Sicily 3-6: Climbs, Windmills, & UNESCO

We've been pedaling our way across, down, and now up Sicily since I last wrote. Our days have taken on a rhythm, one of the most satisfying things to me for bicycle trips, the little patterns of the day you can come to trust when in such a wonderous place of the unknown. 

There has always been an espresso machine in each BnB room (or in the common room) and navigating this mystery is the first task of the day. The day may or may not get more challenging after that; I have no experience with these contraptions, and I've now gathered they come in a withering diversity. As soon as I master one breed, the next place has one completely different. There's buttons, handles, symbols, catchment systems...and of course no instructions, and I can be found pressing and pushing, either creating a runny brown mess or getting no action at all. Italians must be born with the innate capacity to make an espresso. Sometimes we are lucky enough that our host makes us a cappuccino, or we circumvent the matter entirely and go to a little bar down the street and join the 6 men with elbows on the bar all talking at once. 

Packing up before the day's ride involves de-exploding the room, as it usually blooms when we arrive with bike shorts drying from a cabinet door, lights and phones charging from every socket, and bikes serving as clothing racks. I love folding and fitting, bagging bags into bags, knowing where every item goes on the bike, the comfortable routine of preparing my belongings to be pedaled to the next spot. 

My husband is still true to form. He left one sock somewhere on the mainland of Italy and packed two right-handed gloves. 

And then we ride. The center part of Sicily is rugged: steep hills, deep valleys, rocky outcroppings. Sheep seen from a distance, little white puffs flowing through a narrow path between rocks, dogs proudly running behind. We can hear their bells jangling like distant wind chimes if the wind is right. The views have us exclaiming as we round each curve; we feel like we're in a national park out west. 

Oh the elevation! We passed underneath a wee town perched on top a hill thinking, "good thing we don't have to go there, that looks like quite a climb." And miles and miles later we looked out across the view, and saw below us what looked like a muffin with nuts on top: that hilltop town!  

Our ride yesterday had over a vertical mile of elevation gain. 

This island is windy. Sometimes we've fought gusty pushes from the side, or that draining siege upon us coming straight into our path. Headwind Husband: when I groan and complain he whips out in front, "let me take a turn up here, babe" and catching his draft allows me to breath again and realize there is a beautiful world to look up into. He is so incredibly strong: "how you doing up there?" I'll ask, "that looks pretty windy". "Great!", he'll say, "barely feel a thing." "That's good, because I'm just back here eating figs like Queen of the Nile." 

Today we bicycled beneath windmills; we could hear their stories-tall blades whisking the air sounding like airplanes taking off. We were heading north to the coast and the wind was fierce. We were exposed on a road near the crest of the mountains, the air was pummeling from the west and trying to equalize with the air from the other side. The few acacia trees that were present were bent and fluttering madly. Climbing up the hillside, I felt my bike chuffing sideways beneath me and I slowed to a painful 4 mph crawl. The sort of wind where it's hard to breathe.  

From all the elevation and the wind on back-to-back days, I am pretty exhausted. And also proud of the climbing and the wind we've pushed through. 

We've made our route to include two UNESCO sites, the beautifully preserved ancient Greek temples at Agrigento and the Roman house of frescos at Villa Romana de Casale. 

The Greek temples (the best preserved including in Greece) felt looming, mysterious, beautiful and so old I couldn't even properly feel the importance of them. 

The Roman house was an enormous mansion, owned by a big rich Roman family. They had the floor decorated by artists with millions of mosaic tiles, showing scenes of hunting, animals, a chariot race, fruits, and even a suggestive bedroom with a well-endowed woman. That all this is preserved so well is incredible, a way to travel back in time to see what was important to humans. Matthew and I reflected on how millennia have gone by and people are still flashing their wealth in their big homes, enjoying eating figs, and obsessed with butts. 

Can you see the figs above? 

Yesterday our ride took us through a small hill town, San Biagio, that decorates it's town center with whicker arches and bread (yes!) every year for Easter. We arrived as they were setting up, a loud busy community scene. Baskets of decorative bread shaped like doves and woven circles waited on the sidewalk. A crane idled with three men wobbling in the basket, reaching to erect a large woven archway. A man walked by carrying a flock of smaller bird breads. Groups were cutting branches of green leaves. A dude with huge sunglasses and a cigarette was on the phone balanced on a ladder. There was such an air of teamwork and anticipation! 

Our days have ended in hilltop towns, attractive places; but this means we finish with climbs in heavy traffic. And then once in town, we wobble around narrow, steep, cobbled streets trying to locate our BnB for the night. The feeling of arrival and success after all that is VERY delicious.