Rolling into Italy

Beach umbrellas in Nice

Marcus and I are now in Italy. It took us 18 days to cut a line through France. When we left Nice (France) yesterday, I let fatigue determine our destination. Riding through Nice in the morning, along Promenade des Anglais, hundreds of people were cycling, jogging, and walking next to the sea on a blue-sky day. Enjoying the flat of the promenade would be short lived, as I pedaled toward my biggest challenge yet. Waiting for me was a long, steep climb—over eight kilometres, with an elevation gain of almost 1,500 feet. You may not be able to feel those numbers, but I can assure you it was a slog. The word “Climb” showed on my bike computer and all I saw was orange and red displaying the grade of ascent. I imagined Marcus asking if we really needed to do this. I’m not sure why he was complaining, I was the one doing the hard work.

Part way up, I stopped for a banana. Halfway, I stopped for an apple. And a few more times to admire the view (and gulp some water and catch my breath). In the lowest gear, I plodded upward. Head down. Eyes trained on the white line on the side of the road. My entire body was wet.

I started at sea level. The view is the reward.

Sure, I was passed by fitter riders on lighter bikes, but the challenge for all of us was the same—pulling ourselves up this mountain. At the top, I celebrated by tossing a handful of M&Ms in my mouth.

My father used to say: what goes up, must come down. And while it took me 90 minutes to get to the top, it only took about 10 minutes to zip down the other side. By mid-afternoon, my legs said that San Remo would be our overnight stop.

The town was full of Saturday night energy, and Italy was showing a different vibe than France. The language was louder, streets were full of scooters, drivers shouted at one another, there was chaos at roundabouts, narrow streets and alleys were filled with tables of people enjoying dinner, Via Giacomo Matteotti, a busy pedestrian street lined with shops, filled with music from a youth band.  

I found a table, ordered an Aperol Spritz and a plate of lasagna and watched the people of San Remo enjoy their Saturday evening.

Leaving San Remo this morning, I followed a 20 km cycle and pedestrian path, which once was a train route. The old stations in the towns I passed are still there, but instead of tracks, there is a paved path that was hugely popular.  

At Imperia, the cycle path ended, and I was forced back on the main road. I’d drop into small towns and then be challenged to navigate out of them. I was in a bit of a funk and didn’t feel like I was making much progress. Perhaps, my body was telling me it needed a rest. It has been seven days since my last rest day and I have covered almost 550 km over that time.

Leaving one town, the road rose and curved around a rocky point of land that jutted into the ocean. It looked beautiful. And I told myself what a privilege it was to do what I was doing. It didn’t matter if I arrived at my destination at three or four or five in the afternoon. I needed that reminder.

Imperia, Italy

One of the towns I rode through (and above)

I had read that in the hills above Alassio was a section of the Via Julia Augusta, an ancient Roman road that opened between 13 and 12 B.C. It linked Italy with France and Spain. I zigzagged my way up Via Solva, until I reached the Santa Croce Church, which was built in the 11th century for travelers on the Julia Augusta.

Marcus and I on the Via Julia Augusta

Here, the route stretches for about five kilometres to the town of Albenga, and begins first through a residential area, before turning into a rocky path. There were a handful of walkers on the trail, including Gianfranco and Aleksandra, who were visiting from Torino. I asked if they would take a photo of me. They smiled and gave a nod of approval when I told them I named my bike after Marcus Aurelius. Gianfranco pulled out his business card and said if I am ever back in Italy to email him and I would be welcome in Torino. We shook hands and said ciao several times. Marcus and I carried on to Finale Ligure, our overnight stop, with a renewed sense of energy.