Cycling In Italy – Finale

Ciao,

It had to come to an end. From making lists of what to pack, to riding in Switzerland, to getting the new bike, to climbing Mount Grappa, to meeting Mr. Pinarello, my cycling adventure is over. It’s both sad and happy and I know I’m still in the transition stage. I’m clinging to the memory of a great vacation while diving head first back into my job and the responsibilities of being a husband and father.

Since this is a blog and not a novel, I had to leave out most of the images and impressions from my trip. To include them all would have been overwhelming for both you and me. As I reflect back, cycling in Europe was not about the number of miles or the mountains we climbed. It was about the small things. What I’ll remember is the great espresso in the cafés, the rides through ancient towns and villages, the wonderful conversations at lunch and dinner, and getting to know friends even better. It was about cycling in someone else’s country and getting a glance at their culture.

For those of you how have inquired, the new bike made it to California unharmed thanks to Gaylen’s hard case. She is now reassembled and ready for a little fine tuning. Her inaugural ride in California will probably be on Thursday. Like me, she needs a little rest until then.

Many thanks to all who made this cycling adventure possible. Without the help of family and friends, I would still be looking at maps and dreaming of cycling in Switzerland and Italy. Instead, I’ll have memories that will last a lifetime. Thank you.

Cycling In Italy - The Surprise Trip

If you have read these blogs, you know I purchased a new Pinarello bike in Italy. Some have called her my Italian mistress. Only kidding, Rosey.

Even before this adventure began, I was thinking it would be fun to visit the Pinarello bike factory and store. After making an inquiry and even trying some whining earlier in the week, I was told it was too far to go by taxi. Even yesterday, I made a last minute plea to go, but no deal says the “camp” director, it would cost too much.

After our ride and during lunch, Mike offers to drive his rental car to Treviso where the Pinarello store is located. The only hitch is that I would have to navigate. It’s a deal. After lunch and getting our bikes packed, we head out. Dan loans us his GPS which probably saved us hours of driving around in circles. We make it to Treviso and drive right to the front door of the Pinarello store. We park illegally and I almost run in. I'm acting so much like an American tourist it even scares me. 

In the store we not only meet Mr. Pinarello, the founder of the company, but also Carla, his daughter. Both are charming and I discovered, good sales people. After calling VISA to have my credit limit raised, I walk out with a new Pinarello kit and a few other things, including pictures and an autograph from the man himself. Carla even throws in Pinarello hats for Mike and me. I catch Mike eying a new bike.

Mike not only made my day, but gave me a memory that will last a life time.

Cycling In Italy - Stage Six

Blog Note: Sorry this was not posted last night. The Internet connection at the hotel had crawled to a stand still. I’ll try to post it on Sunday during one of my layovers.

Stage six (Saturday) of our cycling adventure in Italy was, in California terms, pretty gnarly. Because of the number of people in the bike “camp”, three ride groups were once again formed. At about 8:24, my group left the hotel and headed east into the rising sun. The first town we came to was Forte. Like many towns in this part of Italy, it has an old section and a new. We went through a piece of the old and were able to glance at its baroque period church. Perched high on a hill with a long set of wide stone stairs leading to its front, the walls of the yellow stone church seemed to glow in the early morning light. 

What was different about this ride from the very beginning was that we had to share the road with lots of other cyclists. Italy’s food culture is based on olive oil and pasta and it’s national pastime has to be cycling. We couldn’t go a kilometer without seeing at least one cyclist, if not an entire term. At one point, we passed the national Pinarello term all kitted-up in their blue, orange and white kits. No time to count as we rode by, but we all guessed there must have been about 40 of them. I learned later that the team competes in the Italian national GranFondo. 

 

The first part of the ride was fairly flat. After maybe 35 km we stop for espresso and pastries. After all, we’ll need nourishment for the climb ahead. It may not be universal, but I sense there is a common bond among cyclists; riding and coffee shops go together.

