My Sicilian struggles

There are places where you go because you really want to, and there are those you visit because you happen to be nearby or they are just on the way.

I never dreamt of travelling to Sicily, but I took the opportunity to visit when I was in Malta. Being less than 2 hours ferry ride from Italy’s biggest island, with Europe’s biggest volcano (and one of the world’s most active ones), I couldn’t resist.

The more I researched, the more excited but also nervous I got. The internet warned about the worst traffic, aggressive dogs and pushy Sicilian machos. But I wandered around using Google Streetview, and I found the landscapes breathtaking. And come on, a place where the second highest mountain is called Pizzo Carbonara cannot be that bad!

The first impression was what I expected. After MS John Paul II docked in Pozzallo, I saw palm trees, littered beaches, and older gentlemen sipping their espresso in the small, dusky bars.

All the rumours about infamous traffic on the coast made me head inland with the first opportunity. It was a good call – I could peacefully ride to Noto without worrying that old Fiat Pandas overtake me by millimetres.

I stopped by the first gas station to get some petrol for my stove, and in 30 seconds, I was surrounded by a group of men, trying to figure out what a girl on a bike needs at a gas station. I pointed at my bottle and typed into Google Translate that I needed petrol. A guy with a moustache thought I wanted water and started bringing me bottles from his car.

-No acqua, benzina, per cuccina – I tried to explain.

A man in a black hat showed me the note on the card terminal: No benzina, solo diesel.

The gentlemen were disappointed they couldn’t help the weird girl on the bike. Luckily, I could fill my red bottle at another station right behind the corner.

The countryside was full of colours. Yellow, pink, purple, red, green – the meadows were full of flowers, and the air smelled like a hundred different plants mixed together. It was still pleasantly chilly, especially in the shadow.

After a lunch break in the baroque town of Noto, I decided to change my plans. Initially, I planned to camp near a restaurant near Cavagrande del Cassibile nature reserve. I saw this location on iOverlander, and it would be an easy way to find a way for the night in a scenic location. However, it seemed way too close. I didn’t want to close my first day at 15:00.

Having researched alternative options, I decided to go all-in and try real wild camping. Looking at all the fences and barbed wires around the fields everywhere, it wouldn’t be a cakewalk. But who doesn’t try, doesn’t drink the champagne!

I pushed for another 30 kilometres and checked out the places marked on my map as the rest area near the river. The first thing I saw was a huge sign saying it’s a nature reserve, and camping, fires and all that stuff are strictly prohibited. The second thing was a solid barrier with a plate that the rest area is closed for the season. Trespassing was forbidden under any circumstances.
I didn’t know how serious the owner was about it, but I didn’t want to find out. I kept going until I found a small rocky path on the other side, outside of the protected area.

A cave with some rubbish inside, a flat piece of grass next to the path… Nah, you still can hear cars here. I kept pushing my bike further down the hill.

-It looks like the one! – I thought once I saw the river surrounded by trees and bushes. A massive cloud of flies and mosquitos was the only con of that place, but I could handle it.

It was still early, so I waited with pitching my tent and started cooking. Eating my risotto, I heard the noise of cross motorbikes on the other side of the river. I couldn’t see anything, I only heard male voices. Seemed like some locals came there for fishing.

I was hidden behind the trees, so I didn’t worry too much about it, just trying not to make a sound and disclose my presence. Suddenly, I heard another noise, an engine, coming closer and closer from the same direction. A 4×4 car with a splash crossed the river and drove passed the dirt road behind me.

Shit! The guy behind the wheel didn’t seem to care about me at all, but I have one rule when I camp alone – if I am seen at my camp spot, I leave it.

Luckily, I still had some time until dusk. I briefly cleaned my pots, packed them back in the panniers and pushed the bike up the hill. I cycled a few hundred metres and looked for another path on the sides of the road.

It went surprisingly smooth. I found another one, very rugged and with loose stones. I left my bike by the road and went down to check it. This spot was even better. Well hidden behind a stone wall and not accessible by any motorised vehicle unless someone has really proficient offroad skills.

Right before the sunset, I pitched my tent. Lulled by the river’s hum I fell asleep right away.

At 6 am the next day, I woke up surprisingly energised. It was cold and humid on the riverside, so I didn’t feel like leaving my sleeping bag. Luckily, the urge to pee was a good motivator, and once I was outside the tent, I used the momentum and just started to get myself ready.

I forgot to do proper shopping the other day, so I had to satisfy myself with two muesli bars and some nuts for breakfast. Not exactly the breakfast of the champions.

