another Turn of The Wheel

Hey everyone! After a very long period of silence I decided it was time to pick up the proverbial pen again and get this blog back on track. The main thing that led to this decision is that in six weeks time we’re packing up the house….again….and moving to Italy….again! This time we’ll be in Rome. A few people have expressed the wish to keep up to date with our Italian adventures again so here we are!

What has the last couple of years involved? At the risk of sounding like one of those annoying round robin Christmas letters…since my last post back in April 2022, we’ve moved house twice, spent a year living in Paris, had a trip of a lifetime to Canada and had many fun filled adventures. Living in Paris was an experience. It was a busy year filled with history, culture, visits from family and friends, making new pals, cycling, eating and drinking. I worked as a cycle tour guide for a Dutch Tour Company, so I was paid to take groups of tourists around the sights of Paris on a bike….could there be a more perfect job! Needless to say I loved it. I loved learning about the place in which we were living, I loved meeting people from all walks of life and I loved being part of a great team. If an opportunity like that comes up in Rome I’ll be grabbing it with both hands…so watch this space.

Our two wheel adventures have of course continued, we’ve bikepacked through the Dordogne region, around the Champagne region, along the Loire, cycled up Alpe d’Huez and Allan completed an epic 327km gravel ride to Angers. After being back in the UK for a little while we decided another challenge was in order, so I found a 400km Audax for us to enter…in Wales.

The June weekend seemed a very long way off when we signed up but needless to say the weeks ran away from us and before we knew it there were no more training opportunities left. We’d some how convinced our friend Nigel to join us too. An Audax is the understated, unassuming, superior (in my opinion) cousin of the popular Sportive in the cycling world. It is the antithesis of the commercial, expensive, highly organised rides that have boomed in the UK in recent years; events that are often run by companies solely to generate profit. Instead the Audax is usually organised by a local cycling club, is often unsupported and has a much smaller entry list. This one in particular was called the Tenby 400km and was organised by Richard and Pembrokeshire Velo. The route took us from Tenby, a quaint seaside town in the South of Wales, to Tywyn and back to Tenby. 413km with just under 20,000 ft of climbing. If you said it quickly it didn’t seem so bad!

Sadly, our team of three was reduced to two at the last minute due to an injury incurred by Allan, something which any cyclist, runner or athlete I’m sure can agree is one of the most frustrating things in the world! But luckily for Nigel and I our support crew/cheer leading team had doubled!

So after a painfully long day filled with a feeling of impending doom, we finally rolled away (along with only four other riders!) from the pretty little harbour at 9pm on Saturday. The official cut off time was something like 11.30pm the following day, but I had my sights set on a 9pm arrival; within 24 hours seemed more poetic but mainly because the last fish and chip shop in the town closed at that time! I’m not going to lie, the hours that followed seemed to have melded in to a blur. Highlights include: admiring the sunset at the top of a ridge, whizzing through the calm, cool dusk air on empty, smooth roads, the most beautiful star studded sky, the 24 hour service station looming in to sight at 3.23 am and then coming out to find the seemingly never ending darkness had in fact given way to an inevitable slither of light. In a beautiful but strange mirroring of emotions and nature this triumphant, spirit-lifting moment was topped off with a barn owl fly past. He glided over our heads from one side of the road to the other before disappearing, probably to hunt for breakfast. It’s incredible how the smallest improvement in circumstance can have an unparalleled positive impact on your morale. Countless number of times I was on the verge of slipping in to a dark place, either from the burning pain in my muscles as we hit another hill, as I lost all feeling in my fingers, when there seemed no end to the darkness or thanks to the block headwind we were trying to drag ourselves through. However, after only a minute or two off the bike, a crack of daylight, a bite of a pork pie and the feeling back in fingers and toes I felt rejuvenated and raring to go again…every time!

The sun setting at Tenby Harbour just before the start.

The stand out moment for me, however, ironically also coincided with probably the toughest climb of the ride. We were a long way off the half way point, and we hit about a four mile climb from Llanidloes with sections of 15%+. It was one of those hills where you thought you were nearly at the top only to round a corner to see it continued on and on. But at this point the wind hadn’t picked up, the clouds hadn’t closed in and instead the sky was filled with gorgeous pinks, oranges and reds as the sun lazily made it’s way over the horizon. It was a beautiful and welcome distraction from the pain. The fast, cold descent followed and then the probably most soul destroying part of the ride. There was a stretch of the route from Machynlleth to Tywyn which was an out and back and mentally was hard for me. Grinding up yet another hill and freewheeling down the other side knowing that we had to return via the same roads was so hard. But we finally arrived at Tywyn….not that it was worth it all! No offence to residents of Tywyn but it really wasn’t worth cycling all that way to. The weather had closed in by then and it appeared to be a depressing, grey, sad seaside town. This was probably exaggerated by the fact that due to the early hour nothing was open except the petrol station. The chap working there personified the town atmosphere, he was miserable as sin, didn’t have a toilet we could use and wouldn’t give us any tap water! I’d never been so pleased to escape a place. From this point on, the order of the day was just to keep turning the pedals, luckily our low points deconflicted and we helped each other when needed. We were very pleased to see Allan and Caroline (Nigel’s wife) at the top of another long climb. Despite the drizzle and cloud it was still an absolutely beautiful climb which I’d actually like to go back and do again. Being greeted by friendly faces at the top was a very welcome boost and it helped in believing that the remaining 150 km was achievable. The afternoon passed with few words, it was a case of just keeping going. The sentence we uttered most was “No…..not another bloody hill!” Despite my cycling computer saying there were no more climbs the hills just kept coming, they were unrelenting and seemed to get steeper the nearer to the end we got. I’ve never been so pleased to see a ‘Welcome to….’ town sign! We rolled through the town and arrived back at the pretty harbour where it all started what felt like a lifetime ago. The time was 8.17pm. We’d done it! Under 24 hours. The beer which awaited us tasted so very good! I was very happy. Happy to have done it and happy not to have to cycle up any more hills for a while. Even the news that the only Fish and Chip Shop left open uses peanut oil (I have a peanut allergy!) couldn’t wipe the smile from my face…..I’ll admit it did wobble for a moment!

