April 11, 2025 to April 12, 2025
Darkness and light
Here is another pair of days we decided to batch up to spare Andrea and others from another PTSD episode. It would be hard to imagine two more diametrically opposed back-to-back days than this pair.
Bisceglie
This morning feels like deja vu all over again as we’re in essentially the same situation we faced at departure day in Portland. The bikes are only half-assembled - they need racks, bottle cages, mirrors and underbags installed, and the tires pumped up; which sounds easy enough but in fact takes a frustrating hour that isn’t worth detailing out here. After that there’s the same issue of packing everything that’s going, tossing a few things in the garbage, cleaning the unit, and checking out by 10.
We don’t make it but we’re close and manage to shove everything out the door and into the lane by 10:10, which sounds pretty good except that the cleaning lady arrived at 10:00 sharp. So that’s one time commitment we miss. The other is the meeting at 10:30 with our host Claudia so I can look through the suitcases for something that’s gone missing: Rachael’s GoPro mount.
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Claudia still hasn’t arrived by 10:45 so Rachael gives her a call. She too is waiting, but not at this #17. I look again at the address she sent me and see that it’s not even on our street; and looking it up on the map we see that it’s a fifteen minute walk away so I rush over as fast as knees will allow, feeling stupid but at least taking some comfort that the knees are gradually improving. Claudia is wonderful, seemingly patient when I arrive and remaining patient for the next five minutes as I scour both suitcases without finding the mount. I apologize for pointlessly interrupting her day and ‘rush’ back to our street so I can get on with the next task of the morning. My head is filled with self-shaming thoughts that once again I’ve let Rachael down and we’re starting yet another tour with her GoPro out of commission. Who knows when we’ll have our first video on the tour this time?
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I’m starting to find my way through this confusing warren but I’m not quite there yet; and since I’ve lost a WiFi connection and can’t bring up the map on the phone I’m working from memory. It brings me to the wrong end of our lane and once more I’m pushing through a crowd past the pasta cutters; only this time it’s much worse because a large tour group has completely blocked the street as they squeeze through and then just stop to admire and photograph the scene.
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There’s no need to tell Rachael the bad news about the missing mount yet, because it’s on to task #2: repairing my unrideable bicycle. The mechanic at West End Bikes, the LBS I was sorry to see is going out of business this month, did me wrong when he freed my frozen handlebar stem. That’s been corrected, but he’s left me with a trashed headset and a set of handlebars that wobble so severely that I’m uncertain if I’ll be able to bike to the nearest bike shop.
And I can’t, as I discover immediately as I try to mount the bike, so I walk to the bike shop. It’s a familiar distance - 15 minutes away, in a different direction from Claudia’s place. At least on this walk I can use the bike as a crutch, but the knees continue to object as I hurry the best I can.
When I arrive at a narrow, dark storefront lined with bike parts and tools, the mechanic takes a quick look at the bike and shakes his head. No way. I’ve found the wrong bike shop. He speaks no English whatsoever, but I’m at least able to pantomime enough to get him to understand I’m asking for a recommendation, and he finally writes down a name and address.
Before starting back I call Rachael, give her the address, and ask her to look it up so we’ll know where we’re off to next. It’s a familiar distance - yet another fifteen minute walk, this time in yet a third direction.
This time Rachael goes with me after we’ve reloaded our bikes. If we find success we’ll start riding from there, and if not we’ll have a good cry before deciding what to do next - which at a minimum will probably mean scrapping our plan for the day and staying in Bari another night while we figure out how to to get me and the bike to what looks like the most promising shop, about three miles away.
It’s a relief to find this second shop open when we arrive, rather than shuttered with a sign in the window saying they’re closed for vacation or whatever. The scene is the same though - a narrow, dark slot canyon with a middle-aged man ruling it with a look of someone who’s seen everything in bikes by now and has a head filled with emergency repair techniques amassed from a lifetime of experience.
He speaks no English either, but this time I get the nod. He’ll see what he can do; and while I hold the bike he reaches for the Mediterranean bike mechanic’s tool of last resort, a wedge-nosed hammer, and starts tapping away at the headset. How many times have I come to a bike shop in Italy or Spain now and watched anxiously as some stranger starts beating on my bike with a hammer? Too damn many, but they’ve all resulted in some degree of success.
