The top of the city is a sheer delight for an amateur history buff like me. The original Appian Way is clear and obviously marked in the main piazza of the town, running right between the venerable duomo and an excellent bar where the espresso will do wonders for an exhausted bike tourist.

The walls of the duomo are made of building materials filched from other, far older structures. So you see all kinds of tiles with latin inscriptions, chunks of marble, bits of bas-relief and artwork. These 3-dimensional collages are actually fairly common all over Italy, and they’re one of my favorite things to look at.

But when you reach the Piazza dei Paladini and the Temple of Jove in Anxur, you’re in for a sight. The fortress town of Terracina is dwarfed by the mountainous cliffs, the rolling countryside far below, and the shimmering Mediterranean rippling off into the distance.

Most of all, you see the via Appia clearly marked in both directions. The original road has been preserved as a park going out of Rome, and when this gives way to Strada Statale 7 (SS7) it still runs through the Pontine Marshes in a straight line, flanked by umbrella pines. From Jove’s lofty perch you have a dark green line showing you the way.

In fact, the umbrella pines are almost always a reliable marker. Throughout my trip, whenever I was unsure of the way, I would get somewhere high up and look for the pines. Even in the most dry and dusty sections of Puglia and Basilicata, it wasn’t that unusual to pass a lonely umbrella pine marking the remnants of Rome’s most famous road.

As you leave Terracina heading south, you’ll see the famous cut through the rock that eliminated the need to take the steep slope over the mountain and saved hasty Romans an entire day of travel.

The road leaving Terracina takes you along some of my favorite parts of the journey. As you weave up the switchbacks towards Fundi and Itri, you’ll come across some well-preserved ruins of the Appian Way.

On my last tour a farmer was selling olives from a wooden cart on the side of the road. I munched on these as I walked along the old via Appia, and wondered where I would find myself next.

I don’t ride my bike because I feel this way. I think I feel this way because I ride my bike.

My sweetie and I just spent a few days riding through the mists of the California Coast. Lots of great scenery and wildlife and some wonderful food, hikes, and all the other good things you’d expect on a bike tour.

But we also spent a lot of time picking up trash. There are so many people, it seems, who “enjoy nature” by driving to a beautiful spot, feasting and drinking, and then getting back into their cars to go home. Nothing wrong with the first two, but the last is inexcusable. Especially where there’s a trash can just a few yards away.

In the end, Johana and I had to set limits on how much trash we could clean up. We set up a sort of triage, focusing on plastic and other dangerous litter, and leaving the worst messes that were beyond hope.

It seems like the worst perpetrators drink Budweiser Lite.

Maybe if you rode your bike to the party, really earned your way there with sweat and possibly blood, you’d appreciate the remoteness and not always trash the place.

The two reasons given for this are budget cuts and problems with transients. I won’t argue either of these points now, even though I have a lot to say about them.

But there’s something wrong with the attitude that many California state parks employees have towards bike tourists. In my travels this week, it seems that every time I pull into a state beach on my bike, the people in the kiosk roll their eyes and act as if I’m a drug-addicted, homeless serial killer. Or at least a nuisance.

This really hurts because I’m a member of the California State Parks Association, I volunteer for eco-restoration projects in the parks, and I’m constantly telling everyone how much fun it is to tour the California coast by bicycle and camp out in the state parks.

Worse still, a lot of the bike tourists I meet are from other countries, and this might be their overriding impression of the United States, and of California in particular. What are we telling them about ourselves?

It used to be fine to arrive at your campsite in the early afternoon and avoid the heavy coastal winds. You could unload your bike, set up your tent, and then hit the beaches, the town, or the hiking trails.

Now most places won’t let you set up until 4 or 5 in the afternoon. It’s like you can only eat and sleep, but you’re not allowed to enjoy the park itself. And that’s not all.

