Dolomites 2021, Day 1 (and before)

It pretty much took getting on the plane for me to believe this trip was actually happening. We were so fortunate on so many levels to be able to do the trip that it really didn’t seem like it could actually be real. But there we were, getting on a plane! As I write this on Thanksgiving, this is definitely one of many things that I am thankful for this year.

We flew to Verona this year, for the first time since our first Cinghiale trip. We had an extra full day before the cycling started, so went in to Verona proper from our suburban airport hotel to sightsee and just generally try to be outdoors in daylight and awake. For whatever reason we didn’t really get going until midday (uhhh, probably jet lag?) and were hungry when our taxi dropped us in the center of town next to the Palazzo Vecchio, about 10 feet from a restaurant’s outdoor seating. So that was easy.

After our delicious Italian lunch, we wandered over to the Roman amphitheater, where I didn’t take any pictures, and through the streets, eventually back towards the Palazzo Vecchio. We went in this time, checking out both the views and the collection. There was a lot of good art, but there was also one of the grumpier Madonna and Child paintings that I’ve seen.

Is it just me or is that kid plotting something and/or pretty displeased with the situation?

The next day we got on the bus for the ride up to Brunico, a new start town for the trip. Other than (or perhaps because of) required mask-wearing and needing to show proof of vaccination, it was amazing how familiar everything felt already – long flight, sightseeing, scenic bus ride, and then bike riding!

The afternoon’s ride was an out-and-back with the goal of being ready for dinner at the time the hotel wanted us there. We started out on a network of bike paths, and then did a gently climbing aperitif for our legs on a road that would have eventually taken us to Austria in just 8 more miles (and another 2600 feet of climbing…), but see note above re: dinner. (Reusing this photo because I was enjoying riding and did not do photos, because…

PC: James Pan, because apparently I didn’t take any photos today.

We managed to make it back in enough time not to make the hotel mad at us right away, where I took my one photo of the day. With all the natural beauty I experienced, I decided that what I wanted to document was the wood paneling in the ceiling of the dining room. To be fair, it was a delightful and cozy room, and should we ever finish out our basement, would be a nice direction to take.

I’d be ok with a room something like this to relax in a comfy chair with a good book

It was so good to be back.

Day 1: 25.9 miles, 2.070 feet.

Dolomites 2021, short version

TLDR: I’m still somewhat in disbelief that this trip actually happened. After so many awful pandemic things, after so many cancel-reschedule-cancel again cycles, it’s hard to believe that we finally got to have a nice thing. IT WAS AMAZING!!!! Thank you Cinghiale!!!!

Slightly longer version:

Day -1: Uhhh, maybe I should pack? Good thing I had some very attentive supervision to make sure I didn’t mess it up.

Bean is a helper kitty

Day 0: Some downtime in Verona, and continuing the quest of finding the odd bits of artwork

Day 1: Bike assembly and shake down ride out of the new location of Brunico. 25.9 miles, 2,070 feet elevation.

PC: James Pan, because apparently I didn’t take any photos today.

Day 2: Riding towards Austria, about the flattest ride I’ve ever done on a Cinghiale trip. 46.5 miles 1,870 feet elevation.

Rain, and snow in view – must be my summer vacation!

Day 3: A nice flat ride, and also Tre Cime di Lavaredo. 73 miles, 7,000 feet elevation.

Tre Cime di Lavaredo. Some of Andy’s favorite views from a bike.

Day 4: First transfer day, amazing roads! 77.3 miles, 8,550 feet elevation.

The afternoon light at the top of Passo Cereda was magical

Day 5: Opted for a shorter version of the day’s ride, and had a wonderful time. 21.3 miles, 2,330 feet.

Nothing like some great switchbacks, a great view, and a great riding companion

Day 6: Another spectacular transfer day. 75.9 miles, 8,740 feet elevation.

The Passo Manghen was pretty epic

Day 7: The uphill time trial route from the ’88 Giro, one of Andy’s best days on a bicycle. 29 miles, 2,770 feet elevation.

Took me a wee bit longer to get up the climb than it took Andy in ’88

Day 8: Transfer day, and we found summer. 67 miles, 4,640 feet elevation.

Broiling in summer weather, just after being absolutely drenched in a chilly torrential downpour up in those hills

Day 9: We couldn’t tour the Campagnolo factory, so instead did a little birthday ride to close out the trip. 34.8 miles, 1,550 feet elevation.

A birthday, a bike ride, and gelato + espresso?!? Doesn’t get any better than this!

Post-trip layover in Frankfurt: A flight schedule change gave us enough time to go into Frankfurt for a few hours.

So we went to the zoo where I took a picture of a rhino butt because I am nothing if not classy!

Dolomites and Carnic Alps 2019, day 8

Why yes, you’re right, I am finally finishing the write up of the trip nearly 2 years after it happened. To some extent, it’s because the pandemic made my work even more time consuming and stressful (even as I know that I was lucky to be one of the people to still have a job).

But mostly, it’s because it really hurt that this is one of the things the pandemic took away in 2020. There have been way more important losses and consequences over the last 18 months, but sometimes the big losses are too big to really comprehend all at once. Missing going to Italy was big enough to matter to me, and small enough to feel all at once.

There was something too final about writing up the last day’s ride, and I just didn’t want to do it. But here we are, less than a month out from our flight to Italy, and I’m almost starting to believe that we really are going to be riding our bikes with the Cinghiale crew again!

So…

On the schedule was a short morning ride out to the west, before taking the bus to the hotel by the Venice airport whence everyone would go on with their own travels the next day. We headed out on a cloudy morning south to the main road, looked left up it to check for oncoming cars, turned right, and were confronted with an apocalyptically dark western sky.

We decided to head east instead.

We headed out to the coffee shop in Arta Terme again (familiar after my birthday ride), where a hot beverage was a popular option. While not pouring down rain, it was chilly and damp, and we were all pretty bundled up.

