Tuscany Road Journal: Part Six — The Final

Ten years ago, I was 85kg. I loved hammering the front of the Tuesday night chain-gang on the flat roads of South-West London. Max power over 2,000 watts. Could squat 100kg. Loved sprinting for road signs.

Then we went to the Surrey Hills at the weekend. The hammer became a glass nail. I told myself I was a sprinter. It was a lie and I knew it.

I am now 62kg and completely addicted to climbing. I needed one final fix before flying home.

Volterra

22/08/2020 — 05:00

Colle di Val d’Elsa to Volterra. The mountaintop town looks like it was imagined by the production designer of a medieval Hollywood film. Stone walls, ancient towers, the kind of place where armoured men once rode horses and I wanted to dress up and join them.

I descended to Saline di Volterra at the base of the mountain, turned around, and climbed back up. The road had been freshly resurfaced. I could smell the tarmac. I settled into the climbing rhythm: full circles, high cadence, each stroke hitting the beat like a metronome. Upper body still. Breathing from the stomach.

The road felt fast. I hid in the cool shadows of the mountain as the sun rose. Shards of light found the road between the hairpins. We played hide and seek on the way up.

Heatwaves rippled where sunlight hit the asphalt. Swarms of tiny flies hovered in the warm pockets of light. They stuck to the suntan lotion on my arms. I kept my mouth closed and rode through them.

While I climb, nothing else exists.

The sensation of effort is the only object in the field. No problems, no ideas, no fears. Climbing is the purest form of cycling. It silences everything.

Except it does not, quite. The thoughts are still there. The climbing just moves them to the perimeter, where they circle at a safe distance.

From the perimeter, this morning:

“Fuck, my tooth hurts. I need to see a dentist.”

“This is my last day in Tuscany. I do not want to go home.”

“I hope the journey home is easier than the way out.”

“What if we get the virus on the way back? I’ll order test kits.”

“My inbox is going to be full.”

And then the gradient takes more of my attention and the thoughts recede.

On the road home, I found one of Mario Staccioli’s sculptures from his series “Luoghi d’Esperienza” (places of experience): a geometric frame, large, red, inviting you to stop and look at the landscape through the circle it described.

Art belongs to whoever is standing in front of it. I stood in front of this one and thought about climbing. The circle: the infinite loop, the pedal stroke, the thought that circles the perimeter of consciousness while your legs work. The fiery red: the burn that the climbing trance dims to a background sensation.

I stopped for a while and shifted my position, reframing different sections of the landscape through the sculpture. I have an obsession with light and shadow: the way they reveal and conceal different shapes as they move. I had never looked at a landscape this way before. I will not forget it.

The game of hide and seek was over. The sun had won. No shadows left to ride in.

Passing through Castel San Gimignano, I thought: this is my last ride. I have one day’s travel ahead of me tomorrow. I might as well empty the tank now.

Sunglasses from the helmet vents. Head down. Tucked low in a Belgian tuck. Rode toward the light.

White spots in the eyes. Legs trembling as the lactic acid left glycogen-starved muscle. Skin dry with salt. Eyes vacant and unable to focus: low blood sugar and a brain asphyxiated by endorphins.

Empty. Completely empty.

Nothing beats leaving everything on the road.

Back at the cottage, I ate: tomatoes and basil from the allotment next door, drenched in local olive oil. An omelette with eggs from the farm. Bread from the panetteria. Two litres of water and a cup of single-origin filter coffee.

Gradually became human again.

Most of our meals this week were cooked at home. The local produce was too good to justify a restaurant for everyday eating. We ate out for the dishes that Gabriele recommended and that exceeded our cooking capabilities. Everything else we made ourselves.

Becky and I walked into Colle di Val d’Elsa in the afternoon to say goodbye to the town and collect a few local crafts. The Tuscans carry enormous pride for their land and their craft. If something is worth doing, it is worth doing well. Every interaction this week confirmed that.

Italy was more serious about COVID than the UK at this point. Police were enforcing masks in the streets. I felt safer here than at home. That was one of the reasons we chose to come.

Before booking, I had to answer one question honestly: “Am I prepared to accept the physical, mental, logistical and societal consequences if we come into contact with the virus?” The answer was a reluctant yes. I then did everything I could to make that outcome unlikely. Tests before departure, tests on arrival, masks, distance, hygiene. You cannot let your guard down when fighting something invisible.

We acted responsibly. It was more rewarding than I imagined it could be.

Parting Thoughts

Name a problem that does not involve another person.

Lockdown gave us permission to hide from people, from confrontations, from situations that made us uncomfortable. That permission accumulated. Going back out into the world required an act of will.

Tuscany was not all coasting downhill. At points it was 53x11 into a headwind with a parachute attached. But the challenges made me feel alive, and the rewards were always disproportionate to the hardship.

This is a grand tour, not a track sprint. Sustainable effort over time.

If we act responsibly, we can find balance. We can enjoy life. We must protect each other. And we must keep going.

Gareth.