The first challenge of the day (at that point, I had no idea how many more challenges were to follow) was to get the bike up that steep hill. After 10 metres, a rocky section made it impossible to push. The only way to get out was to take the bags off, carry them up and then carry the bicycle.

Sweaty from that strength workout, I started cycling. The cloudy sky made me feel lethargic, so I put some rock music on for extra motivation. The road was nearly empty, the tarmac was flawless, and the trees were white with blossoms.

The place felt abandoned and ominous. Many stone houses on the side of the road were slowly decaying. After kilometres of a mild climb, I started a descent through a limestone gorge. One switchback after another, I felt pure joy and the cold wind on my sweaty back.

I passed the gate leading to the cycling path by the Anapo river.

-Hey! – I heard a female voice behind me. – It is closed, the route is closed, you need to go through Pantalica.

That meant a detour. My initial route to a campsite north of Catania was nearly 100 km already, so the detour was not welcomed.

On the top of the hill, in the small town of Ferla, I got some bread, cheese, bananas and chocolate to have fuel for the long ride ahead. I looked at the map and realised that the ancient Necropolis Pentalica was nearby. One more detour won’t harm, right?

I didn’t think that one through. The entrance to Pentalica was indeed only 4 kilometres away but the actual sights were located much deeper in the valley, which I only realised when I was already at the entrance.

I just added 8 kilometres to my trip and didn’t even see anything. At least the route was scenic, with green hills all around.

I turned right to cross some hills, following the hiking path of Antica Traversala Sicula. This route was created by a group of enthusiasts who wanted to recreate the ancient route traversing Sicily from west to east. There were more potholes in the road, and slowly the tarmac was replaced by grassy and rocky dirt road.

I enjoyed the bumpy ride through the stones. It was quiet, and I really felt like travelling back in time. Even pushing my bike was not bothering me in this scenery.

A hundred metres from where the trail was supposed to join the main road, things got complicated. A fence with barbed wire crossed the road, and there was no way around it. It was too high to jump above it, even without the bike.

I climbed more than 200 metres on that crappy road for nothing.

Exasperated at my navigation for suggesting this route, I turned back. A man with a huge backpack and trekking poles was heading that way.

-It is blocked – I told him.

– Blocked? Oh no, my GPS said it was fine – he showed me his Garmin device.

So it wasn’t my navigation. It was just Sicily.

Guido, was a Swiss hiker, heading from the most southern point in Italy to the North Cape. He was even more upset about the detour than I was.

I didn’t really know what alternative route I should take. I didn’t trust the small roads anymore, and sticking to main roads meant much longer distances. I had no other way than simply play it by ear.

I returned to the main road and started climbing again. My morale was suffering, and I had to cheer myself up with a lot of chocolate and some energetic music again. My head was constantly busy, trying to find alternatives. What if I wouldn’t go to Catania but stopped somewhere closer? What if I take a train? What if I head in a completely different direction?

It was too much. Too many options, too many thoughts. I was overwhelmed. I decided to stick to the initial plan, hoping there would be no further surprises and blocked roads and I would make it to Catania before it gets dark.

With a lot of mistrust, I started the descent on a dirt road toward Pedagaggi. I didn’t even want to imagine what if it’s closed too. I tried to focus on the smell of the pine forest instead and stop overthinking.

But there it was: a metal gate with a solid lock stood right in the middle of the road. A man with a cigarette got out of a car parked on the side.

-Is it closed? – I asked.

– Yes, it is a nature reserve – he replied in surprisingly good English. – Access only with a permit.

I was close to crying when he got a massive key bundle out of his pocket and opened the gate for me.
I wanted to hug him.

-Wow, thanks a lot! That’s such a relief – I said.

-Are you coming back? – He asked.

– No, I am going to Catania.

-Ok, have a safe trip! – He waved goodbye.

I forgot to ask him how I would leave the nature reserve on the other side, but I assumed there must be a way to get out if he let me in. And in fact, at the other gate, there was a little ladder to go around. With a lot of effort, I managed to carry my bike and my bags through it. After a small river crossing that left my shoes and socks completely soaked, I was back on the main road.

The closer to Catania, the busier the traffic was. The amount of trash on the sides of the road was also growing. The area felt shadier and smoky.

Despite plenty of cars and a rather dull landscape, I weirdly enjoyed it. There was a thrill of a challenge. I had only one thing to focus on: get to Catania before the dark. I quickly munched a banana and a piece of chocolate and kept going. The humming of the trucks passing by set the rhythm. My brain turned into meditation mode, with barely any thought, only observing the surroundings.

