Tuscan two step

On the roads of Tuscany, from a few years ago

Tuscany coungers up all kinds of romantic images and dreams; Florence, Siena, Asissi, the leaning tower of Pisa, stunning countryside, partisans and artisans, Chianti, and, of course, half of the worlds best bike riders hammering their way around it’s rolling roads. So, what more incentive did I need to escape the Blighty winter blues than a cheap flight and an overdue invite to the heart of Tuscany ? Earlier this year I’d caught up with neo US Postal pro Jamie Burrow, who’s been living and racing in the area for a few years now, and he’d duly invited me out for a training ride around his local pad. But I figure that my call came as something of a surprise, after all it was eight months late, and I was coming out in 2 days time. I was also desperately hoping that he wasn’t feeling too fit, because after nearly two flooded Welsh months of no riding I wasn’t exactly feeling very Olympic. 

His bemused response to my call was music to my ears; “ I’m really unfit. I’ve had two months off with a back injury, so we’ll have to take it steady - if you don’t mind.... “ Reluctantly I agreed to take it easy on his flailing legs, and suggested we gave the big mountains the slip, if he wasn’t up to it, of course.

Just a couple of hurried days later and I was stretching on the moth balled Lycra and rolling out to meet Jamie for an autumnal blast around his particular corner of Tuscany, which is to the south eastern fringe of the area, and just on the Umbrian border. It’d been many years since we’d turned pedals together, since then Jamie has gone on to become the under 23 world cup winner, and a team mate to none other than Lance Armstrong. Myself, on the other, hand had progressed steadily, but surely, in the opposite direction, and was consequently dreading the hammering he may, or may not have been, about to dish out to me.

A classic local route around a lake was on the agenda, which sounded fine to me - after all it must be flat, mustn’t it  ?  No, you guessed it, this wasn’t exactly the lake side pootle I’d envisaged, more of a rolling romp around the valleys basin like interior, with the lake just acting as a spur to stop us from turning around when the going got tough.  This is a favourite training ride for most of the local bike riders, and at a weekend they all tend to flock here for a little riding and recreation.

The November weather was a touch wetter than usual, though the low lying cloud and occasional drizzle did little to dampen Jamies enthusiasm for the ride. The fragmenting sunshine which peeped through now and then illuminated the whole of the valley, and lit up the warm and welcoming autumn colours, to an almost surreal tapestry like landscape appearance. The scenery was stunning, and at once I could see exactly why it has spurned and inspired so many artists over the centuries. 

There’s very little on the landscape that dates it towards the present day. The old farm buildings, stone and shuttered barns, vines and monasteries are truly magical, and take Tuscany immediately to your heart and make you feel very welcome in this foreign land.

The mesmerism of the local land and the guided tour commentary from Jamie cunningly helped distract my attention from the fact that we were doing an awful lot of climbing, for a flat ride. But, even though I was unfit it was a pleasure to suffer in such an amazing natural arena.

The lake had been dammed years back to feed Florence and Arezzo, but after building it they discovered a more convenient water source, and just left the lake to fill up. The problem is that each year it’s water level rises and rises ; “ A few years back you could do a flat ride all around the lake, but now it’s all under water. “ Gestured Jamie towards a few submerged trees. 

An hour had already passed, and we were well in to the ride. So far we hadn’t seen a single car since leaving Sansepolcro, which is not unusual in the more remote parts of this area. The route dipped down and we crossed the dam it’s self. Then the road veered sharply upwards, in to a winding mass of gold and orange coloured trees. It was just as well Jamie wasn’t fit, because this man is one of the few on earth who has actually gone up hill faster than Mr. Pantani himself ! Luckily this was all part of his recovery and build up phase, so there was no need for my arse to get spanked too hard.

A whole load of monasteries and strange three wheeled trucks later we reached the highest point of that mornings ride, which was up towards Manzi. The roads were damp, and from here on it was all downhill back to Sansepolcro for well earned cappuccino. The twisty descent lasts for the best part of 10 kilometers, for some strange reason Alex Zulle became the topic of discussion, and tales of Jamies attempt to follow him down a wet descent in some race or other ...

We thundered down past Anghiari, a medieval walled hill top town, then wound our way through the back roads back to town. I’d survived without losing too much pride, and my mouth was watering at the prospect of posing outside of some local bar, watching all of those lovely Italian girls parade by. One last detour was suggested, a short ride up to see Casa Buittoni, the house where Mama Buittoni herself produced the first ever pasta to be sold commercially. What the hell, it sounded fine by me; “ It’s at the top of a mile long 1 in 6 climb ... “ Part two of the invite followed, oh well, the girls can wait ....