From Trecchina (PZ) to Maratea (PZ), the Cristo Redentore and a swim in the Tyrrhenian, 4 October 2020.
The day starts with the fantastic taste of Bocconotti, the typical pastries from Trecchina (PZ) that you can find in many versions and flavours at Caffetteria dell'Angolo, the bar right next to the main square. I was really impressed by the quality of the breakfast, but also by the service and the kindness of the staff.
I'm posting the photo of the ingredients (blurry, forgive me).
It's around 09.30 and off I go again. Reassured by what many people in Trecchina told me, I'm pretty confident that a comfortable, long descent is waiting for me.
I was wrong: probably nobody in town has ever pedalled to Maratea. Before the descent, there are around 4.5 km of slight uphill (with an average gradient of about 4%).
Obviously it's nothing tiring compared to the climbs of the previous days but, when you're expecting no climb at all, morally you're a bit let down, and in an endurance sport like cycling, morale is everything.
The landscape is truly beautiful though, and the route basically goes around Monte Crivio, a peak that looks like it would be interesting to climb on foot. In fact, I keep crossing CAI signs along the way.
Chestnut trees, dry stone walls, clouds settling on the surrounding peaks. These are little details that on two wheels, at a slow pace, produce sensations you can't get with any other means of transport.
The first goal of the day is to reach the top of Monte San Biagio (620 m) where the statue of the Cristo Redentore stands, built in the sixties and evoking the Christ of Corcovado in Rio de Janeiro, though the one in Maratea is smaller than its Brazilian sister. The Cristo of Maratea, at 21 metres tall and 19 metres of arm span, is the second of its kind in the world after, indeed, the bigger sister of Rio de Janeiro, which stands 38 metres tall. Imagine that.
After one last wide curve, I move onto the west side of Monte Crivio, from where I finally glimpse in the distance, like a tiny holy card, the statue of the Cristo Redentore. From this moment on it becomes part of the landscape, and slowly it grows bigger and closer.
I ride the descent for about 8 km and reach the entrance of Maratea with real joy.
Here I am in the little square with the town's mermaid, who is flirting with me. I return the favour with a kiss and a see-you-later.
In discesa verso Maratea (PZ), 04-11-2020, 10.30 I take a small break in view of the climb waiting for me up to the Cristo. I buy a sandwich intending to eat it later, and I have an ice cream now. Once my stomach is opened I don't think about it twice and I eat the sandwich too: on a bike you burn what you eat, so you need to keep fuelling and not worry too much about guilt.
The most important climb of the day begins. As I go up, the landscape around me is breathtaking.
In discesa verso Maratea (PZ), 04-11-2020, 10.30 I finally spot the last stretch running on the viaducts, where the road looks like it's heading straight into the sky, suspended between the clouds. This part is really impressive: when you drive it by car, the higher you go, the more you wonder whether it wouldn't be better to continue on foot.
But on a bike, in that instant, after around 120 km cumulated with the previous days, it's a unique feeling. A mix of emotions runs over me while I pedal, incredulous, through the last curves before the finish line. All the fears, the doubts, the worries I had before starting the trip or during the way are covered by a sense of fullness, happiness and an unbelieving awareness of being there. Only then do I realise that the awareness of being able to do it and the determination to want to do it are two incredible, complementary forces which, together with a blindfolded goddess of luck, are the essential ingredients to crown a dream, whatever it is.
Here I am at the entrance of the little square in front of the Basilica di San Biagio, where you take the main stairway that leads to the feet of the Cristo. Judge for yourselves the beauty of the view from the photos.
I spend a lot of time observing the landscape around me, taking photos and contemplating the place where I am. I keep tasting, still incredulous, the awareness of being there.
A kind German couple, the woman being a photographer, takes the two best photos of me, in the company of the local super star, the Cristo Redentore.
Below is the route traced with Komoot showing the altimetry (always to be taken with a pinch of salt) of the road from Trecchina to the Cristo Redentore, on the top of Monte San Biagio.
