by Randy Campbell
The sun rises, barely peeking through the haze of condensation and smog. I squint and peer to the east, trying to gauge the weather…I have about 20 minutes to make the decision to ride or not. Glancing at the television, I see the weatherman pointing a lot and waving his arms, but I can't understand a word since, though I'm stationed in Italy, I don't speak Italian. A few rays of sun burst through, promising more. I pull on a sleeveless jersey, my padded cycling shorts, step into my SPDs, and wheel my bike to the fridge, where I grab two bottles of Powerade. I bound down the stairs, securing my oversized seatbag as I go. I start spinning, warming my legs and checking my rear blinkie.
More blue sky, and a tailwind confirms my luck is still holding. I ride on the "Domitiana", noting that a CNN "factoid" has just mentioned that this is the most dangerous road in the free world. I hear traffic to the left, accelerating up the ramp and onto the "Tangenziale" where they will cruise at 130 mph. Meanwhile, traffic passes me going a "sedate" 80 mph and giving me plenty of room.
At the base of my hill", I slurp some Powerade and downshift, starting the climb up "Monte Venda," which separates my neighborhood from the next one, called "Pozzouli". As I crest the hill, I check my cyclometer and see 6 mph. I drink more and watch as the sun rises, bathing the valley in a beautiful glow. I note 38 mph recorded as I descend into the valley proper and then a fantastic smell hits me: a blend of brewing espresso and the first pastries coming from the oven in the small bar-cafes along the waterfront.
I stop just long enough to don my sunglasses and pocket an offered banana. Cheerful voices call from the water as fishermen begin rowing their "barques" into the bay to begin their work. I hear "Bravo!" and "Ciao Bello!" as I flash by, turning left onto my next challenge, the cobbled streets of Pozzouli.
After several bone-jarring minutes, I think wistfully of those "suspension seatposts" I have read about. At last the next landmark appears, the "Bar Roma". I look at my watch and carefully calculate the time left before work. I decide to stop and enjoy a cappuchino and cornetto.
The smiling waitress comments on the sunny weather and my suntan as she serves my 'chino in a china cup. She chuckles when she hears my heart rate monitor beeping its alarm at my lethargy. I enjoy at least 5 minutes there, watching the rays of sunshine hit Vesuvius. I pay my bill, mount up and slowly cruise the remaining miles to work.
After locking my bike under the watchful eye of a machine-gun toting Caribiniero, I think of my glycogen window. I unwrap an (imported!) Cliff Bar and chew it. On the way to the showers, I think of the ride home and consider taking the beach route to check out some Italian bikinis, if the weather holds.
Returning from the showers, I glance at my bike and discover a flat tire! I marvel that it managed to wait till the end of the ride.
