Past present

That’s spicy, madam. Here we go again. It’s not a problem, I can handle spicy food. This is another skill I got from Grandpa Antonio: whenever I sat down at the table, he would take a pocket knife out of his jacket, cut up ù diavulicchië (a really spicy type of pepper) and season my dish with the least spicy part, while the rest of the capsaicin went on his. It’s a habit that kept him in rude health right up to the age of 92.

That a twenty-seven-year-old boy should be so concerned about me makes me smile, and I take it for what it is, namely a form of attention, rejecting the distinctly Gen Z idea of it being a serious form of sexist discrimination. I look around and realise it all makes perfect sense in this place full of elaborate decorations and ornaments that feels more like a home than a restaurant: while he talks, I notice a wonderful 1970s TV set on a fancy stand with control buttons on the front.

The magic of riding through Basilicata partly consists in being able to indulge in the most contemporary of luxuries: taking time to take everything in and connect with its contradictions. Its uniqueness lies in the boundless space between houses and things; the villages stretch out like the beads of a rosary, with more Our Fathers than Hail Marys, even though it is a land full of Marian cults and female-focused devotions. You don’t invade Basilicata, you pass through it respectfully.

We decide to set off from Potenza in the afternoon. These roads have been my training ground; it is here that I learned to ride, suffer and conserve my energy. I have ridden along these roads countless times and for me they mark the boundaries of the most astonishing place there is. Even if this will be a relatively short ride, we want to enjoy every moment of it and so we certainly are not going to go without a slice of focaccia from the bakery and a coffee at Vaglio bar. We ride along the alleyways and come across an array of stiavucc (dishcloths) hanging between the balconies embroidered with proverbs and recipes: a very short lexicon of the local community. We head towards the small church of Rossano, where there is plenty of fresh water. Acerenza is visible in the background along with dozens of wind turbines making the horizon look like some never-ending Golgotha that stays with us all the way to Oppido Lucano. We would have liked to visit the velodrome, but it is closed for renovations. We have always wondered why there is a facility like this in such a small town, which is full of surprises (the Lucana Film Archives are also housed here: they are one of the most valuable collections of original films, posters, and vintage cameras in Europe). We decide to go and say hello to a beekeeper friend of ours and take a break.

This region is like a video game viewed through the screens of late ’70s modernist-style televisions, just like the one in the trattoria in Grottole. Our next stop is equally picturesque. The wheat fields between Genzano and Irsina have the magical ability to change with the seasons, and at this time of the year the fields are bare so you can see their boundaries and even work out who they belong to. We love these roads that seem made for gravel bikes: paths created by passing farm vehicles and asphalt crumbling under the effects of time. We ride undisturbed through the well-kept hills, and I notice they are the same colour as the taralli I have got in my bag to eat when I feel peckish. As I ride along all the ups and downs, the whirring sound of my wheel responds to the chirping of the cicadas.

I know exactly where we are headed, but few things thrill me as much as the countryside around Monteserico Castle; it’s a land that was reconfigured in the agrarian reform of the 1950s. Here the gradual abandonment of farmhouses has created an almost unique landscape. In summer, everything takes on the same colour as the local manor, a cube floating on the hills dotted with lots of small empty buildings. Were it not for the dust raised by the farming machinery, we would have no chronological reference to go by, but here, nothing on the religious calendar can break the rhythm of the land.

We ride up to the castle to admire the view, peeking into a tiny church dedicated to the Madonna of Genzano, whose doors are always open. I am completely enchanted, perhaps I am the victim of some kind of reverse charm (an archaic form of white magic used to ward off the evil eye). I think this is a story worth writing down so it isn't forgotten.

We set off again, continuing our climb right up to Irsina, whose architecture reminds me of Minas Tirith from The Lord of the Rings. The cathedral houses a treasure that I have not managed to see yet: a statue of Saint Euphemia thought to be the work of Mantegna. Dang it, I always arrive at lunchtime, when the priest is enjoying a nice plate of strascinati or still digesting his meal. Arriving in villages at siesta time is a skill I am very proud of; it happens to me on every single bike trip. Fortunately, the route follows the old state road SS96 that used to connect Tolve to Bari. The Bar Commercio is open. The bar has had the same old counter since 1952 and is still run by the same three siblings (there used to be seven of them); at a rough estimate, the youngest must be seventy years old. While we freshen up and look around, they tell us that, when that road was once the only link to Bari, the bar was always full and stayed open day and night to serve travellers. The place is a piece of history that is still with us, as resilient and melancholic as the expression in Angela’s eyes.

The SS96 is little more than a cycle path winding down through the rural landscape; thank goodness for the fast-flowing bypasses, leaving us free to ride along quiet, deserted roads. The goal is to reach Grottole just as the sky changes colour, so we can admire the church ruins at sunset. This roofless cathedral is the town’s main landmark: three walls and a hole as big as a Cyclops’ eye constantly looking up to the heavens. We linger until the last ray of sunshine, take a shower, and then have dinner. The same old story.