With the skies looking more threatening, we headed back to Ravascletto. I had heard some chatter that I hadn’t really paid attention to, until Ian uncharacteristically fell behind me on the climb. Once at the top, he, along with Andy, Kerri, and Elaine, were nowhere to be seen. Someone mentioned that they had peeled off in a town partway up, to see if they could find this backroad route.

Adventure happening without me?!? Well, I had to do something about that! I knew the backroad route had to come out a little ways up the descent from the Crostis. I didn’t remember seeing anything on my way down the day before, but I had also been pretty focused on not wiping out on slippery sheep shit around a corner, so…

I thought it would be pretty nifty if I headed up the Crostis descent, found this road, and met them on it. So up I went. And I wasn’t seeing anything. So I went up further. And still nothing. Just a lot of trees. I gave up and gingerly descended back down in the wet, and headed off to the hotel.

It turns out there was a reason I couldn’t find this road. Or “road.”

First, check out what the map looked like. My path is in red, and Ian et al. took the blue dotted route:

Pretty clear, right?

How about an aerial view?

If you think that the road looks less distinct in the aerial image, you would be correct. Very, very correct. There was not a road. There was an area that was more overgrown with lush plants because the trees were less thick. It took a while for the hike-a-bike bushwhacking expedition to get back to the hotel.

So, I didn’t get to have the adventure, but seeing as I was showered, warm, and dry when they straggled in, I was able to console myself. It made for a good story to experience secondhand!

Since the clouds mentioned in the beginning alternately loomed threateningly, drizzled, and rained on us, I did not take any photos. So I will leave you with the one photo I took from the day, our daily hotel room test “Are You Smarter Than an Italian Hotel Lightswitch?” ” Most days we failed.

Helpfully, sometimes switches control outlets, not lights. And now refer back to the comment about no consistent on or off position. Or they control power to another switch that only works if the first switch in in the correct position.

When confronted with this sort of challenge braindead tired after an awesome day on the bike, well, I might have taken some pretty dimly lit showers…

And that was the Dolomites and Carnic Alps 2019. To think that at the end of the trip I was bummed because the 2020 trip dates weren’t going to work with my schedule. In conclusion… I don’t even know.

Day 8, 18.1 miles, 2,350 feet.

Dolomites and Carnic Alps 2019, Day 7

(Fair warning that this is a long one. But more than a year later, this day is still so vivid and full in my mind that this post is the short version.)

After a lovely birthday featuring a comparatively laid-back ride, I woke up feeling refreshed and energized. Which was a very good thing, as we had one of the shortest rides of the trip on the menu.

What this ride lacked in quantity, it more than made up for in quality.* The stats–21.7 miles and 4,200 feet elevation gain–are already ridiculous, and that’s before I tell you that there were several flat miles in there! This might have been my favorite day of the trip, except that the transfer day was so amazing (says the person who was intimidated by gentle one-block rises a few years prior).

One reason I liked this day so much

The route started out on the bonus road we had finished with the day before, then continued to climb up the Monte Crostis, traverse a gnarly gravel “road” at the top, down one heck of a hairpinny descent, to complete the loop back into Ravascletto.

My memory of the day before did not lead me astray–the road to Tualis was still a delight of traffic-free swooping turns, rollers, and peekaboo views. And then… And then we started Up.

Some climbs in Europe have helpful road signs for cyclists every kilometer or so telling you distance remaining, your elevation, and the average grade over the next kilometer. So when–after a little bit of hard riding–we got to the sign saying 9.3km to go, and 10%, I was pretty happy. Not because 10% is easy, but rather because I consider 10% hard, and yet I still felt well within myself, and continued to do so over the next kilometer. I do not take for granted riding up a 10% grade for a while without feeling like death warmed over.

Plus, this was just an amazing road! Its width (I think the Burke-Gilman trail is wider at many points) reflected the amount of traffic on it, or rather, not on it. Which is a pity for all the traffic that wasn’t on it, because from the start there were lovely vistas out over the valley, and plenty of opportunities to look down at the road coiled dramatically beneath you. (See one of the signs in Google Streetview here, and then check out one of the switchbacky sections here.)

(Re: the following. Gentleman cyclists with delicate sensibilities might want to skip ahead to here.)

Now, for this next bit, I want to be clear that I would have loved this day no matter what, but this made it just a little sweeter. I’m not sure if I’m proud of that, but I sure enjoyed it, and still do.

We were not the only cyclists on this road, and just a couple kilometers in, the loose group I was riding with slowly approached another cyclist. Ian was still with me at that point, but then he couldn’t stand it any more, and went off ahead at his own pace, passing the other cyclist. This cyclist sort of pushed to stay with Ian for a couple pedal strokes, but then resumed his pace.

A little later, the pace I was going had me pulling up to him, and then passing him. Except, unlike when Ian passed him, he did not stay at his pace, but instead picked it up to pass me and go back ahead of me. Which, whatever. Some men can’t deal with being passed by a woman, but there are a lot of people out there stronger than me on a climb, and I wasn’t going to do myself any favors by trying to put on a surge of power to pass him if he was going faster than me.

Which he was.

For a little bit.

And then he started to slow down, and I started to catch up to him, which was a little awkward as he was also somewhat swervy on the very narrow road. But after letting up a bit, I was able to resume my own pace, which was now faster than his pace, and I passed him again.

In my dorky-but-handy glasses mirror I could see him pick it up again, and keep a constant distance close behind me. Until I looked away for a moment (probably doing something silly like admiring the view), and then glanced back to find him very much not close behind me. I was going pretty slowly, so I’ve got to hand it to him to be able to stay upright on his bike, given how slowly he must have been going.

Another brief switchback, and I could just barely see him if I peered down the hillside at the road below. And that was the last time I saw him until he summited *much later* and passed where we Cinghialini had been hanging out. That 10% grade we had been on? Spoiler alert, it got steeper, and I can tell you that it is very miserable to blow up on a super-steep road where it is impossible to ease off and recover. Oops.