When I registered at a certain campground, the ranger took it upon himself to remind me that I can only stay for one night, there’s no alcohol allowed, and check-out time is 9 a.m. As I set up my tent he came by to double check that I paid the fee, and reminded me again of all the rules and policies.

As I left Pismo Beach, the woman in the kiosk demanded to see my receipt, asked me the number of the campsite I had stayed in, and wanted the names of the other people who had been there.

This suspicious attitude might be reinforced by the bad behavior of a few bikers, and possibly one or two real problems. But I suspect it’s an attitude that people have overall towards bikers.

A lot of people still think that if you choose not to travel by car it means you can’t afford to and that this automatically makes you a moocher, or worse.

The truth is, I’ve spent a lot of time picking up beer cans and other trash left behind by the “normal” people. I’ve seen car campers exhibit some of the worst behavior you can imagine, while us bikers quietly went about our business.

A few days ago I even watched an angry woman yell at the ranger and demand a refund because it was raining.

I’ve been having a great time this week, with some amazing experiences. But when I sit down to write, this anti-bike bummer is what comes to the front of my mind. Here are a few things I wish the state parks employees understood about bike travelers:

• We’re generally quieter, cleaner, and leave our campgrounds in better condition than the typical visitor
• We’re environmentally aware, and chances are we give a lot of our time and money to the park system, either directly or indirectly
• We help the economy by spending our travel budget at local stores, restaurants, bike shops and other businesses
• A lot of us are bloggers, reporting our experiences to the world

I’m getting ready for a new bike tour next week, roughly following El Cammino Real, the Royal Highway, which is (or was) California’s Appian Way. But when I did my research, I learned something interesting that maybe should have been obvious.

There never was a single road.

Max Kurillo and Erline Tuttle wrote a book about this route, the efforts of historians to preserve it, and the bells that mark the way. They also made an important point that El Cammino Real is more of a corridor than an actual road.

There’s a general swathe along the California coast where people traveled consistently along footpaths, trails, riverbeds, and (much much later) primitive roads.  It changed its course like a river in a broad valley, and one voyager’s footprints could easily be overgrown or swept away at high tide.  The route was never marked except by the convenience of each individual traveler.

I would add that the most accurate reconstruction we know of today essentially follows the 101 Freeway, and choosing this as your bike route would just give you a miserable bike tour without a chance to experience the real California.

Ditto for via Appia, as I quickly learned. In some places the route is better known (if only because the ancient Romans were more anal than the colonial Spaniards) but it’s not always the best way to travel. The key, even thousands of years ago, was to follow the general area.

In Rome, I did as the Romans do. I was true to the Appian Way most of the time, visited all the ancient cities and ruins and Roman temples. But I also detoured when it was a choice between a park and a freeway. I stayed at agriturismi, which are more like the lodging a traveler would have found along the via Appia in ancient Roman times. I talked to people, took hikes, ate at mom-and-pop restaurants and drank with the locals at their favorite bars.

Tracing the Royal Highway next week, I’ll stay in the corridor, but I won’t worry too much about whether or not I’m bicycling over Portola’s footprints. I’ll visit the missions, taste a lot of wine, swim and camp at many beaches, talk to farmers and ranchers, and prove that what’s just off the 101 is far more interesting than what used to be on it.

My original intent was to tour the missions. But after I started reading a few books about the missions and their history, I saw that there are far more interesting things to see and do on a bike tour. I’m looking forward to this, and I hope I’ll have something worthwhile to tell.

I quickly learned where to find him. He would inevitably be sitting at an outdoor table at a nearby cafe, sipping a pint from a big glass mug. He’d grin at you from underneath the bill of his Oakland A’s baseball cap and say, “I decided to just sit down and have myself a beer.”

This man fought in the Second World War. He worked grain elevators, assembly lines, and forklifts. I can’t ever really know what was going on in his head, but I would imagine that sitting casually, drinking a beer outside the Louvre, the Colosseum, the Ponte Vecchio or the Acropolis must have really felt like he’d finally arrived, after a long life of struggle.

