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Bike Touring Journals by Neil Anderson and Sharon Anderson

Lead Goat

Bicycle touring Sardinia

The Lead Goat Veered Off

Sleepless in Arzachena

Did you hear about the dyslexic, agnostic insomniac who stayed up all night wondering if there really was a Dog?

~ Anonymous

Sharon hadn't slept well, worrying that we were about to be tossed into the abyss. Meanwhile, I, from my sleepless night at Mr. Tubby's, was too tired to fret and could have slept through just about anything. In the morning we continued towards the Giant's Grave at Arzachena. Sharon, still tired, lagged behind. I was in front by a good half a kilometer.

Within a few kilometers from where we had camped, I pedalled past a farmhouse. Four ill-tempered curs, their lips curled to expose white fangs, rushed out to greet me. What a way to start the morning! As they snarled and snapped at my heels, I was convinced they were intent on helping themselves to a feast of tasty calf-meat. I seized my pepper spray and shot a whiff in their direction, chortling as a small pink cloud engulfed them. All four immediately turned tail and raced back to the farmhouse as if suddenly remembering they had left their bones unguarded. I never realized postmen could have such fun! "Come back and fight you cowards!" I yelled at their retreating backsides. When Sharon passed the farmhouse a few minutes later, the dogs never even barked.

Near Arzachena, wasted from what had turned into a hundred long kilometer battle into the wind, we sought the sacred burial place of Li Mura. To our dismay, the worst of our day lay ahead: the route to the burial site entailed a jolting, rocky, tire-spinning assault up a steep dirt road. As I bumped my way past an old woman working in her yard, she shook her head in bewilderment. If I hadn't been there to experience it, I wouldn't have believed it either.

At the Li Mura burial site we found a circle of ancient rocks with pointed ends, their chiselled tips aimed skywards in symbolic representation of knives guarding the tomb that lay in their midst. We climbed a platform to better view the grave site. "Wow!" Sharon exclaimed, impressed. "Can you imagine what the ancients must have believed?" I tried. But, I must confess, it just looked like a bunch of old rocks to me.

We descended from Li Mura to the nearby Giant's Grave. When we saw it, we realized why it was so named: its dimensions were huge! The tallest rock in a semi-circle of standing stones loomed upwards some fifteen feet. A burial chamber - located behind an arched opening in the headstone - was a twenty-foot-long trench where the ancients had buried bodies side by side. The hole in the bottom of the center stone was believed to be a gateway that allowed spirits to come and go between our world and theirs. I stared at the immense headstone, and wondered less about the ancient's spirit world convictions, but more about how, in 1800-1200 bc, they had managed to set the immense blocks upright. As I stood pondering, the low angle of the setting sun struck a notch in one of the lesser slabs, and produced a flare that bathed the grounds in dramatic spirituality. For an instant, I gained insight into their beliefs of how the powerful forces of nature had directed their daily lives. Then, just as quickly as the sun set, the intuition was gone.

We explored the prehistoric graveyard as the last twilight rays disappeared. There was a pasture below the circle of stones where we set up our tent. As I removed my cycle computer for the evening (never can be too careful), I noticed the reading: exactly thirteen thousand kilometers! But I was dog-tired, and didn't intend to let any superstitious number keep me from getting a good night's sleep.

Unfortunately, a pack of dogs had other ideas. I lay wide awake listening to their mournful bays. Perhaps they were avenging their fellow mates I had pepper-sprayed earlier? Adding to my insomnia was a herd of sheep in an adjacent field that ran back and forth all night long - their bells clanging discordantly like some lunatic sonata. Despite my earlier bravado, my imagination ran wild, and conjured up wraiths chasing sacrificial beasts. I lay awake, shivering, wishing for daybreak so I could get up and end the nonsense.

When we arose, the tent fly was covered in ice. "So," I mumbled, "it hadn't been merely my imagination that made me shiver after all." We packed up our belongings as the sun made a weak appearance above the surrounding hills. Feeling somewhat dead ourselves, we hightailed it away from the Giant's Grave.

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 The Lead Goat Veered Off

The Lead Goat Veered Off

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