Ps3 Using Network Usb Dongle Router

Tappa 2 to Senigallia

Finally, I think, have breakfast at last and finally start! Not that Ravenna repugnant in any way would not mean that I do not need another day or two could spend - but yesterday's first stage, they might even have been so hard be, has rekindled my fire in the rear Cyclists: Now I will go, now I want out!

why my cell phone rang and 6:45 clock.
why I am again the first and only at breakfast.
And so I sit already 7:30 clock in the saddle, my leave of Hotel Argentario Ravenna and say goodbye. again

time: adventure on the highway

My role model Goethe had chosen a different route than I, because I'm going for a while the E55, which leads directly along the Adriatic coast, follow. He, however, turned into inland from Ravenna and was about to bring Ferrara and Bologna to Rome. But the mountains, so I think I am, I will only sweeten the next day's stage. For today I will once again see the sea.

First, however, I must find the road which led me to my way point Senigallia - to bring - just before the port city of Ancona. "Straight ahead," the doorman gestures from Bici, whatever I followed until I'm at a huge crossroads.

The sign that anyone who would want to Ravenna, then turn left. So do I. The number of road is also true: E55. Only the large sign on which I remain, raise my suspicion.

The well-known highway symbol emblazoned there in 2 meters Height above me. Given a lot of "signs: trucks over a certain limit tons, motorcycles under a certain cubic limit, pedestrians, and - well - cyclists are here, are strictly forbidden.

Funny, I think, put my road bike to the plate and look at my map, because there is this road is not shown as a highway.
I go to the cars that are just red and wonder through the open window.

"Ah, gehhhh," makes the driver translated and gestures: "Drive one, drive it, no problem!"

Okay, I think. The man with the sunglasses in the Fiat Punto's allowed.

little later I drive slowly initially as much as possible right, eager yes no drivers in the way of being. But after a few miles, when I notice that nobody here honks and it seems inzteressieren to actually do that here is a bike on the highway, I start to tell me to relax, I can for the first time my cramped view of tarmac ribbon and the white line I try to keep my left, solve, and enjoy the scenery.

I slid as yesterday by a flat plane. No collection, no hillocks, nothing obscures the view over the fertile fields. Time alternated with corn salad and tomato plants from, rarely a pasture.

Since, on the horizon, I can even dimly, the first peaks of the mountains. No, guys, tomorrow until I calm my legs to the next destination - stamp counter - Cesenatico.

I'm surprisingly good progress. The wind comes forth again from the sea, but obliquely from behind, so at least I do not feel the wind. Also, keep the temperatures so early in the morning still in check - I go hard but clean, but I'm not ready for me.

my Forerunner on your wrist says I'm always around the 32 km / h on it, which is more rapid than in some earlier Liegeradfahrt and me fast enough.

The road is great. Even on the little-used emergency lanes are barely pebbles, hardly do I have to dodge again, and I notice little waste. The cars roaring but as always by me, but seem to keep a distance and although I am the highway speeds really happen-like, I never have the feeling to be here at risk.

And me then to culmination by a deep dark bauer Alfa Romeo Carabinieri outdated - and me will take note - I choose any hardship if the "bicycle prohibited" signs behind each driveway, which I pass come to ignore final.

Well, at least, the Highway Driving with me and Tradition: On my first big bike I get into the German Porta Westfalica in Canada I drive it anyway, and in Japan I have to reel off fast 20 km on the highway. Why not now in Italy?

And before I realize anything is done about 40 kilometers, just behind the drive-through Cesenatico bar attracts a lot of reeds and reed and Caribbean atmosphere to me, here to hold my first regular drinking break.

Beautiful Italian style break

I sit and drink two Lipton Icetea on Ex, then I fill my water bottles with fresh cold water and dilute all very delicious apple juice.

For my legs I think that is this: I drive and stop every 30 miles, relax by about 15 to 20 minutes to relieve my neck, something to eat and drink. This, I know from my experience helps me to use these short breaks to regenerate and in the end such a long tour to endure.

has addition, a psychological aspect: for if I do not drive with the idea of the total length in the head: "Oh cheek, there are today 130 km before me, but I always drive with" Still 30 km to the break. "

And it does make a lot more bearable, right?

addition: After only one kilometer I'm back in the twenties. And so I Hangle me from break to break: From 130 km, 4 pieces.

And I'm sitting at Cesenatico just before 9 and was the first clock behind me already.

"How motivating", I think, than the pretty Kassierein draped on a cigarette next to me on one of the sleek stools, plus a Diet Coke opens and begins a phone call. This allows the break to spend good - the cute blonde Sexy Talk a listen and thereby cool the hot lungs with ice-cold drink.

perfect.

my sweet tears me a text message from a pipe dream to the next. And so the 15 minutes go by quickly - happy and motivated, but noting that the sun is slowly preparing to aground in top form, I push my bike on the road, set up and jack me up. Goes out, stitch two is on the agenda.

I think quickly in a round kick and the only way to fly along SS16. Next to me I imagine the coast, right next to me - to greet the gray mountains - far, far away.