I video-call my dear friend Lorenzo from Bergamo, whom I met on Couchsurfing, to share that moment with him. To this day, we still have a trip on hold. We'd met on the platform, both of us wanting to do the coast-to-coast, on foot or by bike.
We met but unfortunately we couldn't leave together. Lorenzo did it solo at the end of July, completing a much longer route than mine and, on top of that, with a much less capable bike. Still, back then it was as if we had somehow completed it together: planning, doubts and steps (or rather, pedal strokes), one after another, always shared in real time online, and for a few days in person.
It felt natural and spontaneous to share that achievement, and that moment, above all with him.
After enjoying those moments generously, I decide it's time for a swim to complete my mini-vacation.
Fairly easy decision to put into practice, since from the Cristo to the beach it's all a long descent. Along the way I cross another cycle tourist who, riding a very unusual bike, is completing the tour of Italy: it's Marco Pasqualini, pedalling to cover the 20 Italian regions with the cargo bike VALE for the project "Pedalando per l'Italia", whose aim is to show and promote volunteering, raising funds for Protezione Civile.
After a brief mutual introduction Marco interviews me and I hope, once I share this post publicly, that it will be an occasion to receive the interview directly from him in the comments.
Following the advice of the Trecchinesi (is that what the people of Trecchina are called?) I head straight to the beach of Fiumicello Santa Venere, which seems to be one of the few reachable by bike. Most of the beaches around Maratea are marked by long stone stairways.
Here is the route from the Cristo Redentore to the beach of Fiumicello Santa Venere.
The sea is rough and the waves rise and crash on the shore with force. I'm not really convinced I want to jump in. The beaches around Maratea are close to cliffs and, even though this spot near Fiumicello looks more sandy, the rough sea and the waves breaking on the water's edge make it impossible to know if and where there are rocks.
A thin, blonde guy that I immediately identify as a foreign tourist decides to walk into the water. And he manages. His father (probably) follows.
I convince myself that if they made it, I can too. I wait for the right moment and quickly step into the water before a wave slams me face-first onto the sand.
Actually as I step in I realise the bottom hides many big stones, pebbles.
I enjoy the moment and I get to know the two of them: they are English, father (indeed) and son, on holiday.
After a nice chat in the water and some tips on what to visit, we decide it's time to get out. From there it will take about 10 minutes to somehow get out without being smashed (or rather, without letting the waves smash us) onto the pebbles and the shore.
A bit later I bump into Giulia, a young girl of Roman origins (or thereabouts), undecided about whether to dive in. To be honest, it really wasn't a good idea: getting in when the sea is like this is relatively easy, the problem is getting out in one piece.
After a pleasant chat I take myself off to get some sun, enjoy the beach and play a couple of notes on the ukulele.
It's around 15.30 and, obviously, it's late to think of leaving on the bike at this hour towards the mainland, but I'm still in time to catch the lift offered by the doctor going back to Policoro, from Trecchina.
I'm pumped up, and the 12.5 km waiting for me of total, non-stop uphill before going around Monte Crivio and heading to Trecchina don't scare me at all. This time I know what's coming and I take the climb head on.
Here is the route with the altimetry details, from the beach of Fiumicello Santa Venere to Trecchina (PZ).
At 17.30 I'm back in Trecchina. I refresh myself at Caffetteria dell'Angolo and take the chance to taste another bocconotto, typical of the town. Now the less exciting part awaits me: taking off the panniers, the rear rack and the wheels to fit the bike into the doctor's car who kindly offered me the ride.
Piazzetta di fronte la Basilica di San Biagio, Maratea (PZ), 04-10-2020, 11.50 The reverse operation is much more exciting: preparing and assembling the bike. Worries and adrenaline combine as you try to focus on not forgetting anything and, at the same time, not bringing useless stuff.
As I take the bags off and unscrew the rear rack, I remember, still incredulous, that I reached the goal I'd set. I made a small dream come true, one I'd kept in the drawer, and I lived my first bike trip.
What am I thinking about as soon as I get into the car?
I want to do more.
As soon as possible.