Near the top of the toughest climb. It was so beautiful.

Happy to see our cheer leading crew with 150 km to go.

This event was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done and as such it was a fitting way to mark five years since my Breast Cancer diagnosis. 1,825 days ago I was sat in the hospital undergoing chemotherapy treatment, to then complete something like this five years on makes it all seem like a bad dream. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to raise some money for charity so with the help of Caroline’s ninja fund raising skills we’ve raised over £2,500 for Cancer Research. (The page is still open so if you’d like to donate please click here.)

I’d like to thank everyone that donated, it honestly makes such a difference whilst trying to dig deep and drag myself up another hill. I’m so very grateful. Also thank you to Richard and Pembrokeshire Velo for hosting this crazy event and finally the biggest thank you goes to Allan and Caroline who did everything all weekend to ensure all we had to do was pedal. I’m not sure how to top this challenge, something will crop up, but for now I might have a little rest. Ciao for now!

If you’d like to see the evidence you can see my Strava activity here.

Mallorca – Part 3

“Just keep pedalling!”

For the third day of our trip we tried to have an ‘easy’ day, to allow our legs to recover from the efforts of Sa Calobra the day before (you can read about that here) and to be fresher for what lay ahead the following day. So we thought a nice little spin along the coast road to Banyalbufar and back would be perfect. It was on the seven mile descent down to the town (on a road we would have to come back up) that we realised perhaps it wasn’t such an easy day after all! However spinning up the hills was the order of the day taking it, as the Italians would say ‘piano, piano’ (‘slowly, slowly’). Also then, not the best idea to give in to my competitive side and race other cyclists to the tops of climbs! 43 miles later and 4,600 ft of climbing done, we spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing by the pool.

Day four was the big one. I awoke with the slight apprehension of any big challenge or unknown new experience, but managed to force down some breakfast, that Karen kindly arranged for us to have early as we were slightly concerned about running out of daylight hours otherwise! Our destination for the day was Cap de Formentor, right on the North East tip of the island. Only a mere 98 miles/158 km to cover with just shy of 10,000 ft/3000 m of climbing. Gulp!

We rolled out of Soller just as the sun was creeping over the top of the mountains, basking the valley in a warm, glow. We had to repeat the first part of our route from two days ago, so it was back up Puig Major on the American Road; as it’s known to the locals. Matthew, the hotel manager, told us this was due to the Americans having built the road in the 1950’s after General Franco, made a deal with the US Government to sign over certain high peaks across the Spanish territory; Puig Major being one of them. Over the following few years the US military built the road, an encampment and a radar station on the highest peak of the mountain. I’m just really grateful they took in to account future cyclists and made such a joyous road to ride! My legs were hurting, they were screaming at me with knee niggles, muscle cramp and soreness. However, by mile two of the climb they seemed to have accepted their inevitable fate and settled down to work again, we were on our way and ticking off the miles……albeit very, very slowly! We reached the top only having seen a handful of cars and even fewer cyclists. The mountain was lovely and peaceful and such a cool temperature in the morning air. We dropped down past the lakes of Cuber and Gorg Blau, a route now feeling quite familiar to us and had our first stop at the OJ Shack at the junction to the Sa Calobra road by an ancient aqueduct. There were still very few people around so we enjoyed an espresso and absolutely divine piece of orange cake in relative peacefulness. With the road from Soller to Pollensa (the next large town) being so wild and remote, there were very few places offering refreshments, so this little hut with it’s coffees, fresh juice, cakes, energy bars and water was like an oasis in the desert. We were particularly pleased to see it on the way back!

From here, we were in uncharted territory for us and found ourselves on a stretch of road that resembled a fairground roller coaster, dipping and diving along through the centre of the mountains. With views of huge, rocky outcrops and the blue sea in the distance. It was at around this point we started to have company on the road, there were hundreds of cyclists coming the other way, no doubt having started from Port de Pollensa and heading for Sa Calobra. Just as I was thinking how well it was going and how enjoyable the ride was, the dreaded words were uttered by my cycling partner….”I’ve got a puncture.” So we pulled over in the bottom of a dip for him to fix it. Which would have been OK if we could get the wheel off! Realising now, that we didn’t have the right size allen key with us, we had to flag down some passing cyclists. Luckily, something that was relatively easy with these numbers on the roads. So we shouted to an approaching group who screeched to a halt on the fast descent and came to our rescue. It was a group of six ladies, all from Finland, who were heading to Sa Calobra. Amazingly one of them had the correct size allen key so the pressure was on for the quickest inner tube change possible to keep them waiting the least amount of time. They were lovely though and it was so nice to have a chat. The sheer number of female cyclists out here is incredible and so good to see.

