Day 53 - July 1st: All Aboard!
Piacenza to Cicognolo: 30.6 miles / 1,445 total
After finishing early in Piacenza yesterday—even with the haircut, food, and water stops—there was time to recover and explore the quiet city streets with Christina. It felt like our own town. Maybe it’s just not on the main tourist map. We had dinner at Antonietta, a cozy restaurant where a hip young waiter named Miata walked us through a tapas-style menu with a local twist. We shared falafel, burrata with anchovies and roasted red pepper, and then split off with gnocchi for her and pesto pasta for me. Jax was welcome too, snoozing beneath our table. No room for dessert—we were full.
After some family calls, it was lights out by 9:15. I made the most of our 6:30 a.m. breakfast and got out by 7, but Piacenza was already heating up. Running east on Via Roma was tough—my stomach sloshed with the water, juice, and coffee I’d packed in before leaving trying to get ahead.
A few personal observations. Sleep hasn’t been great lately. I toss and turn, and when I shift at night, I feel a deep ache in the bones of my legs. When I get up, they’re fine, but I feel tired all day. My appetite’s changed too—I get full after appetizers and have to force myself to eat mains. The extreme heat isn’t helping. I stop in every village I can for cold water, Coke, or a sports drink, and eating solid food in this kind of heat is more difficult. The humidity’s also brought back the blisters—sweaty socks and dirts in the shoes is like sand paper all day. Still, better this than shin issue!
We’ have a strategic routing decision as we move through Italy. From Piacenza east, the Via della Costa snakes its way Northeast to Slovenia but it is remote, runs through sometimes tiny villages which may be 10 or 20k apart. Not ideal in a heatwave. So we opted for a two-day direct push to Mantua, where we’ll reconnect with the trail and reassess. It’s more traffic, more sun, but more resupply. Ironically, when we arrive in Mantua Wednesday, it’ll be mid-music festival—Carlos Santana is opening, and Christina’s already struck out on a dozen hotel attempts. That’s a problem for tomorrow.
Today I committed to stopping in every village for fluids and maybe a snack. My first break came at Bar Miki in Caorso, a social little café with locals lingering over espressos and cigarettes. I ducked inside to avoid the smoke and ordered a macchiato and biscotti. The macchiato was a win. The biscotti, not so much—too dry, and I wasn’t hydrated enough to chew it. I grabbed two bottles of water and ran out, only to realize a few minutes later that I hadn’t paid. I turned right around and ran back. The two women behind the counter who were the owners smiled when I returned. I didn’t want to give Americans a bad rap!
Not long after Caorso, I passed through San Nazzaro and finally made a left turn off the dreaded SS10, my companion for the last three days. The new road was a narrow lane shaded by trees. A few turns later, I hit a rails-to-trails path—wide open and quiet, cutting through farmland. There was no shade, but after three days of shoulderless highway, it felt like a gift. From kilometer 12 to 30, I moved without much effort, enjoying the peace until I reached the Po River.
I’d been here before, years ago on a cruise to Venice with my family. The bridge across the river loomed high above the trail, and Google Maps suggested a long switchback path to reach it. Screw it, I thought. Instead, I scrambled up the slope and cut 500 meters off the route.
On the other side was Cremona, one of northern Italy’s most historic cities and the birthplace of master luthier Antonio Stradivari. The city has been famous for its violin makers since the 16th century, and its old town reflects that same artistic elegance—Romanesque churches, bell towers, and graceful piazzas. I passed through a few shaded streets and grabbed a falafel from a Pizza & Kebab restaurant. It’s become my go-to meal in Italy - I get it fully loaded with hot sauce.
The final 15 kilometers to Cicognolo were punishing. Back on the SS10, facing a hot headwind, no shade, and little shoulder, I dug in. I usually run against traffic, but when cars come up from behind to pass another vehicle, I can’t see them—and it’s terrifying. A few blew past close enough to rattle me. I stopped three times at roadside gas station cafés to cool off, drink, and regroup. When I finally reached The Pilgrims Hotel at 4:15 p.m., I was cooked. Literally. And to top it off, our room’s A/C was malfunctioning.
Too tired to care about things I cannot control. Cold shower, cold beer, and food will have to do the trick.
Thanks for following along and your support.
Cheers,
David