After the stop, we start the climb of a medium sized mountain.  By comparison to the rest of the week, this one was pretty easy. After five days of riding, I was fortunate enough to still have some climbing legs. Up and over the top we go. On the desent, we decided to take a new route for everyone, including our guide: road 19. It was basically a farm road about as wide as a Volkswagen beetle. We had some speed going down and I was close to the back of the group. Suddenly, I heard the familiar cry, or in this case, scream of “car up”. I immediately look up. Hell, it was no car, but a massive corn harvester complete with trailing truck. It’s giant V shaped blades heading right for us. I’ve never seen bikers jump off their bikes and onto the side of the road so fast in my life. We literally had to move into the trees to let the two vehicles pass.

Back down in the valley, we head for Asolo. We rode toward the medieval center of town on a one-way street which enters on one side of town and then exists on the other. It’s so narrow, that there are traffic lights on either side to control cars (and bikes). You have to wait until all the cars are through town before the light turns so you can proceed. Over more cobblestone and brick paved roads.

As we get ready to leave Asolo and head back to the hotel, we are given two choices; the flatter road with more cars or the steeper road with fewer cars. We choose the steeper road. What we didn’t know is that the road of choice ran between huge ivy covered walls and climbed a grade I’m estimating to be 12-14%.  It’s amazingly beautiful, but there is no dancing on the peddles, rather just grunting it out and hoping you don’t fall over. 

As we got closer to Borso de Grappa and our hotel, reality began to set in. This would be my last ride in Italy. Did I really have to pack up my bike for the trip back to California? Yes, but surprisingly for me, one of the highlights of the entire trip awaited later in the afternoon. Stay tuned.

Cycling in Italy - Stage Five, Recovery

By popular demand, two recovery rides were offered today along with a climbing ride. Two people from our Atascadero group chose the climbing ride; an engineer and an attorney. Guess who? The mortals among us chose one of two recovery rides. The ride for my group was planned for about 60 miles. Instead, we convinced our leader that a cafe and pastry ride would be more in line with our physical state. We won.

Nothing unusual about the ride for this part of Italy. We rode through a medieval walled city, along the river, on country roads the same size as the Bob Jones Trail, and again experienced the joy of cobblestones. Our first stop was for espresso and pastries. More country roads, ancient churches and lush green pastures. Back to Bassano, over the 15th century covered bridge and a stop for gelato. A little people watching, and back to the hotel for lunch. A total of about 40 miles. It felt great. Did I mention they serve vino rosso, prosecco, and bier with lunch? Somehow, I just don't think lunch back on campus next week will be the same.

Later this afternoon it's off to a couple of bike shops and then shopping in Bassano so we can help keep the Euro strong.

Here's a few more pictures. Sorry they are not in chronological order. The mountain shot is Mount Grappa in the winter.
Ciao

By popular demand - a few more pictures

Cycling In Italy – Stage Four: The Queen Stage

I woke up before the alarm went off with a sense of fear and dread. The elephant in our group's psyche for the last few days had also awakened. It’s Mount Grappa and we climb it today. The mountain itself is over 1,775 meters (5,823 ft) high. Besides being legendary in the annals of cycling, Mount Grappa is also the site of an historic battle in World War I between the Italians and the Austro-Hungarian Empire. If the Italians lost the battle, Italy would become part of the Empire. Over 30,000 Italians died during the battle and are buried on Mount Grappa. We would be riding to holy ground for the Italian nation.

The breakfast discussion focused on which of the three routes up the mountain everyone was going to take. Each route had advantages and disadvantages. I’m also wondering if I should bring a jacket and how many bananas and pastries I should eat. It could be a long day without food. As we all meet outside the hotel, routes were still being discussed, but the time to choose had arrived. I was one of three TTT’s who selected the “new road” route which is straight up and straight down. The other options were the “old road”, straight up, shorter, but steeper and the “back side” route which was longer and supposedly less steep. The TTT “new road” group joined six guys from Auburn, CA and we started the ride.

It took us about 2.5 km to reach the base of the mountain.  We suddenly made a right hand turn and I knew immediately the climbing had begun.  We had been told earlier that there were approximately 27 km of climbing at about an 8% grade and it would take about 2 hours. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep that data in my head.

