8/11 DAY 12: A LONG RIDE

I've left Sardinia. I'm technically now on Italy's fourth largest island, Isola San Antioco. It's the furthest southwest I'll get on this trip. I'm now closer to Africa than mainland Europe. I've completely toured the entire western Sardinia coast, from Stintino all the way down. It's been absolutely beautiful, and so different from place to place.

Today was a long ride. I was out of the campground by 7:45 and back up into the mountains an hour later. It was a 120Km trip under cloud cover, making it easy. I consumed only 1-1/2 liters of water. More than half of the trip was through mountains. I went over two passes, both around 550 meters. That's not much compared to northern Italy, but they add up nonetheless. I stopped at two spots along the way. First I visited the temple of Antas. It was only recently discovered, and so charming in that magic mountain valley. It was the best Roman ruin yet. The temple inspired me to backtrack to the Grotta de su Mannau. The link between western philosophy / architecture to caves being so apparent. The grotto was impressive. It was huge, and still geologically active. It would have been fun to have taken the wet suit tour. What is it with me, such a tall guy, and my interest in caves?

Following the cave, it was a long ride to Iglesias, where again I got lost, but fortunately only briefly. I hate how they do the directions here. I'm on a bicycle and couldn't be going any slower. How could I possibly lose a main road, Strada Provinciale number 126? I had the entire route and all of the towns along the way memorized. Yet every time I enter a big town, all of the roads converge into the center and it becomes practically impossible to leave town in the right direction. I had even asked someone if I was going the right way. At least I didn't go too far out of the way. Southwest Sardinia is totally economically depressed. It's farm and former mining country. My guide book covers the mining story well, and I found it is so true.

I arrived at the campground after 6PM. The last 20Km were challenging, probably in part to the fruit shopping I did before I reached Isola San'Antioco. I'm completely nuts. I bought a watermelon and strapped it to the top of all the other crap I had back there. It's a wonder I didn't break anymore spokes.
It's so absolutely beautiful here on the southern side of this island. There's a whole array of sunbathing rocks and the snorkeling is superb. I'll stay two nights here so I can finish my book. I also want to visit neighboring Isola San Pietro. I'm camped about 50 meters from the water's edge. After I watched the sunset from the rocks, I returned to my hammock where I laid for two hours watching the colors in the sky fade to black, stars appearing from nowhere.

8/8 DAY 11: LA COSTA VERDE

The Italian cyclists were gone this morning before I awoke. I climbed out of my tent at 9 and decided to take the day off. I wanted to enjoy the Costa Verde. It's not solely a bike trip I'm doing. It's a comedy of errors and a holiday. Sometimes you've got to stop and smell the roses. I'm meeting cyclists more ambitious than myself and it's only natural to measure up. The non-cyclists I've talked to are impressed with what I'm doing. I wish I was doing the whole island, but I insist upon seeing and doing everything I want along the way. I want to see all of the out of the way places, and believe in taking time off to read or swim or just lie in my hammock. I would need another week to encircle the island at this pace.

It's really windy here. I guess that explains the huge sand dunes. It's some kind of local variant of the Mistral. It was a nice cool breeze up in the mountains yesterday. Here on the coast the temperature is always in flux. I had to wear a jacket last evening, but in the middle of the night I awoke in a sweat. I had to open up the tent. The wind had completely stopped. During the day the wind is so strong that I've had to reinforce my tent to prevent it from blowing away or complete collapse. I had to stake down the corners and anchor them with rocks. On the side facing the wind, I've had to rig lines attached to another stake and stone anchor. Inside the tent I rigged a flexible support using a bungie cord and duct tape. I'm disappointed with this tent. The inside ties that are supposed to secure the poles in place have all fallen off. This tent was last used for a very rainy camping trip in the Adirondikes. The water dissolved much of the interior work. I suppose I could turn the tent into the wind, but then it wouldn't fit into the rather suburban campground plan. Plus, I enjoy the challenge.

