Lucca — the first stop on this tour of ten places (including four sizable towns, three noteworthy villages, one seaside and one mountain resort and an anonymous spot at the mouth of the Po River) — easily became my favorite place. History was one attraction. Its plan reflects a Roman plan, although none of the original stones are immediately visible. The old town is enclosed by a slightly rounded trapezoid of ramparts dating back to Roman times but rebuilt in the Middle Ages and again in the 16th and 17th centuries. (The broad and level paved path on top provided a convenient route for me to test ride the Trek bicycle provided by the tour company and to survey the outlying town and surrounding hills.) One unique piazza, bordered by cafés (known as bars in Italy) and shops and decorated by colorful flowers cascading from the medieval houses above, has a curiously elliptical shape and arched entryways — clear testimony from the Roman amphitheater that once occupied the site. The

The town's architecture and art also got my attention. The Cattedrale di San Martino (and its accompanying museum) plus at least two noteworthy churches (San Michele in Foro and San Frediano) present towering façades of multicolored marble (or gold mosaic) and house an abundance of Renaissance paintings, carvings, goldwork and frescoes. A unique brick tower visible from many parts of town, the Torre Guinigi, is distinguished by its bushy top; when you ascend 135 feet by stairs to its top, seven low, silvery green ilex trees shade you as you survey the town.

Finally, I just felt comfortable in Lucca. The Hotel La Luna was reasonably priced (110,000 lire — about $55) and centrally located (within earshot of the Roman Amphitheater where, interestingly, a concert by Joan Baez — part of a summertime series by mostly American performers — drew loud applause on my first night in town). The narrow streets of the town's central area pedonale (free of four-wheel vehicles, but still bustling with pedestrians, bicycles and motorscooters) recalled the sense of Mediterranean Europe that I had acquired in the towns southern Greece and southern France. But Lucca does not suffer from the mobs of Florence nor the indecipherable maze of passages in Venice. And to my advantage, given the rapid pace of the rest of the tour, my three nights in Lucca gave me about the right amount of time to survey everything and to begin to know the town.

Visiting Pisa on a Sunday is a religious experience. Getting there from Lucca involved a small pilgrimage as the 21 members of the bike tour mounted and pedaled a circuitous 35-kilometer course through several small villages, following arrows marked in chalk at all intersections. The ride included climbing a small hill that provided a broad view of the coast. On arrival in Pisa, setting my gaze upon the circular campanile — the famed "leaning tower" that was one of those wonders of the world I had heard about and tried to envision since I was a child — left me breathless. The sight does make you wonder how it remains intact, even braced as it is now with thick cables and a wide steel brace. And the beautiful arcaded facade of the tower and the other elements of the Piazza del Duomo — the Cathedral and the Baptistery — make it clear that the Italians of the 12th century were masters of decoration with colonnades and bands of inlaid marble. But it was the interiors that truly filled me with awe. (Fortunately, there were no restrictions barring people in cycling apparel from setting foot in the sacred halls. Within the Baptistery all sides of a large octagonal font are decorated with ornate marble inlay and small carved reliefs of animal and human heads. The marble columns of a 13C pulpit carved by Nicola Pisano are supported by regal lions. But the pulpit in the cathedral (Duomo), carved some 40 years later by Giovanni Pisano is even more amazing. Each of its columns is a detailed human figure from mythology (see photo at right), and the figures seem poised to burst into life from the biblical reliefs on the sides of the platform. The neighboring Museo dell'Opera del Duomo contains somewhat weathered statues and structural elements removed from the façades of the Cathedral and Baptisterie for preservation. Viewing these and other artifacts kept me busy for yet another hour. By the time I had seen my fill of Pisa's heritage the tour group and rear guide had departed. I was left to find my way back to Lucca alone on a rather hot afternoon. During the ride of a little over one hour I consumed all of the water in my frame-mounted bottle and thus learned that for the rest of the trip I would need to carry a reserve in the extra bottle on my lumbar pack.

The 35-mile ride to Pisa and back on Sunday had just been a warm-up. For me the real tour began Monday morning when we said good-bye to Lucca and set out to the south and east toward Vinci. From then on we would be on the move with a new destination every day (with the exception of a one-day layover in Florence for sightseeing) until the tour ended in Venice. But there was never a pressure to hurry. The procedure that morning set the example for what we would follow most days. A "depart after" time was posted, usually 8:30, which meant that all luggage had to be in the lobby by that time for loading into the van and that each of us was free to get our bike and set off at any time after that hour. Our three young leader/guides —James, Amy and Stefania — rotated duties. While two loaded the luggage one rode ahead by bicycle to mark arrows in the roadway with powdered chalk (dispensed from bicycle water bottles): arrows before and after every intersection indicated whether to proceed straight or make a turn, and also, for security, arrows at intervals of about five kilometers along an uninterrupted road assured us that we were still on course. Another guide rode a bicycle as "sweep" at the back of the group to make sure that no one was left behind. The third drove the van, shuttling back and forth from the front of the group to the back. Thus if anyone suffered a flat tire, other mechanical failure, or any sort of trouble, it was likely that the van would come by within a short period of time. (In fact, at least two times during the tour the van passed me and honked when I had stopped briefly to take a photograph.)

