Mt ETNA! ⛰️ Somehow HARDER The Second Time Around

Day 199. 75km (81451kms. 7yrs)

A single drop pinged intermittently onto metal somewhere in the barn roof. The skies has cleared to a fresh blue sky morning. Carmel the farmer brought me espresso as I packed away the tent.

I had a deadline to meet now. Only the Saturday ferry would allow me to make my preferred Aeolian island circuit so I had two and a bit days to cross 160 hilly Sicilian kilometres. It began easily enough with a couple of gentle climbs and descents. By lunchtime in the village of Regalbuto I was almost half way both in distance and climb.

Emerging from the village to the east Mt Etna was immediately visible as I dropped steeply down the valley. I remembered climbing it 6 years ago – 2000m from sea level to the end of the road; at the time my bravest and toughest challenge by bike. So perhaps I underestimated this afternoon’s partial climb of Etna. After crossing the river at the bottom of the valley the real work of the day began. On already tired legs I climbed steadily, snaking up the brief steeper sections up and along the western side of Mt Etna. Either side of the road the ground was volcanic rubble.

In the village on Bronte, sitting in a doorway scabbing wifi from a friendly bar, a neighbouring resident sitting outside his property brought me a chair and ordered me a coffee. The second gifted espresso of the day! How lovely! And how I needed that extra energy boost, so I tipped the whole sugar packet into the tiny mouthful of coffee.

Bottles filled (there’s tap water in Bronte – perhaps on account of yesterday’s heavy rains) I left town uphill in search of a camp. But I was almost out of energy; I dislike looking for a camp in this condition because I’m inclined to make a poor choice just to be able to stop. But here the road was too steep and lined by walls and padlocked gates. After a couple of kilometres it levelled out and a forest to the east looked to offer some shelter. And here, between large gated properties I found an empty lot which though gated, was easily accessed across a tumbledown wall. In fact a path ran through and out the otherwise. Much of the ground was turned over I suspect by wild boar so rather than discarding the volcanic rocks as I prepared my patch, I gathered them into a pile in case of inquisitive nocturnal visitors.

By now dark I ate my dinner of cheap wine, cheap cheese and fancy bakery bread to the sound of presumably boar skulking about and munching on their dinner at the periphery of the field.

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