I may not be the fastest or most skilled cyclist out there, but decades of ballet have given me one superpower: I can conceal my effort like you wouldn’t believe. If I make it my priority, you won’t be able to see that I’m breathing heavily, my upper body won’t rock at all to betray the effort that turning the pedals over is costing me, and I can look around casually like “oh, look, what a charming little easy ride I’m doing!”

It’s completely obnoxious, and you better believe that the moment I re-passed this guy, I was deploying my superpower like I never had before. Male cyclists who aren’t sexist asshats aren’t aggravated/humiliated by a woman passing them, so the ones who are deserve to have the experience be as aggravating/humiliating as possible. It’s only that way if they let it be, but gosh, it sure was fun that he let it be.

Ok, me being gleeful and petty aside, this road was epic and amazing. The grade hovered around 10% for a while, and then there was a noticeably steeper bit before it eased off to 10% again. That steeper section hurt, but I could do it, and I felt pretty awesome about getting through it. Then the next sign said 13%, while the road was still clearly around 8-10%. (I didn’t go through and find all the signs, but here’s some proof that I wasn’t making up the 13%!)

The few brain cells that were still getting oxygen started to do some math, slowly. If the next kilometer *averaged* 13%, and the road was currently well under that, well then… Oh.

Yeah, the little kick up that I was so proud of myself for making it through was just a little warm up teaser. Now we got to do that for real. Each switchback you’d have the thought “well surely around this corner it will have been one kilometer and then it will ease off, right?” Ha ha ha, nope.

One of the tortuous parts of a steep road segment like this where you know what it averages is that you both want the grade to lessen, and dread any moment of the grade lessening because you know that you will have to do something even steeper to make up for it.

This is not the sort of climb I excel at, but like on the transfer day, I was having the time of my life. Partly it was just the euphoria of actually being able to do it. I kept on expecting to be miserable, and I kept on being pleasantly surprised that I was enjoying myself, such that the enjoyment was doubled by its unexpectedness.

Partly it was the reward that came with each pedal stroke, as the views continued to unfurl–trees, mountain peaks, glimpses of the river valley, and hillsides artfully softened by mist.

A Google Streetview image because if I had stopped to take a picture, I probably wouldn’t have been able to get started again…

1 kilometer from the top was a thing of beauty: a sign proclaiming that the next kilometer would average only 9.4%! Once regrouped we all agreed that it felt so easy to ride your bike when it “eased off” to 9%, and that it was utterly ridiculous to talk of “easing off” to 9%!

And then oh joy, the top, and Gerardo and yummy things and a van bag with dry, warm clothes to change into! We had “just” gone 10 miles (2.5 of which was an easy warm up). It had taken me 1 hour and 40 minutes, the last 1 hour 20 minutes of which was an unrelenting effort flirting with being just on the edge of where I would blow up and crawl broken up the mountain. It required a complete effort both physically and mentally, and getting to the van had the thrill of a victory.

The top. You can tell I’m on summer vacation by the way I’m bundled up!

However, the day wasn’t over yet! At the top, the paved path that we were calling a road turned to gravel as it traversed the mountainside. And in places it was chunky, pick-your-line-carefully gravel. This isn’t my favorite of riding conditions, to put it mildly, but after the climb, I viewed it as yet another challenge to meet, and I had the (perhaps misplaced) confidence that I could.

There sure are a lot of warnings on that sign. Should we really be doing this?

Whether through luck or skill, I did make it through unscathed, and even enjoyed myself. I think we saw one, maybe two vehicles that weren’t Gerardo’s van, so it seemed almost like our private course to play bikes on. Being above the treeline, and above most everything around, you could see for days, and it was a most magnificent playground. It make me wonder what the experience of the Sella Ronda would be like without the constant buzz of traffic.

It looked like a wind was funneled up the hillside and peeled the roof off this place like the lid of a sardine can.

Atmospheric!

Obligatory cyclist headed up the road shot.

Andy and Elaine looking happy–as well they should when getting to introduce a bunch of people to such a fabulous road.

Believe it or not, I’m being really restrained in how many photos I’m posting.

After the gravel adventure traverse, we started back down, and the workout shifted from my legs to my wrists. The road down was much like the road up–sidewalks in downtown Seattle are wider. It was twisty, steep, intermittently wet, and there was slippery evidence of the passage of sheep. I gingerly rode my brakes all the way down, and was glad to reach Ravascletto in one piece. Note to self: incorporate more hand/wrist strength exercises in my bike training.

And there the day ended… Oh wait, no it didn’t. After all, it was just a 21.7 mile ride, and the rest of the day beckoned. So did the opposing peak of the Zoncolan. Even as ominous storm clouds rolled in, the summit beckoned. I wasn’t the only one thinking this way, as another bike tour company had just pulled up, and were doing bike checks and donning their rain gear to head up in the downpour that was starting.

So I went for it–up the Zoncolan!

In the cable car!

Yes, there is an alternate way to the top of the the Zoncolan. Elaine, Oscar, Kerry, Ian, and I all hopped on the cable car to enjoy a much easier way to the top than biking up there. We lucked out in catching the last cable car of the day up, and they seemed amused at our worries about the “schedule” of the last cable car down. The guy eventually made clear that he would just be waiting around for us–the schedule of the last car down was “when you head down.”

Nothing says smug like being inside the cable car while other are cycling up in the pouring rain.

We wandered around at the top for a bit, admiring the views and the brutally steep road up the mountain, and being glad that we hadn’t cycled up it in the rain (or more to the point, weren’t facing the prospect of descending it…)

They have signs commemorating the riders who have won atop the Zoncolan.

Elaine, Oscar, and Kerry

We applauded some of the cyclists who had summited–most of whom didn’t do more than acknowledge their tour van and keep going. Apparently they did not have a Gerardo with cheese and tomatoes and chocolate. And then it had been enough time out in the rain and cold (yay summer vacation), and we headed for the cable car, which had indeed not left without us, but did leave once we were aboard.