This approach allowed us to set our own pace at all times. As we rode through the outskirts of Lucca I stayed with the group, pedaling intermittently, both to enjoy a sense of camaraderie and to make sure I didn't stray off the route, which was more complicated within the town limits. Once we passed beyond the range of buildings, however, and proceeded along quiet road bordered by vineyards, my legs increased the force and tempo, and I rode ahead on my own. A short distance later I stopped at a small cemetery to inspect the above-ground graves, many of which were marked with photographs of the deceased. (A few of the faster cyclists passed while I was here.) The morning was overcast and cool — ideal by my standards. Although not the longest ride, it was certainly the most sinuous route of any day. In a region criss-crossed with roads of varying sizes the tour company had managed to plot a perfect course that ran more or less directly from Lucca to Vinci passing through many quaint towns on roads that were lightly traveled for the most part. I recall making a marked turn at one intersection, passing into a narrow lane shaded by leafy green trees and glimpsing a rooster that strutted along a garden wall, pecking buds from a potted impatiens. If this was a representative foretaste of the entire trip, then I thought I would be in heaven ere we got to Venice. In retrospect nothing else matched the joys of that first day on the open road, and it remains my favorite memory of the trip. A bit later, as I hurried along the day's only stretch of busy two-lane highway (about which we had been forewarned), I caught sight of a large military transport plane trailed by a string of five or six smaller objects. Helicopters was my first thought until I took a second look and realized that they were all descending slowly. Paratroopers. As I turned off the busy road and climbed a short hill I observed the plane circling around and witnessed a second drop of paratroopers. I felt a few drops of rain. When I reached the town of Orentano I took the cue of an arrow marking a cafe for a cappuccino break, along with three cyclists who had arrived just before me. As I sipped my drink, a bit of full-fledged rain fell; I pulled my bike under the cafe awning and counted myself lucky for the timing. The guides had advised us that summertime showers were usually brief, so I elected to take advantage of shelter and wait it out.

When I did proceed I encountered more quiet roads, hardly dampened by the rainfall. The scenery alternated between shady trees and cultivated fields of corn or leafy vegetables. Some time later I stopped briefly to gaze at a field of mature sunflowers that stretched to the horizon. I interpreted this as a sign that we would not encounter much rain. A short climb took me to the hilltop village of Cerreto Guidi, site of a 16th century Medici villa. I arrived just after noon and found one of our guides and a couple other riders already there at a park. Because there was not much in the way of restaurants, we were advised to go to a market and get supplies for a picnic. I found a large co-op, wandered through all the aisles and picked out a ripe peach, some macadamia nuts, a large carton of juice and some yogurt. (I was interested to see in the self-service produce section, the customer is expected to place the items on a scale and punch the correct code number on a machine that dispenses an adhesive tag with the price.) As other members of the group rolled up and went for food, we shared tastes of bread, cheese, proscuitto and fruit. Then we walked up a long ramp to the door of the Medici villa. Because we were the only visitors, the attendant, after collecting our admission fee, was able to lead us on a quick tour of the sparsely furnished rooms on two floors. She told a few anecdotes, speaking in Italian, which was translated by our guide. This included a few details about the villa's moment of notoriety in 1576 when Paolo Orsini strangled his wife, Isabella de Medici, in her bedroom for suspected adultery. Although I heard laughter in response to her tale, I missed the humor, as I was doing my best to tune out all conversation, because the lame attempts at comic commentary by a couple from New York had begun to grate on my nerves.^* The walls were covered, as one might expect, with portraits of Medicis, but lacking a diagram of the family tree and a short course in their history, I found it impossible to begin to sort out the generations of Cosimos, Fernandos, Giovannis, Lorenzos and others.

From Cerreto Guidi it was a mere 5 kilometers to Vinci. After a ride of only about 15 minutes most of us arrived at the Hotel Gina as a group. It was still early. We looked into our rooms (mine very spacious with a huge bed and a narrow balcony overlooking the patio) then milled about on the patio in the shade of pine trees, sipping acqua minerale.

