Sarah, Scott, and i had pretty much decided during the previous day's adventures that we weren't going out again the next day. The mud was likely to continue to be bad, and we wanted a slow morning to clean our gear a bit rather than rush out again. The others decided to ride, and took off eventually, but Bill came back almost immediately, having snapped his chain on the first hill. We spent awhile in the logistics of trying to get a ride lined up, and then eventually got one which was willing to go via Corleone and let us wander around for an hour. So we had lunch in Corleone, then left, then doubled back to pick up Dave, who had injured himself somewhat. All told, we got to our agriturismo near Piana degli Albanesi in late afternoon, and wandered around there some. We learned how to play Scopa using the deck Scott had obtained, then played a couple of rounds of Dalmuti once David, Tom, and Joe arrived. We were the only guests in the agriturismo, and had dinner in the dining room and a quiet evening.
funny-looking snails, an occasional series |
interior courtyard at Rocca di Capperi |
view from front porch |
My brakes failed going down this mysterious hill in the dark the previous night, leading to some road rash. In the daylight, it's just a hill |
cows being herded by a jeep |
another porch view - not sure what the town in the mountains is |
panoramic view from Rocca di Capperi |
funny-looking snails: the sequel |
the intrepid explorers head out to face the mud |
little do they know what awaits them (spoiler: what awaits them is mud) |
mountain near Rocca di Capperi |
Scott, putting his laundry out the window |
my filthy bike - do i really have to deal with this again? |
view from the window on our ride to Corleone (this is why we slog through the mud on bikes, because taking photos from a moving car is way too hard) |
alley in Corleone |
plaque in the town square of Corleone - i think the gist is that the city of Corleone helped Garibaldi out in some fashion (i know what you're thinking. Not that Garibaldi, the one who unified Italy) |
This photo and the next one are a quote painted on the wall of the Mafia museum in Corleone, by anti-mafia politician Paolo Borsellino |
The date is the date Borsellino was murdered by the mafia. He's one of the two people Palermo's airport is named after |
I'd heard good things about this museum and was interested to see it, but unfortunately they only had guided tours, and the next English-language one didn't fit our schedule. |
poster advertising a dramatic reenactment of the morning's events which led Bill to go with us in the van rather than biking |
tile clock in the pizzeria where we stopped for lunch |
Yes, that's pizza with french fries on it. We're not made of stone, we had to try it (it was okay) |
street corner in Corleone |
mural in Corleone |
Italian plumbers using a picture of Mario to advertise |
wavy stone sidewalks |
Sarah, Scott, and i in Corleone |
plaque on the war memorial |
war memorial |
countryside, from the car en route to Piana degli Albanesi |
interior of a small chapel at our agriturismo |
front of chapel |
wall hanging in chapel |
a dam visible from behind the agriturismo |
view from behind the agriturismo |
ivy growing on the back wall of the agriturismo |
bikes covered in mud - an occasional series |
Dave is alive |
tree in the middle of the agriturismo courtyard |
there was supposed to be a bocce field at the agriturismo, which we assume was this |
Dave painstakingly reassembles a tree |
view from the agriturismo |
back wall of the agriturismo - that tiny satellite dish probably represents the connectivity that we have to carefully stand in the Tunnel Of Internet to try to use |
big doodle bug |
Mr. Stick, faithful companion of today's intrepid mud tourists |
Scott, emphatic. Bill, bemused |
At dinner, Tom consoles David over the loss of Mr. Stick, which we will need to leave behind in the morning |
the wine |
After dinner, Scott, Joe, and i go out in the dark to try to see stars. These are not stars, they're lights from some nearby town. The dark is very dark, what can i tell you? |