Again… You can tell I’m on summer vacation by the way I’m bundled up!

Part of why this day was so special for me is that it, combined with the transfer day, made me re-think myself and my capabilities as a cyclist. But even if the day hadn’t contained that impact, the sheer beauty of the ride, the joy of playing bikes on an almost untrafficked road, and the fun of sharing the experience with people who were as agog as I was would still make this one of my top days on a bike.

Day 7, 21.7 miles, 4,250 feet.

*I have noticed that most years, the description on the Cinghiale website is in the ballpark as to how much climbing we do, but well overstates the mileage we do. I don’t know if it’s on purpose, but if so, it’s because of days like this. Saying you did a 21 mile ride just does not capture what the day is, or how many miles you want in your legs for preparation to be able to handle that 21 mile ride. Most places it just isn’t possible to do a 21 mile ride like this. So you have to lead with a metric that people understand–you’ll be doing big miles! Despite the discrepancy, I have never heard someone at the end of the trip talking like they didn’t get enough, or epic enough riding in.

Dolomites and Carnic Alps 2019, Day 6

Well. When I wrote my last post, COVID-19 was just barely in the news as something happening far away, and my concerns were oriented around not drowning in work, and being peeved that I wouldn’t be able to do the 2020 Cinghiale tour because of my work schedule.

Of course, there wasn’t a 2020 Cinghiale tour, and though I’m still trying not to drown in work, there are much bigger things to be upset about than missing a vacation. All the same, I do wish that my OneDrive and Facebook would quit surprising me with “On This Day” photos. Because yes, I know, this day last year I was celebrating my birthday in Italy and in really great bike shape, and now I’m not. (Well, it is my birthday again, that didn’t change.)

On the other hand, It was my birthday! I was in Italy! In fabulous bike shape! And I haven’t finished writing about it, between work, COVID-19, and the calls for our society to reckon with its deep-seated racism. Since this is the bicycling corner of my life, do me a favor and help make cycling a more inclusive, equitable space by checking out the organizations and suggestions here. I’m partial to Black Girls Do Bike, placed as they are at the intersection of cycling’s race and gender inequities.

Day 6 of riding followed a rest day. After doing the Sella Ronda, and then the absolutely fabulous transfer day, I followed the instructions of the Cinghiale powers-that-be and did a rest day. It involved the hotel’s sauna/hot tub/cold plunge, rinse, repeat. Other people rode the Zoncolan. It takes all kinds…

Rest day view. It was a picture-perfect day to enjoy the great outdoors. Which I did, by looking at the great outdoors from a reclining position.

At any rate, after a refreshing rest day, it was my birthday! And there were two rides on the menu for the day–some people who hadn’t done the Zoncolan on the rest day wanted to go ride up it, while Andy was proposing to lead a ride looping around the base of the Zoncolan.

Part of me thought that I should go do the Zoncolan, but why? From the ride reports, my impression was that I could make it up, but that I wouldn’t really enjoy it. And what did I have to prove? Riding it just to say that I had done it just wasn’t compelling to me, compared to a ride that actually sounded pretty fun. Which is a little weird, because there are a number things that I have ridden where the pleasure was in overcoming the challenge, and to say I had done it. Actually, a lot of things. But the Zoncolan just didn’t entice me, for whatever reason, so I opted for bday fun.

And it was fun! We shared the beginning of the ride with the Zoncolan group along a busy-ish road, then waved them goodbye and continued on a delightful slight downhill, the sort that looks flattish, and makes you think you’re really good at bikes. (Knowing that other people were simultaneously suffering up completely unreasonable grades might possibly have made this stretch of road even better.)

We were riding along a river, with the great mass of hillside that supports the Zoncolan on our left. The contrast of open views on one side and vertical crags on the other was really enjoyable, and became even more fun when we hopped off the trafficked road onto a closed, barricaded, do not enter road. If stopped by Italian police, I was going to go with “I was just doing what the Giro d’Italia star told me to do!”

We had to skirt some fallen rocks, and stay alert, but that was a small price to pay for playing bikes on a closed road! I have an extra fondness for this road because Kerry and I sprinted ahead and found a good bush for a nature break, and I was a much happier person for it. What’s an Italian birthday if you haven’t peed by the side of the road?!?

Thence we found our way onto a bike path, and continued our car-free admiration of the scenery. In a fun birthday present sort of moment, where we had to hop off the bike path dumped us into a tiny town which had a number of ancient Roman ruins. So I got to combine two of my areas of interest, and admire the ruins from my bike. This was definitely way better than the Zoncolan.

Look at all the extant remains! Neato!

Portico area directly southwest of circled area in above photo

There was a mission to this ride–we were headed to Arta Terme for a café stop. Why here? Arta Terme was the finish town for stage 19 of the ’88 Giro, which was a decisive stage for Andy in keeping the pink jersey. After a group of riders got far enough up the road that Andy was out of the virtual lead, he made the decision to slow down and wait for some riders behind him, in order to hopefully be able to overall go faster with their help. (Yes, I did just split two infinitives in succession there, and proud of it.) The gamble paid off, he regained enough time to stay in the lead, and the rest–as they say–is history.

At any rate, we had had a much easier day to get to Arta Terme, but that didn’t stop us from feeling we had earned our coffee. A little bit after Arta Terme we joined up with the road that came down from the Zoncolan, and contemplated the road not taken. I was having a great time, and it wasn’t even near over yet.

Arta Terme. If you look closely, you can see one darned good looking bike in the photo… (Rider is caffeinating.)

It’s not a Cinghiale ride without some uphill, and the climb back up to Ravascletto was enough to feel like you had done something that day, while still being way less than most anything we had already done. From there, some of our group was happy to finish up, but a few of us continued up behind Ravascletto to Tualis on a small road nestled into the hillside. We maybe saw a car or two?