For those of us (numbering about seven) who were still eager for exercise James led an extra ride, a quick-paced 45-minute jaunt due north up a winding road to San Baronta. At that hilltop town about 500 feet above Vinci we treated ourselves to ice cream bars and looked down on the valley to the east. While I paused to photograph a hillside villa, the others sped down the hill. As the designated guide, James remained with me and, when I was ready, set the pace for an exhilarating ride down the curving road. By his example I learned that, on a road such as this one at least, vehicle traffic is so light that you can steer a bicycle down the center of a lane, unconcerned about vehicles behind, and on sharp corners you can often veer far into the opposing lane, unworried about traffic coming the other direction. It was almost as if the road was made for bicycles.

Rather than return to the hotel we stopped at Il Museo Leonardiano, where wooden models based on Leonardo's sketches were displayed, varying in scale from tabletop machines of manufacturing and war to full-size replicas of a human-propelled bicycle, boat and flying machine. Fortunately as a member of our party we had Dave V., a math teacher (and soccer coach), who helped analyze things like the mechanical advantage of pulleys and the reduction ratios of gears in Leonardo's machines.

For dinner the restaurant at the Hotel Gina seemed to be the only game in town. The dining room was noisy, a bit stuffy (until we opened some windows) and packed with an assortment of people grossly out of balance for gender: perhaps 70 men and almost no women other than the eleven in our group. (After speculating that one all-male table held the members of a soccer team, we learned that it was a highway construction crew filling this normally quiet hotel to capacity.) Here the best course was the pasta, a fresh ricotta and spinach ravioli. After the carne course (choice of chicken or red meat, as with many of the fixed-menu meals we were served) the jolly, rotund chef came to our table to ask how we were enjoying the food. For dessert we were treated to tiramisu.

After dinner I went out for a walk along the main road to see what Vinci had to offer. It was Monday night, so I was surprised to see a street fair in progress. The street we had ridden a few hours before was now closed to traffic and filled with a stage and several booths dispensing candy and various foods, toys and crafts. On the stage a four-member band of late-middle-aged men with electric guitars launched into a chord progression that I recognized even before the singer commenced the lyrics, in poorly enunciated English, to "Georgia on my Mind." I hurried out of earshot and inspected the dismal offering of sugary treats and toys of violence to inspire the children. Nothing worth lingering for. I walked back the way I had come, rounding the corner toward the hotel quickly, but not before I realized that the band was now engaged in a rendition of "(I did it) My Way."

The ride from Vinci toward Florence involved a climb of less than a thousand feet over Monte Albano. Nevertheless, concerned that a rigorous attack on the hill might inflame one or both of my knees, I set a leisurely pace and wound up riding with Suzi V., while her husband, Dave, rode ahead. Overcast skies kept the ride comfortable. As we left Vinci, throughout the time we snaked up the side of Monte Albano among sloping vineyards, we were met repeatedly by the loud roar and sudden whoosh of series of vintage motorcycles — including BMWs and single-cylinder Nortons and Moto Guzzis, some with sidecars — evidently participating in a road rally. This, the scenery, and various cycling and travel experiences provided topics of conversation and the climb was over before we knew it. At the summit we met up with Dave, and Claudia rode up behind us. They all put on windbreakers, because the air was still chilly. My approach, however, was to pull out my ocarina and play a quick verse of "Overture to the Sun," signalling that now was the time to clear the clouds for our six-kilometer glide downhill to Carmignano for a morning rendezvous.

At Carmignano we had a round of cappuccinos and pastry and relaxed for some time at the cafe's outdoor patio as the sun emerged from the clouds. Eventually I strolled a few blocks to pick up a wrapped panini of proscuitto and mozzarella, along with a ripe peach. The next stretch of road continued southeastward along a rolling ridge, mostly downhill, toward our designated lunch spot, San Donino, on the outskirts of Florence. I recall passing a quiet village signed as San Donino, but the chalk arrows did not indicate a stop, and I felt disappointed as the route fed into a heavily trafficked boulevard in an area of unadorned modern concrete structures before terminating at a sidewalk cafe. This was clearly just a Florentine suburb named "San Donino," rather than the original village. True, the boulevard was shaded by plane trees, recalling certain French cities, but the noise was an annoying contrast to the quiet countryside of the previous two days. The rest of the group rolled in, and we ate our lunches and tried to converse as the constant roar of automobiles and trucks and the buzzing of motorscooters prepared us for the entry into Florence.

