The clerk at the hotel in Udine suggested that I go to Trieste and thought that I could easily reach there in a day. It was at this point in my journey that I gave up finding the perfect bicycle route to go anywhere. The landscape reminded me of what I would see if I were riding from Conneaut, Ohio to Erie, Pennsylvania. There were highways with industries and grapevines lining the sides of a flat stretch of road. I wondered when I would finally see the mountains of Trieste that he foretold. Eventually shadows of mountains appeared on the horizon. I rode along the road, and drivers were respectful for the most part.
The miles were fast, flat, and quick until I started moving east along the coast. Along the way, I passed through Sagrado and by the World War I Memorial
(Fogliano Redipuglia).
I also stopped at my first Italian McDonald's along the way in Monfalcone. For whatever reason, I wasn't able to use the wifi there because it asks you to set up an account with an Italian telephone number. I don't know if this is law in Italy, but it was the first time I'd seen anything like this. Fanta tasted differently here. They also cater to Italian tastes. This is what I ended up getting for lunch. It's a caprese salad. The cashier couldn't understand my pronunciation of caprese because I was saying it capreezy. Oops. I have to remember my vowels. Notice the miniature bottle of vinegar they gave me along with the petite breadsticks. McDonald's really consider their customers internationally. I might eat at McDonald's more often if I could order fresh mozzarella and tomatoes at home. They also had some pasta dishes to order too.
I started riding close to the water around Duino, where I had some hills to climb for a little bit. The houses reminded me of California with dwellings along the cliffs opposite of the sea, which I couldn't see through the trees. The air was suddenly warm and it felt like I had ridden into summer. Just two days ago I had purchased gloves in Villach, Austria and was doing the hand-pocket-handlebar switch while riding my bicycle on the Ciclovia Alpe Adria. I saw a place where there was a park, and I hoped that I could gain a glance at water even before reaching Trieste. This is what I saw.
I had made it from the Baltic Sea to the Adriatic Sea. I ate some candy to celebrate and took some pictures of my bicycle. I look like a sweaty mess of awesome. A lizard joined me in my jubilation.
I was clearly in a different climate zone. The ride over the last days reminded me of what it's like to travel in California. You can ski and swim in the same day. You can do the same exact thing here. I was discovering that this area around Trieste may be the most underrated place in Europe. Nobody really every mentions this city, yet I had been enjoying the sights here immensely.
After this stop, I pedaled the rest of the way to Trieste along the sea, which was a very scenic highway that slanted downwards along a rocky coast.
I saw other cyclists on the road too. It looks like a popular route with room in the road for bicycles. I wondered how I would bike out of this if I were to keep cycling at Trieste. I also knew my ankles were feeling a little sore with the same soreness I only experience when I am training for marathons. Did I really have an overuse injury? I guess I did.
Trieste looked like an excellent place to rest.
I spent an extra day here just because I was enjoying this summer place. I felt like I had just arrived to a vacation spot. My ticket back home was for a few weeks away from Paris when I knew it was possible that fall could be over once I arrived in Cleveland. Trieste has some excellent coffee places and was the home of James Joyce and Maximillian.
It was a good place for haircuts too despite describing what I wanted done in Italian. The ladies let me speak a Spanish and French mix to them, and the hair turned out alright. I can clean up to look like a normal woman somewhat. I think the word for bangs is franges, it reminds me of the word fringe.
This was my last official day on tour before riding and taking regional trains over to Rome, Italy and then to Paris, France. I will leave you a self-portrait of a touring cyclist at rest in Trieste, Italy.
The clerk at the hotel in Udine suggested that I go to Trieste and thought that I could easily reach there in a day. It was at this point in my journey that I gave up finding the perfect bicycle route to go anywhere. The landscape reminded me of what I would see if I were riding from Conneaut, Ohio to Erie, Pennsylvania. There were highways with industries and grapevines lining the sides of a flat stretch of road. I wondered when I would finally see the mountains of Trieste that he foretold. Eventually shadows of mountains appeared on the horizon. I rode along the road, and drivers were respectful for the most part.
The miles were fast, flat, and quick until I started moving east along the coast. Along the way, I passed through Sagrado and by the World War I Memorial (Fogliano Redipuglia).
I also stopped at my first Italian McDonald's along the way in Monfalcone. For whatever reason, I wasn't able to use the wifi there because it asks you to set up an account with an Italian telephone number. I don't know if this is law in Italy, but it was the first time I'd seen anything like this. Fanta tasted differently here. They also cater to Italian tastes. This is what I ended up getting for lunch. It's a caprese salad. The cashier couldn't understand my pronunciation of caprese because I was saying it capreezy. Oops. I have to remember my vowels. Notice the miniature bottle of vinegar they gave me along with the petite breadsticks. McDonald's really consider their customers internationally. I might eat at McDonald's more often if I could order fresh mozzarella and tomatoes at home. They also had some pasta dishes to order too.
I started riding close to the water around Duino, where I had some hills to climb for a little bit. The houses reminded me of California with dwellings along the cliffs opposite of the sea, which I couldn't see through the trees. The air was suddenly warm and it felt like I had ridden into summer. Just two days ago I had purchased gloves in Villach, Austria and was doing the hand-pocket-handlebar switch while riding my bicycle on the Ciclovia Alpe Adria. I saw a place where there was a park, and I hoped that I could gain a glance at water even before reaching Trieste. This is what I saw.
I had made it from the Baltic Sea to the Adriatic Sea. I ate some candy to celebrate and took some pictures of my bicycle. I look like a sweaty mess of awesome. A lizard joined me in my jubilation.
I was clearly in a different climate zone. The ride over the last days reminded me of what it's like to travel in California. You can ski and swim in the same day. You can do the same exact thing here. I was discovering that this area around Trieste may be the most underrated place in Europe. Nobody really every mentions this city, yet I had been enjoying the sights here immensely.
After this stop, I pedaled the rest of the way to Trieste along the sea, which was a very scenic highway that slanted downwards along a rocky coast.
I saw other cyclists on the road too. It looks like a popular route with room in the road for bicycles. I wondered how I would bike out of this if I were to keep cycling at Trieste. I also knew my ankles were feeling a little sore with the same soreness I only experience when I am training for marathons. Did I really have an overuse injury? I guess I did.
Trieste looked like an excellent place to rest.
I spent an extra day here just because I was enjoying this summer place. I felt like I had just arrived to a vacation spot. My ticket back home was for a few weeks away from Paris when I knew it was possible that fall could be over once I arrived in Cleveland. Trieste has some excellent coffee places and was the home of James Joyce and Maximillian.
It was a good place for haircuts too despite describing what I wanted done in Italian. The ladies let me speak a Spanish and French mix to them, and the hair turned out alright. I can clean up to look like a normal woman somewhat. I think the word for bangs is franges, it reminds me of the word fringe.
This was my last official day on tour before riding and taking regional trains over to Rome, Italy and then to Paris, France. I will leave you a self-portrait of a touring cyclist at rest in Trieste, Italy.
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