This afternoon I almost drowned. I made my pilgrimage down to the beach, Piscinas, to test the water. As mentioned, it was particularly windy and the breakers were big, even by Atlantic Ocean standards. Only two people were in the water, and they were only up to their knees. The red flag at the lifeguard station might have been an indicator, but no one yelled or whistled in my direction as I headed out into the surf. The water temperature was perfect and the sea floor was smooth sand. I had to really swim hard to get out to the breakers. It reminded me of the movie Castaway, and the impossibility he faced getting past a certain point. Once I got out there though, I realized how huge the waves were. Maybe I'm exaggerating, but I swear they were twelve foot swells. I had no idea this sea could muster up so much fury. I was terrified, and I wanted to get back. At this point the waves were crashing down on me and I was getting tumbled around and having to hold my breath. I was starting to take on water and I started to panic. I was hoping those two boys playing soccer on shore whom I think were lifeguards would swim out and rescue me. But what would that look like to all the people on the beach? I had to get myself back. So I swam hard and tried not to panic, but kept getting tumbled and kept taking on water. Finally I was able to touch the sandy bottom again with my feet. With further great difficulty I got myself back to shore. I tried to compose myself as I walked over to my bike and pulled out my towel. That scared the hell out of me!

There were big puffy clouds in the sky this evening as the sun set with tremendous purples and oranges. I headed up to the rustic and charming restaurant, which contrasted the dusty campground. The staff here is friendly, and the food and prices are good.

8/9 DAY 10: A WRONG TURN

Today was supposed to be an easy day. But I made a wrong turn and accidentally headed up into the mountains. I finally made it to my beautiful dune-side desitnation on the Costa Verde (Green Coast), but did I ever take the extreme long way. I slept like a baby last night, not even noticing until dawn that my air matress valve was wide open. I slept in and then moved myself to the hammock when the tent got hot. I had myself a cappuccino and pastry before packing up. It was fresh socks day today. I was out of the campground by 10. It was supposed to be a short day.

I headed down the coast to Maceddi and found the long narrow bridge across the bay. I stopped a little roadside stand and stocked up on olives, sun dried tomatoes, and delicious little peppers stuffed with tuna, capers, and something else that I didn't understand. I headed over towards the coast, hit a beach and a dead end. No one was able to help me find my way south. I could see another town further down the coast, but couldn't take my bike down the beach. The wheels got bogged down in the sand. I cut away from the beach and followed a rocky dirt track up a steep hill. I had to get off and push my bike. It was either this or turn back. I finally hit an asphalt road going south and assumed I was headed in the right direction. There weren't any road markers. The problem was the combination of maps I was using. Instead of going to the Marina of Arbus, I went to Arbus. Up, up, up into the mountains I went. I ran out of water during my ascent, but an ice cream stand miraculously appeared out of nowhere. I was able to stock back up on cold frizzly plus have a little treat. It was my second six liter day in a row. I went over Mount Vecchio and down into Arbus with the flattest depressing plains visible off towards the east. I passed all sorts of abandoned mining operations that I had read about in my guide book. But where was the coast and my campground? I ended up having to enter the Costa Verde the way I had planned to leave.

I now find myself in a place that's very difficult to get to. And it's gonna be tough getting back out of here again. There's a lot of squiggly lines on the map between here and my next destination. At least I had a cool sea breeze the whole day today. It never truly got hot. It's just frustrating knowing that I had taken a wrong turn and instead went through a huge mountain range. Oh well. I finally reconnected with the coast. I met up with two Italian cyclists, a man and a woman from Mantova, who were cycling the whole island. They're camped not far from me here in this windy dusty campground. It's a totally different scene than two nights ago. It's a steep dirt track down the mountain, and campers can't get here. The people here are younger, more hip, and actually quite good looking. The restaurant and grounds are beautiful. The views of the sea through the dunes and the pretty green hills are charming. The scrubby macchia seems so much softer and greener than I know it is.

