We awoke this morning knowing that we would have to ride.

The sky was cloudy. The air was warm and there was a wild wind blowing… to the south, thank goodness, so it was at our backs. About 10 km into the 60 for the day we looked up and contemplated our fate. The sky before us: blue with puffy white clouds. The sky behind us: every shade of foreboding grey being driven by a fierce gale. There was no turning back.

So, Daddy turned to his troops and said, “Okay guys, I think if we hit it hard we have a chance of beating this thing… what do you say?” With that, we turned our backs to the wind and pedaled for all we were worth. The radio station that plays in my head had the Doors, “Riders on the Storm” on constant replay, all day long… “Riders on the storm… unto this life we’re born… take time to go away… let your children play… riders on the storm…” Of course not all of the song fits as nicely, but that’s the part I spent my day humming.
Incidentally, we did NOT beat the storm. The first wave of light rain passed over us and dampened the road ahead for the rest of the day. Hannah spent her time trying to avoid puddles so that the baguettes (strapped to the back of her bike in paper bags) would not get wet. We opted not to stop for “real” lunch but instead pounded ahead. We managed to scarf down a little salami and cheese when we stopped to photograph the two waterspouts that were whirling across the surface of the sea, “Wow Dad! Our first real tornadoes!!” The kids were thrilled. Mama… not so much. I could see the handwriting on the wall. We made it to within 8 km of our destination before it got really ugly. We were looking for an open grocery store (impossible during the afternoon siesta) when all of a sudden Gabriel shouts, “Awww… HAIL!” “WHAT did you say?! Oh… hail, yes….” Sure enough, add hail to the waterspouts… two firsts for the trip… not boding well for the rest of the day.
Needless to say, there was no grocery store and the last 2 km of the ride were not ridden at all, but pushed: straight up hill. It seems that we’re camped atop the “cliffs of insanity” to quote the Sicilian in “The Princess Bride.” The only sea cliffs on the entire Adriatic coast, according to the brochure we were cheerfully given. Naturally, the campsite is right at the top.

The view is lovely. Gabe and Elisha counted lightning strikes on the ocean under the black sky as Daddy and I gasped for breath, having had to work together to get our two bikes up the last leg of the infernal hill. The good news: once we were off the bikes it stopped raining entirely and it looks as if tomorrow will be dry. The bad news: there was no shop at the campground either and of course the restaurant down the road was closed until an inhospitably late hour and so, to our bowl of Frosties and 100 g. of salami and cheese and two soggy baguettes, which we split under a ledge during the hail storm, we added a bowl of ramen noodles each, with our last remaining onion added in to make it “gourmet.” Ezra, perennially (annoyingly) cheerful said (while slurping loudly) “Daddy this is GREAT. Probably WAY better than any old pizza at the restaurant.” I’m not sure I’d go that far, however, after a super hot shower and two cups of tea I am beginning to think I might not die.