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Day One
The Sicignano-Lagonegro line
Antonello and Arne make their way through the undergrowth covering the rails at the abandoned station at Petina. It was a discouraging start on our first day of railbiking.
Much to his delight, Franco, the former station agent, activates the line after 25 years. The tunnel in the distance is the first of the two with the bridge squeezed in between. The two tunnels and the bridge were the only clear sections we could ride.
Antonello (center) explains to Franco and Isabella what we are there to do. The station agent's house faces the tracks, and they entertained us in their delighful patio. This was one of the few sections where the rails were not covered with blackberries.
This is the opposite end of the tunnel (behind Franco on the
railbike shown above)
as It opens out onto a arched viaduct and enters another tunnel just behind
the photographer.
The massive freeway bridge dwarfs the abandoned railroad feeling totally unreal and
out of proportion.
We arranged to meet our first Italian contact, Antonello Sica, in the mountains just north of Polla, about 100 miles southeast of Naples. He was to guide us on the long-closed Sicignano-Lagonegro line where two scenic sections of about 5 km each in the Auletta-Pertosa area were deemed clear of obstructions. Although these sections were both very short, they boasted multiple tunnels and large beautiful stone bridges.
We anticipated two ten kilometer round trips for a easy 20 km day. And the location was directly on our route south making the stopover worthwhile. As a side note, the railroads in Italy are operated by the state, thus there are no individual company names, each line identified by the towns at either end.
We followed Antonello as he led us on a narrow winding country road to the derelict station at Petina. At once we knew we were in trouble. The tracks were so badly overgrown we could barely find them. We hiked down the line toward the home belonging to the former station agent which, twenty five years after the closing of the railroad, he still occupied with his wife.
Franco and Isabella greeted us enthusiastically and although they spoke no English they entertained us with warmth and charm, providing a cup of marvelous espresso and a shot of fine whisky. While Arne and I assembled our railbikes, Antonello and Franco walked down the line toward a nearby tunnel, clearing the blackberries as best they could.