I'm surprised the driving behavior of the Italians: So many smart people in front of my trip I played the same number of sluice tips - and what is it? All times halbsowild not. The Italians do not drive differently than the Germans. No, better, I would say, because here on the step I was not accosted once, cut or - very popular - they are sprayed with water washer.

gently overtake the guys, do not drive too fast. What more could you want?

The sun beats down only so and so is it no wonder that I - for whatever reason - at some point decide to leave the highway to drive along the coast. There must be a coastal!, I speak my mind.

In the sun I'm leaving my SS16 and and drive a fifteen-kilometer ... Detour. There are of course, no coastal road. With headwinds should I go back on the highway to fight - and wasting 45 minutes in blazing heat, because my brain once again had an exposure.

missing now only ... um ... we say ... a mountain.

There!

I reach Cattolica. The place does not sound very religious, so is he. The resort takes its name from a Catholic council before 1,700 years. Well, if that is not a story? Even the brother of Napoleon stayed here - he pulled in front of the Cattloica was already crowded Rimini.

Blessed is he who loves the mountains

But the mountain. For heavy side wind that comes just before the road through from behind, drives me, makes me happy, makes me optimistic about the looks, what is to come immediately. With less than 40 km / h cruising speed - I do not pay more already ger forwards - I rage in a wall of hills.

For between Cattolica and Pesaro, the last village before Rimini, has scooped the good Lord a small range of hills. And just over there I have now.

It is at 12 clock, the sun is right above me. It burns relentlessly down on me, sweat is pouring and I complete my water supply safe side once more before I venture into the pitch.
First, it is
los moderate. I need a place that is surprisingly pretty high up. I switch on the small leaf, take my time, step and step and realize that I have, despite the marked rise still 25 km / h on it. With the recumbent, I would be noticeably slower.

goes behind the site then release it. Before me a mountain. And moved toward the street a band which is straight at him - and steeper increases. My feet go hard ICCH gasp, drop hanging from the nose down and I breathe away my water only pretending.

from the 25 km / h, 20th Then 15th
but never slower. Even in the smallest gear
and with the greatest effort I can keep the 15th There

no shadows here. And then only briefly. A twitch of coolness. I'm enjoying the ride though. After have been more dominant shades of yellow, I can finally look back in full green, see trees, see lush grass. Beautiful.

left of the road I can see the country - far as the eye. How far do I have now probably be above zero?

The wind, which was just annoying and yet hold back from the side, he comes from behind. He helps me but not kicking, also cools much, but to me he prefers songwriter. Tunneled from the mountains, he hisses in a few Seconds to comb that can see I did.

And although I am struggling here must, although burn my legs, my gloves are so wet that they can no longer safely access the link, even though my feet literally in the Sidis are in the beds and I The same is almost empty've been drinking, even though my heart is close to the 200 is dry as the Gobi my gullet and my head is empty as the universe - but I still enjoy this little bit of loneliness, this wave between Cattolica and Rimini is so lonely, so empty and so quiet. Not even the humming of my circuit I hear - glide through the void.

recovery in pain.

some point but was worth the work. Each pitch takes place once you finish that ICCH knows only too well, and so my heart is filled with a somersault when I arrived at the crest of the mountain, discover a gas station that even a "bar" has. I sometimes bend, jack me out and feel like Pantani, who just the Mont Ventoux has defeated when I clap with eierigem step and sweat-soaked back into the conditioned Kaubuff, I buy three bottles of ice cold iced tea and I am sitting in front of the window and my marvel at work.

My bike is standing there, casually leaning against a gas pump. He sees not what we accomplished here in the last 7, 8 kilometers have. It stands there, as always, at any time ready to rock at him that I Straßße. And it is my faithful Cervélo care if I do it with a ring bone up a slope or chastise me from the wind beducke because I selbige on the other side as fast as possible down like.

What I am doing well because after 5 minutes. I hang on the handlebars, making the cat's back, according to claw my sponge gloves in the bar tape, winkle in my legs and buzzing in the free-wheeling down. Wind slows down, so I'm not 60 via km / h out, but fun to the few miles anyway.

Party and plastic land in Rimini

Funny I think to myself when I reach the Gate of Rimini: As efforts are being uphill from half an hour - and rides down the same path on the other side in a breathless five minutes.

A beautiful parable on the life, right?

When I come through the gate and at the same time through the pedestrian zone drive - slowly, slowly - to me the city is so very not feel like what I've heard of her before. Italy surprised again: A clean, lively, chic Einkauufsstraße with gelati shops and all kinds of shops attracts tourists and locals alike. Can not see anything from Party, drinking and disco.

This is but still.

some point I'm through the historic center and drive through a ghost riders on the coastal road near the beach. In Italy, of course, no one cares if a road bike rides in a one-way street against the direction, even the carabinieri look away discreetly when they come to meet me.

But we go the party area. Next to me - the raging sea, - there is a beach club to the next. The baths roar with disco tunes, people cook in the heat under umbrellas, oversized plastic playgrounds should also make the little ones quiet.