One of my goals (not always met) with the Cinghiale trips each year is to arrive in good enough shape that if there’s an offer of “this would be fun” I can go on a bonus adventure and enjoy it. This day was an epic success as far as that goal was concerned. The road was gorgeous, hidden away by the trees,  giving surprise peekaboo views, and I enjoyed rather than resented its sudden turns uphill. (It was a “level” road in that its beginning and endpoints were at about the same elevation, but…)

In a foreshadowing of the next day, I got a bday picture at Giro d’Italia piazza in Tualis, which was supposed to be the launching point for the 2011 Giro to climb the Crostis. The Giro organization backed out, but we weren’t going to (stay tuned–I should have Day 7 written up in about… Before next year’s trip?)

Happy 40th! Had to blink, didn’t I…

It was a delight of a ride, and I was thoroughly pleased with my decision not to ride the Zoncolan. Closed roads and Roman ruins and bonus miles, oh my! And to make my birthday extra-special, it turned out that on Friday nights the hotel would bring in a DJ to liven up dinner. So as we ate, a grey-haired Italian man was boogieing away (and occasionally singing along) at his mixing board, with a truly… interesting… variety of music. He tried to entice the German tables with some polkas and gave his rendition of pop tunes through the ages. It was eventually borne upon us that the establishment was hopeful that the “festeggiata” would dance. I wish I had a photo of my effort to keep a polite smile on my face when this alarming news was communicated to me…

It was an experience.

Day 6, 38.8 miles, 3,450 feet.

Dolomites and Carnic Alps 2019, Day 5

I’m still glowing from this day! It was wonderful in so many ways–the roads, the views, the weather, and how great I felt.

This was our transfer day, taking us to the Carnic Alps for the first time. In a logical progression, since the Alps are to the west of the Dolomites, the Carnic Alps are to the east. Naturally. Regardless, I was really looking forward to this day, given how much I have loved going from one geological formation to another in past years.

In the original plan, we had done the big Sella Ronda day on day 3, and a smaller ride on day 4, but since the weather didn’t cooperate and we had done Sella Ronda on day 4, we were headed into our longest, hardest, most non-optional day on less fresh legs than was ideal.

And I felt great!

We had a repeat of the previous day’s beautiful weather. The main problem would be not overheating on some of the climbs, but the heat wasn’t anything like some years of roasting on Cayuse Pass in RAMROD. While I can complain plenty about the heat, it was nice for that to be the problem rather than driving rain, wind, and hypothermia.

Hypothermia not an issue, even atop Passo Staulanza

Like the previous year, we started the transfer day going up the Staulanza. After a climb to get to the climb, it’s not really a huge climb, and there you are, already at the top of a mountain pass! Then you descend (into and through Dont) (which my computer is desperate to auto-correct to “Don’t” which would have been the instruction had we been doing a loop back to Alleghe), and descend, and descend, and pay close attention to the guides and the signs because you really don’t want to miss your turn.

Bikes abandoned–Gerardo’s got a good spread over at the van

Now here’s the sad part: I don’t really remember a lot of detail about the Passo Cibiana. I remember it being nice, and scenic (but what isn’t, riding here), and some woods and some village-y bits, and being warm, but *spoiler alert* the riding to come completely overshadowed it.

My photos say it was pretty on Passo Cibiana

But we did get to a lovely lunch spot at the top of the Cibiana, where we enjoyed scenicness (I know that’s surprising), and the simple-but-delicious food that makes Italy such a heaven for cycling. Bread. Cheese. Olive oil. Tomatoes. More cheese. Cookies. Cheese again. Mmmm, cheese…

Enjoying cheese and views and cheese

We descended, and then traversed a pretty flat section, which was a novelty. I almost didn’t know what to do. This ended with a little bump up into Vigo di Cadore, and what had felt like a pretty warm day riding on the flat with the constant breeze of your movement became a pretty toasty day at the lower speeds and higher exertion of a climb.

I forget why we stopped on this long flat section, but we did

Our target for a stop by the Cinghiale powers-that-be was just up the road in Laggio di Cadore, but in a moment of mass rebellion, people saw the spot of shade and the fountain as you entered Vigo, and bike dismounting commenced.

Ducking my gritty, salty, dirty, overheated head under the cool mountain water of the fountain was one of the better things I have done in my life.

The best fountain ever

Thus refreshed, I charged up the mountain! Just kidding. I rode the half-mile to Laggio di Cadore. Andy had been making noises about a gelato stop, and if the Giro d’Italia winner thought one should have gelato before this next climb, who was I to contradict him?

A group, feeling antsy and perhaps a bit anxious about the climb ahead, didn’t want to lose their momentum, so just kept going. But… Gelato!!! I wish I could remember what flavors I had, but I do remember that it hit the spot, as did stretching my legs out in the shade and laughing at Andy’s incredulity that people would rather charge up a mountain than eat gelato.

Because, sure–we were all in Italy to ride our bicycles and all, but–priorities!

This had been talked about as a climb of around 8k, with maybe some steep bits. But Andy is either charmingly or annoyingly (depending on your perspective) vague about length and difficulty–it’s all delightful riding to him, and since he doesn’t use a bike computer or anything, he guesses from memory. And I think that sometimes the more he is enjoying a road, the more it seems to be over in a flash. Things that Andy enjoys: low-traffic roads; scenic roads; steep roads.

This climb was low-traffic, scenic, and steep. So any guesses about whether Andy under or over-estimated its length? Spoiler alert, it was definitely longer than 8k. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Post-gelato, we climbed a bit out of town, and then had a more gentle traverse through the woods, and I was starting to think “hmmm, this hasn’t been that big of a climb, and we’re already a few k’s in.” Then the road pitched up again, and I thought “ahhh, ok, here we go.”

We were doing a really solid climb, on a beautifully quiet road, with trees and craggy peaks towering over us, exertion pulling fresh mountain air deep into my lungs, all on a perfect summer day. The setting alone was magical, and the sense of accomplishment of being near the top of this tough climb made it even more special.

Up ahead I caught glimpses of a wall of a mountain face, with what appeared to be a hiking path steeply switchbacking its way up. Interesting, but not relevant, as we had gone almost 8k at that point.

