From Olbia to Luras
31 July 2019
I knew that deciding to cut the timing short and set off as soon as I arrived in Olbia would be a debatable choice. Instead, it was a solemn, thunderous piece of stupidity.
The start
I set off from Civitavecchia at 8:30, loading the bike on board not without some anxiety (in the parking deck: “where do I put it? Lean it there. But without a tie-down? We’ll take care of it later” — and good thing I had wedged it between two pipes). The trip started an hour late, to which at least another hour was added. In my infinite naivety I had counted on arriving on time, then eating something, resting and setting off, even if a bit worried about the heat. Obviously an intelligent person would have organized themselves with some substantial food to bring on board — not me. The result? I got off the ship at 15:30 with ahead of me a stage that wasn’t long but was definitely demanding, I gulped down half a sandwich quickly so as not to weigh myself down, and I set off.
And straight away, the walls
After a few easy km on asphalt the GPS track immediately led me onto gravel roads that wouldn’t leave me again. The first stretch was pleasant, but the infernal heat made itself felt immediately: I was straining to breathe and sweating a lot. And that’s where the troubles I had feared began. In this first stretch from Olbia to Monti there are walls with 11/12% gradients that, in fresh and well-fed conditions, I would still have great difficulty with, because of the type of bike and above all because of my anything-but-excellent athletic preparation. The image below is worth more than a thousand words.
What do you do? You push, obviously, you idiot, so that’s how you learn that reality is a hundred times worse than altitude profiles viewed in your slippers. At that point I started doing some math on distance and time, and the serious suspicion that I would end up doing the last km in the dark started to take shape. Obviously I push on, but after two hours of effort and heat the enchanting beauty of the scenery faded into the background.
For a long stretch I had several moments of discouragement. The search for personal balance on these solitary trips on board such a philosophical vehicle as a bicycle risks turning into a pathetic challenge against the limits of my unfit fifty years — a challenge that is obviously lost spectacularly, much to the detriment of the very search for balance. So on top of the effort of the climbs, also the slaps I dealt myself. Imagine this nut pedaling and pushing at 5 km/h and repeating out loud “that’ll teach you, you complete imbecile, serves you right, moron” etc. Yes, loving oneself so much.
And I miss the door
A step back: this whole story was born out of the curiosity of riding the route of the disused railway from Monti to Calangianus — let’s say that the various route hypotheses always had this track as a central element. Good. When after km and km of monstrous effort I finally find myself at the junction that should put me onto this route, I realize that the GPS track tells me to continue on the other road. I think “huh, strange, I’d planned it carefully, maybe it’ll let me in further on. And I push on. I p-u-s-h o-n.
A month spent circling around this route — heat, effort, sweat — and right in front of the door I go off somewhere else. After about two or three km, obviously uphill, I realize there won’t be another entrance, and a sudden attack of nervous laughter kicks in. I see all the absurdity of the situation, from the first motivation that pushed me to embrace this project, to the absolute inadequacy of the physical, technical and maybe even psychological preparation — and also of basic common sense and intelligence, lost who knows where. And I laugh, I laugh like a madman, shouting “Where the f*** are you going!” — observed by two huge and puzzled white cows. It’s a good moment, though: I realize I am making peace with myself and with my limits. It was needed.
Once I reach an intersection of the gravel track with the main road to Monti, with no water left, I have two options: continue without water, or go down towards Monti hoping I won’t have to redo the climb to get back to the junction. This time I choose to prioritize the water and I launch myself down this invigorating descent. I find a bar, I buy water and refill my bottles. Good. Just before setting off again I’m caught up by a local cyclist — one of those sixty-year-olds who do the Paris - Moon - Mars route twice in a row blindfolded — who, with a compassionate air, sizes me up with tender contempt and explains that I really have to go back. I set off again, and the not-extreme climb all in all is done easily. Once at the top I pick up the route I had left. Never mind the railway — now I just need to get there as soon as possible. After two km I come across a new asphalt road, where I meet three local MTB-bikers I stop to chat with. One of them has a physical crash; I give him a carbohydrate and vitamin gel (I’ve got all that crap, you know — sure, I miss roads, I make a mess, but gels and fancy little bars are always there). They explain to me that I can still do a good chunk of the railway if I continue on the main road and turn right. So I leave the buggy track and finally arrive at the railway!
Into the night
The route is beautiful, on a constant but light climb. Imagining a little train threading its way between dry-stone walls, granite rocks with soft shapes, and small myrtle groves is a very strong sensation, all the more so if the route is done in the magic light of sunset.
There. The sunset. The light but constant climb and the accumulated tiredness forced me to travel at a low speed and to stop often to drink and catch my breath. A quick calculation and I understood that I was unlikely to get out of there with daylight. But there wasn’t much to do except continue, trusting in the lights I luckily had with me. I held off as long as possible before turning them on, though — this twilight made me a bit afraid but all in all it was also a bit exciting, and I tried to avoid pulling them out of the bags practically until the last minute.
After about 10 km like this, I arrive at the end of the railway, with a descent towards Calangianus on the left. I had made it — it was 21:40, by now pitch dark. Before getting onto the main road I attach all the lights (road at night, no joking around), and I launch myself into the descent. Long. Cool. 35 km/h with a little smile stamped on my face. I reach Luras at 22:00 with only a few small little climbs, nothing compared to the walls of the afternoon. The crazy day was finally OVER.
I want to highlight the precious kindness and hospitality of the manager of B&B Le Gemelle, who, seeing me arrive in that state, not only let me check in at 22:00 but also went out to get me a takeaway pizza, the only meal available at that hour (and the only one of the day). Thank you from the ❤️