The overkill is completed of all kinds of clubs and hotels on the right. Meanwhile, the road has turned into a comfortable way. Again and again I have to dodge the bathers.

Eventually I reach a large roundabout. In the middle of the globe - the same plastic, which is also in New York at the United Nations. I am but it is too hot to photograph them.

I lean my bike on the rail and sit on a bench. leave the last sip hot tea Apfelschorl-slide down my dry throat, look out for a kiosk and decide for it, but only once to enjoy the infinite blue of the sea looking refreshing.

So much time must be!

little later I kick around again. Continue on the SS16, in his usual tact, at a normal speed, with his usual suffering.

The backpack makes me slow problems with the shoulders.
reports also, my butt again, and in general, hurt the wrists. But I can not get anything out of step, I stare fixedly at the pavement, through the flying below me, and I think as long as I bash away so quickly it can all also still not be that bad.

Then unveermittelt, I ride in Fano, the last major town before my goal Senigallia.

It welcomed me an almost deserted scene. Sure, it's noon, the sun is high up, sizzles ailing relentlessly and dried everything out moist. Except those who need it and those who believe that they would now dare not step out the door.

Fortunately for me, because I can wander around the picturesque town almost entirely untouched by the otherwise chaotic Italian city traffic enjoyed in short, the shady alleys, before I again find again on the straight highway to me the last 30 kilometers to the staging point for today will bring.

And so it is then. I can easily roll over on the wide side stripes, which was for the thousands of bathers for parking milled directly into the rock, which rises steeply beside me a few dozen meters.

The wind comes from behind and now I reach easily into the bottom handlebar mount 35 km / h, which I can hold out. I will shoot stoically along the smooth asphalt, an overhauled again and again by Piaggio and Fiat. People I meet do not of course - the heat is unbearable.

the heat slowly enough, but really!

My backpack does have a - Airstripes called - ventilation, but even this fails in the high amount of sweat that separates my back. I wonder if I strutting a water trail behind me.

And again I am seized of the hunting instinct, when I catch up to two arduous racing cyclists, just suck the wind shadow, then go with enough excess speed over. You do not even salute.
Well overtaken, I would not like to ...

I one last break was doing in the bar of a campsite by the sea, where I drink a full liter of iced tea before the big sweet eyes of the young daughter of the kiosk owner is empty, then I swing down on the wheel and take the final 5 kilometers attack.

Senigallia to reach clock at 13:30. It is the Albergo
Bice in which I have reserved me a room.

From the outside the house makes her a little. Unadorned barricaded. Nothing special.
Also, as I enter, I find myself first again in a more than crowded entrance area.

streaming with sweat as I am. All is fine, I submit my passport, get my key now, the Bici? - May with the room, a matter of honor!

And when I'm at the top - what a delight! - I'm in a big, big room, have a big, big bathroom with the best shower I've ever enjoyed! Oh, how it hisses when my cold water, the salt-sunscreen-sweat-flying diesel dust mixture rinsed from the skin!

When I look out the window, I look to determine 200 year old roof tiles, I hear a distant bell ringing, I sniff tastiest ingredients from the restaurant kitchen below me ... and so I relax cooled for 20 minutes under the water that I happen to be like in paradise.

What a heated battle!, I think, as I want to wipe me, but realize that I do not need as fast as the water evaporates, even here in the cool bath.

wash clothes.
wheel brush.
write short text messages.

And now I'm hungry!

on the beach is Although it is delicious - very tasty - but I find nothing that would open. No restaurant, not even a snack, I can offer delicious food. So I

a mistake, two hours at the endless Adriatic around, get more and more hunger, but will also be compensated with a bikini-overkill at its finest, every ten meters running by here one Ornella Muti. Nice ...

Well, enough of them but you also will not.

also in the inner city, it does not look different. Although the shops are open, but from Ferragamo and Louis Vuitton I'm not tired.

So I look for a supermarket, where I am with salad, Parma ham and a delicious Olive bread designers and trot through the hot, narrow streets of this picturesque city back to the hotel.

way I seek the policy. A nuclear power plant is the last thing one would expect here, and yet - the whole town is full of posters. Rightly so - to reject you! Let kidding you not like they did with us! Forza!

eating with my bag in hand, I misled a little confused by the streets until I get to the mighty castle of Senigallia.

There it make me a few girls who have made it in the cooling moat on the lawn in the shade cozy - and I do it for them. Down in discharging cold sitting, I can eat my salad, kill the bread and drink an iced tea.

A drop in the bucket, of course, but at least something.
I swear, for that this evening at the Ristorante strike really.

So I'm sitting in the shade and I've hardly eaten and begin again to write cards to the loved ones at home, my phone rings and my baby's turn. We talk for a while - after all, tomorrow she flies off for its holiday to China.

quite strange, I think a little sad how quickly life can change: A year ago, I alone and free and cucumber unbound by Canada and Japan and now I'm in love with a bleeding heart in Italy and really do not quite know how I can enjoy my tour. Or should. Or should.

be here and cycling is a dream.
be with her but still beautiful.

