The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

At first the views were stark but once past the small industrial section, the road opened to a gradual increase in country side. After the shoe and industrial factories, there were a few homes, mostly rundown or empty, waiting for re-development which made the road very bike friendly because the usual traffic of workers and trucks did not use the road on Sunday. And people rode alongside of one another, laughing, talking, sharing the day. It was quite a beautiful day, plenty of sun, the air still crisp and cool and the buzz of bees and birds going about their day. Campy rode at a leisurely pace, gradually catching up to a group of cyclists who looked like, from the baskets mounted on the handlebars covered in bright cloth, to be on their way to a picnic. 

As Campy neared the closest couple, he began to whistle an easy melody. He could see they were in love and in no hurry. "Gud-day.' Campy said just before pulling up next to the man. "On holiday?" he asked when the young man turned his attention to Campy.

"Yes, I suppose. Are you English?"The man asked.

"Aussie mate. You know, down under," Campy said as he pointed to the ground.

"Under?...Oh, yes Australia. The land down under as you say." He looked back to his girlfriend and said, "Australie." He was in no hurry to get back to Campy.

"Say mate, sorry to bother you and the lucky lady but where's everyone headed?"

"Headed? oh, yes, we are going to the river, it's about twenty-five kilometers down this road." The cyclist pointed up ahead and went right back admiring his girlfriend.

"There a village there?"

With some obvious agitation the young man turned, "Yes, small, not-important, no statues for camera just a river front and some shops. You want to go back to the town, that's where the museum is."

"Thanks mate, think I'll check it out." Campy winked at sped off leaving the two cyclists alone with each other.

He passed a group of old men, right behind a large group of mixed riders, all with baskets on their bikes, and in the group he spotted Bernard and Ricky loaded down with what looked like the mother lode of picnic pizazz. Flowers sprouted up from Bernard's handlebar basket, pillows and umbrella tucked into baskets on the rear wheel and what-not jutting out here and there. Ricky seemed to have all the food items, and it looked like enough food for a platoon. Campy gulped and hoped to not attract attention. Bernard had gay-dar built in that was astonishing clever in locating anyone who even thought they might be gay from fifty meters away. He hung back with the old man, who, of course were delighted with seeing such a beautiful Pogliaghi. And in such excellent condition.

They smiled at Campy with worn faces full of hope that this cyclist riding a beautiful vintage bike, completely restored, might chat with them. "Bella! Bella!" One said pointing  his hand toward Campy's bicycle. "Monsieur Italiano?"

Campy smiled, "Sorry mate, Aussie...Australian."

The old cyclist turned to his friends and told them what Campy said. Suddenly, Campy became the center of all their attention and their pace slowed, each trying to talk to the Australian and ask him about the Pogliaghi he rode. Campy took a quick glance up ahead to see if Bernard spotted him, worried he might see through his short hair, beard and all of it dyed black. Campy pulled over to the side of the road to let the old men look at his bike and talk.

to be continued....