8/8 DAY 9: CHASING ROCKS

I pulled out of the campground at 9AM. I didn't pull into the next one until 8PM. It was a long crazy day. I'm exhausted, sitting in a restaurant with seafood on the way. The first carafe of beer is already in front of me. The day was spent chasing old piles of rocks. My first point of interest was Tharros, a Punic, Phoenician, Roman ruin at the end of a long beautiful cape which juts out to frame the north end of the bay of Oristano. I had heard that Tharros wasn't much more than a pile of rocks, which turned out to be a pretty accurate description. But the setting was remarkable. I rode through vineyards on my way out the cape. The grapes were ripe for the picking. I started with the sweet green and moved on to the the bitter plump purple. I was literally riding down the road with clumps of grapes in both hands. There's an old tower that overlooks Tharros. I had my midday's meal in it's shadow overlooking the rocky coast and clear blue sea. I finished up my pecorino and moved on. The next leg would prove more vexing.

I ventured back inland and uphill. I sought the Nuraghe Losa, one of the most impressive on the island. Nuraghes are 4000 year old structures which dot the island. There are over 7000 of them in Sardinia, many of them no more than a pile of rocks. Archeologists don't know who build these things or why. This one almost killed me getting to it. It was a steady uphill through cow pastures and olive groves. I chose small roads to avoid the four lane highway, and I got lost once. There was no breeze or cloud cover to protect me from the searing 95º heat- only the shade of an occasional olive tree. I went through six liters of water, and my supply kept getting hot. Oh how I hate drinking hot water to cool myself off. I had to stop briefly because I thought I'd pass out. I finished off my peaches with hot water. Almost there I met two fellow cyclists, German priests who were cycling around Corsica and Sardinia. They were cutting up through the hot interior north to Alghero. They hoped to make Bosa by nightfall. They were sleeping in campgrounds and on church grounds. My final stretch to the Nuraghe Losa was by no choice the four lane highway. I finally arrived, and it was worth it. It was the best Nuraghe I had seen by far. At first glance it was simplistic. Once inside I realized how complex the thing was. The interior was like a roughly hewn Richard Sera Torqued Ellipse created out of boulders.

The people in Oristano province are so friendly. I get to use my Italian, and it's inexpensive. It's not as beautiful as up north in Gallura. The city of Oristano is like Omaha. It's cow country here. I didn't want to take the four lane highway back to Oristano, so I found an alternate route through Fordongianus. I was dead tired by this time, but what was I gonna do? I briefly visited a Roman bath ruin. There was water streaming out of the hill into a pool of water. I don't know what I was thinking. I was delirious.The signs all read Thermal Baths. But it was hot out and I was hot. My instincts told me to put my hands into the water to cool off. Ouch! The water was scalding hot! They obviously didn't get that much business this time of year. I busted a rear spoke leaving the ruin. This could evolve into a major problem, and I'm gonna have to keep an eye on it. I could repair it with baling wire or take my bike to a shop. If three or four go, I'm in trouble.

I had a head wind wind all the way back into Oristano. Just my luck. Almost into town I was tempted to buy a watermelon, but had the better sense to head to bar instead. I ordered a small beer and a large frizzly water to go. I finished my beer and headed into town. I didn't care for Oristano. It's a big industrial town. There's a nice central area, but the surrounding areas, including the port, were unpleasant and fetid. All I wanted was to find a place to sleep so I peddled and peddled down the road. I finally found the next campground and set up my tent.
I'm sore, but sated. What a great meal I just had. I still have a while to go on my second carafe. Tomorrow will need to be an easier day.

CAMPING ITALIAN STYLE

You've got to love the way Italians camp. They take it seriously, and they bring everything. The campgrounds here have electricity. Cords can be found running everywhere. In Alghero I noticed a group seated semis circle in wicker chairs around a large color television. But here in Nuropolis the set-ups are even more elaborate. The televisions are connected to satellite dishes. Many campsites have refrigerators and even washing machines. I watched an elderly woman working away on a sewing machine. Everyone is jabbering away on a cellphone. The hair dryers are all a roaring come evening before dinner time. People come fully equipped. They build tarped canopies over their campsites and create verandas which are closed with blinds and shutters. They bring it all. And one just has to marvel at the tightly synchronized eating times and itineraries. Italians are so funny!