By now the sky had clouded over and the few spits of rain threatened a downpour. However, thankfully it changed it’s mind and stayed cloudy, but dry. An absolute blessing as we then had a 10 mile descent down from the mountains to Port de Pollensa. It went on and on and we passed even more cyclists all with differing degrees of pain etched on their faces as they grinded their way up. As the gradient levelled off and we hit the flat, straight road to the coast we both looked at each other and said “that’s a hell of a climb back up!” The knot of anticipation tightened a little further. But for now we had our sights set on Cap de Formentor. Another road built by Antonio Parietti in 1925 to showcase the beauty of the island. He almost did too good a job as it was very, very busy! It begins with a mile and a half climb up to a headland where there’s a (some what questionably shaped) monument to the road designer himself, before pitching down, round a few hair pin bends then right along the cliff face offering stunning views of the rest of the peninsula. This section was chaos when we reached it, buses meeting cars on hairpins and stationary traffic backed up the road. I managed to squeeze round the front of a bus and escape the mayhem. We then started the Cap de Formentor climb itself, starting gradually in a lovely, cool forest before ramping up, through a tunnel and emerging to beautifully, dramatic views of the cove below. We’d just rounded the corner and unfortunately faced a queue of traffic who’s progress had been halted by a barrier and road closed sign. There’d been a landslide in the recent rains so we forced to turn round. A slight shame but we’d still seen some gorgeous views.

After a bite to eat we started to make our way back, luckily there was now a slight tail wind to push us along the flat, straight road to the bottom of the climb. It’s quite a demoralising thing when your little cycling computer beeps at you cheerily to inform you there’s a climb starting….distance to the top 10.3 miles. Average of 6%. So heads down we slowly pedalled away in our own little worlds of pain. The sun had timed it’s reappearance perfectly so we also had the heat to contend with. I soon got in to a rhythm and the time passed quickly. Someone asked me what I think about whilst pedalling and I couldn’t really answer. On climbs like this I find myself in a trance-like state, just focused on the few metres of road ahead and the rhythmic turning of the pedals, a passing cyclist shouting ‘hola’ will snap me out of it before remembering to take in the view, flick up a couple of gears, get out of the saddle for a pedal stroke or two, then settle back down to do it all over again. It’s an amazing way to switch off and it’s surprising how quickly the distance to the top counts down. Weirdly, though I swear I heard the duck again! At one point on the climb all was peaceful except for the intermittent quacking. (Even more bizarre, that evening we were sat in Port de Soller on a bench when one, lone duck waddled past!! I’m not even joking, photographic evidence is below.) By the end of the 10 miles we were definitely feeling weary but also good, we’d broken the back of it and after riding the ‘roller coaster road’ for a few miles we were back at the OJ shack. Now much busier, we grabbed more water and a chocolate bar before tackling the last section. The end was in sight, we only had the familiar three mile climb left before the wonderful descent home. By now we were quite uncomfortable in the saddle and the legs were certainly starting to object so I had to turn to the power of music to help me conquer the last col. I never listen to music whilst cycling but for those last three miles I had one ear bud in and it made all the difference. The sections of 10% seemed more bearable and as it eased towards the top we increased pace due to the desperate need for it to be over. We’d done it! The climbing was complete. We took on some water, had a celebratory photo and then enjoyed the wonderful, winding descent; whizzing down the hillside, through forests dappled with the afternoon sun and enjoying views of Soller far below. A beer was very much called for so we went straight to Soller main square for some much needed re-hydration. 92 miles and 9,7000 ft of climbing….the toughest day in the saddle for a while. But every pedal stroke was worth it.

Over the last four days we’ve cycled 214 miles and 24,500 ft of climbing. With rain forecast for our last two days I think we’ll hang up our cycling shoes and relax for the rest of the holiday……..Or perhaps we’ll tackle that wonderful hike I was just reading about!

Links:

Day 3 Strava Route – Click here.

Day 4 Strava Route – Click here.

Just Giving Page – Click here.

Mallorca – Part 2

“It’s only a hill….get over it!”

Day 2 of training camp was all about effort and reward! Our goal was to conquer two of Mallorca’s epic climbs; Puig Major and Sa Calobra. If you dabble in the cycling world I’m pretty sure you will have heard of the latter one at least. Puig Major was first up though and we’d barely turned the pedals before we hit the start of the climb. Following the Ma-10 road from Soller to Tunel Monnaber which marks the top, it measures 14 km/8.7 miles long and has an elevation of 830 m/2723 ft. It takes you to the highest, paved point on the island and certainly is a beast of a climb. However, the steady 6% average gradient was consistent enough to be able to get into a rhythm and we comfortably made it to the top in an hour or so. The lower slopes were covered in pine forests that provided welcome shade from the already hot sun and the carpet of pine needles at the edge of the road added a lovely scent to the air. The trees soon gave way to rocks, boulders and other-worldly rock formations and in parts the road seemed to slice through red, volcanic stone as if ushering us up the mountain. The amount of elevation we’d gained soon became apparent by the breath taking views that could be glimpsed through openings in the foliage. Being still quite early on Easter Sunday morning we were fortunate to not have too many vehicles to contend with and those we did see were considerate. We made it to the top feeling quite good and were rewarded with a three mile descent past a trio of lakes that were already busy with walkers and families setting up for their Easter Sunday picnics.

We then left the Ma-10 and turned on to the aptly named Sa Calobra (snake) road. This climb is iconic. It’s a mecca of the bike world and is unique for several reasons. Firstly, it’s a road to nowhere. The only reason to go down, is to come back up again. Secondly, it has a 270 degree turn, where the road loops round and passes back underneath itself, known as the ‘bow tie’. This was so the road could lose the necessary height without running out of space or having to use tunnels. The road’s designer was the Spanish-Italian engineer Antonio Parietti who unbelievably had the road built by hand in 1932 and used donkeys to determine the path down to the sea. The soul purpose for the road was to increase tourism and make some of the beautiful, remote parts of the island more accessible. Boy, am I grateful to Antonio! At approximately 10 km/6 miles long you have to descend first, before turning round and cycling the 670 m/2,198 ft back up. The descent was great fun, a myriad of twists and turns, winding in and out of rocky outcrops and swooping down hairpins. It was over all too quickly though. We had a very average snack lunch at one of the canteen style restaurants at the very pretty harbour at the bottom. (Someone’s missing a trick there, a proper cycling cafe would go down a storm!) Then we summoned up the energy to start the slog back up. At an average of 7% it was slightly steeper than the earlier climb and with a variation of pitch it was harder to get in to the swing of things. It was much easier to take in the stunning vistas though which definitely distracted from the pain! It was also quite entertaining seeing the smiles on people’s faces as they came the other way. You just couldn’t help but smile. In fact, Mr BND took it one step further and was apparently giggling like an excited little girl all the way down, now that would have been entertaining to see! As the elevation increased, the tree cover reduced and there were some quite exposed parts where the road wound itself through scenes that should be in Jurassic Park. Also, I’m not sure if it was delirium setting in but about a third of the way from the top I could hear a duck quacking, which then followed me for a good mile or so, it’s constant quacking seemingly mocking my insanity. After stopping at the ‘bow tie’ to snap my cycling partner passing underneath (disclaimer: he’d like it known he stopped to take photographs, it’s not the case that I was faster than him!) we only had a short push to the top where the sweet relief of not having to turn the pedals and coast down hill to the main road was oh so welcome.