It becomes 17 clock and I say bye bye to the citadel, say goodbye once more from the great beach and redirect back to my hungry, filled with heartache and longing, battered body into the hotel.

quick but - what a surprise - the negative feelings of an excellent red wine, a great salad and almost as divine to be designated Spaghetti Vongole supplanted ale - I refresh myself at a dinner that I did not have this quality in a long time.

running the flat of the well-filled restaurants to a World Cup match with Italy, concluded the men, complain and argue. I increased the wine slowly into the head and so I order me another Bistecca and hope that the forces of the bull from the arms of this beautiful piece of meat was cut, may be transferred to me.

After all, tomorrow I will do my road bike away from the coast and inside draw in the mountains. Foligne is on the agenda - and when I inspect the card so I should get better Bistecca another order.

So I stagger up, longing still makes me a text message, write down a sea of countrymen while I was dreaming up in shallow draft of the delicious evening air in the bedroom.

morning mountains.
mountains.
Ber ...


Section 2 - Ravenna-Senigallia

leg length: 130.7 km
gross travel time: 6 hours
journey net: 4 h 26 min
section: 28.9 km / h


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Diagram Of How To Do Ollies On The Tech Deck

Tappa 1: Venice to Ravenna

I am - as always in my "holidays" - at the first breakfast. Morpheus had yesterday Evening I arranged for an exception, because I can at 7 clock to the buffet, instead, as the other hotel guests. clock until 7:30.

Morpheus? Yes, of course, the Morpheus from The Matrix. And no other. The night porter has to be the master hacker, because I have absolutely no doubt.

little surly staff who are still immersed in the structure of the breakfast world eyeing me and bring me reluctantly to my cappuccino. Only when Aldo - currently not even as would-Schumi people in the blinking of the airport pick up but with a silicon spray armed expresses some sausages in the edge of the pool - first as Aldo me exuberantly waving I am also welcomes accepted by the staff.

I refresh of yogurt, fresh fruit and croissants with butter and jam. Sausage, are short, hearty not today. Knowing what will happen to my body now sink, I mean taxofit magnesium capsules and another down for joints with fresh apple juice, then pay for my room and stand just 15 minutes later in full uniform ready before the hotel: First stage mioGiro it Bring it on!

familiar terrain.

First there is the me of yesterday's training exit still well along in memory remaining 15 km to the west end of the island Cavallino Treporti.

Although the road is next to me as completely empty - 7:40 clock is still no drivers on my feet - I choose the bike path. The slick surface is then but a lot more attractive.

I let it go it's quiet, but I know that today I though only an estimated 10 meters over the entire stage, but to complete but was 120 km. Previously, on my recumbent was not a distance, I remember only too well to the half Olang race I've driven two weeks ago in Hamburg. And the back wrist Posch Merz was at its best!

In the magnificent colors of the rising sun light shining into it I blink, I must smile, open the Zipper of my jerseys and breathe deeply - I drive 32 km / h into my vacation!

little later, I am frightened almost, I reach the small ferry to Punta Sabbioni, detach a bicycle card (1 €) to climb and with the non-canceled yesterday's card, the person water taxi. It is the same route as yesterday, only that I have a station before Venice has to go.

arrived over there - the narrow, 15 kilometer long island called Lido di Venezia - I find myself on a still empty, beautifully curved road along the tranquil lagoon shore. Herrlich - Italy will present itself to me so beautiful?

Goethe was also here, as I read in the "Italian Journey".

"We got out and walked across the tongue I heard a loud noise, it was the sea, and I saw it soon, it went up against the shore by retired, it was about noon, a time of low tide. So I have since seen even the sea with eyes and am in the barn, the leaves are retreating, pursued him. "

Well, from the sea on the south side I did not come, but the sea will I see enough. So my legs swinging in rhythmic step, the Dura Ace sings the silent song of jacking off and I enjoy the shade and the spicy shore trees, soft now and then one or another pothole, and am happy that I am the sole master of the streets of the Lido.

An idyll.

So it goes several kilometers. Then, the road is expanded here as a broad thoroughfare with two lanes in each direction, to reach Alberoni, the "capital" of this island, or dune, as Goethe called the Lido.

The streets are empty Alberoni. It still all sleep well, or sit in a dressing gown, drinking cappuccino in front of the latest edition of the Gazetto dello Sport ...

I am suddenly out of nowhere overtaken by a bus. I am terrified - Cough and later, for his unfiltered diesel cloud me glued smoky smelly oily aftertaste with the lungs.

holds the bus, I overtake him.
later did he tell me.
Then he holds back.
I pass by.
is how it is, until we left Alberoni.

race with a bus ... in a race.

After 15 kilometers I am at the ferry port of the second ferry. From here it goes from the Lido over the third and last morning of my island hopping - over to an island that does not even seem to have a name. I call them after the settlement, I will come by: Pellestrina.

Just before the ferry arrives, joins and sooty puffing on the bus waiting. He will roll with me together on the rickety boat. Just five minutes later, I am but that still leaves over all other the floating taxi, shifts up the gears and gas there.