8/7 DAY 8: DOWN THE WEST COAST

With very little sleep I awoke early to the snoring German guy two feet away. Rather than roll back over, I got up, packed, and was on the road by 8:30. I stopped for a little snack of grapes an hour later atop a tall seaside cliff, with Capo Caccia now far in the distance. I rode hard to Bossa, meeting two cyclists along the way. Ian was from New Zealand and Rebecca from Switzerland. They were doing the whole island on bike and public transportation. Ian had done a lot of bicycle touring and was rather politically opinionated. He knew a lot about bikes and was more familiar with mine than I was. He was impressed, and of course, loved my bumper stickers. They were also on mountain bikes, which can handle just about anything - even the cobblestone alleyways of beautiful Bosa, my first destination.

I really hadn't been expecting anything, but was pleasantly surprised. Bosa is a densely packed town which runs along the Temo river. The houses are stacked upon one another in between narrow lanes running up the steep hill to the castle. There were other tourists here, but it was nothing like Alghero. I had my lunch up on the castle walls while gazing down at the terra cotta rooftops below. Afterwards I went looking for a supposed old Roman bridge. I couldn't find the bridge, so I continued south climbing an enormous hill that I had been warned about by the Dutch cyclist. I rode through the heat of the day. The road veered away from the coast and just kept going and going. I went through 4-1/2 liters of water! Fortunately there were a few clouds in the sky. Finally I hit a steady downhill that took me down into Oristano province. I rejoined the coast, and there in the water appeared new kinds of rock formations. They were smooth and sculptural like Brancusi. I settled into a very spacious and friendly campground. I ended the day down at the beach watching the sun set with a couple of Ichnusas, pane carasau and pecorino.

8/6 DAY 7: ALGHERO

I'm enjoying the refugee camp with a good sense of humor. I don't plan to spend much time in my hammock, but the restaurant is cheap and there are lots of fellow travelers to talk to. I had a cappuccino this morning coupled with a danish. I'm learning how to roll with the best and worst of these campgrounds. I swam out to the jetty and stood out there on those rocks looking into the cool clear water and back towards the beach. It's a rather perfect beach, with smooth white sand and clear blue water. My rocky perch requires only a short swim.

My refugee camp has become paradise. I guess it's a matter of putting a positive spin on things. I cleaned up my little campsite and tended the little plant on my tent stoop. I cleaned up people's garbage, netting wine glasses and laundry detergent. I rested in my hammock reading in the shade of the pine trees. When I got tired of reading I walked 200 feet to the beach and swam out to the rocks. I'm surrounded by beauty and give myself whatever I want.

My Birkenstocks died this afternoon. I knew they wouldn't make it through the trip. Rather than buy a new pair for the trip and ruin them along the way, I opted to go forth with what I had. That was pretty much my approach with all of my provisions. I'd been riding in my Birkenstocks the entire trip until the other day on my way into Alghero. I switched into my Converse for a more trendy entry. Crammed inside my panniers, the Birkenstocks literally fell apart. I had bought these sandals two years ago from my neighbor Jim Fleming at a sidewalk sale. I retired them here in a brief ceremony in my favorite piazza. They were replaced with a trendy pair of flip flops which should get me through the rest of the trip. I also swapped out my Converse shoelaces for good measure. I purchased a snorkeling mask and took out 500 Euros for the journey south.

The campground offered quite a bit of socializing. I met a Dutch guy named Robert who had cycled the island in nine days. Now I want to do that! I'm not sure if he completely followed the coast, but he said he didn't take any breaks or do any sightseeing. He also rode through the heat of the day to take advantage of the Italian chuisora (siesta) and lack of road traffic.

I settled into my hammock that evening with a beer in one hand and a limoncino in the other. I had one one side of me a group of Italians playing drinking games with bottles of wine lining the table. On the other side of me sat two English girls reading and drinking beer, a queue of empty bottles behind them. I introduced myself to the girls, who it turned out were from London and had just finished art school. We went into Alghero for a wonderful meal and, of course, plenty of beer. The next thing I knew it was 2:30 in the morning.