And so we come to the last day of walking, from Bolsena to Montefiascone. It’s 11 miles, but it is a persistent climb, rising 300 meters in elevation over those 11 miles. I opted to trim the first half off by taking a bus.

Yes, after robbing the regional Cotral bus service of a fare yesterday, I did some research and found out that you can ask to pay in cash upon boarding, but the fares, which on the app are something like 1-2 euros, jump to 7 euros. I tried loading the app, but it objected to an international phone number on the registration page, so I decided I’d pay the 7 euros and assuage my conscience.

The bus didn’t leave until 10:30, so there was a fair bit of thumb-twiddling before I got underway. Still, I was feeling good. Look how happy I am.

I had worked out a bus stop about 6 miles into the journey, where the Via Francigena, which had gone up into the hills right out of Bolsena, crossed paths with the main north-south road for a bit. I was using my phone’s maps app to track progress so I knew when to press the call button for the next stop. It all worked to plan. Here I am getting off and following the slight detour off the main road onto basically someone’s driveway to lessen your exposure to the fast traffic.

And this took my right alongside a small vineyard, with white grapes instead of red.

Then the path crossed the main road and started up a hillside on a dirt road. I’d be on this road for several miles, and it climbed steadily, persistently, unrelentingly. But there was a lot of small-farm agriculture along the way. It’s time to play name that fruit.

I sure don’t think they were apples. But what?

Eventually, the road seemed to arrive at an area of fancy houses, which suggested to me that this might be where people with money who had business in Montefiascone would live. I was getting closer, really just a few miles away.

And the view to the northwest for them is of Lake Bolsena.

More climbing brought me suddenly over the crest of a hill and onto a paved road winding around the side of the hill toward Montefiascone. Of course, this small city is spread out all over the hill and the ridge, but my accommodation was right at the top. Where else?

I’m not going to lie. Even though this was just a five mile walk, that last mile was a slog, on busy roadways passing what I think was a casino, gas stations, the local Coop, and all the trappings of coming into any big town or small city. And the last quarter mile was simply brutal. But I made it to my hotel, sweaty and exhausted. I celebrated with a nap.

And that brings this year’s ramble to a close. Saturday is a travel day to get to Rome, and Sunday I spend being a tourist, seeing the Colosseum and whatnot. I did not do the ramble I planned when I set this trip up in December. There was a lot less walking and a lot more complaining about the heat like Maggie Smith’s character in A Room with a View. It was challenging and exhausting and beautiful and confusing and in many ways a perfect break from my everyday life. I’ve written a lot on this blog over the years about why I take these rambles. And when I started blogging my rambles, I did a lot more deep thinking on these trips about ‘where I am in my life, where I am going, what it’s all about.’ This trip I felt less need to hold my life up in my hand and look at it. Perhaps it is just a product of having reached my late fifties; I’m not agonizing about next possible career moves and things like that. I am less given to agonizing over whether there is a job that is more perfectly what I want to be doing. I am perhaps more content, and so the mental rambling is calmer when I do my physical rambling.

Or maybe, as Maggie Smith would say, it was just too bloody hot to think of anything but a cool bath and a cocktail.

Happy rambles to you all.