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.