As we got closer, I could see that was a road (what idiot of an engineer would build a road there?!?), and it slowly dawned on me that there seemed to be no other place for the road we were on to go–no secret gap in the mountains around the next corner, or tunnel through, or… We were going up that road I had laughingly dismissed. So much for an 8k climb.

As much as I love riding up mountains, sustained gradients in the teens are still intimidating to me. They take me from enjoying the challenge and exertion, to hoping for survival, sometimes to a dispiriting extent.

Except today.

As we started up the 15% switchbacks (!!!), I felt great. It was such a patently ridiculous road that I could only laugh at it (inside–didn’t want to waste any breath). It was thrilling to rise up the face of the mountain, and look back down the valley we had been climbing, and start to get glimpses of where we were going. This was the eastern edge of the Dolomites, and we were about to emerge into a new world.

No photos of this section, because if I stop on a 15% grade, I might never start again, but look at those switchbacks and countour lines!

I was thrilled by the setting, and by the novelty of loving riding up a 15% road, and by how good I felt on the bike, and by, well, everything. I was also grateful for the gelato stop, as this would have been a huge bummer of a road to bonk on.

Eventually, too soon (and that’s something I never thought I would say about a 15% climb), we reached the top of the Passo Ciampigotto, where a bunch of gobsmacked riders gathered to exchange many remarks of the “oh my god, that road” kind. We were also serenaded by the bells of a very perky herd of cows.

More Passo Ciampigotto

Eventually it was time to leave this scene of bucolic bliss, and reap the reward of that climb. And what a reward! This side was a gentle 5% descent, light on the corners, heavy on the gently sweeping curves. It was more than 15 miles of barely touching the brakes or the pedals, and just gliding down bicycling perfection.

We weren’t home free yet. Ravascletto lay not at the bottom of the descent, but back up into the hills on the other side of the river valley we descended into. I was still riding the high of climbing and descending the Ciampigotto, and went for it. I put out a sustained 20-minute effort that I would have been pretty happy with when fresh and rested, much less at the end of climbing three Dolomites.

I have to give a shout out to Anne-Marije Rook here. Given the amount of time I spent cycling this year (or rather, not cycling), I had no business feeling this good and riding so strongly. Her coaching, despite my life getting in the way of too many bike workouts, challenged me on the bike in ways I wouldn’t have done otherwise, and I reaped the benefit in this being a joyous day, not a miserably painful one. Thanks AMR!

Great and joyous day of riding aside, it sure was nice to get to the hotel. And into our gorgeous room. And into the shower. It’s a lot easier to appreciate one of your best days on the bicycle once clean and setting in to do damage to a serious amount of food and drink.

View from our hotel room in Ravascletto. Those are cable car lines leading up to the top of the famed and fearsome Monte Zoncolan…

Day 5, 81 miles, 10,500 feet.

Dolomites and Carnic Alps 2019, Day 4

Sella Ronda Day! For the fourth time! (Not counting that other time that it was on the agenda but we decided not to be idiots in pouring down rain…)

Because of the giant October storm, the Serrai di Sottoguda was closed. I can only imagine the terrifying power of the flood waters channeled through that steep and narrow canyon. Much of the road and streambed were washed away in the cataclysm. There’s an astonishing overhead photo of some of the damage in this article about what happened and the plan to restore the Serrai.

The practical effect for us was that to start as usual by ascending the Passo Fedaia, we would have to be on a steep, busy highway, instead of the steep-but-dreamy-beautiful road through the Serrai. So in what was starting to feel like a theme of the trip, we rode the Sella Ronda in the other direction.

I occasionally can have a wee slight difficulty with change, but I wasn’t too fazed by the new plan. In one ride or another, I had done the ascent of the Campolongo, Gardena, and Sella in this direction before, though never all together. But the last segment, from the Passo Sella to the Passo Fedaia and would be a new experience.

It never ceases to amaze me how riding the same roads in the other direction can completely change everything. The rhythm of the day was really different, with the challenge of the climbs staying more constant, rather than going from about as hard as I’ve done to just a little more than a hill.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. First things first: after the downpours of the previous day, Sella Ronda day dawned sunny and warm-but-not-hot, the air crystal clear after the rain, and without noticeable wind. It was about as beautiful a day as would be possible for doing this ride.

There’s a lot more climbing to do to get up the Campolongo from Alleghe rather than Corvara, but it’s broken into segments and not that intimidating (well, at least as rides in the Dolomites go. Which is kind of like saying water just off the boil is not that hot, as compared to boiling water.) As the sun shone down on us from clear blue skies, it was hard to believe that less than 24 hours previously, impressively grey skies had been drenching me.

Quick break atop the Campolongo

We had a little regroup at the top of the Campolongo with snacks and directions (the next 3+ hours were taken care of with “turn left at the sign for the Passo Gardena, be sure to stop at the stop sign descending off the Gardena and turn left there for the Passo Sella.” Note: that second left turn would be a very very very bad one to miss. When we did the Passo delle Erbe loop, we kept going down there, and you go down for a long time. A really long time. No, longer than that.), and then a few of us started off towards Corvara.

Descending with people who hadn’t been this way before, I saw it with new eyes, and when they pulled off to take pictures, realized that I very much needed to do so too. The town, nestled by the towering spires around it, on such a beautiful day… Well, there’s a reason I keep going back.

I did have a moment of sorrow in Corvara, as I had to speed past the wonderful store where I have bought a couple fabulous outfits, knowing that there wouldn’t be another chance to visit them this trip. My wallet was happier, but I was sadder.

The Passo Gardena is a little rough to start, as your legs remember what climbing feels like (and offer their opinions about it), and as traffic is fairly heavy up through the town of Colfosco. Then traffic lessens a little, the views start to ramp up their stunningness, and your legs realize that they aren’t really going to convince you to turn around and descend again.

