Arkansas in Rome

So here we walking through a high end shopping district in Rome and we come across this tie shop door.They were very nice ties, BTW. 

And this was our hotel's metro stop.

Father's Day

This year Father's Day is a little different. As long as my father was alive, I celebrated it two dimensionally: as a father to my boys and as my father's son. My Dad died on December 9 so I mark this father's day as a father only.

There is a sense of loss, of being incomplete. My Dad was my hero because of his loyalty and devotion to his family. He went to Europe in WWII and, after he returned home, he hardly ever left our town, even to go to New Jersey! But his devotion to all of us and my mother, his unconditional love and concern have shaped me beyond description. We didn't talk much but we didn't have to: I knew that I occupied a large part of his heart. And, this weekend, I realize how much of my heart he occupied.

Now, as a father only this weekend, I reflect on my boys: their own individuality, their personal courage, their intelligence, their decency, their generosity and their devotion to each other and the people they love. And I am awed by them! I can never replace my Dad but I hope, in some small way, that I can be to them what he was to me.

This picture brings things almost full circle. It was taken in front of the Cathedral in Monopoli, the town where my grandfather was born. We all have traces of our fathers and their fathers and their fathers and ...

Karen in her Element

My beautiful wife is a pretty interesting person. As you know, she is an incredible athlete. But a lot of people don't know that swimming was her original sport. She only took up running and then cycling because she could not get to a pool regularly.

The truth is that if she had her choice, she would spend her time in water. Every time we have taken our cycling vacations, she makes sure that she gets into the water as often as possible.

These are pictures of our stop in Monopoli. As she approaches she befriends a fisherman who tells her to avoid certain spots. When she walked to the water, she said that she wanted to get her feet wet but, as the picture below shows, the call of the deep was too much for her and she went in, bike helmet and all.

Karen embraced this as she does all of life - completely open to the experience and its possibilities. That's why I love her so much!

Nonna's Kitchen

On the morning of our last riding day, we stopped at the grandmother's house of one of VBT's guides for a pasta making lesson. "Nonna" is 82 years old and not shy.

She used hard durum wheat. She was adamant that it was not semolina. In fact, semolina (as we know it in America, is an earlier step in the process. In Italy, the coarse stuff we call semolina is ground to finer specifications. This is important because in Puglia they do not use eggs in their pasta - only flour, water, and salt. The hard durum wheat makes a tougher dough to work with.

In any event, Nonna whipped up a batch of pasta dough on a large wooden board. She took out a long wooden rolling pin called a Matterello. remember that my parents had the same set up. The board would come out and, although the memory fades, we would make what I now know as Cavatelli.

Before rolling the dough, she imprinted the sign of the cross on the ball of dough, kissed her hand and raised it to the sky. She told us that she gives thanks to God because everything she has comes from Him. Nonna rolled the dough with exquisite skill pausing to ask us we wanted to try. Then she made Orrechiette (the Pugliese speciality), cavatelli, fusilli, sagne (a twisted noodle) and ravioli in rapid succession. Several of us tried our hands at pasta making with varying levels of succes. Here is a picture of Micah rolling fusilli.

When we left, we told her that we were traveling with our four sons which prompted a wave of excited talk lasting about 30 seconds that our guide could only translate by saying, "She wishes you many good things and blessings." A picture of us with Nonna is at the top right of the blog.

Matera

Karen and I went two days earlier than everyone else to stay in Matera. I wrote about it in one of the pre-trip posts. It's a fascinating place where every twist and turn in the narrow streets holds something of interest, even if it's wildflowers growing stubbornly from the side of an abandoned building.

Unlike Rome or even the seaside towns of Puglia, Matera retains a ruggedness that has not been entirely wiped away by the gentrification and tourism spurred by EU development grants or its designation as a UNESCO World Heritage site. You find 1,000 year old churches carved in rock being run by indifferent private owners next to a cafe with modern lighting and dance music alongside abandoned sassi sitting on top of occupied sassi with laundry hanging out the window.

Food: Octopus in Monopoli

The food, especially fish and seafood, was incredible. At lunch in Monopoli, I had freshly caught grilled Octopus. It was not on the menu but when I asked Vito, the owner of the restaurant for Polpo, he smiled and introduced me to my lunch. We sat right next to a wood fired grill that Vito used for the grilled items. He served the octopus with a dab of Olive Oil, which the Pugliese put o everything, and some lemon.

A video of a typical ride

This is what it was like to ride with everyone at the beginning of the day. On this stretch there were fewer olive trees than usual and they were smaller and younger. There are over 60 million olive trees in Puglia. That's almost one for every Italian citizen.

As you can see from the video, I wasn't the only person shooting pictures. That's Micah taking pictures with his camera.

Ostuni: "La Citta Bianca" (The White City)

On Sunday, May 24, we left our first hotel, a beautiful Masseria, and cycled to our next hotel. Along the way we stopped at an ancient olive oil press and had lunch at a fascinating place called Il Frantoio. (that place deserves its own entry). After lunch we rode to our home for the next two nights - Ostuni.

The town is called La Citta Bianca (the white city) because its buildings are all completely white. It's an impressive site because Ostuni sits a mile from the Adriatic on the only hill in sight. The story is that Ostuni escaped the plague by whitewashing all the houses or that the sun shining off the walls scared off invaders. In any event, it's a very interesting place. The old city is full of small, winding streets and hidden alleyways but with a very busy and entertaining town square. On our first night, there was a large party on the square with traditional dancing, singing, awards and stuff. Later, after the official party ended, the square filled with young people who sat outside of one of the many cafes and listened to a rock band.

Rome in a Weekend

We arrive in Rome on Friday afternoon and went on a whirlwind 48 hours. Rome is, well, Rome. It is overwhelming on first and, perhaps, second glance. Everything is outsized: the crowds, the monuments, the scale, the age, the prices! But, in the end, it was a transformative experience. When I first arrived, I swore I would never come back but, by the time we left, I was planning our next visit.

The picture is a detail from the Trevi fountain. Maybe it was the second coin that changed my mind about returning to Rome. We did all of the regular tourist things so next time, we can focus more on the less visited sites. Don't get me wrong. Everyone should see places like the Trevi fountain but it is hard to enjoy it when you are joined by several thousand of your new best friends.

Lance Armstrong: LIvestrong

This is how close I was when Lance Armstrong went past me during the final Time Trial at the Giro d'Italia. I have better pictures but this one captures what it was like for me.

Almost. After he went by, my emotions swelled and I began to cry. Perhaps it was the small link: two cancer survivors riding bikes in Italy. Even now, almost two days later, I can still feel it. Maybe it's best not to analyze it and just feel it.

Livestrong. That's the name of Lance's anti-cancer foundation and, during the trip, those words kept coming to me. I had decided to approach life that way. Until Lance rode by I hadn't realized what that really meant. Here was a guy who was as good as dead who went on to win the Tour de France seven times in a row. Even more important, though, here he was riding in the Giro d'Italia 2 months after he broke his collar bone in three places. He was not at the top of the classification. He was riding to support his team mates and struggling over a hard course like every other rider. He may never win another bike race but, in Rome, he showed me what living strong means.