With three more miles of climbing to go, back past the lakes to the top of Puig Major, the end couldn’t come soon enough. The legs were heavy and morale was waning. (Not helped by the wafts of BBQ-ing food coming from local’s picnics!) However, that all changed! The descent back down to Soller was just absolutely incredible! It was my turn to clock some strange looks due to the Cheshire-cat grin plastered on my face but I just couldn’t help it. The road surface was perfect, the bends were sweeping and flowing without a tight corner or hair pin in sight and there were next to no cars. As someone who isn’t normally a big fan of descending, this particular descent has blown my mind! It was nearly worth turning around and heading straight back up….nearly!

Links:

Mallorca Day 2 Strava Route – Click here.

Just Giving Page – Click here.

Mallorca – Part 1

“It’s not about the journey, it’s about the people you meet along the way.”

I know what’s going to happen here…I’m going to run out of superlatives….you’ll all get bored about me banging on about amazing tarmac and stunning scenery, so if you decide not to read these posts then I will fully understand. I will try and make them mildly interesting for those who don’t live and breath cycling though.

Cyclists are drawn to Mallorca like kids to a sweet shop; it’s a cycling heaven. With year-round good weather (usually at least. Everyone keeps telling us how terrible it’s been the last month!), good roads and even better climbs, you couldn’t ask for more from a cycling destination. So I was very, very excited to finally be going!

After a dead easy journey, we arrived last night at our hotel. Our chosen accommodation is called L’Avenida, an adults only hotel in the pretty, North Mallorcan town of Soller. Situated on a quiet street only a few metres from the town square it really is a slice of heaven. With only 12 rooms it’s quiet enough to give you a sense of calm but with a service that goes above and beyond. The rooms are luxurious and comfortable with all small details thought about. Our’s opens on to the pool and boasts our own outdoor seating area in a pretty courtyard that seems to be constantly serenaded by birdsong no matter what the time of day. This little gem of a place is managed by Matthew, an ex pat who’s been manager here for 11 years and living out here for 16 years…..and I can see why! His warm, friendly welcome and ensuing chat was more than just general courtesy and him and his team seem to have a genuine passion for people.

We ventured in to the town for a drink in the square before walking ten minutes away from the centre to a tapas restaurant called Bar Molino, the wonderfully vibrant waitress kindly let us squeeze on a table in the corner despite not having a reservation. The cute little venue was alive with hubbub and from what we could tell it was all locals. As we walked in we followed some people who joined a table of about ten, it soon became apparent they were a surprise addition for one lady in particular as hugs, cries and general merriment rang out around us. It was a wonderful sight to see and created such an infectious mood. The food was equally as good, with us both opting for a seafood pasta dish accompanied by a delicious glass of local wine.

Whilst walking back to the hotel our path was blocked by an Easter procession, so we paused to take in the traditional costumes of penitents with tall, pointy hoods known as capriote to conceal the sinners identity. The solemnity and unwavering belief on the faces around us as they took in the religious scene was really quite humbling. They carried relics, crosses and a figure of Jesus as they headed to Sant Bartomeu Church, Soller’s imposing cathedral-like structure towering over the Plaza de la Constitucion de Soller. It dates back to 1236 but the current design began restoration after the original structure collapsed in 1688. However the facade wasn’t finished until 1946 and was designed by Gaudi’s understudy, Joan Rubio Bellver, who helped to create the wonderful mix of Gothic and Art Nouveau that we see today.

We woke the following morning after a great night’s sleep to enjoy a delicious alfresco breakfast. We then meandered through the Saturday market to the bike hire shop only a few minutes away. Kilometro Cero had been recommended by a cycling friend, Katie, who has a house just outside of Soller and she said Boris would look after us. She wasn’t wrong! Despite the shop being extremely busy with about twenty people picking up bikes, shoes, helmets and the related necessities, Boris greeted us with a huge a smile and a fist bump. We happily chatted to some of the other customers whilst waiting, one of who was called Roberto, a 78 year old American who was just about to set off on a 10 month long cycling trip around Europe. Not jealous at all! We stood mouths agape as he told us of his planned route from one country to the next, camping as he went, and could only imagine the adventures he had laying in store. We swapped email addresses to give him some Italian pointers and to hopefully see how he’s getting on. There was also another American collecting a bike, a lovely, friendly girl called Herma and her German partner Johannes who live in Cologne. We didn’t know it at the time but we would serendipitously bump in to them throughout the day and even end up sitting on the table next to them at dinner. All being cyclists and the men being in the same line of work it made for a very pleasant evening chatting away in the main square.

