Rested, Freddy and Stan set out in the early morning to see another of Sicily’s great ancient greek sights, Selinunte. The route Google Maps suggested took them through olive groves, vineyards and farmlands. It was on this route that they learned a great lesson – there are no dead ends in Sicily. Rather, the paved road turns into a dirt road, which turns into a trail, which turns into a line of beaten down grass, which dwindles into unkept grassland. No walls, only ever-dwindling bikability.

Such was the road they followed, until eventually it led them to closed gate right at the edge of Selinunte. Here there was a choice – backtrack five kilometers, or open the gate and pass it. With little hesitation, Freddy and Stan chose the latter, and soon enough were in the Selinunte complex. Unlike Segesta, which had one imposing temple, Selinunte had many temples to various heathen gods spread out over a wide area. Freddy and Stan biked from one to another before eventually coming to a small food stand to feast on Italian cookies and savory pastries.

There, the other diners gazed curiously at the bicycles. One aggressively asked Stan where he got the bike. Stan went into a lengthy description of the day and the route that Google Maps suggested, eventually causing the surly questioner to fling his hands up and storm off.

Stan and Freddy continued on, but the mood had changed. Stan increasingly grew more agitated and fearful of the consequences of having bicycles inside this sacred ground. After seeing some 10-15 temples, they finally arrived at the last one – the Temple of Apollo.

“Freddy, we need to go to the main office and tell them that we have bikes.”

“But this is the last temple to see! We’ve been here for hours! Why not just see this one first?”

“Freddy, I don’t want to be rushed. I want to climb on this temple with a clear conscience. My heart is breaking under the weight of our crime.”

“There was no sign or anything! We just did what the map said! And we can go to the main office, but let’s just see this first.”

“Freddy, we must go now. I cannot bear the pain.”

Shaking his head, and unable to resist the rosy glow in Stan’s cheeks, Freddy agreed, and followed Stan while he found the nearest employee. Futilely Stan tried to explain the situation to her in English, but the poor frightened employee spoke only Italian. Eventually, as a guilt-ridden Freddy became more and more aggressive in his attempts to communicate with her, she communicated that she was calling someone for help.

About ten minutes later, another park employee pulled up in a car, angrily expostulating that bicycle were not allowed in the park. At her insistence, Freddy and Stan walked the half-mile to the ticket counter. There, they parked their bikes and bought tickets, walking another half-mile in the harsh afternoon sun back to the Temple of Apollo.

About a minute afer entering the temple, Stan said, “Dude, I saw this last time I was in Sicily. I already climbed on this. Let’s go, dude.”

Stunned, and for once unable to speak, Freddy nodded, and they walked back to get their bikes. They had much biking ahead of them before they could rest their weary heads tonight, and the sun was ever lower in the sky.

…

Nearly 40 kilometers later, Freddy and Stan reached the seaside town of Sciacca. The city was surrounded still by its picturesque medieval walls.

For dinner, they found a restaurant very near their lodging which specialized in seafood. This restaurant opened at the odd time of 7:40, and they meant it! They let Freddy and Stan sit and admire the tablecloth at 7:30, but service truly did not begin until 7:40.

The waiter was delighted at Freddy’s still amateurish, yet natural Italian, and happily discoursed on the restaurant and the family that ran it. Freddy and Stan ordered heartily, exhausted from the long day of biking and from the many walks to and from the Selinunte ticket counter. The food was exceptional and the earthy Sicilian wine was excellent.