Atop the Gardena

I successfully summitted the Gardena and made the left turn at the stop sign while descending (very key!). The climb up the Sella is an interesting case of getting to admire much the same view on the way up as on the way down, rather than being a completely different experience. And in either direction, it’s some of my favorite scenery in the Dolomites. While I was reduced to incoherence by effort and astounding views, Andy rode along with me for a while. I remember it being enjoyable, and we talked about… something? … But I really can’t remember–the views were crowding everything else out of my brain.

Atop the Sella, I had to get a couple photos. A German man saw me taking a photo of my bike, and Had Opinions on the photo I needed to get. Which he proceeded to explain to me, emphatically. In German. No, I don’t speak German. But he kept on emphaticizing, so I handed my phone over, stood next to my bike smiling and moving this way and that until he was satisfied and took a photo. He Germaned at me some more, I said “danke” and retrieved my phone in a daze, and continued on, pretty nice photo in hand.

The German’s photo of me

My photo of me. The German may have had a point…

This was now new territory for me. Descending what I had only ascended before was really fun, with new views, and revisiting old memories. Even better, partway down the descent was the van, and lunch!

Lunch was here!

I really liked heading up the Passo Fedaia from this side. It’s more scenic than the other side, and the road had nice twists and turns to it, rather than a depressingly long straight shot of 15% grade. All the same, I was starting to scent the barn, and didn’t stop to take photos of the lake at the top (and on this beautiful day, it really was spectacular). After a brief stop at the van (thank you, Gerardo!), I headed down.

This was my least favorite part of the day, heading down the 15% side of the Fedaia. I spent the whole day not looking forward to it. But I just took it slow, and told myself that if my hands started cramping up or my brakes started overheating, I could just stop for a while. I didn’t need to, but it was reassuring.

As I reached the bottom, Andy caught up with me, just in time for us to be stopped for a while while traffic was routed through a construction zone in alternating directions. There was some unpleasantness of dust and bad road surface (and a dump truck that insisted on jumping in front of us, then going slower than we could have gone whole spraying dust from its load), but after that we had a pleasant ride back to Alleghe, jumping on the new riverside path for the last bit.

I had such a glow from this day. It was so beautiful out, I had so much fun riding these roads I love, and thanks to the Cinghiale tradition of plying us with delicious food at rest stops in beautiful locations, I was tired but not flattened. All considered, I felt remarkably perky for doing a route that, the first time I rode it (albeit in the other way) I seriously doubted my ability to complete. That sense of making the fearsome not only accomplishable, but joyous, is one of the repeat experiences I treasure about these Cinghiale trips.

Day 4, 59.1 miles, 8,400 feet

Dolomites and Carnic Alps 2019, Day 3

You win some, you lose some. The weather forecast for the day wasn’t looking good. But the weather forecasts in the mountains are notoriously unreliable until about a day ahead of time, and even then they can be pretty far off base. This one wasn’t.

The big Sella Ronda loop that was on the schedule was definitely out. As an alternative, we gathered under cloudy-but-not-yet-rainy skies (or at least not *very* rainy) to head towards the Passo Pordoi. Devoted readers will remember that last year, this was a day that started in epic rain, and then turned out ok.

Spoiler alert: today did not start out in epic rain, so you get one guess about how it ended.

I had fun riding with the group to Arabba. You climb up a dramatically hairpinning road, to come out onto a road that traverses the mountainside to Arabba. After the climb, the (relatively) flat stretch seems so easy and so fast.

There was a regrouping in Arabba, with a number of people who were ready to barrel on ahead up the Passo Pordoi. I looked at the sky. Then I considered the status of my caffeination level, stomach, and bladder. Then I looked at the café right next to us.

I bid the group continuing onward adieu, and ducked into the warm and dry café where food, coffee, and a bathroom greatly improved my outlook on life. As I walked back outside, the threatening clouds over the Pordoi that I had carefully considered earlier were closer, dripping some anticipatory raindrops on me.

I sprinted back the way I had come, and pretty soon found myself ahead of the rain and feeling pretty smug about my choices. I was enjoying the fast traversing road, and planned to extend my ride by passing up the first turnoff to descend back into the valley, and go a ways further to one of the later turns.

Cloudy, but not yet raining, and a beautiful ride

Then the rain caught back up with me. A few minutes later, the first turnoff arrived, and I had the merest hesitation before diving down the hillside. I took the really fun descent pretty cautiously, as the road was getting to that perilous sometime dry, sometimes damp, but not yet washed clean of oil and debris stage.

That cloud didn’t just threaten; it caught up with me and dumped rain

Towards the bottom, the leading edge of the rain cloud had passed me, and I was squarely under the thick of it. And it just kept raining harder, and harder, and harder… Though I was pretty close to the hotel, I was out in the rain long enough to arrive thoroughly soaked, but not long enough to be cold and miserable. It was the perfect “I feel like a bold adventurer and badass, but didn’t actually encounter any hardship” sort of ride.

I was showered, warm, dry, and enjoying a beer and a book as the Passo Pordoi group came in. They also really enjoyed their day, but they got significantly wetter than I did. Significantly. Andy made some remark about how you should pay attention to the Pacific Northwesterner’s read of the rain clouds.

So it ended up being an easy day, as these things go. And I did what some people think a summer vacation should be for, and relaxed in a nice hotel with a great view, a book and a delicious beverage. I even made it down to the sauna–I think that’s the sort of thing people do on vacation?!?

After the storm passed through, the evening air was so clear. I could watch this view forever; the changing light from moment to moment, day to day, makes it continually engrossing

Day 3, 28.5 miles, 2,450 feet.

Dolomites and Carnic Alps 2019, Day 2

Today was a day both old and new. We were riding the Passo Falzarego and the Passo Giau. On several past trips I’ve ridden the Passo Giau and Passo Falzarego, so old terrain. But note the switched order–we were going in the other direction.