Boris’s passion for cycling is clear to see and his website sums it up perfectly; ‘Ride to feel free and happy.’ Originally from Paris, he’s been in Mallorca for six years and obviously enjoys making people’s cycling holidays. Luckily, the cycling tourism industry here is on the up again as he told he has 150 bikes, another bike hire place down the road has 250 and all are booked out this weekend. He’s going to need more bikes!

So equipped with two beautiful Specialized Tarmacs we were finally ready to hit the road. We’d already met so many friendly people, both locals and visitors alike, before a single turn of the pedals! Our first day’s route was one I took from Katie and was a 34 mile loop out along the coast road, south then up over Col de Soller before dropping back in to town. It was just stunning. The sun had risen enough to burn off the morning chill, leaving a wonderfully, warm Mediterranean heat that we’ve missed so much. The road climbed from the off, winding it’s way through olive groves and pass old farmhouses. A few kilometres later we neared the top of the first climb, marked by the tinkling of a bell attached to a rather scruffy looking sheep. Then we were sailing down the other side with the dark blue sea off to the right and the towering rock faces of the Tramuntana mountains to the left. We stopped for a coffee in the picturesque town of Deia before heading in land to Valdemossa. The highlight of the ride came towards the end when we climbed Col de Soller, a 5km climb with an average of 5%. Originally the only route to Soller, up and over the mountains, this road was just fantastic with 21 hairpins on the way up and 29 on the way down. However, now there’s a tunnel, it really only gets used by cyclists so it was a joy to ride. Whizzing back in to town after that descent left us on a high, if the rest of the week will be as good as this then we’re in for a treat!

Links:

Strava Route for Mallorca Day 1 – Click here.

Just Giving Page – Click here.

Life Back in the UK

Blue skies, sunshine, clear seas, really good cheap wine and our friends…….are all things I’m missing being back in the UK. However, having family just a couple of hours away is absolutely wonderful, being able to go for a walk through greens fields and forests is just magical and not having to mentally prepare every sentence in your head is quite nice!

It’s been a whirlwind of a few months since we’ve been back, hence the lack of writing, for whch I apologise. Time has been spent catching up with friends and family, exploring the area and work. Yes…..I’ve got a job. The Italian holiday was well and truly over and a full time job was a slight shock to the system back in November. It’s an admin job locally on a temporary maternity cover contract (so it works out perfectly for our future plans) but I absolutely love it! It’s good to be back using my brain and being part of a team.

We’re lucky enough to be based on the Wiltshire/Oxfordshire border, with the North Wessex downs to the south and the Cotswolds to the north. There’s a plethora of quintessentially English villages crammed with chocolate box cottages and picturesque village greens. Most with a wonderful looking pub which usually gets added to the ‘must visit’ list. A list which is growing quicker than we can cross them off. Even throughout the winter exploring the area was a sheer joy. Five minutes down the road is the Ridgeway, a steep chalk ridge which runs from Ivinghoe Beacon in the east to Overton Hill in the west. Arguably Britain’s oldest road, it was adapted in to a 87 mile long National Trail in 1972. The section near us is home to the Uffington White Horse, a 110m long figure formed from deep trenches filled with crushed white chalk on the hillside. Of all the white horse figures throughout the UK, the Uffington White Horse is thought to be the oldest, dating back to the late Bronze age approximately between 1380 and 550 BC. Just along the Ridgeway from the White Horse is a place called Waylands Smithy, which is home to a long barrow. I discovered this ancient burial mound one November morning whilst Peggy and I were out walking. The trees were still adorned with an array of green, golden and russet leaves, patches of blue sky teasingly poked through fluffy clouds and the low sun cast long shadows across the historical site. There wasn’t a soul around except for Peggy, myself and the chirping birds. With the exception of the information board the place looked how it would have done when it was created 5,500 years ago during the Neolithic period. With the towering standing stones guarding the entrance and the still, calm atmosphere it felt a very spiritual place.

Now the short, winter days have inevitably slipped into longer, more promising spring-filled hours the area has seemingly changed again and looks anew. Only last weekend, Peggy and I capitilised on a rare day to ourselves, packed the rucksack and headed out for a few wonderful hours yomping through the English countryside. Without having transport we were forced to go from home so a route was designed that I perhaps wouldn’t have ordinarily done and it was just fabulous. We left early before most people were up, the sun was already out and there wasn’t a breath of wind, we found ourselves winding along footpaths, through fields full of rapeseed, creating a fabulous colour palette of bright yellow against the clear blue of the sky. Barely seeing a soul for hours the tracks took us through farm land, alongside babbling brooks, down hedgerows that bulged with blossom and dotted with little birds skimming and hopping along in front of us. A herd of deer crossed the path only a few metres away, both them and Peggy stood stock still, I’m unsure who was more surprised! Grassy banks were full of daffodils, some still stood to attention, others slightly weary looking, soon to wane away. But the woodlands were springing in to life with a handful of early bluebells already having woken up and the promise of a blue carpet soon to follow. A few hours and twelve and a half miles later we found ourselves back at home with slightly heavy legs but lighter souls and smiles on our faces.

Of course it’s not just by foot we’ve been exploring, it’s so good to be back on quiet, country roads on the bike, not having to worry about being taken out by a crazy italian driver or attacked by a pack of stray dogs! We’ve joined a local club, Farcycles from Faringdon, for a couple of Saturday rides and I must admit it’s great being back with a group. Their fantastic routes have taken us on some wonderful roads and there’s nothing like riding with others to give you that extra push. After the first ride I did with them I was walking on cloud nine as it was the first time since having cancer that I felt back to my old cycling self. Something that has felt a long way off for so long!

We had a slight (maybe massive) moment of madness at the end of last year, having spent days cooped up with covid I think delerium had set in and we entered a cycling endurance event. The conversation went something like this:

Mr BND: I’ve found this event, it’s 500km in 33 hours, shall we do it?Me:Yeah why not?