When he’s done his best he has me check it out. It’s much better. There’s still some looseness, but it feels rideable - hopefully enough to get us to a better solution up the road, which isn’t likely to be until three days away in Manfredonia if not farther. He sends me off with a wry smile and refuses to take a bill I offer for his services. It’s only after I’ve left the shop behind that I see that my handlebars are at an angle, but not so badly that I can’t ride with them this way.
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The plan going in this morning was to bike to Bisceglie in time for lunch and then have the afternoon free to explore the town and maybe do some birding on the waterfront. It’s 27 miles away though and it’s now after noon already, so that’s obviously out. Instead we walk around the corner to the nearest restaurant, one Rachael scouted out while the Hammer Man had his way with the bike.
It’s an attractive restaurant when we bike up, one with white tableclothes and an elegant look but no outdoor seating. We lean the bikes against the front window with the idea that I’ll ask for permission to leave them there while we sit at the table on the opposite side of the glass. Before we can get there though a woman steps out and quickly rejects that idea. Instead she holds the door open and ushers us and our bikes inside and then clears a space against a wall where we can lean them.
We’re there for about an hour and a half - long enough to bolt down an excellent lunch and two large bottles of water and then allow some time before we set off for Bisceglie. We leave with feelings of gratitude and hopes that the rest of the day will go as hoped for. It’s about three now, it’s a generally flat ride, weather conditions are good, and sundown isn’t until 7:30; so we should be fine. We only need to average about six mph for the next four hours, really.
Looking back on the day, our hour and a half at the restaurant is the high point. The morning was been pretty discouraging, but the worst is yet to come. We end the day unable to find any humor at all in our situation, and I suspect that day will never come. It’s the very definition of Type Three Fun.
In the interest of getting on to happier times, let’s not drag this out and instead just list out the low points in the order we came to them.
- About a mile into the ride Rachael pulls up to a halt. Her gears hardly work at all - she can’t get out of the large chainring and she can only get in and out of a few gears in the rear cluster. Fortunately she has just enough range so that she can maintain a 10 mph speed on the flats if she keeps an uncomfortably high cadence, but when we come to a short but steep overpass or train line she has to get off and walk. So that slows us down.
- Starting from this last bike shop, the direct route is pretty poor - the SS16, the narrow two lane highway that runs up the Adriatic coast. There’s a slim shoulder but it’s never a comfortable ride, and the shoulder quality is inconsistent and here and there trashy. And it’s not as easy as you might think to manage this when you’re blind in one eye and your handlebars are about five degrees out of alignment.
- So when we come to a fork in the road and the Garmin suggests that we branch down a partially paved but rough lane that will cut us over to the coast and back on our mapped route, we take it. We take it even though Rachael points out the dead end sign, because we know from experience that at least 90% of the time bikes can get through where cars cannot.
- And when a mile and a half later we come to a solid barrier - a fence that completely blocks the path, with an impassable chasm on the other side from what looks like a new train or highway line under construction - it’s apparent that this is one of the 10% type of dead ends that really means what it says and there’s nothing to be done but to turn back. Rachael squeezes around the fence to study the scene further but there’s no doubt. Beyond the first concrete barrier there’s a steep, deep gravelly drop off to a water-filled trench.
- So the pointlessly added three miles slow us down further and push us later into the day. Which means the sun is lower on the horizon and shining into my eyes the rest of the way into town; which makes my vision progressively more and more of an issue. It’s harder to make out the surface of the road and watch out for potholes, trash and glass, and gradually we spend more time with Rachael in the lead se=inf as a pilot car.
- And we’re both getting exhausted. Rachael’s laboring with her gearing issues but also her hands and ankles are both giving her a lot of pain; and I just feel like I’m running out of gas. I’ve apparently not eaten enough, but I’m probably also dehydrated because in our haste this morning we forgot to fill our water bottles.
