I plan my bike rides according to the location of water fountains along the route, so that I don’t have to carry a huge amount of water. It’s been difficult during the pandemic as each comune (small municipality) closed their public fountains.
Basically, all of these little towns are of the same medieval model: church, government building, town square with fountain, houses surrounding, then farms/industry. Anyway, as things have opened back up, so have all the fountains, and the most reliable one I’ve found is kind of tucked away in the perfect spot along my route to refill: usually I’m completely dry at this point.
On Saturday, I arrived with bottles empty to discover the fountain broken…. Nearby, there was a scruffy looking young man, thin with long dreads, and many missing teeth, and he started screaming at me. As I had my headphones in, I didn’t quite understand at first.
Small provincial towns in Brescia are not known for their hospitality. Usually, if you don’t speak the hyper local dialect and your parentage doesn’t date back to the battle of Milvian bridge, you do not belong.
With mild trepidation (it’s easy to be knocked off balance in cycling shoes and spandex), I dismounted and asked what he had said. Much to my delight, his raving gesticulation was aimed at all of Italy’s greatest common enemy: local government! I lamented a moment with my new-found friend and then set off again, dry mouth and all.
Immediately I was stopped again! My provincial pal jumped in front of my bike and wouldn’t let me go, insisting that I follow him. It being broad daylight, I said sure, why not? He just kept repeating, “wait a minute, follow me”. So, like a rat behind a man with a flute, I shuffled along (cobblestones and cleats don’t pair well together).
We turned a corner and he stopped in front of a large wooden portal into which was carved a small door, fit only for a man stooped low. Again, I’m told to wait, and so wait I do.
After a brief pregnant pause, he emerged from the shade and handed me a three litre chilled bottle of fresh water! I was promptly instructed to fill my own bottles and then chug as much as I could, explaining to me that it was his duty to help a wayward traveller such as myself.
It was a really beautiful moment and I was stricken by his immediate generosity, especially as we live in a world more and more afraid of interacting with others. I called him an angel and a saint and thanked him profusely, to which he thanked me for allowing him to do a good deed!
As I was riding away I did have a pang of fear sloshing around in my belly, however. We do seem to live in a post-apocalyptic world sometimes. Even though I’ve been vaccinated, what if I spread something to him and his small town, or what if I had picked up the new delta-lambda-epsilon variant to bring home with me? I honestly can’t tell if I’ve been irresponsible and deserve admonishment, but at least for a moment it was nice to know that good people are still all around us, willing to help for nothing but sincere gratitude in return.
A Nix in Brixia 