Short version: put in the van, and driven away from the safety of our Alleghe hotel. Then kicked out and told no dinner unless we biked over the highest paved road in Italy, aka the Passo Stelvio.
Proof that I made it up the Stelvio! (Spoiler alert: this photo is actually from Day 7, when we were made to go up the Stelvio again… On my birthday…)
Long version: the rest day finished with a wine tasting before dinner. It featured wines from Andy Hampsten’s friends and neighbors in the Castagneto Carducci region, vineyards that for the most part don’t do large enough production runs to bother exporting. So you get to drink the wine either by living there, or being friends with Andy Hampsten. We went to bed pretty happy, feeling like these Cinghiale people were pretty nice, and really knew how to treat a person well!
I think they were just softening us up for what was to come.
In the morning we loaded our stuff and ourselves into two vans, and set out towards Bormio, our home in the Italian Alps. (Side note: it was a little rainy to start the day, but the bikes went on the rack on top of Gerardo’s van regardless. Except for Andy and Elaine’s bikes, which went in a van. And ours. Perhaps random, but we decided it was great to be on the tour, and even better to be on the tour with bikes that Gerardo really liked…)
At the town of Castelbello, we piled out of the vans at a little cafe where the guide for our second half of the trip, Kerri, was waiting for us. We had a little lunch, changed into our bike clothes, and then Kerri led us to a bike path that took us about 15 miles, just barely uphill, to Prato allo Stelvio. This town, at 2,900 feet, marks the official start of the climb up to the Passo Stelvio at 8,900 feet. While it was great to start the ride off of the main road, without any traffic, there were significant stretches in which the path was gravel, not paved. And I just don’t like gravel, even well packed, easy riding gravel like this.
But we finally made it through all the gravel sections, and I was starting to feel like I had made it, when I felt the tell-tale thumps from my rear wheel: flat tire. I was riding at the back of our little peleton, chatting with Kerri and Ian at the time, and she quickly rode ahead to alert Andy to what was going on, while Ian and I stopped to fix it.
I had the wheel off, and was about to start taking the tire off the rim, when Andy appeared, and took over. Though I can fix a flat on my own, I had no problems handing my wheel over to someone who would likely be much faster at it than me (as Andy is with anything bike-related…) Andy quickly got me going again, and we took off. He checked in with me that his pace was ok, and we settled down to slowly working our way back to the group.
In other words: I was being pulled back up to the peleton by a winner of the Giro d’Italia.
In other words: Andy Hampsten was being a domestique for me. Puts me up there with Greg LeMond… (And probably a gazillion Cinghiale clients, but don’t burst my bubble!)
I hate flat tires as much as the next cyclist, but this one was so worth it! I was cracking up at the incongruity of the situation as I pedaled along easily–and very quickly!–in his slipstream. Normally I am a pretty hesitant drafter. If I don’t know someone and their cycling well, it makes me nervous to try to get close to their wheel, nor do I always like to have to concentrate on the wheel in front of me instead of the scenery around me. But Andy’s wheel… His riding is just confidence-inspiring. Just like it is a joy to follow him down a descent, I felt way more confident tucking in closely behind him than I usually do.*
Andy soon had us back up with the peleton, which was kindly lollygagging a bit for us. But Andy seemed to be in a nice groove, and didn’t seem to notice the speed differential–we just kept on going. Next thing I knew, the peleton was behind us. And then Andy noticed, decided to go back and cycle his way through the group to check in with everyone. He told me to lead on, and “just make sure not to miss the left turn up there.”
So I kept pedaling, and started praying that someone who knew where they were going would show up before I missed the crucial turn…
And someone did, and it was an obvious turn (the path terminated in the town, and we turned followed the sign pointing left to the Stelvio) and all was well. There was the little detail of 6,000 feet of climbing up the Stelvio to come, but hey, I didn’t get us lost, so I was pretty happy!
From Prato allo Stelvio, the road rises steadily up to the pass, gaining the afore-mentioned 6,000 feet over the course of 15 miles that average 8% grade. Those 15 miles took me almost 2 1/2 hours (including a few minutes snacking at the van partway up. Gerardo is an angel!) (To compare, when the Stelvio has been included in the Giro, I think it has taken them about 75-90 minutes…) The road is an engineering marvel–how they surveyed the mountains to even figure out where to put it boggles my mind.
Part of the marvel is the number of switchbacks–48 from the Prato allo Stelvio side–that are each signposted, so you can count down to the summit. The first couple come quickly, and then… Nothing. It’s a mile or so between the next couple. If you don’t know about this ahead of time, it can be demoralizing–at that rate, the ascent seems impossibly long! But then they start grouping closer together, and I greatly enjoyed both the slingshot effect of each hairpin, as well as seeing the numbered signs go by as concrete proof of my progress.