- I’m so tired in fact that when we’re finally only about two miles from town and it’s nearing sundown I can barely make it up the final overpass without getting off and pushing myself. It’s at this point that I realize that even though we’re only 25 miles into the tour and I’m riding a bike with two nearly new flat-resistant tires that often carry me for a half year or more without a single flat, I’ve got on the rear wheel that’s slowing me down. I’m hoping it’s a slow leak, but it’s not that slow - and a half mile from the hotel we have a to stop so I can pump it up again, which is just sufficient to see me in.
- All of which has slowed us down so much that we don’t arrive until about 7:45 - well after the closing time of the hotel’s office. When we arrive we find a sign in window telling us our room number and the combination for the keybox, which when we arrive does not work.
- So after both of us give it several fruitless tries I leave her with the bikes and go down to the restaurant next door - an unaffiliated place, but one where the manager offers to call the hotel while I’m handed a 7-up to down while I wait.
- And when he returns five minutes later that the room and asserts that the room number the combination are both correct I go back upstairs and Rachael and I both try again but still without success; so go back down to the restaurant, insist that it really does not work, at which point the manager goes upstairs himself and with his magic fingers quickly unlocks the box, hands us the key, and feeling like compete idiots we rush in, change as quickly as possible, and head downstairs to give them our business. And we leave a good tip.
We are so wiped out when we finally make it back upstairs that we crash almost immediately. I have a very fitful night though, waking up from time to time thinking about our three bike problems that need resolution before we can proceed. We’re both very discouraged, and while we’re wolfing down our pizzas at dinner the main topic of conversation is whether this style of travel is really viable for us any more. This really might be the last vagabond round for Ream Anderson, and a much shorter one than we’d imagined.
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Margherita di Savoia
I wake up in the middle the night, reach for the iPad, and look on the map for the nearest bike mechanic. To my surprise there’s one barely a quarter of a mile away that gets excellent reviews. So there’s something to hope for. We make short work of our breakfast downstairs, pack up for departure, pump up my completely flat tire and head over not long after the shop opens for the day.
As we pack up to leave we start the day off with a good omen - we found Rachael’s missing GoPro mount. Somehow it never occurred to us to look to see if it was already mounted on the bike. It’s not the most important problem we’re dealing with by a long shot, but it’s a definite morale booster. If we ever ride again, maybe there’ll be video.
We’re in luck when we arrive at the bike shop. It’s a businesss that primarily does work by appointment but it’s empty at the moment and the owner has time to take a look at our bikes. And the owner, Alban Naha, is a wonder - possibly the best bike mechanic I’ve ever been served by. He’s also something of a cycling rock star, a former professional racer who opened up a shop here after retiring from the circuit and relocating from his homeland in Kosovo. At some point he takes a break and shares some of his story with me, and lists out the impressive prestige races he’s won awards in. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’s the best bike racer to ever come out of a Kosovo.
We’re there for two or three hours as he gradually knocks off our problems, breaking up his work to turn to other customers who show up. Early on after spending some time staring at our two bikes he comes over to comment that when we go home we need to find a new bike mechanic.
One by one he takes on our problems, coming back again to point out what he’s found. He starts by pulling a couple of tiny spiky thorns from my tire, replaces the tube with a wider, heavier duty one that he says will fill the tire better, and quickly wraps up problem number one. He then completely rebuilds my headset, adjusts the front brakes, adjusts the gears, pumps the tires, and then wheels my bike into a closet before turning to Rachael’s. Hers has multiple problems, not the least of which are her front brakes. The pads are shot, the brakes out of adjustment, and he says the real reason biking is so hard for her is that she’s fighting against her brakes. It’s no wonder that she’s exhausted and in pain too. And she needs a new rotor, so he goes over the ones he has in stock, we select the best one, and before long she’s got a renovated front brake and he moves on to the gearing problem. He tunes the gears up as well as he can but points out that it’s good enough for now but not quite perfect because her large chainring is somewhat warped. Does he have a replacement? Not needed, because he has a tapered hammer, the same tool as was used on my bike this morning, one which is apparently a standard issue tool for bike mechanics here. A few deft and gentle taps and it’s perfect.
By the time he’s done with us it’s a half hour past when he’s due to close for lunch. While he’s wrapping up he gets into an extended conversation with Rachael about life, bike travel, and the importance and value of getting out of your homeland or community and seeing how others deal with the world. He should know, growing up in Kosovo - he briefly makes allusions to the world he grew up in, of relatives lost and homes destroyed. It’s like overhearing the Ukrainians back in Portland. Our own problems are really so small in comparison with what so much of the world has to deal with.
