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All it takes is one ride along the Adriatic Sea to appreciate the splendor of Puglia, the region of southern Italy close to the heel of the boot. Last October, we biked up and down sweeping hills with the blue expanse of water always by our side. The sweet smell of honeysuckle the best form of aromatherapy as we cruised past seaside villages, peering down in awe at the greenish/blue waters hundreds of feet below. We stopped in Santa Maria di Leuca to gaze at the lighthouse, church, and large plaza before making our way back to the port of Tricase where a fresh seafood feast was waiting for us. According to my trusty Strava app, we had biked 43 miles with an elevation gain of over 3,000 feet, so I was definitely ready for a break and the chance to dig into fresh calamari, mussels, grilled aubergines, tomatoes, and the creamy burrata cheese the region is known for. We were on Day Two of a 6-day bike ride through Puglia with DuVine Cycling. The trip would continue northeast to the town of Locorotondo, where we would begin blissful days of riding through the heart of the countryside. I savored the riding here, rolling hillsides dotted with centuries-old gnarly olive trees, vineyards, and the distinctive mushroom-shaped houses called trullis. All on country roads with little or no traffic. 
Last August, I was saddened to hear that one of my favorite covered bridges in New England, the one that sits over the Ottauquechee River in Quechee, was swept away by the surging water of Tropical Storm Irene. The bridge and the rushing water of the river are best seen while dining at the Simon Pearce restaurant. Pearce and his glassblowing facility were also hit hard last year. But as I noted in a recent story for The Boston Globe, he’s up and running with a rehabbed store and much larger space for viewing the glassblowers at work. If your fall plans take you to the Woodstock region to see the foliage, make a pitstop at nearby Quechee to dine at Simon Pearce. Lifting one of those sturdy glass goblets full of a local microbrew, you’ll be happy you took my advice.
Last Saturday, my wife and I picked up our son, Jake, at Oberlin College after a weeklong electornic music workshop. Then we hightailed it to Cleveland for the weekend to check out the city. Must-see stops were the Cleveland Museum of Art, whose impressive collection includes noteworthy pieces by van Gogh, Monet, El Greco, and Bierstadt. At the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, we viewed the famous jacket worn by John Lennon on the Sgt. Pepper’s album cover, Michael Jackson’s glove, and my personal favorite, Notorious BIG’s jersey. 
Another snowy day in Boston. Sure, looking at the snow-covered pines were charming the first or second time this winter, but now it’s March and I’m ready for spring. In the meantime, I’ll daydream about French Polynesia, the destination that started me on the road to becoming a travel writer. News from the Road: French Polynesia, our first feature in the March newsletter, will give you valuable insight into traveling around this group of South Pacific isles. Other topics we touch on are five hotels we recommend in Venice, why Amsterdam is the hot Europe destination this summer, how to bypass long lines at favorite sites in London and Paris, and to what extent Azamara Club Cruises is shaking up the cruise industry by spending more nights in port. I’m happy to report that our April newsletter will feature our first drawing, a 2-night stay and dinner at one of my favorite resorts in New England, the Inn by the Sea in Cape Elizabeth, Maine. So stay tuned.
What’s the best remedy for weary legs that sprinted through a terminal to catch a connecting flight? A deep tissue massage. Yesterday afternoon, I popped into the Renova Spa at Cancun’s Riu Palace Peninsula to de-stress and rejuvenate this travel-worn body of mine. Within moments of facing down on the massage table, I knew I had the right masseur, Alberto. A massage is like speed dating to me. I can tell instantly whether this is going to be a good massage or bad depending on the masseuse’s first movements. The ones that hone in on pressure points are usually bad. The good ones are like scientists searching for the sorest of muscles. Alberto instantly found that knot in my back that I’ve had since biking uphill for an hour at Utah’s Zion National Park in October. And man, did he work it with strong hands and elbows. I walked out of there as loose as a jellyfish.