There is wind on the side about 10 kilometers long and only a few hundred meters wide island. but proof of home-tall reeds can I find a round kick me perspire to death but I say 35 km / h Very good.

Then buzzing the bus passed me.
I got him back in the next place. Then he
overtaken me again, scarce, at just under knappi most, as we like the Italians.

But the bus must drive slowly, because two of us - busy with our own race - fall into a different race.

students, housewives and police officers standing at the roadside and wave to come towards me on the left side jogger on the right side of hole I selbige on its second half. And always in sight in front of me my opponent, who Stinkebus. Thanks to the sporting people of the unnamed island I have another chance against him.

I accelerate, the red monster in the rigid view, hard kick in the wind, my lungs burn and I brace myself, fight against inevitable that, it explains the aerodynamics of the war: the Stinkebus I get even! I get even! War ...

... and I get it. He might Pellestrina parked on the little market place, people get in and out, the bus driver leans back - I pass by.
Made it won.
Done.

burn my legs, the sweat runs me under the helmet. In streams. My back is water-soaked, soaked through already in my backpack?
I'm Done, done, then comes the ferry, the ferry takes about an hour. Aha, I think, therefore, the bus parked on the square.

I my burning lungs parks at the pier, put on my Cervélo and crouch towards me.
wait one hour. Pointless, time passes. But
enough to extinguish the burning in my alveoli.

Schlappend branded brackish water to the pier. Geckos strikes across hot pavement, the air is only now and then comes a breath of fresh air full of salt lagoon over to me, I prefer the full juice from the hot soft plastic bottles and insulate against the ferry.

The Aldo of the seas.

It should go to Chioggia - the first town on the Italian mainland. Goethe, too, my horse-driven pioneers arrived, that Wegg, about Choggia knows his diary the following report.

"I drove from Pellestrina against Chioggia about where are the big mines, Murazzi called, which makes the Republic perform against the sea, are of hewn stone and are actually the long tongue of land, Lido called, which separates the lagoon from the sea, protect against these wild elements. "

I also see the Murazzi. Huge stone walls, a wall, now that is high tide, it seems to me to be 6 feet tall, but more accurate as I can see only when I board the ferry.

It looks even smaller type, almost delicate, fragile as it invests, and all of them, the rusty Cinque Centos, the brand-new BMWs and - lo and behold - the Stinkebus - the storm, so that they mitnähme.

When I come on board in fantasy role-a man full uniform and look up to me asking for my Biglietto. Oha, I think - that were only valid for one journey and this is the third! I shrug my cleverly complicated, chattering in English, out of my backpack. He wants to save the trouble, see my ticket validated and can give me.

put little later on we. And immediately I am reminded of my taxi ride with Aldo remembers.

A huge tanker - unable to close waters to maneuver, let alone slow down - moves exactly in our course. Or rather, our captain, I call him ... Aldo ... maneuvering and come to the right on a collision course.

Banned I am in deep cover, flabby comes to salt water, cool fresh breeze, but you know, sweat is cold anyway.

I do not know how he did it, but we miss the rear with the angry by a huge propeller churned water only a few feet, the other guests seem to be accustomed to the drama. I for one can breathe, as we arrive at the port of Chioggia, and think back on it only briefly, that right next to the ferry port of Pellestrino the island cemetery was - at least it was not a bad omen.

finally Italy, I think, finally mainland. After the island hopping, it is now going to say a whole. Thus far, down less than 60 kilometers, but needed almost 4 hours. Nice it was that Hoppen. But now, now the Racer awakened in me wants to enter inside, wants a nice, straight, smooth road and give a few hours of gas. ! Andiamo "

, I think - and get stuck on a bumpy patch pituresken pedestrian zone in the port district of this beautiful city. Stop and go is called for.

land and a flowing bottom.

When I finally made the pedestrian zone worked out, seek and I find the sign that brings me to the highway to Ravenna - always to the south, straight ahead.

It's a nice wind from her side of the lake, which I still obliquely from behind whistles in the calves, so I'm optimistic step forward, pure, and may soon see a cut from my Garmin Forerunner 30.

The road goes well, the surface is flat and smooth, only occasionally, usually when it goes through the small towns, it is rough. Then reduces the otherwise comfortably wide shoulder somewhat, but the moment I'm out of the villages, I have almost a meter finest asphalt for me - the me masse overtaking cars so little annoying.

hot it is. And where I otherwise of a tail wind is welcome, the wind makes in front of my chest heat to build unparalleled. Fortunately, makes the jersey by Castelli Cervélo-open as a jacket and soon I'm going topless.

What only looks sexier - more cooling brings the barely.

Soon the highway will be wider, two lanes each way, at some point might add a median strip. Then I will no longer 120 km / h Fiat's outdated, but quick of 180 mph.
This looks not only to highway - it all behave as if it has a.

hurts me the butt, I think, when I'm on a long bridge.