 

As is typical on Italian roads, the major turns (switchbacks or hairpins) are numbered. By the time I reached number three, I was already sweating pretty hard. I sort of remembered someone saying that there were 21 of these switchbacks. Could that be right? At number 8, my shoes were so soaked they began to squeak, water was dripping from my glasses, and my jersey was glued to my back.

I tried to stay in the saddle, but I realized that standing at least once every kilometer relieved some of the cramping that was developing in my quads. Slowly, we ascended the mountain. Trees of the valley gave way to pines, then to small scrub, and then to barren rock pastures. About 10 km from the summit, I began to hear bells. Is this it, had my time come? I had expected the bells of the afterlife to be in tune; perhaps a perfect C.  No, these were bells from several small herds of cows. Each herd’s bells had a different tone. As a cow bent over to munch on grass, its bell would ring. These poor creatures must be deaf from all the clanging.

At 7 km from the summit, I couldn't care less about the damn cows. I was feeling pretty bad. Just then, I made another turn and there, off in the distance and seemly straight-up, was the summit and the memorial to the Italian war dead. I had two choice:; bonk or continue. Digging deep, I pushed on and made it. It was the longest and hardest climb of my cycling career; 5,300 ft in about 2.25 hours.

Our group began to assemble at the summit. After an espresso and the best chocolate pastry I ever tasted, we started the descent. Steve, Jim and I came down together. It took about 30 minutes and thankfully it was not as technical as yesterday. I was lucky in that for about a third of the descent, I followed a small truck which honked at each major turn whereby clearing the way. The cool temperatures on the summit of Mount Grappa gave way to the heat of the valley. Vests and arm warmers were pealed off.

For me, climbing Mount Grappa was a great sense of personal accomplishment. It will never be forgotten. I am now a cyclist with the right, but not the obligation; the right to shave my legs.  

Cycling in Italy – Stage Three

As the week progresses, the weather improves with each passing day. The rains on Monday washed the air to a pristine crispness. This morning everything seemed to be in sharp focus. It felt warmer and vests and arm warmers, if worn at all, were quickly removed.  

Our group of cyclists ventured in the opposite direction than yesterday. Like most days, the ride started on relatively level ground as we followed the river that runs through the valley. After a couple of hours, we started to climb to the town of Fazo. It was at the base of the climb that I touched wheels with another rider and basically laid down my bike. My new bike. I was close to a small stone wall and used it to brace the fall. It all happened very fast, but I was able to unclip and throw my body under my bike. She came out unharmed. I think an extra chain rub down is in order.

The climb to Fazo was divided into two stages. The first stage was long, but not a sharp incline. The distance between the switchbacks was manageable and the curves themselves pretty wide allowing oncoming cars and trucks to pass.

I’ve run out of adjectives to describe the vistas in this part of Italy. For today’s climb I’ll use majestic, stunning and glorious. Northern Italy does not have a Mediterranean climate like the southern part of the country, so the landscape is very green. 

We stop for coffee about half way up. After coffee, the real climbing begins. We begin to pass through a pine forest, but the trees become fewer and fewer as we near the summit. In the distance, we can see the rugged Dolomite Mountains; their bare sharp granite peaks sticking up like fingers pointing toward heaven.

It was near the summit top that the second crash occurred. We were going through a construction zone and the road was down to one lane. The lane open was closest to the cliff. A car came by and brushed one of our riders. She went down hard, but luckily was able to continue and finish the ride. Her right hand, however, will need some TLC and lots of ice tonight.

We could not climb forever and so the descent had to begin. To put it in perspective, the descent on Monday was nothing compared with today’s. It was over 17 km long with 18 sharp hairpin turns. These don’t include the usual turns and curves in the road. It involved going through tunnels and riding inches from sheer rock cliffs. The hairpin turns are numbered so we could count how many there were down to the valley. At number five, my hands were cramping. After the road began to level out, I realized I was shaking. Strange I thought, it should be warmer down here. Then I realized it was from the adrenalin that I was pumping through my body. We stopped near the river to regroup and then headed back to Bassano de Grappa and then to the hotel for a warm shower, lunch and a liter of beer.