Riccione: Where I Fell in Love With Active Travel.

My journey began in Venice, where I spent a day wandering through narrow streets, crossing centuries old bridges, and watching gondolas glide quietly through the canals. I happily got lost among hidden alleyways and lively piazzas, taking in the beauty and history that seemed to surround every corner. Everything felt different from home, and I loved every minute of it.

The following day, I boarded a train to Riccione, a beautiful seaside town on Italy’s Adriatic Coast. As the countryside rolled past my window, I had no idea this trip would change the way I looked at travel forever.

When I arrived at the hotel, I received an unexpected surprise.

Somehow, I had been given the largest corner suite overlooking the Adriatic Sea. The view was spectacular. Even the bathroom overlooked the water. Before long, it became the running joke of the week as everyone teased me about my “luxury accommodations.”

I happily accepted the bragging rights.

One of the things I appreciated most was how effortless the start of the trip felt. Instead of worrying about flying with my own bike, a beautifully prepared road bike was already waiting for me. It fit perfectly, needing only a few small adjustments before we rolled out on our first ride.

That was my first realization that a cycling holiday could be about the experience, not the logistics.

Every morning, we gathered for breakfast before rolling out around 9:00 a.m.

For the next seven days, we rode between 65 and 75 kilometres through the beautiful Emilia Romagna countryside, often climbing close to 1,000 metres each day. Vineyards stretched across rolling hillsides, church bells echoed from distant villages, and every winding road seemed to reveal another breathtaking view. I had trained hard all summer, but nothing in Ontario truly prepared me for the long, winding climbs of Italy.

Every time I thought we had reached the top, another climb appeared around the next corner.

On one particularly warm day, an experienced cyclist from Germany noticed I was working hard.

Throughout the ride, he quietly checked on me, making sure I was doing okay. He never tried to impress anyone or act like a coach. He simply encouraged me when I needed it most.

After another long climb, he smiled and said something I’ll never forget.

As I began descending, cool air rushed across my face. For a few glorious minutes, gravity did the work while I simply enjoyed the ride.

His words stayed with me.

They weren’t just about cycling.

They were about life.

One of my favourite parts of every ride was stopping in small Italian villages for cappuccinos and fresh pastries. We’d sit outside local cafés, sharing stories and laughter before climbing back onto our bikes.

There was never any rush.

Those quiet moments became just as memorable as reaching another summit.

Our rides usually finished around 2:00 p.m., just in time for a well earned late lunch.

After several hours in the saddle, every meal seemed to taste even better. Fresh pasta, local specialties, and simple Italian cooking somehow became unforgettable after a morning of climbing. We shared stories from the day’s ride, celebrated the climbs we had conquered, and looked ahead to tomorrow’s adventure.

The afternoons were ours to enjoy.

Many days ended at the beach.

After hours of cycling in the warm Italian sun, stepping into the cool Adriatic Sea felt incredible. We swam, relaxed on the sand, laughed about the day’s ride, admired everyone’s unmistakable cyclist tan lines, and enjoyed conversations that continued long after the bikes had been put away.

Cycling wasn’t just an activity in Riccione.

It felt like part of everyday life.

Every evening we gathered once again for dinner.

Conversations flowed as easily as the local wine. We shared stories from our rides, talked about our lives back home, laughed until dessert arrived, and then did it all again the next day.

Looking back, I realize the rides were only part of what made that week unforgettable.

The people became the real destination.

On our final evening, the excitement of the week slowly gave way to something none of us expected.

There was a quiet sadness in knowing our adventure was coming to an end.

Just one week earlier, many of us had arrived as complete strangers. We came from different countries, spoke different languages, and lived very different lives.

Yet somewhere between the climbs, the cappuccino stops, the shared meals, and the laughter…

We became friends.

It reminded me of the same encouragement and camaraderie I had experienced years earlier while riding with friends from the Cambridge YMCA. Different country. Different languages. The same feeling of belonging.

When it was time to say goodbye the next morning, hugs came naturally.

Not because we felt we had to.

Because genuine friendships had formed in just seven days.

We exchanged contact information, promised to stay in touch, and talked about riding together again someday. Even saying goodbye to the hotel staff felt emotional. They had welcomed us with such warmth and kindness that, by the end of the week, they felt like part of our cycling family.

Standing there, I realized something important.

The greatest memories from Riccione weren’t the kilometres I rode.

They weren’t the elevation I climbed.

They weren’t even the breathtaking scenery.

They were the people.

The encouragement from a fellow cyclist on a difficult climb.

The conversations over cappuccinos in quiet village cafés.

The laughter around the dinner table after another unforgettable day.

The friendships that began with a simple “hello” and ended with heartfelt hugs.

As I packed my suitcase for the journey home, I wasn’t just bringing back photographs or souvenirs.

I was bringing home a new understanding of what travel could be.

Travel could make us healthier.

Travel could challenge us.

Travel could connect complete strangers.

Travel could create lifelong friendships.

I’ve now returned to Riccione three times.

Not simply because it’s a beautiful place.

But because every time I return, I’m reminded of what I discovered there.

I didn’t just fall in love with cycling in Italy.

I fell in love with active travel.

That week planted a seed.

Years later, that same feeling would help inspire PEDAL & PORT, a belief that the best adventures aren’t measured by kilometres or destinations, but by the friendships we build, the confidence we discover, and the memories we create together.

Every journey leaves us with something worth carrying home.

These are the reflections Riccione gave me.