Cycling > Articles > Cycling in Tuscany

It was perfect cycling weather. The sky was a sharp, Prussian blue, marbled with white. Though it was hot in the direct sun, there was a chill in the air, filled with the vapour of fermenting wine. Grapes had shrivelled on the vines and leaves were turning amber. It smelled of autumn.

The closing - and opening - weeks of a long summer are the best time to cycle through Tuscany, not just to avoid the searing sun and tourist throng, but for the landscapes. In high summer, the scenery is harsh and drained of colour; only clusters of dark cypresses break up the parchment hills. Spring and autumn days are mellower, the light softer, the palette more varied. Wild cyclamen and meadow flowers daub the land and scent the air in April and May; rows of golden vines, silvery sage olive groves and fields of chocolate clodded earth tint the vistas of October.

Freewheeling through such scenery, with the smell of pine intermingling with woodsmoke in the breeze, one feels an irrepressible high. Unfortunately the highs last as long as it takes to get to the bottom of the hill - minutes. In a reflective moment during a three-hour upward incline, I decided that cycling in Tuscany is a metaphor for life - a long struggle to achieve a brief moment of unadulterated joy, and before one knows it one’s back again, struggling.

Our trip started in Florence. Pitifully unprepared, we had no wheels and no maps, only an impulse to head into the countryside. We asked around as to where we could hire bicycles, and were eventually guided to a moped hire shop, which had a small stash of pedal bikes.

Lesson No 1: on an independent cycling trip, check that your maps are the same as your friends’. It may sound obvious, and I thought we were doing just that as we each picked up a tourist map entitled ‘Florence and its Area’. We agreed to follow the yellow roads (country lanes) and to regroup at towns and confusing junctions.

It was therefore with surprise that, as I waited on our first morning at Impruneta, at the junction for Le Quattro Strade, I saw my Canadian friend Lori whizz past and pump on up the hill (marked in red on the map) towards Strada in Chianti. What now? It would be miles before I could catch up with her. A few minutes later, a little white Fiat drew up. I accosted the driver and, in my best pidgin-Italian, sent him after my friend. Soon he was back, with Lori in pursuit.

"What happened?" she asked accusingly.

"You went the wrong way."

"I did not. Look!"

She got out a small-scale Michelin map that I had never seen before and pointed to the road leading to Strada. It was yellow. She had followed signs to ‘Strada’, assuming it was the same place as Le Quattro Strade, which didn't appear on her map.

Lesson No 2: don't assume anything, especially when it comes to road signs, town names, or contours. These last were not featured on ‘Florence and its Area’. We would ask and gesticulate about gradients at each town, but their residents’ idea of an incline bore little relation to ours. This came to light towards the end of a tough first day, at our planned stopover, Panzano, which loomed at the top of a particularly long hill.

We patted ourselves on the back and headed for Le Barone, a country villa which we had not bothered to book since it was late in the season.

Lesson No 3: bother to book - it's always the season in Tuscany. The proprietor was the model of contrition as he directed us on to Castellina in Chianti.

"Don’ wo-rry," he said. "It will take you half an hour, mostly like this..."

He angled his hand downwards. How he could be so inaccurate we will never know, but the road to Castellina consisted of less than a mile downhill followed by five miles of solid uphill, much of which I had to walk.

Next morning we arose, stiff-limbed but more in tune with our surroundings and our personal limits. After a gargantuan breakfast, the eight-mile ride to Quercegrossa was a breeze, snaking downhill through sun-dappled vineyards and pine forests. We arrived in Siena by lunchtime and picnicked overlooking the basilica of San Domenico.

The aroma of fresh baking and car fumes made a heady mix as we wove our way out of the city next morning. Shafts of sunlight bleached out the tops of buildings, while their bases remained in dark shadow. An aubergine haze hung over the valley as we freewheeled towards the fortified hill town of Monteriggioni. The undulating landscape gradually levelled out, and we passed through agricultural country until the final ascent for San Gimignano, heralded by its mini-Manhattan skyline of medieval tower blocks.

Although the final leg to Florence looked as if it would be long one, we ate up the miles. An exhilarating and bumpy ride down to Certaldo was followed by a steady ascent to San Casciano and a thrilling downhill shortcut, marred only by the screech of steel on steel from my worn-out brakes (Lesson No 4: take spare brake blocks). Reluctantly, we joined the busy, fume-filled S2 back to Florence, arriving in good time for our final destination, Vivoli, to reward ourselves with a tub of world-famous ice cream.

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