11. The Speed of Soul & Attacked by a Bear (of all things!)

  I can’t remember where or when but it was during one of my many broken conversations with an Italian bike enthusiast. He eloquently likened bike travel with the speed at which the soul can move across the land. As an atheist, the concept of soul is hard to get my head around but I can’t deny that travel by bike gives one a special insight into the landscape (aahh…….shit, another hill!). It enforces a more intimate relationship with the environment and undeniably provides for more human contact. We are acutely aware of changing weather, flora and fauna, the man made landscape, architecture, the local economy (or lack thereof), and we soon get a feeling for the character of the locals.

Finding swimming holes in the summer heat of the south of France was a priority. Both these magical spots we just happened upon, a stone’s throw from the road and we had them to ourselves !

However, one of the frustrating aspects of independent travel in foreign lands is, of course, language. It is amazing how much is lost in translation. How most everything one is told needs to be verified at least once. No one means to deceive and most everyone is more than willing to share their local knowledge but that is where things begin to go array. We had started out this trip intent on making a solid effort at learning at least some fundamentals of the local languages and how ‘Google Translate’ was going to make communication clear and simple. We pretty well abandoned that plan by Albania and now rely primarily on charades and/or the English, French or Spanish skills of whomever we are talking to. I had also rashly assumed that Spanish was going to provide a solid basis for learning Italian. We are making headway but it remains a big challenge.

In tourist hangouts and large cities one can get by with English yet we are surprised at how uni-lingual some areas are. The corner of Austria we traversed and much of Northern Italy are surprisingly so. I suppose our stereotype of multi-lingual Europeans is more apt for the north. We find that we are sometimes rather brusquely dismissed in our attempts at talking with non-English speaking locals however I empathize. Foreigners blabbing away in their own language expecting all locals to understand. It must get very tiring.

Claire and I often stop to look at churches, usually the dominant structure in town, especially here in Italy. No matter how inconsequential the village we are consistently blown away by the complex structures, the paintings, sculptures, ornamentation, etc., all designed to impress. Claire, brought up in the Catholic church is not particularly sympathetic towards the ostentatious displays of wealth and power whereas my secular eye appreciates the artistry and workmanship. One can’t help wondering what is the future of these now largely unused buildings. With the new Pope’s focus on humility, simplicity and service to the poor it would seem hypocritical dumping resources into their upkeep. But what do I know? Every time I bring up the subject with Italians, so completely immersed in the culture of the church, I’m surprised by the response.

The spiritual significance and the religious iconography meant little to us, but the artistry and craftsmanship blew me away. Claire, less so.

This post was supposed to be about our delightful, unplanned, side-trip through Austria, the return into Italy via Dobiacco and Cortina through the heart of the Dolomites plus some of the wonderful personal encounters along the way, but somehow I got distracted. We are now in Lecco, Italy at the south end of Como Lake trying to rest up and plan our next move. The last few days riding have been blistering hot (36 deg.) and we are a bit wasted. Our plan to head south-west and cross the Alps into France near Briancon seems too demanding in this heat. Unsure of where next to go we headed into the centre of town to find a good bike shop and the tourist office (usually a waste of time but always a source of free maps). When asking directions of an old man in the piazza he responded in English and when he heard that we were Canadians on a long bike tour he insisted on treating us to a drink and thus began one of the most memorable personal encounters of our trip. Giorgio Mazza is 77 years old, fluent in various languages, engaging, wise, charming and the veteran of many years of bike touring The promised ‘drink’ turned into two bottles of good Proseco, antipasta of smoked local fish, followed by a delicious risotto, gelato with local berries and an ‘amargo’ digestif in a fine restaurant. We talked about everything under the sun in a mixture of English, French and Italian but at the heart of our conversation was his experience in Canada. In 1978 he was doing a solo bike tour of the Alaska highway when just past Watson Lake he was attacked and seriously mauled by a black bear. Not a moment too soon, a passing motorist shot and killed the bear. Giorgio estimated he was seeing only a couple of vehicles per hour so the arrival of David McCavish (a name he repeats with reverence) with hunting rifle at the ready was nothing short of miraculous. His subsequent rescue, many operations and recuperation in Grand Prairie, Alberta permanently endeared him to Canada and its people. It was an incredible tale and a wonderful chance encounter we won’t soon forget. We can only hope that Giorgio enjoyed the two hours we spent together as much as we did.