Or maybe there was even more to it than that.

A few years back there was a guy on YouTube who traveled all over the world and filmed himself dancing in front of famous landmarks and in exotic settings. That was his way of sealing the experience, saying “I’m here.” And when you thing about it, we have something like that when we travel.

Dean Karnazes, who once ran 50 miles in 50 days, hints at this in his book. He sees a beautiful vista in Hawaii, Costa Rica, or wherever and he just has to run to feel one with the place, to grok it.

We take the picture, buy the souvenir, but usually there’s something deeper and more personal, even if it’s simple. I go to a new place and try the local coffee and dessert, such as it is. One of my friends lights up a small pipe with a special green herb burning inside. Doug sits down and has a beer.

This is another benefit of biking that you don’t usually hear about. It’s a ritual that gives you an intimate connection with the places you ride. In the short time I’ve lived in LA, I’ve learned my way around better than many people who have been here all their lives.

Now you have a chance to experience Italy in a way that most tourists never get to do, not even Doug. I’m retracing the Appian Way next spring, and I’m looking for companions. This is a tour of rural, heartland Italy, and you’ll get to know her in your heart, your legs and your knees.

Crossing the land on your own power (as very few people have done since the centurions), you’ll feel every gust of air and every curve and contour of the road. You’ll eat the food that was grown, raised, or caught on Italian soil. Make friends with the locals who can sometimes trace their ancestry to pre-Roman times.

Leave a comment if you want to come along, or shoot me an email: jacob {at} bicyclefreedom.com. (You know where to put the @ symbol).

They say when your blood sugar is low, the first thing to suffer is your judgment.

Anyway, I wound up arriving in Aquilonia in the dark, cold and exhausted and a little bit disoriented after a wet day fighting the wind. But Aquilonia turned out to be possibly the most hospitable town in the world. That’s another story, but here’s the point I’m getting at.

There’s a shield in the Pro Loca headquarters of Aquilonia that shows a warrior holding his hand in the fire and the words “Aut vincit aut morem.” Victory or death.

The story is that Aquilonia was Samnite territory, and the site of the Samnites’ last stand against the Romans. They put their hands in the fire and made the oath to defeat the Romans or die in battle. They were killed almost to a man, but today their descendants live on in fierce defiance.

“We are not Italians,” some of the locals told me. “We are Samnites.”

“Do or die” can sometimes turn out to be both, it seems. Like in our case, for example.

My 2009 trip through Italy will be in the fall, not the usual springtime bike tour. But I’d like to tour the Via Appia by bike in the spring of 2009, as originally planned, if you can help to make it happen.

If I can get 10 people to agree on a time to go, I can get us group discounts on plane tickets and a lot of our food and lodging. I’ll help you get your bike in the plane, or buy one in Italy, as I plan to do.

You may have some economic reasons not to do this trip just now, but here’s something to consider.

First, unless you’re really losing your home or applying for food stamps, a lot of the doom and gloom is self-fulfilling. This is going to be an inspiring journey that will change your life forever. You’ll come back with a sense of renewal, the fire back in your eyes, and the strength and spirit to do whatever it takes to prosper in your business or your career.

This is a vacation, but it’s also an investment. It’s worth at least as much as a personal trainer or a life coach. It will cost much less, and give you bragging rights to boot.

Do whatever it takes to make this happen. It will be a victory over the pessimism that’s ruining our economy, a conquest of the fears and self-doubts that are holding you back from living the life you want. If this kind of travel is part of your dreams as much as it’s a part of mine, you have to do it or a small part of your spirit will die inside.

Victory or death. You don’t have to be a Samnite to know what’s at stake here. Ten of us are going to have a blast! I hope you’re part of the team. Send an email to jacob “at” bicyclefreedom.com to get more info about this journey.

