15/12/24
We had no ambitions to leave early in the morning. Pleased with our efforts the day before we had some coffee, which was in the hallway and we assumed was included, along with some fruit and peanut butter. The sky was bright outside as we’d hoped and there were exquisite views of the hills.
At around ten we walked outside and downstairs to pay for our room and give them our identification. Everywhere you stay in Italy has to make a note of your details, there are high fines if they don’t. But there was no one there. It was all closed and quiet. As we stood there wondering what to do, a window opened above us and we could hear people conversing. After we’d loudly said ‘Ciao’ a couple of times they came tothe window and seemed to tell us we should pay by phoning them. We’d already tried to call, but to avail. Eventually the lady reluctantly came down to take our money, but she wasn’t interested in our documents which was the first time in Italy they hadn’t insisted on having them.
We hadn’t set a target destination for the day yet, although the elevation was going to be much less, we’d still need to cover a little bit. There would also be quite a lot of descent as we finished our final crossing of the Apennines. We started out on the road, under partly sunny skies, and saw several Sunday cyclists. Our weary legs found the climbs difficult, and we headed up to the highest point we’d been to, over 800m, for a long time. We rode through a hamlet, where a friendly couple praised us for cycling by gesturing towards their legs.
The wind had continued to grow stronger and there was an orange warning for wind in the area until 1pm on Monday. It probably wasn’t a good sign that we were now surrounded by wind turbines. In fact we’d never seen so many of them in our lives. A van even went past branded with ‘Wind Servants’. There were enough turbines up there to make you question the unbridled building of them. They were scattered over the entire landscape and there wasn’t a direction you could look without the view being dominated by them.
We were entering Puglia, which was to be the last region of Italy we would visit. As we approached Monteleone di Puglia and crossed the boundary we were greeted by the largest EuroVelo 5 sign we’d seen. In fact there were many of them, periodically spaced, along the road. Potentially too many. Still good cycle infrastructure is hard to find. We wondered if the locals knew what it meant or if they’d taken the time to look it up, it’s not like everyone has heard of Eurovelo.
After one last climb through the village it was time to descend. We were going to lose all of the elevation that we had gained, both today and yesterday. The road weaved down then we went up again slightly before going down again. It was going to be downhill for at least twenty kilometres. Just after we started, and passed a beautiful gorge, we felt the rain and could see an ominous cloud approaching. We decided to put all our waterproof gear on. Going down meant we were going to get cold too.
It was far colder than we expected. We were expecting warmer air as we got lower but it didn’t come. The road was wet and at times it felt like the rear tyres were floating on the surface of the road. The perpetual downhill was only interrupted a few times by a slight climb. It blurred together and we were soon on a weirdly straight road, past an old disintegrating bridge, towards Candela. The wind was blowing from the side and we were keen the sharp turn at the end of the road to have the wind behind us and the upcoming climb to keep us warm.
The climb made us a little warmer, but it wasn’t enough. We were at the base of Candela, and as was always the way, the towns are on a perch we were unwilling to climb up to. We hadn’t located a grocery store nearby and we didn’t know whether we would be going further yet. Candela was the point we would be leaving the route of the EV5, which continues to Brindisi. We were instead heading to Bari to catch the ferry to Greece.
It was far earlier in the day than we’d expected, the downhill making for an extremely quick twenty kilometres. Fortunately there was a little deli, the only shop open for miles around, right at the junction where we were turning off. They sold large loaves of bread and we also bought a small jar of ‘prugne’ jam. We stayed in the warm shop, standing in the corner, to find a place to stay. It was slim pickings but there was a place another 40km away that was reasonably priced and didn’t look too far off the route.
Most importantly, it continued to be predominantly downhill. The temperature felt warmer too and we put our faith in the Bicitalia route to take us to the coast. It was about half past two when we left Candela on marked roads. First on the SP98 which became the SP97 and which then turned northwards slightly, into the wind for just long enough to notice slowing down, until we flicked back east on the SP91 and zoomed with the wind and the downhill continued.
The SP91 wasn’t as predictably surfaced as one might hope. It seemed to be a forgotten road, once an important artery but one that had lost importance and was left to deteriorate. It was frequently littered with large pot holes and muddy sections that weren’t just tractor deposits. The signs were rusted and old. It was also probably partly the fact it was Sunday and because the weather was so gloomy but we felt like we were in a forgotten zone. All along the route were unoccupied houses, chained up fences but only shells of buildings remained.
The small village of Moschella at the end of this stretch was occupied but it wasn’t particularly well kept. A dog paused to think, but subsequently chased us out of the village. We now had to leave the route and travel five kilometres to the B&B. On the corner we turned off at was a bundle of car parts scattered over the road. This road was possibly worse than the last, it was extremely bumpy and we had to weave all over it so as to avoid the worst parts. Darkness fell quickly, and we put our lights on while we waited for the lights at a bridge, that like all bridges in Italy, was being repaired.
At the end of this road was two kilometres on the SS93, a fast, unfriendly and bland road that we endured to Posta Piana. We rode down the driveway towards the quiet isolated house. There was a light on but nobody appeared quickly. The lady had messaged us to ask us to wait about thirty minutes earlier so we presumed she was out.
A few minutes later she appeared, speaking Italian very quickly, even after we’d made it clear we couldn’t follow what she was saying and showed us a safe space outside to leave our bikes before leading us to the room. She’d evidently just finished cleaning it as the floor still had a film of water from being mopped. It turned out she was keen to go out quickly, hence her fast speaking. We managed to get a pot of hot water, for some tea, before she left.
Glad to have found some more bread earlier we dipped our bread in some leftover sun dried tomato oil as well as the pesto. The prune jam was tasty though we were sure anything would have been after two long days in the saddle. We considered our progress and realised that there was now a real possibility of reaching Bari on Tuesday rather than Wednesday.
Surly They Won't Make It 