Words & pictures by Cello
Day 1, Messina-Randazzo, Km 100
Iddu ides himself, picciotto, unwraps under a hat of low clouds.
Tonino Moraci from Messina points out the route, motorbiker of Africa and desert, 71 y.o. and light in the eyes.
After Giardini and an industrial orange juice black crisis and hard legs fall on me, nausea and black flickering are in sight. 20 minutes of boiling shower to thank the body and redeem myself.
Earlier, under endless twilight, we push our horses west, through steep valleys and wavy desert roads. Milking sheeps….
Day 2, Randazzo-Catania, Km 75
Here’s Iddu and the constant plumage.
We caress him, turning around, first flying above the 1000mt of Maletto, then gliding over Bronte and the Simeto Valley.
We pick up a few oranges from a tree at the border of the street and Angelo Signorello invites us for a coffee and freshly picked prickly pears. Angelo likes talking, it’s 12:30am of the Christmas day and he opens up his sport center to two strangers coming from the extreme north of the country: “I have travelled the whole 9 Sicilian provinces, from the mountains to the sea, but still “nun cugnuscu un cazzu”.
Let’s go towards Catania, zigzagging to avoid the state highway, which tries to suck us in every now and then.
The city is terrifyingly abandoned, different from the caos I found last october. Empty and free boulevards, where our bikes smoothly runs, toward the sea; and from the open windows smell of abundance and bloated livers.
Day 3, Catania-Siracusa, Km 65
Low and threatening clouds await us in this dull Catania morning.
It’s S. Stefano day and the city hasn’t recovered from the Christmas’ drunk, yet. The fish market is its litmus paper: the clamor is flat, movements are careful, the square is empty, men leaning against the parapets, hands pulled on the pockets. Someone throws me a mussel shell…
We continue on the coastal road. Improved morass, playas and beach resorts that I can not see, eucalyptus forest on the right.
In Augusta the sky leaves us, draining rain and wind upon us. Asphalt is straight, monotonous, sulfur smell from the huge coastal refineries.
We took Siracusa from the back, soaked, and we hurl to the hostel looking for a warmth that we’ll not find. We’ll go looking for it in one of the few open bars: liters of beer and bruschettas.
Day 4, Siracusa-Noto-Cava d’Ispica-Modica-Ispica-Noto-Siracusa, Km 150
I don’t like it.
I put Motorbreath as my cellphone’s ringtone and maybe this influenced the whole day. Clava becomes Pagha and too high cadence.
I must look around!
Yesterday the rain and a room without neither heaters nor hot water strips the flash off my wardrobe, forcing me into another cold day. “Today sun will shine” – they said.
Places I’ve been before, the magic chokes and I feel some dearth.
I like the bike, being out there turning my neck, but then? I like the strain, having hard legs in the evening and feeling my body working, but then?
I also like houses and love.
Day 5, Siracusa-Messina-Palermo, by train
Shivering night, 3 quilts and aspirin.
It’s the cold I ate yesterday demanding its toll.
On the train with heavy head and empty stirrings.
Day 6, 7, 8, Palermo
Here comes sickness. Days to forget…
Day 9, S. Agata di Militello – Tindari, Km 54
We leave under an inhospitable and alarming sky, after the past days’ blows. In fact, 5km are enough to find the first flat.
But after that the stage becomes wonderful, maybe the best of the whole journey. We fly east, dragged by the wind and baptized by shy downpours; we overtake green cliffs that taste like Ireland, with the road hanging over the rough sea. Eolie islands keep in step on our left, hidden by storms and rainbows.
After Patti the road leaves the coast and steers, brusquely climbing towards the inland. Rain falls immediately after, while we gain altitude in the green-saturated and gleaming valley. The Madonna Nera sanctuary of Tindari is our lighthouse on the cliffs, up on the left. Behind us, the sea turns from lime green to steel, to blue.
Here we are at the crossroads: on the left the road climbs to the sanctuary, on the right descends to the flats of Oliveri and Falcone. But it’s pouring hell and we can not move: we look for a shelter under a roofing.
The sky closes, fogs rise, I start shivering. It’s almost 3pm.
I notice a girl smoking under a Vino-Olio wooden banner. I get near to ask suggestions about accommodation in the area but there is no need to speech: behind her it’s the entrance of a lodging, with stoney black vaults, commensals and tables. I got back to Clava smiling like a child. We eat, drink and laugh out loud, and we let the darkness fall.
The young waitress finds us a bed, too, up there behind the sanctuary. We climb fat and slow in the cold air of the night.
Day 10, Tindari-Alì Terme, Km 84
“Don’t go, I advise you”. For us Cani Sciolti this sounds like a party invitation.
A nightmarish day, full of adrenalin and obscure forces, of curse and light, of depression, cohesion, friendship, fear and perseverance.
“Coraggio e sempre avanti”
“Tieni duro”
It could have been a comfortable transfer stage, the last of the trip, 60km until Messina, but we didn’t want it. We chose Evil, climbing the Mela valley on a road indicated on the 1:300000 Clava’s map but not on mine. We aim for Poverello mountain and then, after passing its top, descending to the Jonio sea.
In the town of S. Lucia we ask and get back infos e advices. About 15km of asphalt pushes us inland, pointing SE, but after that the dirt patch with emerging stones begins. We climb, we climb and we toil. First concerns: it’s late afternoon and the north face of the Poverello is an unsetting green shadow.
We reach a fork and we gamble it choosing left, passing right under the summit and heading NE. Fog quickly hail the mountainside while it’s time for us to push our bikes through a never ending climb. Staying on the ridge, the view of the Jonio flickering down there console us, but it will last only a second… Clava collects 3 blasting flats and 2 tumbles while we start a descent on devastated roads.
It’s the sunset, we are closed in a valley bottom where (we will discover later) the river Nisi runs. Mountains everywhere, a steep wall in front of us, and a trivium.
1st try: we descend coasting the river until it inserts itself into an impracticable gorge. Turn back and push your bike.
2nd try: we keep half hill heading SW. We descend two hairpins until an abandoned building where the road dies. Turn back and push your bike.
3rd try: we climb the bloody precipitous black wall facing us. It’s night and we don’t know where we are but we know that “we won’t die here tonight”. The road is steep and the feet slip, the stretched body looks for a way out, up there.
We are on top: a horse and a light in the forest. Here we are. 3 dogs surround us in an angry welcome, 2 young sheperds raise from the dark house, silent and suspicious. We ask for help and directions but we get back only silences and woofs. Then one man starts moving and in a black and muddy language explains us where we are and where to go to reach the nearest village: 11km. After a few kms, the rediscovered asphalt will be blessed with animistic rituals.
There is still time to brake the joint of my Ortlieb pannier and teeth-chattering during the endless descent to Alì Terme. We reach the station and within 5 minutes we are on the train to Messina.
Beer.
