Propositioned On Road To Pise

Entering Italy induced an instant change in driving style. In France drivers gave respect and right of way where as the Italians just wanted me to get out of the bloody way! The rugged coastline was stunning as the road crept around every crag but I was too busy hugging the kerb as the vehicles hugged me, passing so close that I was almost tattooed by the trucks sign writing. Cycling through the first wee town I was absolutely amazed at the mayhem as cars, trucks, motorbikes and buses battled it out for supremacy with road markings, traffic lights and signs seeming superficial.

Arriving late at San Bartolommeo al Mare I was happy to come upon camping but not with the price, twenty five euro's - the manager politely suggested that the site six hundred yards away may be better for my budget - nine euro's. I didn't pitch my tent but positioned myself under a tree partaking in a pastis from my pannier before lights out. I awoke a few hours later to find the campsites K9 standing staring at me, his peering pupils shining in the half light.

That day I continued along the coast passing through San Remo stopping only to check my emails and to escape from the searing sun. The rest of the day I dipped down to the waters edge as much as possible finding a beauty bounty in each bay. It was a long lazy day with plenty of pit stops so when night fall drew near I was keen to continue. Approaching Genoa in the early hours it started to shower so I sheltered in the forecourt of a filling station. With the smooth, flat concrete floor proving too temping I lay down for forty winks. I woke up with a start, saturated, as the shower had matured into a monsoon flooding the forecourt. I changed my clothes, put on my waterproofs - better late than never, then promptly fell back to sleep propped up against a petrol pump. I resurfaced at seven to find the station fully functional - the only exception being my bunk for the night! I nodded to the attendant, moved my bike, bought a coffee then cycled the twenty miles south of Genoa to Bogliasco. Booking into the campsite I met a German couple on honeymoon - the guy seemed more impressed with the BMW wedding gift from his grandfather than his new partner. As they were just packing up, I waited then placed my hoose on the honeymoon suite, figuring it would still be nice and warm. I nodded off for nine hours only bothering to open my eyes and my mouth long enough to bolt down some bread and cheese before slipping back into another twelve hour slumber - I love sleeping!

It was a rest day but there is always something to do. I shaved, stood in the shower for ever, washed my clothes then cooked a massive pan of porridge, raisins, nuts, bananas and honey. Full of beans and porridge I then bounced down to the bay and lay on the beach until the sun stopped smiling! It was a long slog back up to the site and as I was catching my breath I bumped into Kathy from Switzerland. We ended up sharing a couple of relaxing days, pizzas and picnics whilst watching the waves. During one picnic Kathy took a bunch of grapes to the waters edge to wash them in the salt water - I thought this was some secret Swiss solution to rid them of their chemical content -apparently not. It was hardly surprising that they then tasted of salt so had to be washed again with the bottle of water that we had bought. This left us both in stitches which reminded me that was exactly what my mangled shorts required. Kathy then managed to regain some lost pride by using her veterinary surgical skills to patch up my pants.

Pressing on to Pisa I was approached by a good looking guy who was obviously a serious cyclist - he had a great bike, all the gear and looked as fit as a butchers dog. He spoke perfect English, was well educated and keen to discuss anything about cycling and fitness. When he discovered my job was massage and relaxation techniques he offered to share his knowledge on such matters and suggested we cycle a few hundred yards along the beach to a public area where other people exercised. I readily agreed thinking I may learn something. After a few hundrded yards we took a left away from the beach front, then a right and a few other turns until we started to leave the houses behind. As the lanes began to narrow and the thatch became thicker my mind suddenly became broader as I realised what his relaxation technique was. When I suggested that perhaps there may have been a wee misunderstanding he stressed that his technique was very simple and that it required he use only one hand - that comment clarrified everything! I stopped, about turned and started to cycle back. We chatted amiably along the way and he said he was a decent person, I am sure he was but it wasn't his decency that he wanted to share with me! I cycled off along the beach front chuckling and smiling wondering what his success rate was. I started to look for a quiet place to sit and make my sandwiches but it was all bars and bistro's which require that you buy something before sitting on their section of sand. However, I spotted a sign saying, 'free beach' so I parked my bike and my bum, which was a little uncomfortable after many miles but of course it could have been a lot worse!



The sexual theme continued when about twelve miles from Pisa the roadside prostitutes reappeared beckoning me with their bared bosoms each time I stopped for a pee - one lady came marching towards me with such zest that I almost caught my manhood in my zipper in my haste to hurry things along! I stopped at a roadside cafe to write up my diary and reflect on the day. There was a constant stream of beautiful 'ladies' coming and going from the cafe but with voices as deep as the ocean. Paying the bill the owner informed me that it was a transsexual tavern. I pedalled the few remaining miles into Pisa and as the tourists were trickling away and the souvenir shops closing up I sat eating my sandwiches whilst taking in the tower. I thought it fitting that I should end my day by staring at a massive phallic symbol!