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"It was wonderful to find America, but it would have been more wonderful to miss it"
- Mark Twain

The weather was amazing during our return flight, unlimited visibility. The French and Italian coasts were spectacular. St Tropez, Nice, and Monte Carlo gleamed in the sun. Next the Italian jewels of Genoa and Portofino. Turning inland, we crossed the northern tip of the Appennino mountains with their sprinkling of villages and entered the Po river valley. Soon we were over Ferrara, with the volcanic outcroppings of Montegrotto Terme visible to the north. Continuing East we looped around Venice before turning and starting our descent.

This is the point I realize just how much this place has become part of me. The Dolomiti Sinistri stand like a wall in front of us, and as we turn to the north I understand the barrier they truly are. Piancavallo and Zoncolan regain their mythic status, and I want to take the bike and climb them. Not tomorrow, or the next day, but NOW. Leave the terminal, dump the bags on the floor, and grab the bike. I know she misses me.

Now you can make out the cities and villages fringing the foothills, and I start naming them off to Marie like an excited child. Vittoria Veneto! Sarmede! The little borgi nesseled under Cansiglio! Caneva! Polcenigo! Mezzamonte! Budoia! And then we're on the ground.

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