A ride at night time from Ferrara to the sea, along the Po River: the story and the pictures of the Night Ride.
I can’t do this. I don’t understand why I clicked “join”, on Facebook. I mean, I always do, only to end up not going anywhere. A concert in Verona, a show in Milan. I join all events. Yet, I don’t do anything in the end. I haven’t got the time for it, I don’t feel like it, I am tired in the evenings, I work all day and at night, too. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do this. It’s Saturday night, I persuaded my friends into this madness instead of just lying on the beach while drinking a Tennent’s. What on earth was going through my mind? I just can’t say no to my friends. I can’t and it’s now time to leave. And all these people riding, it’s almost distressing, we look like an army. They’re all laughing here. 100 km’s is pure madness! I’ll be arriving tomorrow morning. I can’t do this, I really can’t. I will fall asleep along the dike, like, I close my eyes as I get left behind ( because I am sure I will get left behind), the bike starts leaning, then I take the downhill, the one in Pescara, right after Sabbioni. I can’t do this, can I. Piazza Aristotea filled with bikes on the grass at midnight. People laughing, some youngsters looking at us, I’m wearing my Ceramiche Aristotea shirt and they’re looking at me, probably making fun of me (Forgive them, Father). We are about to leave, and I won’t be able to do this. We fix our numbers to our bikes, put our helmet on, check the lights. I should’ve brought a sweater, it’ll be cold and there’ll be dew. I may not be able to do this. Some people are riding on Graziellas, they laugh. Is there anything to drink, at least? Come on, we’re about to start. I know you’re laughing, I swear I cannot do this. I’ve never gone biking with 193 more people. We get to the Mura, ride along Corso Ercole d’Este (onto the pavement, to avoid pebbles, first-kilometer wit!). We go through a red light on the zebra crossing from Parco Urbano. Drivers are annoyed: how reckless of 193 people on their bikes at night! You’re clearly feeling a sense of failure from the very beginning and you can’t let go of it, not even near Francolino, the Bowling Estense sign, the temptation to deviate, give all up, and go play ping pong. In fact, I was very good at it as a child, I would even play it with a broken finger. We say goodbye to the people in the bar, they greet back. Are you ready? The uphill climb on the dike, a now smaller group, the silence of the Po, it’s there but you can’t see it, I will never see it, in fact. It’s all dark, lots of Mosquitos, I should’ve put some repellent on, mum was right! It’s Saturday night, you know. I am riding in the dark and I even had to admit my mum was right, for God’s sake.
Sorry, I can’t do this, it’s too long, I am tired already. Ro Ferrarese, the bridge to Polesella, the Mulino, the refreshment stop. Just fruit, I’d eat a piada, instead. I have my first coffee, kindly offered to me. Time to leave again. We talk to each other in the dark. Why are you, over there, talking? You’ll lose your breath. I know you can see the stars, when will I experience something like this again?. Come on, too long. I cannot do this, I didn’t train enough. I meant to go biking some months ago but I would never do it eventually. I couldn’t. Ok, I will never arrive, I’ll just go back. Berra. Second refreshment stop: some bread and Nutella, congratulations to the guys at the stop; “the best stop in my life”, seen from a distance, like a haven in the desert. Light in place of water, photographers in place of palms. Sandpits beside the dike looking like nuclear power plants. Bell towers in the distance looking like satellites. The rest is all dark. The river water, wide, huge and silent, looking a bit less dark. The trees by the floodplain, the rows of poplars standing out in front of us, will we end up there?, the curvy riverbank, the flashing red rear lights of the other cyclists, over there, so far away, we will never be able to reach them. Let’s give up, shall we? How can we give up here, on our own, in the dark, all. We must keep riding. You can’t see anything. There’s somebody riding on a GoPro. The guys from Due Gobbi closed the restaurant at one thirty and caught up with us. There are some lights in the distance, still far away, and I wonder what town that is. I can’t do it. It’s like the sky upside down. The Bassa at night, though, apart from mosquitos, does look beautiful, I must say, but the sea is too far. I’m starting to sweat after riding all this way. I will never be able to make it. We’re all far from each other, somebody will get lost. I can’t make it, it’s too hard, don’t you see we are not there yet? It’s still dark, you can only hear some birds singing, they’re not asleep. Neither are we. Ariano, Mesola, we ride down the dike, another coffee. The Castle of Mesola is like a star gate. It’s starting to dawn, at last. We should’ve left earlier, I knew it, we wasted too much time. We’ll be arriving when the sun is out, you’ll see. Never mind, I can’t make it. How long before we’re there? Where are we? Please, give me something to drink, will you? I can’t take this anymore. It’ dawning . We ride past Bosco Mesola, it’s deserted, it’s 5 in the morning. Coop’s , roundabouts, they’re clear and spectrally lit. It looks like a film. I can’t really make it. We ride through the countryside, alongside houses with hay bales and hens outside. Inside is the silence of people resting. Outside, the silence of those who are toiling. We aren’t even speaking anymore. Look, the sun is coming out, we should take a picture. I can barely pull my mobile out. It will try and remember it. Volano is next. Lido di Volano. The “10 km’s left” sign, like a blade on our hopes. Enough. Let’s not go any farther. Nazioni. The water tower of Nazioni. Pomposa. Scacchi. “Where’s the camp site?” we ask a passer-by who is holding fresh morning newspapers, glimmers of a civilization that I yearn for, just as much as I long for a warm and soft bed. I can’t take it anymore, for real, I give up.
But then I arrive. There is the sea, at last, and it’s real. And it’s beautiful to be able to make it sometimes, I admit it.