Day 10 - Monday 4 July
After Pompone collected Ursa, I hit the road about 10 am. No dry clutch rattle background music from the streets of Cattolica this morning, many WDWers having already left.
Another motorway slog back up the A14 towards Bologna. A hideous jam near Faenza led to me filtering through the lines of traffic, passing Capo & MarioŽs white van (much horn honking at that point) I stopped for lunch at Services north of Bologna (where the choice appeared to be any flavour of sandwich, as long as it included ham) and talked to to 3 Australians who had been to WDW as part of a European tour (having rented an 821 Monster and 2 Multistroodles in Holland).
My plan was to stop next in Padova. But the heat, and it being 2 pm when my body clock is at a low point (I am one of those people for whom the siesta was invented) meant I was struggling to stay awake on the bike, so stopped for a coffee.
As I sat sipping my cappuccino, worrying that even with it I'd still be too dozy to ride safely, someone sat at the other end of the table with his lunch, and asked (in Italian) if I was Italian and had a Ducati (having spotted my T-shirt). He was a Bolognese truck driver and biker himself (new Honda Africa Twin, which he did take off road). We ended up chatting about 10 minutes (all in Italian!) about bikes, touring and adventure travel. He also advised that on Italian motorways, it is apparently bad form ('un pecato') to filter between lines of queueing traffic: the Italian way is apparently to ride up the hard shoulder, which I had observed. By the time IŽd finished my coffee and he'd finished his lunch, I was feeling a lot brighter. If the biking gods have messengers on earth, it appears they are Italian lorry drivers, as I'd had a similar morale boosting conversation with a trucker near Firenze 2 years ago. And no, I don't travel to Italy alone to pick up Italian truckers before anyone thinks naughty thoughts!
I stopped in Padova, parked and arrived just in time for the guided tour of the historic university building where Galileo taught,. The University was founded in the 13th century by free thinkers who felt stifled in Bologna. An organic gelateria provided a mango lolly and water to cool down my overheated head, so it was back on my bike and off to Maniago.
Maniago is in Friuli in NE Italy, and my aunt who had recently visited the area had described the pride Friulianis have in their region. I experienced this, as well as the sort of hospitality so lacking in Landeck in Austria. Pulling into to the car park at the back of the Albergo Montenegro I was greeted in Italian by the young chef/manager, clearly expecting me. Having complained about the heat, I was immediately given a bottle of water. When I mentioned I'd need dinner, he said they could set a table in the town square onto which the hotel looks, as it was cooler there, and he'd prepare some typical Friuli specialities.
I went for a wander round the small town, and liked the place a lot. There was a sense of pride and confidence. Maniago is the knife (making not crime) capital of Italy: there is a knife museum, shops full of hunting and cooks' knives (including fearsome looking machetes for cutting watermelons), and later this month, a festival celebrating knives, including the world axe and knife throwing championship. Hopefully the latter didn't coincide with a beer festival.
I enjoyed an excellent dinner sat out in the town square: a snack of local salami on bread with a glass of local white wine, fine herb filled ravioli with ginger, (very finely sliced!) pork with vegetables and the best ice cream I've eaten in years. The flavour was called Crema all'Italiana, comprising a subtle hint of red strawberry, green pistachio and white almond (as per the Italian flag colours). It was intensely creamy, and the last time I had ice cream that smooth, it was made to order with liquid nitrogen.
