After about four hours, we came to the final ten kilometer climb to the finish. The first few K passed by, and then the pace started getting really tough for me. I dropped to the back of the group and struggled to hang on. Just when I was recovering and trying to move back up toward the front, I realized that Barbara had broken away and was being paced up the climb by one of her helpers. The others started yelling, “Vai, vai, Barbara!” “Go, go now! She [that was me] is finished!” As steadily as I could, I tried to bridge the distance, but her head start was formidable, and she was climbing very well. Of course, none of the men in my group would help me. They sat just behind me, not allowing me any draft at all. When I finally cracked, they realized I wasn’t a threat to their darling anymore and quickly jumped out from behind me, resuming their own race to the top. At that point, I continued as well as I could and limped into the finish, having been beaten by a minute and a half over one hundred miles.
It was enough to make me cry, but instead I had to laugh, picturing myself fearfully checking for frame pumps wielded as weapons. The Italians ganged up for their win, but things could have been a lot worse. After all, I was in Tuscany, and we still had a few days left to enjoy …
Saturnia is famous throughout Italy for its natural hot springs, and most days my husband and I finished our ride by joining the old folks who parked their caravans on the road to traipse over to a stream, banked by rushes and running with warm, therapeutic (and sulfur-scented) water. The hotel had a pool with the same water, but we preferred to relax in the stream, letting the current massage our tired legs.
Marco was the most wonderful host, and each night he and his lovely wife, Flavia, shared an amazing dinner with us and their other friends. We explored the best restaurants in a few different towns and tried all the local specialties, which were invariably delicious and exciting. Even breakfast at the penzione was memorable. Each night I went to bed stuffed from dinner and certain I wouldn’t be hungry in the morning; and each morning I awoke anticipating a new kind of cake, or finding a new way to eat more luscious ricotta. I never got tired of the prosciutto served at every meal.
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