D46 into Puglia to Gaudiano

I had a good check in with my brother-in-law Alex last night (once the farmer had finally retired for the night) who accompanied me on days 2/3 as far as the South coast at Southampton a summer ago and is planning to rejoin the adventure at Patras for the ride in across the Pelopponese. Re-energized by the forthcoming rendezvous discussion I was up at dawn for a big push. Around the next corner I encountered the perfect roadside breakfast stop at the local gas station (a double espresso with marmelade croissant plus ablutions has become the routine) and then embarked on what turned out to be a 500m climb. Reflecting on how under-researched I am for this section of the route I decided by the top that it's best not to know what's coming! The ridge top cafe men were suitably impressed by my pilgrim's tale and informed me gravely that the hilltown (Ariano) I would soon be approaching was best not entered as it was Berlusconi's redoubt! With much comradely camaraderie I set off across a windy plateau for the next but one imposing hill town of Monteleone di Puglia. On arrival I left the bike at the entrance to the town and walked up -enough hill climbing already that morning. All the life was at the top where the weekly market was packing up and I joined the post market crowd at the cafe and attended to my messages on the phone which included an urgent requestor funds from my daughter - she had caught me at a good moment in funds with the pension news! Turning my attention to my surroundings I found an unusually party town with a very liberal feel evidences by this sign beside the war memorial commemorating the dead of both the second world war and the Italian Ethiopian colonial wars.

 The route on took me past countless wind turbines - no nimbyism evidently here but rightly an appreciation that sustainable technology has its own beauty. My Garmin informed me in was at 750m (no wonder it had felt like a hard pull that morning) and the afternoon turned into a swooping descent into the completely different landscape of the agricultural plain of central Puglia.

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I got as far as  the outer fringes of Candela where I ran out of steam in the shade of pine trees outside what looked like a casbah carrying a municipal sign of some kind. I was out of power and need urgently to make a routing decision. My preferred port of elaboration for Greece Bari had a  ferry which had suddenly added a note to their website about the job carriage of bikes which has thrown me into some uncertainty - would I need to head a further 100km to Bring us via a different route? I was fast approaching the branch point. So in I went in search of someone to help me get connected and  resolve all this. 

As luck would have it the  building was a migrant  reception centre staffed today by social worker Tania who added me to get 40 Nigerian women and children she was sheltering as a needy traveller!

Two hours later and a helpful discussion with the Greek Shipping Club (of course a bike was not a vehicle and of course it could go on board) I was a ticketholder and  Bari bound!I
One of the most surreal late afternoon sessions then unfolded as I descended into a huge agricultural plain devoid of people but with more tomatoes than I knew existed in this planet dotted with wind turbines all facing my way because he's the fierce Puglia wind is a westerly and I flew 40 kms with barely a pedal stroke!I
Carried away by this satisfying progress I was me an to make the most of it and unusually allowed the darkness to engulf me.

I knew the plain was devoid of life for a reason - heat and mosquitos I assumed - so not a very attractive option for a wild camo. I caught up! With some tractors heading towards a church tower in a small settlement - here there is a church there may be a bar I reasoned - and sure enough as I entered this tiny workers settlement there was the bar and there  was the rate sight of 3 cycle routers with laden bikes having a beer! Never  were fellow cyclists a more welcome sight! The night unfolded into a merry session toasting all things Italian, Catalan (for Elo, Monto and Jaime were Catalonian students ) and my pension with prosecxo. We all killed down together on the grass in front of the church and once again I drifted off to sleep thanking my lucky star.