Interestingly,  the Italian word for “finish” – FINE - was sprayed across the chequered line as the road started to level off, unlike the START, which was now a distant stream of sweat away. The real end, however, was some twenty minutes later as I pushed the bike over a pathway of rough paving stones in the grounds of Feudo Bauly, the charming complex of converted stables and other farm buildings that was to be my touring base. The history, photos and more information about the place can be found on their official site: http://www.feudobauly.com/englishfeudobauly/feudo_bauly_hotel.html. For a video clip of my room, click here: Room 214.

I’ll be frank. There were a couple of minutes after I’d been shown to my room that I stood there, staring through the insect screen of the window, feeling utterly depressed. It had nothing to do with the room, which was more than adequate for my needs; nothing to do with the place, which deep down I knew I was fortunate to be at; nothing to do with the day so far, which was essentially trouble-free. The root of it all was the lack of food. My last decent meal was now nearly 24-hours earlier. I had breakfasted on a pear and along the way I energised myself with a few fig rolls. These I had to give up on because they weren’t moist enough, thus acting like a glue locking my jaws together and drying my mouth even more. I was also stinking so much that if  could, I wouldn’t have stood so close to my own self. Geographically I might have been at altitude but morale-wise I certainly wasn’t.

Feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to fill my stomach with anything substantial so I showered, washed my dirty kit and put on a clean one. Back on the bike for the 6km ride into Palazzolo Acreide for the following reward: couscous (with aubergines, zucchini, tomatoes and potatoes), a spinach focaccia, a frutta marturana(a traditional marzipan sweet, this being in the shape of a fig) and the full set of carbonated drinks: Coke, Fanta, Sprite and Chino. In the meantime, I got into the daily habit of reading La Gazzetta dello Sport and did some more note taking.

Back at Feudo Bauly, I identified my favourite spot. This was an elevated terrace overlooking a well-kept lawn which led down to the pool area. Across the rarely traversed country road lay a private wood belonging to the hotel owners. So from my chair, the 2 dominant colours were green and blue - ever so relaxing for the eyes. And for the ears, a soundtrack of buzzing bumble bees, chirping birds and mooing cows. As the sun began to set, it dawned on me that this was one of the reasons why I was here.

I was content.

Arched gateway

Stairway to my room

(For the previous part of this travelogue, click Part 2)

Midweek, eight-thirty in the morning, and there already were a few people on the beach while I was cranking out the first of many revolutions that would take me from sea-level to 630 metres some 52 kilometres later. The route was worked out using a Garmin Oregon 550t GPS, with a bias for secondary, hence quieter, roads.

Route of Day 1

Along the way, I made sure to remind myself that this was not a race, neither a challenge but a tour. As such, I was entitled to stop as often as I wanted, pedal as slowly as I pleased and not feel an iota of guilt about it. To prove the point, I was soon stopping to take the first of many photos and video clips with my Sanyo Xacti digital movie camera (the waterproof version, for those just-in-case situations).

Space-age vegetation

A lonesome building

I knew I was in trouble when, after some upward twists and turns, I saw a chequered line painted across the one-lane country road with the word START (aha, it was in English) in bold red paint. This could mean only one thing – a hill-climb course. Though I normally relish climbs – that’s why I chose this part of Sicily for my tour – I wasn’t exactly ecstatic with the thought of what lay ahead, especially with the water in my bottles seemingly evaporating in the relentless heat and with shade in equally short supply. What choice did I have but to deceive myself into thinking that the FINISH lay round the next bend … or the one after that.  

If you listen carefully to my voice in this short commentary to the video clip 40kms on, you’ll realize I’m not kidding! As an aside, this is also where I took my first pee on Sicilian soil.

Valletta harbour at dawn

What is it like to begin the day with a series of mistakes waiting outside the door and, just for the heck of it, to add another one before hitting the road? It must be like the 17th June2010, when, with bum on the bike, I cycled the pre-sunrise streets from St Julians, where I had spent the night at my mum’s place, to the Valletta Waterfront, to catch the catamaran to Pozzallo, Sicily.

