Two Pilgrims' Progress

In Short

This travelogue documents the adventurous journey of a husband-and-wife team as they pedal a tricycle from Florence to Rome in the late 19th century. Far from a mere athletic feat, the book offers an intimate, humorous, and vividly observant look at the Italian countryside, its medieval towns, and its resilient inhabitants. By choosing a bicycle over the train or the coach, the authors gain a rare, up-close perspective on the landscape. It remains a classic of travel literature for its lighthearted spirit and its timeless appreciation for the joys of slow, purposeful exploration.

The Story

The narrative begins with a playful premise: two young pilgrims, determined to see the world, decide to "wheel" themselves across Italy. From the start, the journey is characterized by a mix of physical struggle and aesthetic wonder. The authors push their heavily loaded machine through the narrow, ancient streets of Lastra and Montelupo, where the arrival of the strange vehicle invariably draws a curious, often overwhelming, crowd of locals. They encounter a variety of people—from hospitable trattoria owners who cherish their ties to America, to stone-breakers in lonely mountain passes who are briefly mistaken for the bandits of local legend.

As they move toward Siena, the landscape shifts from fertile valleys to desolate, hauntingly beautiful ravines. The monastery at Monte Oliveto becomes a sanctuary, a place of "golden days" where they find respite among monks who offer them wine and quiet companionship. The road, however, remains a persistent adversary. The mechanical demands of the tricycle—a fragile contraption in the face of steep, rutted mountain tracks—lead to moments of intense frustration. Near Spoleto, the braking system fails entirely during a perilous descent, forcing the pilgrims to abandon the dream of a coasting ride and face the reality of a long, wearying trek on foot.

Despite these physical hardships, the travelers are sustained by the sights they encounter. They spend long afternoons in Assisi, finding the lower church of Saint Francis to be a place of profound, lingering mystery. Throughout the trek, they meet a colorful cast of characters, including an eccentric Italian "cyclist" in Montepulciano who fancies himself a champion of the sport. The journey is not just a passage through space, but a descent into the historical layers of Italy, where the ghosts of the Baglioni family and the artistic legacy of Signorelli color the atmosphere of every piazza.

The final leg of the trip brings them into the orbit of Rome, but the arrival is not a grand, triumphant entry. Instead, it concludes with a brush with authority: a ten-franc fine for "furious riding" on the Corso. This brush with the law serves as a humorous, grounded punctuation mark to their grand tour. The book closes with an appendix comparing their bicycle journey to the traditional travel experiences of literary predecessors like Nathaniel Hawthorne, arguing that the bicycle is a superior, more intimate way to engage with the Italian landscape than the speed of the railway or the detachment of the carriage.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins The pilgrims set out from Florence, trading the convenience of modern transport for the unpredictability of the tricycle. They immediately find that the road is a social space, where baker boys, peasants, and inquisitive children turn every stop into a public event.

A climb into the past As the couple navigates toward Siena, they balance the physical exertion of steep inclines with a deep appreciation for the medieval architecture of the hilltop towns. They navigate the decline of once-great palaces and the quiet endurance of villagers who continue their daily lives against the backdrop of history.

The monastic refuge The journey leads them into a desolate, wild landscape where they discover the monastery of Monte Oliveto. Here, the rhythm of the road yields to the quietude of the monks, allowing the travelers to reflect on the beauty of a life lived apart from the modern world.

The struggle for momentum The mechanical limitations of the tricycle become a central theme as the road turns to ruts and steep mountain passes. The pilgrims learn that the "difficulty" of the ascent is matched only by the danger of the descent, testing their patience and their sense of humor.

The Roman conclusion The final stretch toward the Eternal City sees the travelers navigating city traffic and official scrutiny. Their journey ends not with a grand epiphany, but with the practical, slightly comedic reality of a police fine, cementing their status as human, fallible pilgrims.

The People

The authors, identified as "J." (Joseph) and his wife (the narrator), are the central figures. Joseph is the mechanical operator and artist, tasked with managing the tricycle’s technical failings and sketching the scenery, while his wife provides the narrative voice, focusing on the human interactions and historical atmosphere of the towns they pass. Both are driven by a shared "wheel fever"—a desire to experience Italy without the insulation of a train window.

Their primary obstacle is the landscape itself, which rarely accommodates their modern machine. They move from being confident travelers to humbled pedestrians, frequently finding themselves at the mercy of steep grades and broken parts. What stands in their way is the physical reality of the road—its stones, its incline, and its sudden, dangerous turnings.

By the end of the journey, they are both changed by the intensity of their exposure to the country. They move from a sense of detached observation to a deeper, more personal connection with the Italian people they meet. They shed their roles as mere American tourists, becoming instead participants in the daily life of the region, ultimately gaining a perspective that their literary predecessors, who traveled in the comfort of carriages, could never attain.

In Its Own Voice

"And all the time we were working just hard enough to feel that joy of mere living which comes with healthy out-of-door exercise, and, I think, with nothing else."

The narrator reflects on the simple physical pleasure of cycling through the Italian countryside after clearing the outskirts of Florence.

"But this lower one, with its dark, subdued color and dim light, and the odor of incense which always lingers in it, is like the embodiment of the mystery and love that inspired the saint in whose honor it was built."

While visiting Assisi, the narrator captures the atmospheric contrast between the light-filled upper church and the somber, spiritual depth of the lower church.

What It's Really About

The book explores the philosophical distinction between "seeing" a country and "experiencing" it. By adopting the bicycle, the authors argue that the traveler must be willing to suffer the inconveniences of the road—the dirt, the sweat, and the mechanical breakdown—to truly appreciate the landscape. It is a critique of the era’s trend toward rapid, efficient travel, which the authors believe strips the journey of its soul. The text also delves into the collision of modernity and tradition, as the high-tech tricycle of the 1880s encounters the ancient, unchanging rhythms of rural Italian life. Ultimately, it is a testament to the idea that the most profound discoveries happen when one is forced to slow down and confront the world at a human pace.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy travelogues that prioritize atmosphere over itineraries will find much to admire here. The writing is remarkably fresh, characterized by a sharp eye for the small, telling details of life—the color of a kerchief, the scent of incense, or the specific pride of a local shopkeeper. It feels like a precursor to the modern "slow travel" movement, offering a meditative pace that is rare in today’s frantic world.

However, the modern reader should be prepared for the period-specific attitudes and the occasional frustration with the authors' descriptions of the "stupid" or "ragged" peasants, which reflect the class prejudices of their time. The dialogue, which attempts to phonetically render the local speech, can also feel a bit labored to the contemporary ear. Despite these limitations, the book’s genuine enthusiasm and the authors' willingness to be the butt of their own jokes—such as their ignominious fine upon reaching Rome—make them highly relatable companions. The vivid, almost tactile descriptions of the Italian landscape stay with you long after the final page, serving as a reminder of the quiet, enduring beauty that exists just off the main road, hidden away from the typical tourist path.