Welcome back to the Freewheeling Freelancer. I promised you a report when I got back, and here is the first instalment. Enjoy!

My wondering where to go this year came to a screeching halt at the end of March. My friend Cheryl flew out on 2 April, headed for Bari, where she went last year while I was stuck here in North America. She planned to ride across Basilicata and Calabria, then circle Sicily. These were trips that she had done before, but I had not done with her.

I was unable to join her for the first part of her trip, because I was committed to sing Carmina Burana with the Williamsburg Choral Guild on the 21^st of April. However, I resolved to be on the next military aircraft heading to Italy after the show. This tour would also my first attempt to use the Space-Available “benefit” of being a retired serviceman since the Military Airlift Command (MAC) became the Air Mobility Command (AMC). Flights leave Naval Air Station for Italy twice a week, and I planned to take one of them.

Wednesday 24 April 2024. I rode to the recycle center for a last contribution, and emptied my compost with the Master Gardener who welcomes my organic scraps. While the car charged up, I packed, and vacuumed the apartment.

Breaking down the bicycle to put it in its travel bag led to a duel between me and the pedals, which had not been unscrewed in far too long. The bike drew first blood (three puncture wounds on my right palm), but I prevailed. I had done all I could do, so I ate supper, then walked to the Recreation Center to unplug the car and drive home.

Thursday, 25 April 2024 promised to be a long day, with Roll Call for the flight at 21:00. Scheduled takeoff at midnight. In the morning, I ran all the laundry and changed the bed. Fresh towels and a final check before powering down the apartment. My son, Daniel, will use the place for an overnight run to Norfolk in June.

In the afternoon, I drove to Norfolk and turned over my car to my friends Nellwyn and Richard, who would keep it while I was away. Richard drove me to the Naval Air Station and left me at the AMC passenger terminal.

Despite my worry, checking in turned out to be easier than I expected. The ground personnel were so helpful, cheerful and squared away that I thought that I might never fly commercial again. The counter employee used a roll of silver duct tape to mark both sides of my bike bag as fragile, with arrows pointing up. Then the counter supervisor escorted me to the cargo loading area so that I could turn over the bike directly to the crew handling the luggage to the plane.

All the Space-A passengers were selected. There was a delay because the caterer did not show up (with our $22.10 box lunches). I thought that was better than a mechanical problem.

While chatting in the waiting area with an experienced Space-A traveller ( retired Marine), I learned that the Polizia di Frontiera, part of the State Police, does not have a station at the air base at Sigonella. I would need to do something to get my passport stamped as soon as possible. He suggested having someone sign my boarding pass to prove when I arrived in Italy. I checked online while we were waiting and saw that there was a Frontier Police station in the port of Catania, nine minutes from my Warmshowers host’s home.

By the time our midnight departure slipped to 0300, it was clear that either there were more problems than a failure to order the food, or that the delay had triggered a reworking of the route. By 0400, our flight was rescheduled for the next day. We were bused to the Doubletree Hotel for a good night’s sleep, three free meals and a ride back to the terminal on Friday night.

Friday the 26^th proved to be a wonderful day to play tourist in my native city of Norfolk. I rose for lunch, took a walk to Target across from Military Circle mall for toiletries that were on the plane with my checked luggage, took another nap in the afternoon, had dinner with my fellow travellers, and caught the bus to the Air Terminal.

From the moment we arrived at the Terminal, the trip was uneventful. The caterer had arrived, and the “box lunches” proved to be two meals and a snack. It was a regular airline flight in every respect. I watched a movie, took a nap, and enjoyed a walk to the Navy Exchange in Rota, Spain, while waiting for the plane to refuel.

I first landed in Rota 59 years ago on my way to a new life in America as a midshipman candidate. To my surprise, nothing had changed externally since 1965. Perhaps a lot of remodelling indoors, but the placement of the whitewashed adobe buildings was the same.

Saturday the 27^th. we landed in Sigonella almost two hours early, so the sun did not go down until I had my bicycle assembled outside the passenger air terminal. The stiff westerly breeze that had pushed the aircraft also pushed me into town, for what could have been a quick one-hour trip to the home of my hosts in Catania. However, Google Maps sent me into the downtown pedestrian area, where a rock concert had attracted thick crowds of cars and people. It took an extra hour to work my way through that.