At the end of a sign: "Fiume Po.
Aha, this is so the bottom. The river, from its level, I've heard so much. Now I'm going about it. Below me, when I look, but I see no water. The bridge is 1,500 meters long. Probably, like so many great rivers swell, and the Po at only one time in right. Namely, when in the mountains to spring towards the water melts.

But now I see only desert Fadland next - and a miserable long bridge before me.

some point, I had no longer believed in it, then I turn my head and finally see the waters of the watercourse. So Po. There he is. A few seconds later, the wars already.
past.
Po over.

What is not over, the pain into it.
And, I think, be as soon not go over.

But all is forgotten, all is as it conjured away, as I see before me on the straight, the unmistakable silhouette of a racing bike. Still small, there, there on the horizon, but I can see the round kick, a characteristic stooped posture - yes, a Bicicletta da Corsa.

And as men are just as, once awakened to the hunting instinct in me. That there were already so in the recumbent and the lightweight carbon race this is rampant. I wonder briefly: So far, 50 kilometers sängender heat down, I'm out of breath, my lungs burn, my shoulders hurt and I'm planning for at least another 70 km to me ... ah, fuck it says, my left foot and enters the Kubel, exactly! agrees my right one and I accelerate.

still motivated me when I tell the Lord with Italian racing cyclists a pink jersey. Can it be coincidence? Or does the racing God put me here, a sign in front of the wheels? The Maglia Rosa
before me, on my first leg, my first Racing cyclists. Well, honor - THE HOLE ON ME!

I love my trouble, I lie down in the wind and go into the under seat steering position. This is not convenient, but it provides the wind by holding less attack surface - besides, I can actually round, connect smoothly. Really feel like my ass moves in the left and right of the narrow Trettaktes Prologo saddle.

And then, I'll have him linger, in his short Winschatten - 31 km / h. the Lord. Unshaven calves - well, this can be a pro - that's on a sheet of thick and ponderous tread.

breathe.
shift down a gear.
I look around me briefly, pull out and give substance.
little later I pass by, say "Ciao." in passing and set me off.

A bridge I fight my way up, keep the pace hot, then I take out - the pink jersey is far behind me.
shot. Connected. Sunk.

headwind and a sore butt.

But the joy of the lead does not last long. Quickly, I'm back in the round kick, fight my way through the fertile wasteland of the Po Valley and I am the attacks of an aggressive side winds.

I drink a lot. 1.4 liter can I take so I make myself out the second bottle to empty. The road winds sometimes left sometimes right. There is hardly anything to see. Because, to my left, not 2 or 3 miles, as must the cool waters of the Adriatic fire on marshy shore. But here is what comes of nothing. Only a dry wind, the hot looks as the hair dryer my sweet.

I analyze my pain: I go first road bike for 600 kilometers. The Cervélo R3 was at my request tour set to maintain myself and adjusted, the Prologo "Nago" saddle despite the rather minimal seeming suspension of the cover is one of the langstreckentauglicheren.

ride on my back the Deuter Trans Alpine 26 SL - a backpack for cycling, I've been told. Lots of storage space, a lot of pockets, a clever ventilation system, and many buckles to the bag firmly and not slip to lock at the back.

And yet - the 4 kilos of luggage press on my narrow shoulders. Muscle at the back - I write down my thoughts in the post mioGiro. Not that cut the straps or something, not that, but I feel like the load slowly reduces the performance. And does my endurance to the test.

But the shoulders and neck are not the only front on which I have to fight. There were the knuckles. Although the road is very good here, but everyone goes small shock, every pebble once and almost unfiltered into my knuckles. As can also generously wrapped griptape change anything. Like the "padding" my saddle this is probably for aesthetic purposes. I will miss or might not.

The knuckles are not the worst pain. It's getting really fun now that I am more of the 70 kilometer mark on bottom. Matching the level that I cross now, I feel like the seats of my sit bones ever louder cries for help sent to my brain stem, "When this ride is finally over the ???!!!"

I imagine the card - and think: "Well, Guys, far from "


Larger Map

Nee is there to continue for another round.
" Well thank you, you ass! ", It comes from below.

And then it says the road God good to me. Because I get first on a section of road that looks brand new, so new smells, so smooth is that I think I hover over the asphalt. A ring road. A long curve . Bordered by poplars to go crazy beautiful, a long, long laaaaange curve. And when I left, look towards the center of this huge semi-circle of asphalt, I see idyll.

I brake. Am. Cross the motorway ring-like monsters, raise my bike over the guard rails slide through two rows Rhododendrenbüsche and stand in the middle of a monastery complex that is so beautiful that my breath.

I need the road bike than twenty feet above the akurrat-cropped lawn, run green and humid in downright wasteful contrast to the shimmering, dry heat and the blowing, throwing asphalt, is, and already I hear no sound of the road, thundering from the trucks, the searing and frantic Barchettas Piaggio.

break in the bypass loop.

I'm in Pomposa, I learn. There is a monastery in which even the brothers of the Benedictine Order and their faith - were hard work is done and - above all. I read that was already in the 6th century in this place a church and that the complex reached its current form by 1000 in its heyday and greatest power on the road between Rome and Ravenna.

