The weather is gorgeous now. Bright and sunny and not too hot because of the mountain air. Taking off from the hotel we passed two big ole giant ostriches in someone’s yard. Just a couple of random ostriches. My animal for the day. We circled around town until we found the road to the Passo di Stelvio aka the road to hell.

It was 5 hours of uphill climb. The first 2 hours were not so bad, except my stomach started to hurt and I realized I had been swallowing a lot of air with my water. This happens sometimes. Also, maybe I shouldn’t have had those dried apricots with breakfast. Another thing, I had to keep popping my ears. And my knees were really not into it today. They post a number at each switchback, to let you know how many more you’ve got to get to the top. When I first started noticing I was on 47. Switchback, then road up (of varying lengths, could be half a kilometer, could be less could be more). 46 more switchbacks and I’d be there. An inconceivably high number to me. Also inconceivable was the fact that this is one of 3 climbs they do in a DAY in the Giro d’Italia. It was probably the most beautiful ride we’ve done though. The mountains were slate grey and covered with perfect white snow at the top reflecting the sun. The pastures around us were filled with wildflowers. There were lots of cyclists doing this ride, we being the only ones carrying panniers of course. One guy rode by me with classical music playing. I thought his phone must be ringing but then I realized he somehow had set up a little speaker on his bike. Haven’t seen that one before. Around hour three, I passed by a guy taking a break on the side of the road. He must have heard me talking earlier cos he knew I was American. “Where you from?” He called. “Los Angeles. You?” “Seattle.” Good job,” he added, “the top is right there!” And he pointed over to this restaurant-looking place that was not at the top of the mountain, but looked like it could be the end of the paved road. “Great!” I said. Okay, I’m pretty close. But why does the sign say I’m only at the 26th switchback? I chose not to probe the question too deeply.

A little while later when I reached the spot he had pointed to, I realized this is not the end. This is not even close to the end. This is just some random restaurant on the side of this mountain. HE LIED. That Seattle-guy lied to me. I looked up and saw Gabriel above me, ahead, and saw the road winding and winding, and only ending at the very tippy-top of this mountain, that looked like the top of Everest. I honestly could not believe how far away it was when I saw it. What was that guy talking about? Maybe that’s where HE stops. But after a few minutes I realized that, ok, maybe he did point to the right place but I saw what I chose to see.

There was a couple going up, each carrying a little pack. They didn’t look as hard-core as everyone else. They looked like they kind of stumbled onto this road accidentally and figured “how hard could it be?” At the beginning, I would pass them taking a break, then they would pass me taking a break. We said hello and they said something in German that I couldn’t understand. Sometimes a cyclist would acknowledge my panniers and say something like “Chapeau!” or “Brava!” One guy, who must have been Italian, nodded his head and said “Respect.” “Grazie.” I puffed out. I’m not gonna lie in this blog, so I have to confess that it was at that moment, seconds after he passed, that the fart that had been uncomfortably building up in my gut for 3 hours finally decided to release itself. And it was a honker. Oh, my Respect-man heard it. He most certainly did. I only wish one of my friends who would have appreciated that moment had been there to witness and laugh with me.

Once in a while there were these mountain water fountain things where you could refill your bottles. Nice and icy cold. Somewhere around the10th switchback, I saw the pack-couple again on the side of the road and the woman looked like she had had it. We were so close now. I wanted to encourage her like someone had encouraged me last year so I called out: “You can do it!” I don’t think she understood my words but she got the gist. Hour 4. Things seem to get a little better in hour 4. Its just–at that point if you’re not dead you’re doing okay.

I had been counting down the switchbacks since 47. When I got below 10 I felt a glimmer of hope. When I finally crossed over the top, Gabriel was there, looking pretty miserable. “I quit.” He said. It was kind of a party up at the top. Vendors selling hotdogs with sauerkraut. A store selling souvenirs. Seattle-man was there eating a Bratwurst. “You did it!” Yeah, Fucker. A tall Austrian cyclist with zinc-oxide on his lips stopped me and seeing my panniers, shook my hand in congratulations. I never saw my pack-couple crest over the top. I don’t know what happened to them. Gabriel was hurting from the altitude. After a little sugar and rest we headed down. Another hour and into Bormio. The best thing here is, our hotel has a jacuzzi in the “Wellness Center.” We hit that fast. A sign says “For entering whirlpool, bathing costume is compulsory.” Well it wasn’t compulsory for Gabriel, who forgot his swim suit. But there was nobody down there anyway, and this is Europe. Tomorrow we do the Gavia Pass. If its anything close as hard as today, I quit too.