The weather was so nice in Italy in mid-October that I decided I wanted to ride my bicycle more while I had the chance to ride with shorts still before returning to the United States. I plotted a route to go to Rome from Venice by bicycle, but I knew there were ways t put my bicicletta on a tren if I wanted to get to Roma sooner to take in more of the city.
I left Venice late in the day around 4:00 pm. I had to wait for a bicycle shop to open in Mestre because I wanted to get another tube before I got on the road again.
It seems like a normal thing for bicycle shops to close in the middle of the day. For me, it's always better to get a start at least. I had booked a room in Correzzola for the night already. I was wondering if I was going to beat it there by dark. It was about 45 kilometers from Mestre, doable, but I knew I had to not dawdle.
Some interesting sights along the way included Mira, Italy, where I saw a boat driving along the main street where traffic was. Other cyclists were on this road too, and there was a little gravel path along the river. I road in the path until it seemed like it was the "long way" since it hugged every curve of the river. I decided to stay on the main route (SS309) with my bicycle in hopes that I would make better time.
SS 309 started to look more like an interstate as I traveled south toward Correzzola, but there was a bicycle path alongside of the motor route that was separated by a large water-filled ditch. Eventually the path disappeared and rather than ride in the road, I decided to ride on some country roads that traveled parallel along the freeway. Those roads, however, started to curve to the west until I could no longer see the traffic on the main road in the distance. I pointed my bicycle south. I didn't have a ton of power for navigation at this point, and wanted to keep my legs moving rather than fiddling on the side of the road with my telephone. This was a ride where I just tried to use my intuition for long periods to get to Correzzola. It worked mostly, and I reached Correzzola as the sun was going down after a little bit of anxiety.
The village was basically just a small street. The place where I stayed was gorgeous and historic, with a public courtyard with cats running around. The woman inside was very welcoming, and I wish I had known more Italian at this point. It was only $20 to stay here.
It was a sleepy town. I had colazione and left early. I noticed a bicycle path leading away from the main street of town going south. I decided to follow it, and it lead and ended here.
The path just ended here after 50 meters.
The next place I stopped was Adria. Around noon, I always stop for a break, but not usually a full lunch. People were riding bicycles around the town and it had a pedestrian street in the center of town. It was raining lightly here, which a person in the cafe noted with disdain was the norm in this part of Italy before going on to tell me how much he loved northern Europe, which I thought probably had weather very similar to this. The woman who served me a cappuccino gave me lessons on how to say, "another one, please" since I ordered two cappuccinos. I also had a strained conversation with a short woman who wanted to practice English. She insisted on asking me over and over again if I was Anglo-Saxon. I didn't even know how to answer that. I was asked in Venice if I was mixed, and the races of my parents. Things were different here in that people felt comfortable asking these types of questions right away.
I continued riding south and eventually ended up on a main motorway on the way to Ravenna called SS309. It's one of the only roads going that way. I occasionally saw bicycles and cars were mostly respectful, but it was a little busy and maybe a bit boring. There were gas stations and box stores along the way, but it mostly was just a road with cars. The Adriatic was not visible from here. I arrived in Ravenna as the sun was going down.
For whatever reason, I ended up stopping and chatting several times that morning while finding a bicycle shop. It was nice, and I met a young guy named Felix who spoke excellent English. We went to the grocery store together and walked around a bit. He told me about some things that I could see in Ravenna, which I ended up doing. I had plans to ride to Ferrara, but I was delightfully delayed that day, which wasn't a bad thing. I resigned that day to taking the train to Ferrara later in the afternoon and then decided to spend the day looking at historic churches that had Byzantine mosaics within them. It was like visiting Turkey in a way. I saw San Apollinaire in both Ravenna and Classe. Here are pictures from the basilica in Ravenna.
I liked the pastoral scene of the tiles within the basilica in Classe, Italy, which was a short bicycle ride from Ravenna that utilized bike routes the city had.
It felt like a summer day. This place had palm trees to prove how nice it was here.