In previous years we had started with the Giau, which is the iconic direction for the climb. It’s pegged at 10% for 10km, with an amazing series of switchbacks at the top where at each hairpin it looks like the grade is about to lessen up. But it doesn’t. This is the direction the Giro d’Italia takes, and when they went over it in 2016, it was very gratifying to hear the announcers go on and on about what a difficult climb it is.

I have loved doing the Giau followed by the mellow ascent of the Falzarego, and a whizz bang descent back to Alleghe. It’s a close call, but I think I liked this year’s reverse direction even better!

The climb up the Falzarego from Caprile is really enjoyable. It’s challenging enough to feel like you’re accomplishing something (or like you need to pick new vacations), but it’s not a grim slog. The way the road negotiates its way up and through the mountains makes for both beautiful and constantly varied scenery.

The top of the Giau climb from the usual direction, in contrast, is an impressive but daunting view of an open, unchanging hillside with the road winding its way up and the top never seeming to get closer.

After the summit of the Falzarego, we rolled down a little ways to a less congested (and bonus, warmer) area where the van greeted us with snacks, and I bundled up for the rest of the descent. As mentioned above, this side of the Falzarego is a pretty mellow slope. It also doesn’t have many hairpins, meaning a no-brakes (almost) descent that was fun and fast but not too fast. Going over the Falzarego in this direction gets you the better views on the climb, and the fun, relaxing, non-technical descent.

Snack stop views

It would be so neat to take the cable car up to that hut

Repeat view–but the light changed!

The back side of the Giau (after hastily getting rid of a bunch of layers) was really interesting. It was mostly in the trees, but like the other side opened up into grassy meadows towards the top, but with an even better mountain view. The climb was very stair-steppy, completely unlike the unvarying grade of the other side. The moments of relief were paid for with short bursts of “what drunken engineer built this road?!?”

It’s supposedly the easier side to ride, but I think that is pretty subjective. If you really like to get into a rhythm and keep it steady, this would be the much more challenging side. Both sides are hard, just in different ways.

The required background for the required Passo Giau photo

The steep and winding descent off the Giau was definitely challenging, but it was also a really fun trip down memory lane. There’s something very satisfying about gliding over a patch of road you remember really struggling up. Corner after corner, I would look at the new vista ahead, and think “oh yeah, there’s that hut that it took all my willpower not to stop at” or “there’s where my tank was really empty but trying to eat made me nauseated” and then freewheel by.

Not that my summer vacations are all misery–I also went around corners remembering “here’s where I knew I was going to make it, and felt on top of the world” or “this is the corner when suddenly my legs felt great and the sun was hitting the mountain just so and I could almost hear the angels singing” and those places were just as satisfying.

End of day, I was exhilarated by the new way of experiencing familiar and beloved terrain. Also tired. I was definitely tired. And hungry. Good thing I was in Italy–it’s a wonderful place to have worked up an appetite.

Riverside path leading me to lunch

Day 2, 39.7 miles, 6,400 feet.

(The map and elevation profile come in two parts because I had forgotten to charge my bike computer, so saved the first part and started a new ride just in case I ran out of battery…)

Dolomites and Carnic Alps 2019, Day 1

So, cycling in Italy, blah blah blah, been there, done that.* For something amazing, how about an airplane bathroom twice the usual size, and with a window. A. Window. !?!?! It is amazing what a little extra space and some natural light can do to transform a super creepy, gross room into an oasis of calm. Seriously. My mind was blown. Life changing.

It turns out that it is hard to take photos of a small space from inside the small space.

My jaw literally dropped when I walked in. I know, it’s a crappy, blurry cell phone photo, but it’s the one I got.

If you think I’m being silly about this, you have obviously never experienced a large, windowed airplane bathroom.

Anyway, I decided to take that as an auspicious start to my journey. Whether or not it was, I had the easiest transition to Italian time–one day of being dozy in the afternoon, slept great the whole trip with no chronic middle of night wake ups–I’ve ever had. Sleeping well while on a trip to ride up Italian mountains is about the best birthday gift I could have had.

It was piping hot in Venice, as usual in August. We had one day to ourselves before the tour started, so took the train from our Venetian-suburb hotel into Venice proper. Since we’ve already seen a lot of what we want to see in Venice, we had the luxury of not feeling pressured to accomplish a lot in the heat. We went back to the Peggy Guggenheim Collection because we both really like it, for the art and for the location. We also went to lunch. And given the heat, navigating the trains, the museum, and the restaurant seemed like plenty to have accomplished.

(Pro tip: it’s pretty stupid to visit Venice in August…)

The next day, the Cinghiale powers loaded us up into a bus, and we left the heat of the Veneto for the delightful fresh air of the Dolomites. After sweltering for even a day, you feel pretty smug about getting to put on a sweater.

The familiarity of the ride up into the mountains was tempered this year by a new landscape created by a huge storm that had swept through the preceding October. Freakishly strong winds blew down entire hillsides of trees in valley after valley after valley. Lake Alleghe flooded, rising several feet up the ground floor of our beloved home in the Sport Hotel Europa.

Along the main street were a series of kiosks with photos showing the storm and its aftermath, and the Sport Hotel Europa had a plaque on the side of the building–well above my head–showing the height of the flood. All of which were both fascinating and horrifying, and none of which I remembered to get a photo of. Use your imagination, or Google.

As usual, the first day’s ride was a shorter ride, giving us a chance to sort out post-assembly bike problems, try to get post-travel legs spinning, and get a first glimpse of the astonishing beauty of riding in the Dolomites. One of the things that I enjoy so much about this trip is knowing that a thrilling view is coming around the next corner, and then hearing people’s unbelieving reactions as it is revealed.

Zoom in to see swathes of fallen trees

 

Are you starting to see why we’re in our happy place?

The light was magic this evening. Welcome back to Alleghe.

Yeah, I don’t have anything more to say.

Day 1, 21.6 miles, 2,400 feet.

*For the record, I’m being sarcastic here. I am still in disbelief that I live a life where cycling in Italy is a thing I do, and am beyond grateful and goofy-excited about it.