In a world increasingly preoccupied with throwaway materialistic things; where people are constantly busy earning money to pay for those things, or so their children can have those things;
This is the story of my dreams of travelling the world by bicycle. Because it's there. And because I dont want to die without experiencing the truly important things in life .

A sense of wonder and a sense of adventure.

Tuesday, 21 June 2011

Strada Bianca

My bikes a bit of a hybrid. It can cope with not only the sealed roads my roadie friends ride on but also the gravel roads common around where I live. In fact if I had a limited imagination or a Pinerello Dogma I'd probably do what some roadies do and stay on the seal safely within 150kms of my home at all times. But I do have a rather active imagination and yesterday while dreaming of one day riding the L'Orica in Italy I decided to follow my own strada bianca circuit on the gravel.

This is not the first time I've gone bush. It's a regular winter problem some would say I have. Many a Sunday bunch ride after nearly fulling off my bike with boredom on the back of the bunch ( I tend to stay down the back. Roadies don't like hybrids in front of them) I have taken a hard right or left onto the gravel and headed where no sane roadie hath pedalled before.

A midwinter afternoon ride on the strada bianca seemed like the ticket. And in fact  was going swimmingly until I approached the first tree across the road. No worries I thought. Council needs to get onto that one. After negotiating the fifth tree across the road, one ditch that I almost needed a climbing rope to get across , and a wild pig not a bit like the one pictured I began to think "not many people have been this way lately".


One thing I learnt very early on in cycle touring is no matter how bad things are they can always get worse. An afternoon short on light in the first place wore on as my strada bianca progressed rather quickly to strada verde or more aptly put, a goat track.

Never panic in these situations. So after panicking in the darkness I eventually popped out in the friendly little village of Upper Moutere.

The next Sunday boys rides on me. Bring a packed lunch and a GPS .

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