bicicletaloca

Today was a long, flat, beautiful ride. The kind that any normal tourist might enjoy doing as a way to see Italy. There was one section that was essentially a bike path, with rows of tall cornfields hovering to the right of us, and a river running by on the left. At the breaks in the corn, you could see the vineyards covering the hillside beyond. At some point, we took a wrong turn and ended up on a kind of highway that bikes weren’t allowed on. The police came by and pulled us over pretty fast. Surely they could have given us a ticket, but instead they explained how to get to the proper road, and even helped us heave our bikes over the guard rail into a field where we could pedal down to it. Even the police were nice to us. Serious, but nice. “It is because it is not safe for you.” One of the cops–with his tight pants, cap, and aviator sunglasses–was totally Top Gun. I loved him.

It was still 70 kilometers, though, and it was hot. We pulled over to a gas station an bought gatorade. We had gotten lost and found ourselves on a main road again. We knew we were going in the right direction but the road seemed wrong. The woman who worked there re-directed us. (Ask! Always ask!) One of Gabriel’s sayings.The night before we had been talking at dinner about descents down the mountain. He was saying “You have to lean down and push your crotch back on the seat.” Except he pronounced it “croach.” The longer we are in Europe the more he loses his English. For some reason the word croach got me going and I couldn’t stop laughing.

We rode through dozens of old villages before we got to our town and our surprisingly super-fancy hotel with bathrobes and everything. We took showers and watched BBC news. We walked out into the square around 4:00 to get some gelato and the sun was still strong. It was a little after that that I suddenly felt tingly all over and almost passed out in the Piazza. We went back to our hotel and I lied down on a couch in one of the little salons–very air conditioned–and had a little cry. “This was really hard this year. Next year, I want to do a flat ride, something easier. I don’t want it to be this hard.” Gabriel, stroking my hair. “You’ve ridden the highest peaks in Europe, my love, there is nothing harder.” Of course I know that’s not true. We could always find some harder mountain, somewhere in the world. But neither of us wants to.

We went upstairs and he helped me run my head under cold water for a while, until I cooled down. When we went out again for dinner, the sun had finally retreated. Tomorrow we go to Lecco, on Lake Cuomo. We met a man at dinner, a mountain-bike guy who was from there, and he said: “Take the train, don’t ride. The road there is really bad.” Also, the forecast is for rain, believe it or not. The distance there is 81 kilometers but flat all the way. We could ride there, of course, but we might not.

I woke up early and drank two bottles of water, preparing for the day. Unfortunately, that made me so full that it was hard to get breakfast down. That turned out to be bad. We packed our panniers and pedaled to the train station to get a train to take us into Switzerland, the Passo De Bernina. I was feeling really shaky and kind of weepy too. It felt so good to sit on that train and press my head against the window and let it just take me. Last year it seemed like there was time to get somewhere, relax a little, look around. This year we are always on the move. Freaking boot camp.

It was less then 10 minutes when the train crossed into Switzerland. I know because suddenly my phone lit up with messages: “Welcome to Switzerland!” and prices of data fees and stuff. An hour and a half on the train and we got to Ospizia Bernia. Which was a single lonely station on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere. But, being Swiss, they had a little tiny impeccable restaurant and suddenly I needed to eat, now. I told Gabriel, I know this is an unscheduled delay, but this is ACUTE. I must have a sandwich. We each had a salami and cheese sandwich on thick brown bread and only then did I start to feel slightly less shaky.

The road out of the train station was just mean. An uphill, dirt gravel road to the top of the pass. But then the ride was flat and down for a while, crossing back into Italy. Border guards with not a very exciting job. They just wear their little feather caps and hang out smoking cigarettes. They don’t even check your passports.

The air in the valley smelled like cut grass and cow manure. And sun was full overhead but it wasn’t too hot yet. Gabriel’s bike book said there will now be a 6.7 kilometer “hard climb.” In the book the author had regularly described things as “steep climb,” “very steep climb,” or “extremely steep climb.” So where was “hard climb” on the previously established spectrum? Goddamnit, I’m really at a point when I need to know this. As it turned out, the “hard climb” wasn’t all that hard, especially now that somehow my legs don’t hurt anymore. I feel…stronger? Emotionally volatile, hot, and constantly ravenous, but stronger. I am my own animal totem.

