Sometimes thunderstorms don’t even produce any rain. Or just a little sprinkle. More often a reasonably respectable downpour.
We were lucky. As we prepared to go out for the trip’s first ride, we got to experience the rare “so unbelievably much water it’s either funny or the world is ending.” For bonus fun, the walls of water were moving sideways. All of which, somewhat understandably, dampened (ha ha, see what I did there?) people’s enthusiasm for immediately jumping on their bikes.
At the same time, people (ok, me) were a little antsy. We had been on a bus for several hours, transporting us from Venice to Bormio, and this was a bicycling vacation, darn it!
The weather teased, the sun emerging for moments of brilliance. We’d start grabbing helmets and heading towards our bikes, just in time for the next wave of black clouds and walls of water to roll in.
Finally, just about the time that we would have given up, there was a decent window for an abbreviated ride. Instead of the original plan to ride out to a lake (which is, naturally enough, located on top of a steep hill–because water flows uphill here?), a ride that had closed out our first year, some of us did a modified ride up to a nearby ski area. Others opted to relax and not risk getting caught in the epic weather (just because they were the smart ones on the trip didn’t mean they had to show off like that).
Even though the ride to the lake was fabulous, I was excited that we were doing the ski area ride instead. On our first trip, one of the hardcore overachievers liked to pop over to do the ski area ride before breakfast, or after the Stelvio, just to have something to do. I was curious to see what he had been up to.
Unsurprisingly, the road went up right away, and then kept going up. It switchbacked through the woods, and then revealed great views of Bormio and the hills opposite. These views were made even better by having massed dark clouds over them, while were were enjoying being not rained on (for the most part).
There had been a wedding in town, with the party apparently scheduled for the ski lodge. This meant that for a while, there was a steady stream of cars going by, honking enthusiastically, and lots of screaming and excitement. Apparently Italians get exuberant about marriage. Some of the guys on the ride were given unsteady pushes and even “offered” (=made to accept) cups of beer. I escaped all this, and though gender-based misplaced chivalry is not usually my thing, I was ok with missing out on some extreme sketchiness.
It was starting to get to be dusk, dinnertime (the best time!) was approaching, and I still wasn’t at the ski area. People kept peeling off and heading back. I finally decided that I would do so too at the next switchback, but once I got there, it was clear that the end of the road was just around another corner or two… And I couldn’t resist making it “official.” (Official with whom? Don’t ask questions.)
Just before I got there, Andy went past me and told me to turn around–past time to be headed back. But… The top was just ahead, so I made to myself the excuse that it would be a better locale for turning my bike around. Sorry Andy!
There was another cyclist up there, and Andy supervised us back down the road. It was now sprinkling a bit, and the road was that treacherous semi-damp that can be unpredictable. I ended up in front, swallowed my pride, and descended in the most cautious, excessive-braking, ginger tiptoeing around switchbacks manner possible. It was the first day, I was on my pretty new Hampsten bike, and I was NOT going to go down in a stupid rush to get to dinner!
But I felt bad for Andy, having to follow this sorry display, forced to stick with us because we were the last ones on the road. Sorry Andy!
At any rate, all got home safely, and dinner was delicious. No photos from the ride though, because it was damp and I was riding against the clock.
Day 1 shakedown ride: 12.2 miles, 2,274 feet.