It is amazing the difference that six hundred fifty kilometers and the other side of a mountain range makes.

We awoke yesterday morning to 4 C temperatures inside the tent (which was warmer than outside!) It was felt like a herculean effort to climb out into the frosty air and pack the tents (still wet, of course!) and load the bikes and head out for the 18 km ride to the train station.

The kids have been such troopers through all of these long days of wet and cold, but Ezra had reached his limit. His little fingers were red and as frozen as breakfast sausages. He was crying before we’d gone 3 km and only getting worse. We stopped and bought a pair of black, ladies socks (with aloe?!) for him to wear on his hands, which rallied him just enough to tough out one more uncomfortable morning. We had to hurry; the train waits for no man.

After all of our difficulties with trains along the way we were blessed with a direct train from Vienna to Venice. The bikes were lifted, fully loaded, into the cargo car and we retired for a restful day in our private compartments. The eight hour ride was breath-taking.

Almost immediately we saw the Alps rising on our right, and before the first hour had passed we were rolling through deep valleys with snow capped mountains in every direction. Fall has just begun and the colors painted the mountain sides in reds and yellows and oranges mixed with a liberal amount of green. I love fall in New Hampshire, and I’ve been awed by autumn in Pennsylvania, but let me tell you, nothing I’ve ever seen compares with fall in the Austrian Alps.

The children rested and read their way through the mountains. Every so often one child would pop his head into our compartment and say, “Did you just see that?! I had no idea it would be THIS good!!” I sewed the Austria patches on the kids jackets and stared out the window for mile after mile.

Elisha and Ezra discussed how long it must have taken the tunnel boring machines to dig the long, dark tunnels we passed through as we entered the Italian Alps.

Tony alternated between hanging half way out a window at the back of our train car to take pictures and compiling sets of pictures to post on the website for all of you. He was fairly giddy upon crossing into Italy, a long time dream of his. We’d no more than crossed the border when Hannah appeared in our compartment, “Mom! We’re definitely in Italy! Did you see the signs at the last station? This is SO not German! I can’t read a thing!!” I didn’t know she could read in German.

Adventure found us in Venice as we attempted to disembark one station earlier than we’d planned (Mestre instead of Santa Lucia).

• The station master was no where to be found.
• The children and the few bags we’d had in the compartment with us were on the platform.
• Daddy was on the train (with no i.d. and no money.)
• I was half on the platform, half on the train, hoping to hold it from leaving, then, the whistle blew.
• I was shouting. Tony burst out the train doors all but dragging the attendant, who grudgingly unlocked the doors of the baggage car.
• The train master appeared, tapping his pocket watch on a long gold chain (just like the movies) and shouting at the attendant in Italian.

With no one to help us lift the (fully loaded) bikes down the four foot drop the kids and I struggled to “catch” while Tony tried not to “throw” too much. All of this in the dark, well after bedtime, at nine o’clock.

The train whooshed out of the station and left us, breathless and disheveled (our usual train station appearance)… in Italy.

The first thing I noticed was that I was WARM. For the first time in over a week I actually wished for short sleeves. It was dark and late and still T-shirt weather. Just what we’d hoped for as a result of our exorbitant train fare. Worth every penny, in fact.

The ride to the campground was uneventful. Mostly. If you don’t count the 3 km diversion up the ramp which dumped us out on the HIGHWAY.There was no possible way to turn the bikes around, so we had to back down half of the ramp, in the dark, with tired kids, in a brand new country. Besides that part, it was fine.

Venice seems to have ample cycle ways and the GPS led us right to the campsite. It was raining lightly while we set up the tent (no matter, it couldn’t possibly have been any more wet than it already was!) After lots of mopping and wiping and hollering at Elisha to PLEASE point the light INTO the tent so I could see, we collapsed for the night.

Not, however, before waking our Belgian neighbors and being yelled at in heavily accented English. Par for the course.

This morning dawned dry and warm. Did I mention that I’m happy to be WARM? The skies are blue, the wind is light and we can smell the Adriatic, even though we haven’t seen it yet. The life guard is optimistic enough to be cleaning the pool (which the children haven’t discovered yet.) We’re off to explore Mestre and find an International Horse Show that is happening in the city and is supposed to be free.

A good reward for the kids who toughed out a 16 hour trip and a midnight ride of the Valkyries to get here.