Having finally wrested their rented bikes from the surly rental shop owner, Stan and Freddy hurried to the train station. Stan, uneasy about taking bicyles into the station, guarded the bikes outside while Freddy went to buy the tickets.

“Due biglietti per Alcamo, per favore!” Freddy asked in excellent Italian, grinning broadly, eager to get his bikes out of the city and to the road. The young ticket agent, face thickly smeared with makeup, stared lazily at Freddy’s bike helmets. “No bikes on this train,” she spat in thickly accented English. “Yes there are,” beamed back Freddy. “You have to check if bikes are accepted, you can’t just show up!” growled the agent, her eyes shining with anger and contempt.

Shaken, Fredie stepped out of line, checking his records. He came back, thrusting his phone forward, showing the Trenitalia website which clearly showed that trains are allowed on the route from Palermo to Alcamo. “Hmmmm… OK. They’re only allowed on the one leaving this morning,” grumbled the unprepossessing agent, reluctantly dragging her fingers across her keyboard. “And now maybe we miss the train,” pointed out Freddy, hoping to make this a teachable moment. “It’s a new change,” muttered the agent, nary a glint of apology in her eyes.

Freddy and Stan raced to the train, pulling their bikes on board just in time. After a short ride, they hopped off in the bright Alcamo sun and drove their bikes in circles, testing gear shifts and brake mechanisms. And then they were off!

The road to Alcamo was pleasant and forested, and there was little traffic. It was mostly uphill, as they were pushing into Sicily’s mountainous interior to reach the mountaintop ancient Greek temple of Segesta. After about an hour and half of biking, they were at the temple complex, marveling at the ruins. Tourists and groups of children bustled about this popular Sicilian attraction. The main temple was off in one road, and the supporting town, structures and theater another.

After a few short hours of exploration, Stan and Freddy hit the road again, aiming for the (yet again) mountaintop town of Salemi. They were to learn that most everything worth seeing in Sicily was atop a mountain.

Salemi was a truly sleepy town at 8 p.m. when they arrived, famished from the ride and in need of refreshments. By asking around they eventually found a hamburger place in town, and fortified themselves with much needed nutrients while reveling in American global cultural dominance.