Only a natural disaster - as in high water in the dams broke Ferrara - initiated the decline of the monastery. Today, if I can convince people to see these beautiful buildings, climb the imposing church tower and make yourself comfortable in the Ristorante - what I do.

I order a large bottle of water and an Insalata Mista. I do not want anything heavy, rather something healthy, something that makes me fit. And what can be better than fresh, crisp salad full of vitamins, minerals and salts - all the valuable stuff that I've sweated gallons in northern Italy just sun on the asphalt?

The waiter is wearing a T-shirt saying "POLICE" and the mother, who had me me zerschnibbelt just the leaves, Frisee heads, tomatoes and delicious pepper comes out, both sit down at the next table and see me how I beträufele the salad with one of the tastiest olive oil I have ever had me and acclimatize slowly.

Next door, a Chinese couple tried to read the card.

Proschiutto e Melone round off my time. It tastes delicious. It is one of those memorable moments: I'm sitting in the shade of two hundred year old trees, far away a bell rings, the 12 and I look at the bike that is not 2 feet away from me: All pain, all pain is forgotten.

I'm happy.
Schnorbse my salad and enjoy the tranquility.

Truly, a holy place, I think. Here I would have founded a monastery.

And then, after an hour break, I go back over the Meadow. Look at me once more, I fight through the rhododendron, the bike lifted over the barrier, stand on boiling asphalt, breathe deeply, click on one myself and am back in sängender sun, bear the rays annoyed me crank through the headwind and, what I can. Ravenna must be achieved.

So I fly through small villages, annoyed that I forgot Depp, fill my water bottles with fresh, cold and wet with painfully dry throat now hold out for a "bar".

In Italy, for that is so - I learned - there are indeed in every village, and no matter how small, a gas station, but that is not like here in Germany, where gas stations provide the fuel really just an excuse to raise the real business: namely, to be a 24-hour supermarket, where one can charge excessive prices.

in which it then but everything is what you need.

In Italy, gas stations are still gas stations. And nothing else.
If a tank has since then time to offer something to drink, then you notice the sign on the additional "bar" that sticks under the Esso, Shell and Agip logo.

But far from it, if you're thinking that was a bar then a shop, similar to the usual German shopping paradise. In most cases, the bar is nothing more than a counter where of course - and espressos Tramezzini be sold. You're lucky, there is then a fridge with soft drinks around.

And that's what I need. But it is precisely this

come none of these stations, bars.

I die of thirst. My speed goes down
. Legs are heavy. Stomach growls again (salad was good but not quite enough) and I'm considering, just somewhere to ring and ask for "agua" ... to ... Well until the racing God save me again:

Lidl.

The German supermarket chain appears to me initially in the form of a huge advertising sign. Blue-yellow-red, it glows in the boiling sun, excessive, on a 30 meter high Stahständer, turns the German logo. And I trust my eyes at first, but it's true - his own departure, they have built here on the highway, looks like the mesh cross home.

me right, that I turn away, park my bike at the window rattling, on the last hole, whistling and sweating directly in the water department (funny that, worldwide, every Lidl and Aldi stores are granted on the same principle) and buy me two bottles of water and about a kilo of bananas.

The sweet service collects me from Italian.
I drink like a Viking, the first time directly bottle half empty, the remaining liter of me I cannot riekt by the helmet on my head. A young boy looks at me with wide eyes. As I stuff the third banana into me, his dad comes, picks it up, grins at me and gets into his air-conditioned car.

I can do is the hard saddle of my without air-R3. The landscape changes little. It remains flat as in Holland, the wind is hard as in Holland and the sun is not about to lose its intensity or covered by one or the other cloud-to-be.

If I go to the - probably derived from Roman or medieval times - the old road now and then by shady trees along the road at least temporarily cooling time was, I find Although I now on the super-developed, but completely shadow-free high-tech super-Strada - and can do nothing more than drive through shimmering heat more or less straight angweilig.

way it should be: to suffer, suffer suffer again.

I know that even from Canada - the Radtrance. You drive and drive and drive. The track is not very demanding - you need to retrieve hard intellectual performance or coordination by the brain. Simply connect only. Round. Stupid fast. Connect. Mile after mile. Hour after hour. Straight.

And then the mind wandering.
flies away.
leaves the body.

And I here so by at least 40 degree hot sun air in northern Italy, cut to most of lowered my head, keep my clean-shaven calves and from stamp, the hiss of my Mavic spokes, cut the carbon by the wind, a symphony of speed and nature, I drifting away. Twilight. Brain on the back burner and flashes of thought, the flinch, theme jumps as Warpflug, only now and then, when a bead of sweat me annoying at the face or forehead runs down, tickles it, as a crawling ant to me along the body, as I was exposed to an invasion of insects.

So I come away from me the mileage. So I
dawn limbo between a bicycle and mental retreat into Musikfragmete from Depeche Mode and "Volare ..."