The view on the way up the Stelvio, Prato side. I took this while riding–that’s still a big deal for me!
And yeah, it’s a hard climb. But there’s a point at which the climb is as hard as you want to make it on yourself. Provided that you are staying hydrated, getting sufficient calories, have the right clothing–all of which I was doing well on, partly thanks to having a follow van that I could put clothing options in, and that stopped to feed us partway up–you can always shift down and pedal slower. And when you’ve shifted down all the way, and can’t pedal much slower, you can get off your bike and rest if you want. So I settled in for a long, slow crawl up the mountain, but knew that I only had to suffer as much as I wanted to. As it was, I didn’t need to stop and rest, and for the most part it felt good to push a bit–I didn’t make it too easy on myself. But just knowing that I could take a break if I wanted to made it easier not to take a break.
But why put myself through this, you ask… So many reasons… The fantastic and changing views of the mountains. The endorphin rush. The sense of accomplishment. Yada yada yada. But particularly, why the Stelvio? Not only is it an epic road, but it is an epic cycling road. The great names of professional cycling have raced over it, and because it’s so big, the importance and drama of the race that day was just as big. For many amateurs, it’s hallowed ground, and riding it is a pilgrimage. In a way, it becomes meaningful because it’s so meaningful to so many.
And seriously, I could only describe my ascent as 2 1/2 hours of gawking. At the views. At the road engineering. At the numbers of cyclists riding it on a random Thursday afternoon in September. And when I wasn’t gawking, I was going “wheeeee!” around a hairpin. Yes, out loud.
And finally–the top!
The last few hairpins
I have no idea how to get up to that little hut…
We’re not in the quiet Dolomites any more… Here in the Alps, there are multiple rifugi, and lots of merchandise. I bought a Stelvio bike jersey–I’m proud of that one!
At Andy’s recommendation–and what was I paying for on this trip if not to do whatever Andy Hampsten told me to do–I got a sausage sandwich fresh off the grill at the little sausage vendor’s stand (see that red canopy in the background of the above photo?). It was greasy, flavorful, hearty, and best of all, piping hot!
Yes, it was slightly chilly at the pass. Some people go to sunny beaches on their summer vacation. I bundled up in as many clothes as I could find, and shivered my ass off at the top of a bunch of mountain passes. Each to their own, I guess…
And of course, Gerardo was there with the van too–and more food.
Andy runs on chocolate.
It was pretty great to climb the Stelvio, get the jersey, get the photos that proved we were there, get some food, get some espresso, but it was chilly. And I’ll admit to being a bit more interested in getting warm than in taking fabulous photos. But I still got a few decent ones.
Obligatory photo with Andy at the Passo Stelvio sign.
Uhhh, I’m not sure what was happening here…
And finally, descending! Towards warmth, the hotel, warmth, showers, warmth, dinner, and warmth!
Partway through the descent, Andy slowed up, unclipped his right leg, and stuck it straight out to the side. I know a lot of cycling hand signals, but this was not a signal I knew at all. Apparently that is Andy-speak for “here’s a scenic viewpoint alongside a waterfall that is a good place to pull over and take some photos.” So we did.
I’m smiling because I’m a lot warmer than I was a few minutes ago! (Also note the stylish plastic shower cap over my helmet–makes a perfect windbreak!)
If there were audio, you could hear the waterfall to our right
There aren’t as many switchbacks on the descent into Bormio, but there are still a lot, and it’s a fabulous descent. It was just over 13 miles to the hotel from the top, and it took just over 30 minutes, including time stopped for photos.
The hotel was great, and the shower… The shower… The shower was amazing. Hot water is the best invention ever.
The Stelvio. It was an epic day.
Final numbers–46 miles, 7,200 feet of elevation. And the first 15 miles were relatively flat…
*I’m sure there were still oceans of space between us that a better cyclist would have occupied, but for me, I was drafting much closer than I usually do, and feeling much more comfortable than I usually do. It’s hard to put a finger on exactly what makes Andy such an easy wheel to follow. Duh, he’s a top pro. But it’s not just that he’s stronger and faster than other cyclists–it’s not about that at all. (After all, the times I have drafted his wheel, he was not going anywhere near all-out speedwise.) There’s an ease he has on the bike, born of more hours cycling than I can even imagine. Following him, there’s never a little tickle of worry in the back of your mind that he might do something unpredictable, or awkward, or unsafe. And riding behind him without that tickle of worry made me realize that the rest of the time, I have a voice in my head–sometimes quiet, sometimes loud–urging caution while following a wheel.