To take on the longest and most challenging stage of our journey, we start the day with a panzerotto at 7:20 a.m., fresh out of the oven. We have over 92 km and 2,200 metres of elevation gain ahead of us. We will be riding on every kind of road surface and get to experience almost all the wonders Basilicata has to offer: hills, ravines, forests, and the Lucanian Dolomites. I recently discovered that the Lucanian region is a huge geological mess, which is exactly why it has such an incredibly diverse landscape. Who knows if this has had some kind of influence on the dialects spoken in the 131 Lucanian municipalities: there are at least 140 of them, with all kinds of different inflections, accents and words. This land is a chorus that changes its tune at every turn.

We admire the view across Val Basento before heading back up to Montagnola di Salandra, the last outpost of civilization: for 40 kilometres we will be completely immersed in a mystical sand-coloured array of ravines. For us it is like a playground we get to enjoy free of charge and, of course, we show it the utmost respect: the clay formations look like camel humps or the wrinkles on an elephant’s skin. It feels like we are on the Moon, even though none of us actually knows what that is like. We are riding along the crossroads of antiquity, roads now used for moving livestock from one grazing ground to another. We take detours along dirt paths to discover where these nameless trails lead and to try and see everything through the eyes of the people who work this land. We can’t resist the temptation to climb on top of the geometrically arranged and neatly stacked hay bales, even though we still have quite a bit of uphill riding ahead of us.

As we ride up and down the hills, Craco suddenly comes into sight and then vanishes again: a ghost town, which is anything but frightening, overlooking a ‘waterless sea’. We reach San Mauro Forte, the village of cowbells that once famously withstood a heavy onslaught by the brigands. We are welcomed by three sprightly men in their seventies; we feel important, perhaps because one of them keeps taking photos of us with his old DSLR camera. While we slowly but agilely walk up the 84 steps of the tower together, they tell us about all the projects they are involved in − enough to put younger city folks to shame. Naturally, we discover that we all know each other somehow, for different reasons. If it is true that there are six degrees of separation in the world, they are drastically reduced to two or at most three here.

Having spent over ten years traveling, exploring and scouting around Basilicata, I have had the chance to get to know a vast array of both familiar and unfamiliar locations I call stoic centres. The next image in this video game about the ‘past present’ is the enchanted forest of Gallipoli Cognato, the natural setting where the Maggio di Accettura, one of the most cherished tree-focused rituals in Basilicata, is held.
The road to Pietrapertosa is still long and includes the most challenging off-road stretch of our journey; my mind wanders as I think about what awaits me when we reach an altitude of 1,000 metres: an ice-cold beer and a plate of peperoni cruschi (which are essentially Lucanian chips) are the only powerful form of doping I am familiar with.

We stop off at this beautiful Saracen stronghold. Even though we know it well, we still manage to get lost in all the narrow streets, where the houses blend into the rock; we keep close together as if some kind of age-old instinct is telling us not to drift too far apart. As we take a break to admire Castelmezzano, a town dating back to Norman times that represents the other side of the Lucanian Dolomites, we recognise the sound of the so-called ‘Flight of the Angel’, a zip-line that lets you fly from one village to the other. To get to Castelmezzano, we have to ride along one of the most enchanting roads I have ever cycled: a provincial road closed to traffic that winds between the cliffs that look like claws grasping up at the clouds. We try to imagine how amazed people must feel when visiting for the first time.

We ride on through the woods and climb even higher; after Sella Lata pass, we glide smoothly through Laurenzana on the SS92 in the Southern Apennines. We are getting closer to home and we know literally every metre of this scenic highway. If we rode it in the opposite direction we would be back at the start in Potenza, but we have come up with an excuse to cycle for one more day: we need to head west towards Calvello to take a look at Volturino and Mount Viggiano. Our destination is Marsico Nuovo in the Upper Agri Valley; then it is all downhill from Piana del Lago and time to enjoy that meal we’ve been thinking about all day.

The following morning we set off knowing we are close to the finish; just 50 kilometres left to ride. This will be the hundredth time we have ridden this route: Pergola, Sasso di Castalda, the beech forests, San Michele spring, and then the long scenic final climb. All that’s left now is the descent into the shady forest of Fossa Cupa and Basento springs, and the roads around Potenza we are so used to ride. To feel a bit like tourists, we ride right across Musmeci Bridge, an experimental infrastructure that is now a landmark of our city. We are home, but our long bike ride has stretched the boundaries of time and left us with a lingering aftertaste of this land, at once bitter and sweet, withdrawn and generous, distant and near. As I turn the pedals, I try to keep pace with it, but I already know it will always have a surprise in store for me.