Turns out there are probably quite a few reasons why not, like the 18,000ish feet of climbing, cycling through the night and whether or not we’ll still be talking to each other at the end! But for those that know me, know I love a challenge so on the 25th June at 6am we’ll be cycling out of Falmouth, Devon headed for the Admiralty building in London. The event is called ‘Ride the Trafalgar Way’ and follows the route a messenger took to deliver the news of Nelson’s death and the victory of the Battle of Trafalgar. Fundraising wasn’t the main motivator to entering but it seems too good of an opportunity to miss, so if you would like to donate then please find my Just Giving page here.

So training in earnest has started and we’re making the most of the Easter holiday period to jet off to Mallorca, not for a relaxing beach holiday as Mr BND is hoping for, but for what I’m calling a training camp! I will of course let you know how it goes!

Links:

For the route I walked with Peggy: Click here

For information on Ride The Trafalgar Way: Click here

Just Giving Page: Click here

Bikepacking Le Marche – Day 5

What a disaster the last day turned out to be!

Rain was forecast for later on in the day but being orographic we were hoping it may be wrong and likely to change. Nevertheless we set off with high spirits, slightly weary legs and very sore undercarriages and made our way to the end of the valley. We managed four miles until another problem arose. The road was closed. We ignored the signs hoping we could get through but to no avail. After consulting the map we were faced with two route choices. Firstly, the main roads, most of which were dual carriageway and disappeared off into miles of tunnels. After the first day’s escapades we soon ruled out that option. The second option was to take the small, regional roads which would mean an extra 50 miles on top of the 50 miles we’d already planned. Which by itself wouldn’t be too much of a problem but combined with the poor forecast and the fact said detour included a couple of mountain passes we declined that option too! Luckily we were near a train line with a train arriving soon. So we took the train to Spoleto from where we could cycle back to Norcia.

The climb out of Spoleto was absolutely stunning, six miles of winding, quiet roads with fantastic views. The descent the other side was equally beautiful as we hugged the side of a remote, wild valley dropping 2,000 ft to the valley below.

We stopped for a coffee and a much needed boost of chocolate before continuing up the valley. We were nearly back, only 10 miles to go, when the heavens opened! Within minutes there was rain pounding down from above and coming back up at us from the ground. We were absolutely drenched, complete with socks squelching inside shoes. I’ve never cycled in such torrential rain, it was hard to see the road ahead. But with only a few miles left we battled on and eventually made it to our wonderful little Agriturismo at Norcia.

After 5 days, 285 miles, 17,500 ft of climbing and no dog chases we had made it back. An hour or so of rain was a small price to pay for such a fantastic trip. I really felt like we’d experienced this wonderful region to the full. Connecting with the people, tasting the food and drinking in the scenery. It really is the best way to travel and such a fitting way to end our time in Italy.

Despite being blighted by covid restrictions since the first day in country, I really don’t think we could have had a better Italian experience. We were lucky enough to see an empty St Mark’s Square in Venice, stand alone atop Vesuvius, pedal the deserted road of the Amalfi Coast and so much more. All these wonderful memories will be treasured forever. Whilst the downside of covid had it’s tough times, like not seeing loved ones, the lifelong friendships made along the way more than make up for it. It was an absolute blast. Best of all we’ve got a gorgeous, fluffy souvenir. Grazie Italia.

Bikepacking Le Marche – Day 4

It was bound to happen. Three days of glorious sunshine was more than we had hoped for. So when we drew the curtains back and saw a windy, overcast day it wasn’t a surprise! At least it was dry.

We hit the road and dropped down from Urbino to nearby Calpino where we saw the first and only proper bike shop of the whole trip. As we both had a couple of niggles with the bikes we stopped to get them adjusted and then set off for the day ahead. However we didn’t get far. Three miles down the road we approached roadworks with traffic lights. Stopped for the red light. On green Mr BND pressed down on the pedal to set off again and there was an almighty crunch and clank. The chain had snapped. Oh dear! Not having the required spare part to fix it we thanked our lucky stars the bike shop we’d just left was so close. I ditched my luggage and sprinted back to the shop to buy a spare chain link. It felt like I was flying without the luggage and with the wind behind me! Upon my return, after getting my breath back, we made the necessary repair, reloaded and we were on our way again. That could have been a lot worse!

We soon saw a group of other cyclists, the first we’d seen in a long time. As we wound our way up a climb we slowly passed some riders in the strung out group, which included a couple of Brits who I slowed to talk to. They were on an organised Guided Tour cycling from Bologna to Rome. Their company was a welcome addition for a few miles until our paths diverged as we made our way to the Furlo Pass. Now well and truly back in the mountains the Furlo Gorge sits in a Nature reserve and is a deep, rugged ravine with the River Candigliano running along it’s base. We’d been recommended to visit this spot, due to the wonderful colour of the water, traffic free road and the fact it’s a nice place for a dip to cool off. However, with 20 mph winds and no sun the thought of a swim wasn’t very appealing. We had planned to travel down the gorge the day before but due to a landslide the road was impassable at the far end (hence the lack of traffic.) So we took a detour and cycled up it a small way to have a look. With the rock faces towering high above, the river flowing below and the wind howling through the narrow space in between the rocks it really was a powerful place! The forces of nature were literally surrounding us. It also provided the first coffee stop of the day.

The rest of the day was spent winding between huge, raggedy ridges, up long passes and down remote, windy descents. The contrast in landscape from the day before was huge. This area was much more wild and mountainous. We’d kept the day’s mileage slightly lower so we could reach our destination in plenty of time and shortly after lunch we cruised down a wonderful road in another impressive gorge and rolled into San Vittore, a tiny hamlet with a hotel, a couple of restaurants, a beautiful 11^th Century Romanesque Abbey and a huge car park for tourists visiting the nearby Frassasi Caves. The latter being the reason for our visit.