After lunch, as we had been advised, we set off as a group, under escort, for the five mile ride to our hotel at the heart of Florence. To the credit of the tour company, the route kept us out of city traffic as much as possible. At the first opportunity we left the crowded boulevard and entered a broad, shady park where the path took us along the edge of the Arno (heading eastward — upstream, I now conclude, although it was not possible to discern any direction to the current). For at least half of the mile-long park, however, the paved space was occupied by the booths of a public market and throngs of people. I found it rather entertaining steering through the flux of shoppers — on foot and aboard bicycles (the latter generally passing our cautiously proceeding train) — all browsing through generally non-perishable and non-tourist items: shirts and denim jeans, silk scarves and lingerie, shoes and handbags. At the end of the park our group was disgorged into a narrow one-way (senso unico!) through road (a rarity in the core of any old city) where we advanced the last dozen blocks on the right bank of the Arno amid a cascade of buzzing scooters, which were moving, incidentally, against the current — some sort of urban moto-salmon in a frenzy to mate. Just before reaching our destination we faced an unregulated contest with cross-traffic at a couple bridges and a final surge of pedestrians at the Ponte Vecchio, the medieval bridge easily recognized by the shops, two storeys high, that cling to both sides.

At the Hotel Balestri we stored our bikes in the garage, got our room keys and were advised by the guides to quench our thirst with a drink in the hotel bar while they unloaded luggage from the van. A Vivaldi concerto was barely audible over the intercom. Within a few minutes I was tuning out the buzz of irrelevant conversation around me and beginning to relax and sip the lager I had ordered (although it was no real treat). Suddenly, as if a school bell sounded, everyone around me guzzled their glasses of water and headed off to their rooms. It was not the last time that I would be left alone holding a half-finished drink. Soon my own urge to see the sights of Florence overpowered my interest in the beer, so I abandoned it and carried my bags up one floor to my room. I changed into my walking clothes and got my bearings on the map before setting out on my own.

The bustle of the city affected my pace. I made my way quickly back along the Arno toward the Ponte Vecchio and hurried past the Palazzo degli Uffizi, where lines of tourists awaiting to the gallery to see the paintings were beset by sizeable numbers of vendors selling posters as well as portrait artists willing to render you in pastels. I quickly viewed a couple monstrous statues near the Palazzo Vecchio (including a replica of Michelangelo's David, which has suffered the weather in place of the original for well over a century), then accelerated my pace even more across the broad expanse of the Piazza della Signoria. Shortly I looked up from an unfortunately narrow band of open space to see what I had come for: the magnificent Duomo, Santa Maria del Fiore, its tri-colored bands of marble, white, green and red, brilliant in the bright afternoon sunlight.

Large numbers of other tourists shared my purpose, forming long lines for admission to the cathedral at two different doors. I strategized by going first to the Baptistery, which had shorter lines, one of the city's oldest buildings, probably dating to the 6th or 7th century. The gold-background mosaics in the domed ceiling offer a well preserved 13th century vision of the Last Judgment and various Old Testament themes. By the time I emerged from the Baptistery one of the lines at the Duomo had diminished considerably, so I queued up. It was only while waiting that I realized this was the line for the climb to the top of the dome, rather than admission to the cathedral. Still, it would be worthwhile: the Blue Guide listed the climb as "highly recommended" and its 463 steps "not specially arduous." Indeed, when I eventually passed through the door, paid my admission and began the ascent, I found the pitch of the steps much more gentle than those of my apartment at home and I climbed steadily without tiring. At the same time, the person ahead of me and the person behind continued at an equally quick pace, so there was no opportunity to rest. After an initial series of flights angling back and forth at unpredictable times, the climb involved two distinct, tight spiral staircases, the stone steps barely large enough to plant a foot, coiling tightly around a stone shaft that I employed as a handhold. Each of these continued for at least 60 dizzying steps, scrambling your orientation and severely testing everyone's potential for claustrophobia. Halfway up, the passage opened onto an interior balcony at the base of the dome, allowing a half orbit of its circumference for a close inspection of the ceiling frescoes (depicting the gruesome torture of sinners on the day of judgment) or a dizzying look down to the cathedral floor and side chapels. In the climb from that point the steps clearly curved within the tight space between the inner and outer shells of the dome. Here and there a small window in the dome provided a view directed on a particular sector of the city. A problem at this stage was that people ascending and descending shared one stairway that was just wide enough for one person. At times when I encountered a long procession of people descending I maneuvered out of their way, into a sort of pedestrian "turnout" provided where stairways meet horizontal passages. As one might predict from the topology of one dome nested within another, the last part of the climb involves walking along steps carved into the top of the inner dome, then climbing a ladder to pass through the outer dome and emerge onto a platform at the base of the large "lantern." I found it exhilarating to walk around the circumference, surveying all of Florence, basking in the warm sunlight and feeling brief gusts of wind, even looking down, incredibly on the cathedral's matching campanile ("Giotto's tower").