On the Via Etnea, the main street in the historic centre of Catania, I ring the intercom of Ostello Elefanti.

-Do you have a free bed for tonight and some space where I can store my bike?

-There is one last bed left, and yes, we put your bike in the reception, I’ll come to help you carry it – said a friendly male voice with a strong Italian accent.

To my surprise, the hostel offered free pasta that night, which was the best thing I could dream of after 110 difficult kilometres.

I knew I had to chill a bit if I didn’t want to ruin my knees again. I also woke up anxious, with my heart pounding. I forced myself to leave my bed before ten to not be late for the hostel breakfast. Fresh fruits and a cappuccino helped my mood a little. I was exhausted, so I had to take it easy. A stroll around Catania and a short ride in the afternoon was the most I could do.

I imagined Catania to be too touristy for my taste, but I surprisingly liked it, even despite all the ciao bella from random strangers on the street. The deteriorating buildings, headless and handless statues gave it a slightly grim character. I don’t know why I enjoy things like this. Maybe I just like to see the signs of time passing, to see that panta rhei, memento mori and all that stuff. Things in a perfectly intact state seem artificial, dead and soulless. I like them more when they are imperfect.

Leaving the city on a bike was a nightmare. The heat didn’t make the steep climb on a busy road any easier. After I got out, I saw Mount Etna for the first time. It looked majestic, and in the higher parts, you could still see patches of snow. I was looking forward to coming closer to its top the next day.

I have looked at the map and decided to climb the Vincenzo Nibali route from Zafferana to Rifugio Sapienza – a mountain hut at 1900 metres. Then I planned to continue on the MTB trail on the western side of Etna and pitch my tent by some other rifugio around.

I knew the ascent belongs among the most strenuous cycling routes in Italy but I forgot how tough it is to conquer 18 kilometres with an average gradient of 7 %. The air was thick and hazy. Very soon, I felt the burning sun on my skin.

The first steep section filled me with optimism. I watched the elevation metres on my Garmin watch growing quickly, and before I knew it, I climbed from 400 to 1000 metres. Despite having frequent alarms on my phone to make sure I drink enough, I started feeling the consequences of dehydration. My thighs were burning, and my head felt heavy.

I pushed through, encouraged by the landscape becoming more and more moonlike. The black lava fields created an inhospitable environment, but some trees in bushes managed to survive there. Far in the distance. behind the haze, I saw the smoke coming out of the top of Mount Etna.

After hours of going at a snail’s pace, I realised I couldn’t finish the route I planned for today. I had no idea how bad the MTB part was gonna be. Technically, I could still try to stay the night in Rifugio Sapienza, but I knew the prices were way out of my budget and camping at 1900 metres in early April in sub-zero temperatures wasn’t tempting.

I knew I would have to change my plans and head back to the coast, which made the fact that I was carrying all 20 kg of luggage all the way up, completely ridiculous. I was angry that I wasn’t more realistic about my fitness, and I hadn’t planned a more reasonable route.

Swearing and sweating, I finally reached the Silvestri Craters. Even the presence of groups of Russian and German tourists didn’t spoil this experience. The raw beauty of the craters and the grey and copper-red hills around made me forget all the struggle for a short while before my brain came back to overthinking what I should do next.

I knew I would hate the ride along the coast but I saw no possibility of continuing through the mountains. I had to give up the dream of the adventurous ride around Etna, camping in Parco dello Madonie and hiking Pizzo Carbonara. I felt exhausted, both physically and mentally.

Riding downhill in the afternoon sun reminded me why I do what I do. It was the state of flow, the amazing calmness that makes it worth it, even if for the most of my day I was feeling exhausted, agitated and in pain. This was the reward.

I spent the last day manoeuvring among the cars stuck in traffic caused by the numerous construction works. The north wind brought the thick dark clouds. I looked up at the mountains – it seemed to be pretty stormy over there already.

It was a real pity that Sicily doesn’t have a cycling path along the sea. You cannot really enjoy the view of the azure waters from the rocky outcrops when cars were constantly taking you over by centimetres.

Having plenty of time before my ferry from Messina (I don’t know who came up with the idea of embarking at 2:00), I looked forward to enjoying a big Sicilian pizza. In Italy, however, your stomach needs to follow a schedule, and I had to wait almost two hours until any restaurant started serving food.

After cycling additional 10 kilometres looking for the correct port (reading the information on your ticket is for losers!), I embarked on the ferry to Salerno. I was leaving Sicily with mixed feelings. For now, I had enough of it, but I knew I would like to come back.