The family that cycles together...
It may have had highs and lows, but a riding holiday in Umbria was truly bonding,
Among the slow-burn rages of the pandemic has been the loss of exploration. Mine is not a family that is content with sitting on a sofa and watching nature documentaries. We are a quartet of perma-toddlers; we need to touch, to taste, to forge ahead ourselves. Before lockdown I don’t think my husband, daughter (eight), son (seven) and I had ever spent more than two consecutive weekend daylight hours in our home.
But then, six weeks into the isolation, my son had an idea: we should go forth, on wheels. To collective enthusiasm, he evoked inspiration for this Government-approved jailbreak from one of my worst parenting moments.
It was almost exactly a year earlier, over May half-term. We were on a country lane that bisected a valley halfway between Spello and Assisi in Umbria, the hilly green heart of Italy to the east of Tuscany. All four of us were on our bikes and were soaking wet. It was time, my daughter bellowed from the sodden seat of her bicycle – using a booming voice to be heard over the claps of thunder, through tears and rain – to call for help. Sitting in an open field, she decided, made us easy targets for lightning.
Solid cyclists, my daughter and son had been at odds over whether they thought pedalling through the hills of Umbria would represent a good time. The latter and I thought it would be a breeze; my daughter and husband thought we were mad.
Still, I’d booked it, so there we were, in an agitated state, on our first day’s outing: a loop to Spello, 12 miles through fields. Getting there was a doddle. After eight minutes of bickering while circling the hotel driveway on our trailer bicycles, we fell into a happy routine, with me route reading in front, the children and husband serving as landmark scouts behind. In Spello we found a splendid trattoria in the sun on a central square, and we congratulated ourselves on proving our compatibility. We poked our heads into a few medieval churches, marvelling at Pinturicchio’s gem-coloured fresco cycles in the Santa Maria Maggiore. We ate gelato, during which the worries of home life vanished, and then it was time to cycle back.
But just as we set off, the rain, which had been forecast on my weather app, arrived in force. I thought I’d be clever and reverse our route rather than go the longer way home. Instead, I got us lost and our map became waterlogged to the point of disintegration. So, on our maiden voyage, I was forced to call the (incredibly kind) owners of the local cycling company to rescue us. It was humiliating; the very opposite to the proof of our intrepidity that I’d imagined when I booked the trip.
Yet we were saved and we made it back to the hotel, warmed up and ate some excellent house-made pasta. As we sat watching The Karate Kid, I was glad that I had listened to my daughter and given up. We probably don’t do that enough, as parents: admit defeat. But as the sun emerged over the week, life shifted into perspective. It turned out that the four of us did work well as a team.
Over the following five days, we covered more than 120 miles, eating and drinking like kings and queens between just-challenging-enough rides. Cycling really is the best way to see Italy. I’ve had scores of trips to all parts of this peninsula over the past 25 years and this was the first time I felt as though I could eat as much as I wanted, thanks to all of the exercise.
Each morning we packed our bags, which were then delivered by taxi to a series of charming rural and urban properties – all relatively small with the sort of welcome and leisurely pace that can only be found in Italy. A standout was Country House Casco dell’Acqua, a beautiful old farm on the banks of the river Clitunno, in a flat expanse of countryside outside Foligno.
Our week on the road took us first to the medieval town of Assisi. There we mingled with religious pilgrims as we wandered its alleys and enjoyed lunch outdoors before visiting the basilica of St Francis, which looms on the edge of the town, and is a treasure trove of frescoes by Giotto, Cimabue and Lorenzetti. The children were more captivated by the dramatic entreaties of Italian pilgrims for blessings from visiting priests than they were by the “Scenes from the life of St Francis”. Assisi is unmissable, but it is also atypical.
We also explored the strategic agricultural centre of Torgiano with its fascinating Lungarotti wine museum, housed in a 17th-century townhouse with equipment dating back to Etruscan times. In the romantic town of Bevagna, with its medieval square, we spent hours sitting in the sunshine.
Our last ride brought us to Spoleto where the 250ft-long aqueduct Ponte delle Torri, spanning a spectacular valley, presented the perfect hilltop spot from which to marvel over the journey. “This is a great way to travel: you spend the morning getting your exercise and then you have the whole afternoon to spend with your friends,” my younger child observed. I pointed out that his best friends were at that very moment spending their half-terms in northern France and Wiltshire. “No! I meant you – my family. That’s friends, too.”
Perhaps it was Italy and its series of spectacular restaurants. Perhaps it was the group challenge of cycling to hilltop towns. Or perhaps my son was right, and it was just the time with “friends”, but we returned home a closer unit. And that, I suppose, is why cycling became our lockdown balm, too.
We ate gelato, during which the worries of home life vanished, and then we cycled back