I turn now through completely?

an hour later. I can not.
I swim in myself It seems like there is between the skin and meat, a layer that is filled with water. My clothes stink, my feet swim in the Sidis. I could use an AC-lung, I think with my brain soft sun-stricken, as I drink my bottle of boiling water exchange.

So I am standing on the sand of a parking lot. Next door, rush past the air-conditioned cars as ever, and I stand there, open my shirt and hold my wet, bare stomach in the wind.

Cooling brings the no.

Only five kilometers has further opened a Ristorante. I save myself on the plastic chairs in a shady Lipton Ice Tea screens promise cooling.

Ristorante has shut off yet, but they take pity on me and sell me some water. Cold it is. It tingles, almost hisses my insides, my insides almost evaporate, as the cold wet the esophagus is brought down.

Wow, what a ride, I think, of breath, than my Garmin Forerunner tells me that we already have come a long 115 km.

115 km - 40 degree heat - and I in the middle.
115 km - with the recumbent a no brainer. Warm-up period ended.
Road With ... Helmets off to pray, I think, as I think about the steps that are yet to come: The sun will remain. But the plane will go. And then there are mountains.

But everything is still so far away. Now I want first to Ravenna.

Ravenna!

I will arise just because a pair of leaves, both as to the 50, the Ristorante. He looks at me and my bike, a smile lit his face.
I wave and shout "Ciao!"
A friendly "Salve!" returns.

He starts the engine of his VW station wagon, but rises again and comes to my table. His wife afterwards. Once we have the usual "I do not speak Italian" behind us, he gets in complicated English-French out of me that I want to go to Sicily.

"Mama mia!", He is doing and again, "Molto bene!"
He talks a lot, make gestures of Bergen, in his opinion, be to scare me with vertical slopes fear, told and told his wife and translated from English into chunks and I just nod.

How far except to Ravenna, I ask finally.
"Cinque." he says and keeps me five fingers before his face.
Ah, great, I breathe in relief.
More is not really in it today.

He drives by honking dusty courtyard, behind me. And really - after a roundabout and a rather ugly, because left and run down looking, industrial area, I am there - Ravenna.

I walk around the station, just look at my Google Maps printout and I soon found the Via Roma, where my hotel was.

narrow streets, all clean, all colorful and pituresk. This quiet, a gentle, pleasant cool breeze rustling with the humming of my free passage through the Via Roma. I glide slowly, slowly - do I win anything today!

Eventually I find my hotel.
checks.
showers.
some cream ass - ah! - A blessing!

I stand in the bathroom contemplate, I think the red shoes and Au Backe!
pick and me with his open hand on the forehead when I realize that I have forgotten my face cream - and I bought myself a little extra in Hamburg Nivea tin.

Well then smeared her face with ass cream. What good is my best piece can not hurt my other face, right?

Rei purified from the tube my sweaty clothes I been able to distribute the slats of my blinds. They hang in the wind and will be dry within hours. Tomorrow, then again in the Cervélo-Autfit how it should be.

Then I go out, the duty is done.
now controlled by only a single thought my sun-stricken Skull: food!

So I misled by streets that are so clean that you eat them The same could be: Ravenna is a gem!

the Piazza Popolo, the heart of the city that was once the main residence of the Western Roman Empire, once the sea was but because of the silting up - says it Wikipedia - now 9 km is away from him, I let myself down and order pasta.

leckerschmecker, I think, when I suddenly surrounded by the Emilia Romagna oncoming storm in thunderous rain seats, large umbrellas protected, I enjoy a perfect Pasta with tomato sauce, I let the Insalata taste and refresh myself on a cold Coke. Perfect, I think - and pig had - because with this rain wheel drive, have I missed real yet!

The portion is too small. And so I order the astonishment of my Canadian operation or a portion, and standing foot is delivered.
I propose the belly really full. I eat more fat and round and order a fantastic panna cotta. Must this be, I sip my coffee with relish, stretch out my calves burning, enjoy the fresh air noticeably cold rain and watch the pigeons as they too are happy to bathe in the puddles and refresh.

On my way back I contemplate my inheritance of the Romans - a Terme, city gates and temples. See see venerable churches near baroque jewels and walk on cobbles that were determined ten times as old as I am.

prefer the hotel I am naked. It's hot, stuffy. Unfortunately the rain has not been able durchzulüften the room. My clothes are dry, but - and I plunder the minibar, it makes me comfortable and excited to watch chattering commentators at a World Cup match.

must be that, I think. So I
I deserved.

won the first stage. Venice to Ravenna. Zero altitude. Not a single mountain riding. And yet - against the wind, sun and heat I've trimmed quite a bit.
But all is forgotten when I wegdöse slow, me cover my sparse with a sheet outside the sun sets, a couple of guys with their mopeds on streets indicate Ravenna and I fall asleep.

morning, such a stage, are my last thoughts. I blink briefly - my Cervélo see leaning against the wall. Geiles bike, I think. And
asleep.

Stage 1 - Venice Ravenna

leg length: 124.7 km
gross travel time: 8 h 30 min
journey net: 4 h 15 min
section: 29.3 km / h


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