Pursuing the strenuous life in Italy

Stone steps worn smooth by ten centuries of humanity lead to a warped wooden door. Behind it, a window in the simple, candle-lit room shows that the exterior walls of this ancient building are nearly two feet thick. Beyond the window sits the stone, mountaintop village of Santo Stefano di Sessanio. We’re four days into our ride across the Italian peninsula. The next morning, our village is engulfed in angry, weeping clouds. I watch them through the window as I linger in the embrace of a hot, modern shower.

Several hours later, soaked to the bone, I park my bike against a cafe wall and penguin-walk toward relief inside. Alison Testroete, our trip leader, has blue lips and stands at the bar with shoulders hunched nearly to her ears. She assists in my cappuccino, hot tea, and panini order. I waddle to the restroom and partially thaw my pruney digits with several rounds of hot air from…