George arranged for Jennifer to ride with Edda this morning, while we followed George on his scooter back along the way we had finished yesterday's ride. This included riding by the walls of Marostica, an amazing city that continued to be contained entirely within its walls until after WWII. This time, we just stopped and let George wait for us as we took pictures. Yesterday we had ridden in one gate and out the other, but today, we skirted along outside the gates, then followed them where they turn improbably up a very steep hillside. At the bottom, George demanded that we each empty out one water bottle, as it was unnecessary to carry so much extra weight -- there is a water stop only 7 km or so up the climb. What a control freak. But he was right. We stopped with a gaggle of the cyclists who had passed us on the climb, refilled, and continued to climb (and to be passed). At one point, David realized that to that point we had recapitulated the famous "Almond Cookie Ride" he and Ben, but not I, had been on three years before. David asked George whether we would be passing thru Conco, the home of the famous cookies, but George said, no, we had to either turn that way and make it into the Almond Cookie Ride, or turn the other and go up the plateau. At the decision point, seeing how slow I was, he asked if I wanted to shorten the ride, or continue up to the town just above us, and then about 5.5 km more climbing. I wanted to do the climb. We stopped at another water fountain in the town where there was practically gridlock between cars, cyclists, and pedestrians. In the end it was rather a lot more than 5.5 km (even George admitted that they seem to have added some climbing) and pretty tough in the heat, even though it was considerably cooler at that altitude than down below. Just when I felt like I could climb no more, we reached the top. And it was worth it. We continued across the Asiago plateau, which is wonderfully pastoral with cows with large bells, small farms, and miles of lush farm and countryside on either side. At the end of the plateau, we stopped for coffee (make it fast, sez George, we're running behind), and then dropped down a descent to die for (or, if you're not careful, on). I was having trouble not riding up George's wheel, especially on the tight tornante (hairpin turns), so I passed him. We soon reached an intersection, and it was pretty obvious which way we had to go (follow the signs to Bassano del Grappa), but we waited for George, and waited, and waited. Later he explained that he thought we had turned down a steep dead-end descent, but eventually decided he should ride ahead and check. Back behind him through switchback after switchback, and we were back at the main road. George had announced at coffee that we had to eat at another restaurant owned by Silvia, the proprietor of the Laconda, because the Laconda was closed for lunch today. This restaurant was about 5 km from home, close to our usual endgame route for most rides. We got there before Jennifer and Edda, mostly because George had forgotten to warn them about the change of restaurants and had also forgotten to bring his cellphone along so he could tell them. Silvia was there and drove her cute little Smart car up to the Locanda, where she picked up Jennifer, leaving Edda, who lives close to the other restaurant, to ride back down. Lunch was just as good as what we are used to, although George groused that there was no salad bar (they brought us perfectly nice mixed salads). My prima piatta of rice salad was so filling (and GOOD) that I cancelled my order for the seconda piatta. For dessert they pressed lemon sorbettos on us, whether we wanted them or not (Jennifer didn't, and Edda had already left, so we ended up with 5 to consume between the 3 of us). This was not a hardship. A sorbetto in this neck of the woods is a lovely concoction of ice cream or some other soft cream mixed with prosecco, the local sparkling wine. This one really took me back to Christmas morning with my first in-laws. My father-in-law used to make a really deadly (and yummy) gin fizz. This was rather like, although fortunately not as alcoholic. Nonetheless, after 2 glasses of white wine -- I seem to be able to drink wine again! - and 1.5 sorbetti, I nearly created a catastrophe on the way home. We had to do a quick left-right across a busy street, and I just did not see the motorcycle on my left. David squeaked, I braked, the motorcycle swerved (and missed the car coming in the opposite direction), and we all breathed a sigh of relief. Don't drink and bike.
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