We walked the mile or so out to the cave entrance and joined another couple for a guided tour. With there being so few tourists, particularly from outside Italy, we were lucky to have such a small group for the tour. Our guide lead us through huge, metal doors in the rock, up a dark, damp slope, through some more doors and in to the most wonderful cave system I’ve ever seen. The Frassasi Caves weren’t discovered until 1971, when a group of young men from the Italian Alpine Club discovered them by accident and at 5km long they are Italy’s finest cave system. Over the following hour and a bit our guide took us through the cavernous rooms pointing out features like the bacon slice, the crystalized lake, the organ, the room of candles and the many creatures that the stalactites and stalagmites resemble. These caves are a karst cave system and as such there’s pools and lakes adding to the magical atmosphere. The first room is called the Abyss of Ancona and is so big the Milan Duomo would fit inside. They really were spectacular and well worth a visit.

Near to the entrance of the caves, up in the rock on the opposite side of the gorge is the most beautiful coming together of nature and man made structure. The Temple of Valadier is an octagonal church built inside a cave that is thought to have offered refuge for centuries to locals and travellers alike. It was constructed in 1828 by Pope Leone XII and the eight sides are said to represent the eighth day when Jesus was resurrected. The juxtaposition between the smooth, straight surfaces of the church against the rough, jagged rock of the surrounding gorge was so striking.

That evening we ate at a restaurant opposite the hotel called La Scaletta, where despite our ridiculously early (by Italian standards) arrival time we were well looked after and fed some of the finest food from the region of Le Marche; including Pappardelle al cinghiale (pasta and wild boar ragu) and Tiramisu. Stunning scenery, riding our bikes and good food….what another great day!

Day 4 Strava Link – Click Here

Bikepacking Le Marche – Day 3

The third day of our bike trip around Le Marche was probably my favourite. After leaving the hustle and bustle of Ancona behind, we headed along the coast before turning inland where our route took us through some gorgeous countryside. After the first few miles it got lumpy and there wasn’t an inch of flat all day. It was wonderful! It reminded us of rolling hills back at home; a few minutes of effort up before coasting down, whizzing back up as the road replicated the Big Dipper roller coaster passing through the countryside. Once again we had the weather gods on our side, the sky was bright blue dotted with fluffy little clouds like cotton wool balls hanging above us. The sun was out but not too hot for a day in the saddle and the slight breeze was a welcome relief on the uphill sections. Life was good! It soon got even better when we stopped for yet another delicious coffee and pastry at Pasticceria Golosamente, “this is definitely the best one yet” I mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. A sentence that has been uttered most days in Italy!

We left the sleepy hill top town of Ostra and it’s wonderful café behind and before long we were grinding our way up the hill to Corinaldo, a member of ‘I Borghi più belli d’Italia.’ The most beautiful Italian Towns. An association set up to promote and protect villages and towns of quality heritage. Like so many dotted around Italy, Corinaldo is made up of little stone buildings, cascading down the hillside, providing a warren of lanes and alleyways all surrounded by the protective fifteenth century walls. One building in particular though was of interest to us. Casa La Scuretto. Being a very rural and sparse area of Italy, work was hard to come by and as result the inhabitants of Corinaldo were not particularly well off. It was for this reason that the son of the town’s cobbler Scuretto left Italy and travelled to America. He succeeded in finding work and regularly sent money home to his father in Corinaldo with the clear intention for him to build a house for his eventual return. However, for his father, the pull of the local tavern and hostelries was too strong to ignore and he subsequently spent all the money on alcohol. After a few years the son enquired about the progress of the house and requested a photo; not wanting to ruin a good thing the father had only a façade of a house constructed, photographed and sent to his son before promptly returning back to the bar! Needless to say the construction didn’t get any further and the money soon stopped but the façade of Casa La Scuretto still stands today, nestled between two bigger buildings with nothing behind but fresh air!

The route continued it’s wiggling journey through the patchwork of countryside, becoming greener and lusher the further in land we headed and the nearer to the mountains we got. Around lunchtime we found ourselves in a situation most cyclists fear. The growing rumble of hunger hitting whilst being in the middle of nowhere! Each promising settlement on the map resulted in disappointment as we pedalled through more and more sleepy, deserted villages. Getting quite concerned about Mr BND’s levels of ‘Hangry’ and his requirement to not go without real food for more than four hours (cycling or not!) I was starting to contemplate throwing ourselves on the mercy of locals and in my head attempted to construct an appropriate sentence in Italian. However, before door knocking commenced we cycled up yet another climb and in to the small town of Barchi where appeared a ahead of us, a bar, like an oasis in the desert. Thank the Lord. The next hurdle would be if they sold anything other than coffee and alcohol but the kind owner must have heard the urgency in our voices whilst requesting whether he sold paninis and agreed to rustle something up for us. I think it was a pickled spicy aubergine piadina, perhaps not what we would have chosen but it was soon wolfed down in great relief! We enjoyed our lunch on the terrace out the back of the bar with commanding views over the rolling hills for miles around. We left the cute little village behind, passing a highly decorated village gatehouse and descended down sweeping bends to the valley below.