The idea behind this trip was simple: ride to Contrada Bauly, a country road lost in the hills of the Monti Iblei (about five kilometres from Palazzolo Acreide) and temporary home to my home away from home, and spend the next seven days exploring the area. No specific sightseeing for me, just the simple pleasure of being on unfamiliar roads and taking in a different scenery. Those of you who get on your bicycles regularly will know exactly what a joy it is to get away from the routine routes of Malta’s limited road network.

Simple, yet a path strewn with errors. Primarily, the lack of physical preparation. I was cycling three times-a-week at most, usually 17 kilometres to work and the equivalent, sometimes a bit more, back. In addition, a half-hour or so of jogging on the other days. Secondly, even though I knew I’d be tackling a few tough climbs in the Iblei mountains, I didn’t do any specific hill work. Thirdly, I wasn’t quite expecting the heat that hit me on the first three days. I became aware of this problem the moment I exited the air-conditioned deck of the catamaran. It was still 0815 on the Sicilian coast and I was already feeling smothered. Not the best of omens when I was going to be travelling inland and generally climbing for the next 50 kilometres. Fourthly (only in connection with my first and last days) was my inexperience of cycling with an eight kilogram pack on my back. The closest I got to was half that weight when I went to and from work and, then again, it was for less than an hour’s ride each way. The final boob was my lack of fuel for the outgoing leg of the journey; more of that in another post.

I acknowledge my mistakes. Hey, I was even aware of them before setting off. So why did I clip my shoes to the pedals? Simply because there’s always an excuse not to do something. This cycle tour had been bubbling away on the back-burner since Lifecycle 2008, nearly two years ago now. However, it was either that the time wasn’t right, the finances weren’t in order, the preparation could be better, I had a bit of a sniffle … bla bla bla. So 72 hours before departure, I threw caution to the wind and booked the seat and accommodation.

To be fair, there were some plusses to the 17th. The sea was pancake flat, giving my stomach an easy ninety minute crossing and the sun was shining at the other end. In spite of listing the heat as a problem, the warm weather is more of an asset to me than the wet, which dampens my confidence in bike control.

This video was taken on board the catamaran MV Maria Dolores and shows the harbour at dawn: Valletta harbour view

Five Boys

http://moreintelligentlife.com/content/ian-jack/5-boys

While the scorer of an own goal can rightfully claim that it was never his intention to make his team lose, it still goes down as a valid goal on the score card.

While winning a match in this manner is not the most convincing or satisfying of victories, the record books register it as a win nonetheless.

This post appeared in The Times dated 11th May 2010.

Tigne Point sales office's reserved parking

This post appeared as a letter in The Times dated 10th May 2010.

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In truth, if I had to wring out the hours spent at work and the time necessary to recharge my energy levels with food and sleep, then I’m left with around 10 hours of hands-on play. Divide that by the number of women spread out on various horizontal surfaces (the kitchen table being the most popular) and I really had about 120 minutes of physical indulgence with each one. However, I’m not complaining!

I’m now ready to go one step further and post a picture of all the young women involved within the next few days. However, in order to protect their privacy, the page will only be accessible with a password. This I will provide to those emailing their request to me at webmaster@79664664.com.

******

6th May – Group photo uploaded: http://79664664.com/2010/05/06/jungfrauen/

The alarm is set for, and goes of at, 0530. My eyes open to a false dawn of the greenish glow from the mobile phone, whose speaking clock is diligently reminding me that it’s time to wake up. I sit up on my elbows but instead of uncovering myself, I turn over to silence that repetitive voice and reset it for an hour later – another 60 minutes in which to drown my guilty conscience under the tempting warmth of the quilt!

Three days running of non-running … or cycling or rowing or any other form of exercise for that matter yet, paradoxically, my weight sinks beneath the 70kg mark for the first time in a while. My mood lightens, my guilt buries itself in the muddy ocean bottom – have I discovered the most revolutionary and appealing weight-loss program ever?

Click here: Tour ta’ Malta 2010

First part can be found here: TourMalta1

Second part can be found here: TourMalta2

Third part can be found here: TourMalta3