Most of the roads around Catania seemed to be in good shape, although the contrast between the national roads (SS417 and SS192) and the city-maintained roads through the seedy south side of town was severe. In the poorly lit streets of Zia Lisa, packs of grey and black dogs roamed freely among the litter, leaping from the shadows, and barking at anything going by. Catania also has not covered over the slick, rounded pavers that constitute the surface of many of the city streets. In the dry weather we were having, the only problem was the jarring of my bones. I hate cobblestones and uneven pavers!

My Warmshowers hosts, Daniele and Elena, had a baked pasta dish ready for a late supper, and we killed a bottle of the local red talking until one in the morning.

The next day being Sunday, I did not expect to accomplish everything I needed to, but by noon, I had visited the border police at the port, found a box for the bicycle bag, and picked up a bottle of wine to present to my hosts.

Flying Space-A on military flights presents a challenge to those of us not on active duty changing duty stations. There are no Border Police at the air bases, so one cannot have one’s passport stamped to prove legal entry into the country. Most travellers take care of this by having their passports stamped at the civilian airport where they catch their connecting flights, but I was on a bicycle and not going anywhere near the airport. However, I knew that the Border Police also had stations in all the major harbors, so I rode there and talked to the duty sergeant. He told me that a stamp from his station was not an option, because I entered by air and his stamp would “prove” that I came by sea. He also told me not to worry about it, because border police throughout Europe do not care about your immigration status leaving the country if you are going home. Their job is to check people coming in, not leaving. Since I planned to leave from another US air base (Sigonella, Naples, or Ramstein), I would not have a problem. I did have the air terminal official at Sigonella sign my boarding pass to prove what time and on what day I entered the country. I kept that in my passport in case anyone cared how long I had been in the Schengen Area. I would not be an illegal alien until the 24^th of July.

Meanwhile, Cheryl was struggling with heavy rains and cold weather coming through Calabria. She hopped on a train and was on the north coast of Sicily by Sunday.

Sunday night my hosts and another guest joined a friend at the Rocket restaurant and enjoyed dining al fresco in the street. We all turned in late.

Monday the 29^th of April dawned cool and sunny. Using the Trenitalia app on my phone, I bought a ticket to Cefalù, bid my hosts farewell and flew down the Hill to the station. The new regional trains in Sicily have cars that include bike parking, marked by a big yellow e-bike painted on the outside and a door wide enough to roll my bike aboard without removing the bags. The cars also open at grade, with little gangplanks that deploy to cover the gap between the car and the station platform. I enjoyed a pleasant run to Messina, where I changed to the Regionale train to Cefalù.

Cefalù was much as I remembered it, though the area around the station was new to me. Cheryl had sent me the address of the charming apartment she had found in the historic quarter on via Veterani. The owner had converted the space next to the entrance to a garage for his motorcycle, so we had safe, convenient storage for our bikes.

Cefalù also had a Deco supermarket. This chain features upscale products at low prices. It reflects the motorization of the Italian public, because each Deco supermarket includes a parking lot bigger than the store.

A major spring break was in full swing in Italy. The combination of 25 April (Liberation Day) and May Day (Labor Day) on either side of a weekend had created a week-long holiday, and the tourist crowds packed the major destinations as if it were full season.

We visited sites that we had missed nine years ago: the park under the Rock that gives Cefalù its name, the Duomo, which shares its history with the Cathedral in Palermo, and the coast road.

Considering its impact on the art, architecture, culture, and infrastructure of the island, I was surprised to notice that the Norman period lasted only 64 years (1130-1194). There were only three Norman kings: Roger II, William I, and William II.

The bad weather that had plagued Cheryl on the mainland became a recurring problem for us. We watched the forecast as we planned our next move, whilst enjoying the holiday atmosphere of this charming medieval city. It felt good to be riding together again. As Cheryl said, “it’s all about the bike.”

Come back next time as our Giro della Sicilia continues.

Smooth roads and tailwinds,

JT

© 2024, JT Hine