Venice to Dubrovnik. Day 1: Venice to Caorle and Day 2: Caorle to Palazzolo dello Stella

Day 1

Le Grande Depart was at Venice Airport where I unpacked my bike in the car park and spent an hour or so rebuilding it in front of a bit of an audience. First day is always tough with the heat and the extra weight on the bike and the alarm going off at three o'clock in the morning didn't help. It did mean however that I could engage in the spectator sport of Weatherspoons Watching at five in the morning at Birmingham Airport. 

Amongst the early drinkers "Dirty Des's (stag) Do" met "Brenda's Benidorm Bash" ("Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go to Benidorm") with predictably entertaining results. The only bit of banter I can report without causing offence is "Phwooooar!" which was repeated by both sides. I don't think Des's dad and Brenda's mum (this information was on their t'shirts in case they forgot) will stay the pace. They were both tacking against the wind en route to the bar to order breakfast by a quarter past five so it was going to be a long day. I think they would have been happier spending the next few days together at Weatherspoons gazing into each other's bloodshot eyes over partly defrosted lasagne and soggy chips. They could have just tagged onto the back of their groups at arrivals. No one would have noticed.

Don't get me wrong. When there's a match on Gollum's sports channel, then 'spoons is the place for me. It's the breakfast drinking that I can't fathom.

First day was hot. Low 30's, direct sun, little shade. This is a problem for me as I can dehydrate quickly because I rarely feel thirsty. I have to set reminders to drink but also have a backup system involving a trip to the loo and a paint colour chart (Farrow and Ball naturally). I aim for something between Wimbourne White and Dayroom Yellow, not literally of course that would be a wierd thing to use a Farrow and Ball colour chart for, and know I'm in trouble if I am close to Barbouche or, heaven forbid, Smoked Trout or Dead Salmon. In Vietnam I once produced Radicchio but in my defence it was a very hot day and beetroot was involved. At the moment I'm drinking a litre of water every thirty minutes and I'm in the target zone but leaning toward Dayroom Yellow.

Day 2

Bridge of the day is back! This fine example, Ponte delle Balance, was just north of Caorle.

Bit of off road today on gravel tracks. Welcome shade but dust from the roads is a problem when farm trucks go by. A very fine, light grey dust is kicked up and seems to mix well with suncreams and mosquito repellant to form a paste that sticks to my skin. I look like the undead on an off day.

Graffiti of the day.  This is priceless. It's on an electricity substation and shows why Anarchists will never overthrow anything. If you can't plan ahead enough to fit all seven letters on the same wall how will you bring down Western governments?

That's the trouble with anarchists. They just can't seem to get organized.

My favourite cycling shirt is, like me, showing signs of age. It's more than 15 years old and has lost whatever shape it once had. My heavy phone in the back pocket has stretched the shirt so that it now reaches halfway down my thighs at the back. I have to remember this when sitting down. I don't sit on my phone but it can suddenly appear between my legs when least expected. (Liz: I think this explains that photo I sent you). When the phone is in the pocket it swings pendulum like beneath my bum when I walk. 

So this afternoon when I arrive at Agricola Stefani I am the epitome of sartorial elegance. The face of the undead with streaks of sweat, an unidentified object swinging left to right beneath my bum and a sunhat I bought at the Vietnamese equivalent of a down-market pound shop in Saigon. My sock/sandal combo would have completed the ensemble but some things are too precious to risk on a trip.

Despite being confronted by this frightening vision I am greeted and welcomed by Flavia who offers me somewhere to lock my bike up (very important), tells me about the restaurant that is a 50 metre walk away despite us being in a rural area, and tells me they have their own Birreria Agricola right here and soon to open. From her expression I think it's been a few years since she last saw a grown man fall to the floor and cry with happiness.

A good start to the trip and onward to Monfalcone tomorrow where the cruise ships dock. Anyone know the Italian for " Do you have anything to cure Norovirus?'. Thought not.