21/07 Brindisi, Italy to Ali Terme, Sicily

The day got off to an ignominious start with a rude awakening at 0630 by cabin crew pounding on our door and shouting gibberish (to us) in Turkish. Alas not the morning wake-up call for breakfast but rather a premature “wake up & fcuk off, we’re here!” We did consider holding out for the promised breakfast but our unintended tardiness meant the bikes were already the last vehicles left on the boat and they’d already begun loading the next batch of passengers for the return trip.

Thankfully, devoid of any of the usual bureaucracy (or even passport control for that matter) we were straight off the boat and onto the road; slightly shell-shocked and quite dehydrated as it happened after our unexpected early kick up the bum sans coffee!

What followed this abrupt and early start was a hot and dry 13 hour marathon ride – consequently, there are no pictures! I can assure you that my backside felt like I’d ridden the whole way perched on the cylinder head! It wasn’t, as you may suspect, a ride of endurance bravado but rather an oversight in planning. For some reason beyond my humble understanding we’d managed to leave ourselves one day for a two day ride across the foot of Italy, from Brindisi to Sicily via a circuitous route around the Golfo di Taranto. In hindsight, we could’ve spent several glorious days travelling around the stunning beaches and blue waters of the Gulf, but it wasn’t to be.

Fortunately the riding (and navigation) was easy. Long smooth straights of dual carriageway to Taranto across ‘the heel’ and then following a gorgeous coastline which gradually became more sleepy throughout the day. The Golfo di Taranto, a vast bay almost 100 miles across, was simply stunning, in hindsight we should most definitely have stopped there and made camp in any number of the lovely little quaint towns we passed through. I found myself asking “how cool is this place???” repeatedly over the comms. Each town peppered with character; quaint, picturesque, friendly looking towns boasting an array of ‘castillios’ on many shore-lined precipices and an abundance of ‘Lavendarias’ (Laundrettes – a now much needed thing!). Locals sat outside cafés watching us pass with nonchalant curiosity – I was desperate to join them for an espresso.

Before boarding the Sancek, Rob had inadvertently dropped the lumpy twin, an embarrassing case of more drop than leg whilst simply parking, since then he’d been experiencing some misfires in one of the pots. We were pressing on regardless but keeping an eye out for a Honda garage on the off chance that it was something simple and easily rectified (we were thinking sparks but the consensus seemed to be carb related). The constant concern must have been adding to his woes though and as we got around the ‘ball’ of Italy’s foot, desperately seeking refreshment and fuel, we pulled into a garage. Rob failed to get his stand down properly though and over the old girl went once more. Between us we man-hauled her back upright before too much fuel pissed out. However, it had managed to clip the back of my bike on it’s descent – no damage to the big green but Rob’s AT now sported a big ugly crack in his lovely tall flip screen. It may have been the perfect storm – dehydration and little food – but Rob was quite upset. He’d reacted quite stoically to previous tumbles so I suggested we take a proper break, sit down and eat and drink. It bolstered us but some of the joy of the ride was now replaced with a sense of work to do. Sicily seemed a long way away yet.

Autopilot crept in as we rounded the ‘toe’ – a shame as there was loads to absorb in the scenery. Rob did spot a Honda garage whilst on point and managed to pull us in to no avail. Through the little English the guy spoke we gathered that he hadn’t a clue, suggesting that it was merely the Italian heat – we explained that my exact same bike was OK… we continued our search. Nice shop though, very cool bikes.

We were tired, aching and extremely thirsty by the time we got to Villa San Giovanni and the short hop via ferry to Messina – my head had gone stupid and even basic cornering was now an effort. We tied the bikes down (an apparently unheard of practice on this briefest of ferry crossings) and went in search of much needed refreshment. Two cokes each and I don’t think they touched the sides.

At this point we thought it prudent to give Carlo, our old studio manager a call. During our prep, he’d said “Oh yeah, if you go to Sicily you must go and stay with my Uncle”. We hadn’t discussed it much really, but had taken him entirely at his word. To say he sounded a little surprised when Rob said we were on the ferry to Sicily and would be there in half an hour was an understatement! However, when we said we wouldn’t be in the area of his Uncle’s place until the following day he calmed down a little and promised to call back later that evening with further instructions.

We made the executive decision to stop at the first campsite we saw after Messina. Steve briefly took point in the city and promptly got us horribly lost and then managed to separate us to boot when he mistakenly shot up a one-way street in the wrong direction. At this point the batteries on his Comms failed and he realised that Vodafone had activated call barring on his mobile. PERFECT!

After a further hour of tragicomic events and fruitless searches Rob, who had simply waited at the entrance to the one way fully expecting Steve to return, miraculously found Steve parked outside the Moretti Brewery scratching his head. Taking charge again, the decision is made to go for the motorway (something we’d usually try to avoid) but for just one exit – an inspired decision as it transpires as it placed us bang on the coastal road that we’d been seeking.

We ended the day a couple of towns south of Messina in Ali Terme – and it was lovely! The campsite sat on a hill set back from the coast, and after pitching my tent I watched a blood red moon rise over the Straights of Messina. We tried a couple of local beers (brewed in Messina) and feasted on a very cheap pizza down on the beach. Our tents were pitched in a lemon grove under the shade of the trees with the citrus aroma surrounding us. Aromas were a common theme on this tiny island: Basil everywhere making the island smell like a luxurious bruschetta. The town was framed on one side by the Mediterannean and by the mountains on the other, with a huge viaduct soaring above the town.

For the first time in over three weeks we were back in the same time zone as the UK. Sleep came quickly and almost instantly as we zipped up our tents.