We bike out of town at about twelve thirty, both of our bikes riding smoothly and perfectly. And as we sail down the road a new plan comes to mind for the future - some spring we’ll return to Puglia but travel even slower - maybe spend a full month or even two or three here, with significantly longer stays at fewer places. We’ve both got regrets not staying longer in Bari or especially in beautiful little Bisceglie which we won’t see at all. We’d fly in to Bari again and stay there long enough to actually see the town and then we’d bike to Bisceglie, let Alban check over our bikes while we hang out in this little place for several days, and then move on. It could be like spending the winter in Tucson.
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We settle our account with Alban - €125 for a new rotor, brake pads, tube and labor seems more than fair - and then we’re on the road. We’d been thinking we’d stop for lunch somewhere on the way up the coast - maybe in Trani which is only seven miles away or Barletta at the midpoint of yet another 28 mile ride, the same distance as yesterday’s ride. But given the time it feels much smarter to ride through, get to the hotel while there’s plenty of daylight, and eat dinner at our hotel
And how’s the ride? It’s day and night. The bikes are both in excellent condition, the miles go fast, and much of the way were on excellent bike paths. Suddenly we’re having fun again and experiencing what we’ve been imagining all this long winter.
Sound track: Sunshine Express, by Bud Shank
The first seven miles to Trani are especially wonderful - more or less a continuous blue ribbon beside the sea connecting the two towns. We take some time to stop and admire Trani again, a beautiful coastal town that we’ve stayed in twice before and that has one of my favorite cathedrals.
And then we continue north up the coast, mostly on bike paths or quiet streets and roads that let us enjoy the ride while making good time. It’s a beautiful day and a beautiful time to be here.
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We take our last break for the day at Molfetta, a considerably less scenic town than its coastal neighbors, but worth stopping because we both love the idea of a gelato break by the sea. I watch the bikes while Rachael lines up at the gelato stop, which doesn’t actually sell gelato but she comes back with two pistachio/almond ice cream bars that definitely hit the spot. And then we’re on the road again, still making good time on a long, straight coastal road that parallels the SS16 but has been essentially pedestrianized. A rare car comes slowly along, but the traffic is nearly all pedestrian.
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We arrive at our lagoon-side hotel around five thirty, leaving us plenty of time to relax, admire the views, and regroup while we wait for dinner at eight. Shortly before dinner I go out to look for the moon which is reportedly 99.9% full, and find it. So that rounds out the day nicely.
But there’s more. I forgot to mention earlier that we have video! When we were wheeling the bikes out of the room this morning I was shocked to see Rachael’s GoPro mount on a place it never occurred to me to look somehow - already mounted on her bike.
But there’s still more - a message from my rheumatologist that arrived this morning saying they’ve been unable to call me (they apparently didn’t get my message about how to reach us overseas) and wanting to know how I’m doing at following my schedule to taper off the prednisone. I haven’t talked about it much, but I’ve been very discouraged that almost six weeks and three blood tests after I was dropped to 60 mg/day, I’m still at the same dose. It’s not at all what I expected and it worries me more and more as time goes on. I sent an inquiry to the rheumatologist about a week ago, which is presumably what prompted them to finally reach out to me.
It turns out there was a significant misunderstanding of the plan. Included in the take-home instructions from my one in-person visit was a schedule that showed me tapering off to zero in biweekly reductions over the next two years. But as near as I can remember this was never discussed with me and it was not made clear that I was supposed to follow it. My understanding was that I would be contacted and instructed when my test results indicated that it was safe to lower my dosage, but of course this other approach makes much more sense. The plan is that I’ll steadily reduce my dosage, and they’ll monitor my test results and contact me if they see a cause for concern.
Frustrating, and if I’d know this from the start I’d be down to 15mg/ day by now. But better late than never, so at least starting today I’m down to 40. Maybe at some point I can get my old, unbloated body back and be less of a space cadet. Rachael and I would both like that.
Today's ride: 60 miles (97 km)
Total: 60 miles (97 km)
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