At this point, I decided that I was going to stop riding to Rome so that I could see more of Rome and Paris. I enjoyed riding outside in little shorts for the first time this whole trip. The plan was to go to Ferrara for a day and then Bologna with the help of TrenItalia regionale trains for day before heading over to Rome. My body was a little beat up. Here's what my leg looked like after about 6 weeks of bicycle touring.
Here's an approximation of where I rode in those 2 days.
I took a TrenItalia train from Ravenna, Italy to Ferrara, Italy, not really knowing what to expect, but knowing that I was starting to make my way over to Rome. Ferrara ended up being the Copenhagen of Italia. There were bicycles everywhere in this town, so much so that the town had dubbed itself "La Città delle Biciclette" of Italy meaning that it's the bicycle city of Italy.
I had been in Italy for over a week and was starting to pick up a little more Italian. I wasn't able to get by with speaking Spanish to people. It just confused them. They would stop talking to me, walk away, and would send over someone who would lean over the counter and coolly say "Digame."
In Ferrara, it seemed to be a day designated as my real-life Italian conversation exam. Early in the morning, I thought maybe I was earning a B- when I talked myself through getting my bicycle from the garage behind the pension and getting an extra breakfast ticket from the hotel clerk, but I didn't (non ho capito) understand when she started to give me back 30 euros when I had already paid online and didn't pay in cash the night before. I listened and nodded while she counted the money into my palm. Maybe I wasn't doing that great. She did not understand any English at all. A few minutes later, I felt better about myself when I saw a British man utterly fail at any sort of meaningful communication with the same woman. He kept talking at her in English with no results. When you stay at these cheap and local places that aren't exactly the Hilton, you need to know a few phrases because sometimes they're mom and pop penziones.
I didn't know that this was just the beginning of my Italian exam. I made my way to town on my bicycle and an old man stopped me. He was walking his bicycle down the street. With my awful Italiano, I asked him "bici beni," wondering if he bicycle was good or broken. He just talked and talked. I could tell he was asking for directions. I kept telling him in Italian, "I don't know. I don't speak Italian." Eventually, he started complimenting to test my comprehension. Clever man. "You understand this, right?" Essi sono complimenti. Que bellissima." He grabbed onto my hand and spoke to me. The old man apparently was flirting with me. It only took me 5 minuti to figure it out. I figured my grade had dropped from a B- to a solid C.
My next language task was to find a laundromat or a lavandria. I don't think I'll ever forget that word for as long as I live. It was a terribly mundane task to have to do in such a beautiful city. None of the online listings were accurate. Non aperto. Non aperto. I asked 4 people about nearby laundromats. Niente. On the way, I buy some pants in an unrecognizable European size at the outdoor market so that I can wash what I'm wearing. Eventually, someone gives me directions to an actual, real laundromat.
The man at the lavanderia preemptively yells at me because I'm wearing flipflops. I wanted to wash my socks, not my shoes. He pulls me over to the sign. The washing of shoes is not allowed. VIETATO LAVARE LE SCARPE: It is forbidden to wash shoes.
He scolded everyone though. I wondered if the blue drops of water decorating the laundromat were tears or rain. They were sad either way. I watched another woman get treated like a ragazza and she rolled her eyes at me as he was showing her step by step how to use the washing machine.
I have time to rest and study Italian for a little bit. I get some food and drink, and the server struggles to understand what I'm saying, but I eventually communicate. I am killing time before I meet up with a friend. He spots me before I see him, and I am awkwardly holding up my telephone to listen to a pronunciation of the word that would have made a conversation simpler. I am so obviously American, but he forgives me quickly, and we walk and speak a little Italian that bleeds quickly into English.
I saw people old and young riding bicycles here. I spotted a man with a cane hanging from his handlebar riding around the city. There were some downright dapper uomini riding around. Seeing so many people on bicycles in a beautiful place like this just made me dizzy with happiness.
People had some stylin' rides.