As the shadows lengthened we weren’t far from our destination for the night; Urbino. A walled city and a UNESCO World Heritage Site notable for a remarkable historical legacy of independent Renaissance culture, especially under the patronage of Federico da Montefeltro, Duke of Urbino from 1444 to 1482. It is also home to the University of Urbino founded in 1506 and is famous for being the birthplace of artist Raphael. We had one last (quite large) climb up to the city itself, then negotiated the least steep streets to eventually arrive in the main square in front of the Ducal Palace. Here we took on necessary re-hydration and sustenance (otherwise known as beer and snacks) and soaked in the hustle and bustle of this magnificent place. Being a University town it was much busier and livelier than we had seen all trip. With reluctance we declined another drink and mounted our bikes for the last couple of kilometres to our hotel on the edge of town. We were staying at Hotel Mamiani, a decision we made purely on the basis that it has a spa! Our legs were very grateful of the pummelling jets of water as we soaked our weary muscles. 69 miles and 5,000ft of climbing ensured we slept very well that night!

Bikepacking Le Marche – Day 2

As we rolled out of the Agriturismo’s car park, the sun was still low, there was a freshness to the air and the huge sky had that dark blue hue about it, promising another beautiful day. All was quiet with no one else in sight, we just had the soaring and swooping swifts for company as we made our way back along the gravel track to the road. We’d started the day in the only way one could on a cycling holiday; making the most of the beautiful breakfast buffet crammed full of locally sourced delights, washed down with a coffee. (I’m talking proper breakfast buffet here, a pre-Covid style where you can help yourself to as much as you like, not one of these “buffets” where you have to be handed things from behind a plastic screen by a member of staff in a hazmat suit. Where the English in me feels I shouldn’t have too much in case this stranger who I’m never going to see again judges me! Sidenote: MR BND does not have the same moral reservation.)

Today we were leaving the rolling hills behind and heading to the seaside! So the first 10 miles were all down hill, what a way to start the day. As the road disappeared off in to the valley below, so did my cycling partner who see’s every descent as a speed challenge. But on such a perfect morning I decided to take my time and enjoy the views. As I cruised down the hill and round hair pin corners I was able to fully appreciate the landscape. Row after row of neat and orderly vines stretched away from the roadside guiding the eyes to the patchwork of fields that covered the rolling terrain like a blanket. A palette of greens and browns below a bright blue sky. I passed a house up on a bank to my left where a veg patch was being tended to by an old couple, so engrossed in their task that my call of ‘Boungiorno’ seemed to be quite unexpected. As the gradient lessened our route joined another road where I was reunited with my fellow cyclist and we headed East to the coast. The rolling fields soon gave way to flat, agricultural land crammed full with polytunnels and nurseries. We pedalled straight to the beach at Marina di Altidona where the deserted seafront lay in all it’s glory. The blue, cloudless sky met the turquoise water, shimmering under the morning’s sun.

Being a Sunday morning the rest of the world was slow to wake but before long we were joined by many other cyclists who obviously use this flat, coastal road as their Sunday morning playground. We passed the time by shouting ‘Salve’ as we passed, to determine the serious, boring ones from those like us, out enjoying life! After 30 miles of flying up the coast with a belting tail wind we diverted inland to visit the town of Loreto. Just in time for lunch! Loreto is another hilltop settlement that can be seen for miles around and after a welcome incline after all the flat, we were soon pushing our bikes through the beautifully decorated Porta Romana in to the traffic free historic centre. Another bustling, lively place, we walked down the central street lined with individual shops crammed full of local produce, many complete with a Nonna stood in the door way watching the goings on. The main street draws you, almost inevitably, to Piazza della Madonna, a magnificent square bordered by some of the finest Italian architecture I’ve seen. At the centre sits the Fontana Maggiore, an impressive, elaborate fountain guarding the piece de resistance of the town, the Basilica della Santa Casa. This rare, fortress like Cathedral was built between 1469 and 1587 to protect a precious treasure. The Holy House of the Virgin Mary sits inside the Cathedral, under the huge dome. According to tradition this is the house from Nazareth where the Virgin Mary lived and it was brought to Loreto by Angels. As such Loreto and its Cathedral is a hugely significant site of Pilgrimage for Catholics all over the world. We decided it perhaps wouldn’t be the most respectful idea to go inside, particularly on a Sunday, clad in lycra! So we enjoyed the atmosphere, had some lunch sat outside in the main Piazza and then continued our journey. Not before getting a photo of the coolest looking police car and a random jet though! What a place!

Back on the coast we only had a few more miles of flat, seaside pedalling before we reached the Parco regionale del Conero, a hilly, forest clad nature reserve with dramatic cliffs dropping down to the sea. In the town of Numana the road pitched up and our speed dropped down! In what seemed like such a short distance we’d climbed high in to the park and the views behind were incredible. The Adriatic sea stretched for miles and we could see all the way down the coast to where we’d come from that morning. The gradient lessened and the road pitched and rolled, winding it’s way through this area of natural beauty. The reward for our slog up was the inevitable descent all the way in to the Region’s Capital of Ancona, sections of which were quite steep and as such prompted the question of ‘We’re not going out that way tomorrow are we?’ A question I pretended to ignore for a while to allow for a small amount of dread to set in!

The Grand Palace Hotel, our home for the night in Ancona, was definitely the smartest of the trip, perhaps the smartest we’d ever stayed at in fact! So turning up as smelly, sweaty messes on bikes wasn’t the greatest entrance but the staff were very professional and welcomed us as warmly as any normal guest. I guarantee the drinks and snacks in the complementary minibar have never been devoured so quickly though!

The afternoon and evening was spent exploring the delights of Ancona; one of which was a weird art gallery called Museo Tattile Statale Omero. Originally set up for blind people this museum actively encouraged touching and feeling the exhibits (very Covid friendly.) It wasn’t quite as good as we expected so after a long, personal introduction by a member of staff we spent the minimum amount of time walking round without seeming rude before escaping!

Due to it being a huge port city the centre itself was much more modern and international than most places in Italy so we opted for a proper pint of beer in an Irish pub and a curry at the only Indian restaurant we’d seen in the whole of Italy! Don’t judge….we promised to return to true Italian fare the following day!

Strava Link – Here