We had taken the train from Firenze to Verona. The stop at the station in Verona was short, and we had to hustle bikes and luggage off the train. We were in a rush, but got everything off...or so we thought. As we were leaving the train station, Roger realized he had left his helmet behind, and the train had left the station. Fortunately, we knew of a bike shop a few kilometers outside the city, and we needed a shake-down ride anyway. And why did we know of a full service (very unusual to find it all under one roof in Italy) shop? Five years ago we had gone to Verona to do some biking and Carol's suitcase, which had all her biking gear, did not arrive with us. British Airways had no idea where it was and after four days gave us permission to purchase new gear. The suitcase arrived on day 8 with Hawaii inspection stickers all over it. It had had a great time in the island state and we had found a good cycling/running shop. Anyway....
We dressed for the ride, and as Roger went to put on his bike shoes, he discovered he had pulled two right shoes from his luggage in Chiusi, and left both left shoes in the bags which remained with our Pienza host. So, wearing no helmet and street shoes, Roger set off with Carol to the bike shop in San Martino, just outside Verona. Since it was the end of the season, nobody had any inventory left. Nonetheless, we found a serviceable helmet and pair of shoes.
The next morning we set out for Padova (Padua). It was a simple 85 kilometer ride we had done before. However, thanks to an amazing number of roads with no signs noting where they were going, multiple signs for the same small towns and directions from locals who only drive from place to place and like to take the scenic route to get there (read that: they visit all their friends in multiple towns on their way from point A to point B), we managed to turn an easy 85 km into 115 km of starts, stops, and generally being "solo un po' persi" (only a little lost.)
At least the Po Valley is flat. In 115 KM, we climbed a grand total of 74 meters. The biggest hill was an overpass over the A4 Autostrada. The Italians call this, "piano, piano (flat, flat)." Here's what it looked like in one direction:
..and in the other....
A few miles from Padua, we were pedaling down this pleasant country road. Light traffic. Well-marked. Suddenly, with no warning, the road morphed into a major freeway...the ever-popular Autostrada. We were terrified but kept on pedaling...because we didn't know what else to do. Just when it seemed things couldn't get any worse, they did. That freeway joined another, and we were trapped in the middle of four on-ramps with no idea where to go. Just then, a police siren blared...seemingly from within Carol's back pocket. An Italian cop got out of his patrol car, ran up to us and said, in English, "You can't ride your bicycles here." We explained how we got there. He told us to ride 2 km to the next exit, and get off. He'd follow in his patrol car, blocking the speeding traffic from killing us. So with his lights flashing, he crawled behind us to the next Autostrada exit, hitting the siren and going to our right to block an on ramp and then again as he blocked the off-ramp. At the bottom of the ramp, he motioned for us to turn left and jumped out of his patrol car to give us directions to the historic center of the city. Throughout all of this, he was really nice, a smiling and very friendly young man. Carol wanted to hug him and give two kisses, one on each cheek - this is a two kiss part of Italy, there are three kiss regions, as well - but all he would allow was repeated "mille graze" (a thousand thanks.) We know this was not the first time he had seen "pazzi turisti" (crazy tourists) somehow end up on the Autostrada.
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