But if you find yourself indoors this weekend, you’ve absolutley got to check out Darren Alff’s historic event, “Bicycle Travel as a Modern Lifestyle Choice.” Basically he’s gathered a group of big names and brands in the biking world, and this weekend, November 22nd and 23rd, they’re going to offer up their expertise through videos, interviews, and Live Q and A sessions. Here’s an impressive short list of some of the people and organizations he’s brought together:

• Joe Kurmaskie (athor of The Metal Cowboy)
• BikeCommuters.com
• Bike Friday
• CycleAware
• MomentumMagazine
• CrazyGuyOnABike.com
• The Adventure Cycling Association
• WarmShowers.org

This is a really cool idea, and as far as I know, nobody has ever done anything like it before. If you want to know anything about bike touring, bike commuting, or just generally just building a lifestyle around biking, you’ll probably get some good advice and ideas here.  Go to www.bicycletouringpro.com to get the schedule.

By the way, I haven’t been posting much lately because I’ve been working on the survey and biking tips, and organizing an Italy tour for a group of teachers next summer. If you live near Los Angeles and you want to add your input for a new biking group that’s starting soon, take the 5-minute survey.

I can only hope that when I’m 74 I’ll be able to ride from the UK to Greece, as Ian was doing when the fateful hit-and-run did him in. RIP, Ian.

For the rest of us, drive carefully. Ride free.

I woke up to a cold fog, and couldn’t wait to get back on my bike and start moving. I was in the Pontine Marshes, and the Romans were in a hurry to get through, too, when they built the via Appia.

Here the Appian Way shoots forward in a perfectly straight line.  the Romans probably could have established a winding route along sections of dry ground, but instead they pounded strong pilings into the water to support the road where they wanted it to go.

Two straight lines of Umbrella pines flank the road on either side, and I wonder if the Romans originally planted pines as shade for their travelers. Throughout my trip, these trees always seemed abundant along the roadside, and whenever I was unsure of the way I could go up on a hill and look for the clear green lines cutting across the land.

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The Pontine marshes are drained now, and mostly used for agriculture. A drainage ditch runs along the road just beyond the trees.

It would have been easy to die here. Trucks emerged from the early morning fog, and there was no room for them to pass, and no space to get out of the way. The trees and bushes grow up flush against the roadway in most places. Lots of flowers and other monuments to the fallen dot the roadway.

I could have taken a parallel route about 10 miles south, through a national park. I recommend this to anyone else. But I’m a purist, and I wanted to follow the Via Appia as faithfully as possible.

Luckily, some of the most considerate drivers I’ve seen in my life drove the Appian Way. They would slow down and follow me, sometimes for as long as 15 minutes, until it was safe to pull over and let them go by. People are generally in less of a hurry in Italy, even on the Romans’ most important highway.

Beyond the thin ditch of water and the umbrella pines, endless pastures, crop fields, stone walls, vineyards and olive groves roll out among the occasional milestone or chunk of marble. It’s as if nothing has changed over the centuries The cars are an anachronism, as if some mischievous god dumped a layer of asphalt over the whole thing and let the drivers in as a great circus to entertain the masses.

Long before you get to Terracina, you see the Temple of Jupiter Anxur at the top of Mount Sant’Angelo.

I was destined to get to know Jupiter very well (to be continued…)

Now there’s a biker who is riding for the life of animals. When a person gets cancer, they have a lot of options. For animals, sometimes the best they can hope for is to be drugged beyond the reach of pain. But when Ted’s dog came down with cancer, he sought out cures and treatments, and wrote a book for other dog owners.

But now he’s doing something great. He’s riding his bike across the country to raise money to help dogs with cancer. On his website you can learn more about the story, and the scores of fellow dog owners who are grateful for his work. You’ll see some videos of the ride, and you’ll have the chance to donate funds to help dogs who have been stricken with this disease.

Here’s the link: http://www.dogcancerride.com