Tuscany Road Journal: Part Six - The Final
Ten years ago, I was 85kg and loved ‘hammering it on the front’ of the pan-flat Tuesday night chain-gang. Back then, my max power was over 2000watts; I could squat 100kg+ and loved sparring with my club mates for the road sign sprint.
On weekends, when we ventured into the Surrey Hills, I went backwards. The ‘hammer’, turned into a glass nail. I hated it. I would make all the usual excuses, “I’m a sprinter.”
I have transformed from a sledgehammer into a pin hammer. Nowadays, I am 62kg and completely addicted to climbing. I needed to get my fix.
Volterra
22/08/2020 - 05:00
I set out from Colle di Val d'Elsa to Volterra to find my climbing legs.
The mountaintop town of Volterra looks like it has been imagined by the director of a medieval Hollywood movie (it’s featured in The Twilight Saga: New Moon, apparently). Looking up at its walls and towers, my inner child wanted to dress up in armour and play sword fighting with my brothers.
I descended to Saline di Volterra, a small hamlet at the bottom of the mountain, did a u-turn and climbed back up.
The road had been freshly resurfaced. I could smell the fumes.
I settled into my climbing rhythm, creating full circles with my pedal stroke while hitting each beat like a metronome. I steadied my upper body and started breathing from my stomach. The smooth road beneath me felt fast.
I hid from the rising sun in the cool shadows of the mountain. Shards of light found the road. We played hide and seek as I climbed around each hairpin.
Heatwaves rippled where sunlight kissed the asphalt. Swarms of tiny flies hovered like a dense smoke in the pockets of warm light. They stuck to my greasy suntan lotion as I cycled through with my mouth closed.
It was going to be a hot ride home.
Writing helps me recall these little details and observations gathered by my subconscious.
While I climb, nothing else exists. All I can focus on is the sensation of my effort, and what I am capable of sustaining. I ride ‘in the moment’, released from fears, problems, ideas, dreams, emotions.
To me, climbing is the purest form of cycling. It silences my busy mind. I am only doing and thinking about one thing.
All thoughts, questions, ideas and emotions are compartmentalised:
“Fuck, my tooth hurts. I need to see a dentist and have it taken out.”
“It’s my last day in Tuscany. I don’t want to go home...”
“I hope the journey home isn’t as hectic as the way over…”
“What if we contract the virus? I’ll order some test kits.”
“Back to work on Monday… I bet my inbox is full.”
And all of the other deeply personal thoughts that plague my overactive mind.
As I began my journey home, I was greeted by one of Mario Staccioli’s sculptures from his exhibit ‘Luoghi d'Esperienza’ (The places of experience). A series of geometric frames that invite you to stop and look at the view within.
Art is open to interpretation. I projected my experience of climbing Saline-Volterra onto the giant sculpture. The circle represented my articulation of climbing: being in the moment, the sense of infinity, the thoughts that subconsciously circle through my mind. The fiery red colour was the burning sensation in my legs and lungs - that my climbing trance dulled out.
I’m sure Tao Geoghegan Hart would appreciate Staccioli’s masterpiece:
I parked-up to observe the landscape through the ⭕️ , shifting my perspective to frame different sections at a time. I have never looked at a landscape in the way before. It’s a lesson of observation that I will take forward.
I have an obsession with light and shadows; they reveal different shapes and secrets as they move. To me, they are what make the sunrise and sunset so special.
Our game of ‘hide and seek’ was over. The sun bested me, again. There were no shadows to hide in.
As I cycled through Castel San Gimignano, I thought to myself:
“This is my last ride, perhaps I should empty the tank before I have to spend the whole day sitting on different modes of transport tomorrow?”
I pulled my sunglasses from the vents in my helmet, placed them over my squinting eyes, put my head down, tucked myself low into a Belgian-esque style, and rode towards the light.
White spots filled my eyes. I could feel my legs tremble as the lactic acid left my glycogen starved muscles. My skin was dry with salt, and my vacant eyes couldn’t focus - a combination of low blood sugar and my brain being asphyxiated by endorphins.
I’d emptied the tank and the afterburners. I needed food, water and a cold shower.
Nothing beats the feeling of ‘leaving everything on the road’.
After a bowl of tomatoes and basil from the allotment next door - drenched in extra virgin olive oil from San Gimignano, an omelette cooked with eggs from my feathered neighbour, a few slices of bread from la panetteria, two litres of water and a cup of single-origin filter coffee… I became slightly more human.
With such good local produce, we ate most of our meals at home. We only ate at restaurants that created dishes beyond our home cooking capabilities and came highly recommended by our host, Gabriele.
Becky and I took a walk into Colle di Val d'Elsa, to say goodbye to the town and pick up some local crafts to remember our time here.
The Tuscans demonstrate great pride for their land, history, homes, traditions, environment, guests and crafts. If something is worth doing, it is worth doing well.
I have a lot of respect for the way Italy remains assertive and vigilant towards the coronavirus pandemic. In the streets, police were enforcing people to wear masks.
I felt safer in Italy than I do here in the UK. That is partly why we chose to travel here.
Travelling during COVID was never going to be easy, but because we acted responsibly, it was more rewarding than I could have imagined.
Before we booked, I had to ask: “Am I prepared to accept the physical, mental, logistical and societal consequences if I come into contact with the virus?” The answer was a reluctant “yes”, but I did everything in my power to avoid that scenario.
We took tests before departing and on arrival. You cannot take chances or let your guard down when fighting the invisible.
My parting thoughts
Try and give me one problem that doesn’t involve another person? We can use lockdown as an excuse to hide from people and problems, to avoid situations and confrontations.
“Facing problems presents opportunities.”
It takes courage to go out and face the world, especially when we have spent so long indoors. Tuscany wasn’t all ‘coasting downhill’, at times it was like riding 53x11 into a headwind with a parachute tied to my back… but the challenges made me feel alive, and the rewards always outweighed the hardship.
This is a global pandemic, not just a local or national issue. Our battle with the virus is a ‘grand tour’, not a ‘track sprint’. For this fight to be sustainable, it is important to find balance.
We must continue to reduce our contact with others, to protect ourselves, loved ones and the vulnerable. If we act responsibly, we can find balance and enjoy life.
Gareth.