That was Passo d’Eira and then we were on the Passo d’Foscagno, a “tough climb.” Why does this book writer keep changing his words? I thought we had an understanding, dude. Three hours of riding now and the sun is beating down. I’m not so much tired as thinking again, Why? Why make this deranged pilgrimage up a mountain? What are you seeking? You wanted this trip, Ranj. You wanted this marriage. You wanted just about everything you have in this life. So if you don’t like these things: change them, leave them, or accept them. Alright alright, don’t get fucking dramatic.

I want to examine my life from a different perspective. I want to feel wonder and gratitude and these trips always give me that. It really is remarkable, the miracle of our little specky bodies being able to do this physical task. And the aching beauty of nature around us. I forget about it all the time. But not now. Now it is the most important thing.

Some things are exactly right at exactly the right time, and Gatorade is one of them. (You’re welcome, Pepsi Company, feel free to sponsor our next trip). I remembered I had one in my pannier that I had kept cold in the hotel mini-bar so it wasn’t totally baked yet. Also I had only eaten 3/4 of my salami sandwich. The rest was wrapped in a napkin in my pocket, so snack time. Back on the bike I’m keeping my head down because even though I slather on the mineral sunscreen in the morning, I know this sun is a beast. I have a small tan line between where my long sleeved shirt ends and my gloves begin. I have a tan on the tops of my fingers where the fingers-cut-out gloves stop. And my poor ears. They took it hard.

A car drives behind me and honks. Startling, and so unnecessary. Do you really think I can’t hear you behind me? Trust me, I’m so much more attuned to your presence than you are to mine, Car. This is the food chain, pal, and I’m on the bottom. At the top of Foscagno, we have a long, long descent. The afternoon light is making shadows on the road now, and the descent is warm, almost balmy. We ride through meadows and villages and its effortless and sort of magical. We’re flying now, no one can stop us.

In Bormio, which is a decent sized town, we had no idea where our hotel was. And the GPS gave out a few days ago. Hot again there, and we’re looking at maps and trying not to get mad at each other, riding over walk-streets and dodging old men and people stepping out of doorways. Finally we found our hotel, but we were arriving there so late–6pm now–that they thought we weren’t coming and had given away our room. But they were very sorry and got us somewhere else and I had just enough sunlight left to quickly wash our bike clothes and lay them out to dry. Two more days left to ride.

I sunburned my ears yesterday. Otherwise I’m intact. Today, the Passo Gavia, was easy compared to that ride. The first hour and a half were a breeze. There is this sport people do here, which is like roller-skiing. They have wheels on skis, and they carry ski poles, and they power up the mountain. They do this very scantily clad. Tiny short-shorts for both women and men, no shirt for the guys, just a sports bra for the girls, and knee socks for both. A sexy little outfit. Not exactly my style but they wear it well.

We stopped on our way out for bananas. Good biking food. My animal today was a gentle little dog with droopy ears waiting for its owner outside the market. After an hour and a half of mostly flat riding we took a banana break, then started our climb. I would simply define it as “not being as hard as yesterday.” The Passo Gavia was quieter, less traversed than other roads, which was a welcome experience. As I went up the mountain I could listen to the streams of melted snow roaring down around me. Once in a while a cyclist passed. I even got a “Ciao Bella!” from a group of Italians. Poor Gabriel never gets the shout-outs that I do.

It took us 3 hours and 45 minutes (give or take) to get to the top. Hot chocolate and another banana, and a package of cookies I had lifted from the hotel breakfast buffet that morning. Then down for a long, long time. The descent down the other side was treacherous. Steep, badly paved, and a sharp drop-off on the right side down the mountain. No guard rail, nothing. Thank God there was very little traffic because I was riding right in the middle of the road thinking: “Sorry any cars behind me–you can just wait. There is no way I’m riding on this shoulder.” I couldn’t even look at the shoulder, the drop-off freaked me out so much. Also the road was really narrow, one lane with hairpin turns. That was a Never Again ride. After some time, the road flattened out and it got fun and easy. 5 hours on the bike though and I was ready to get to our hotel. All I was thinking about for the last hour was spaghetti bolognese.

Gabriel pulled over into a town, Edolo, and suddenly said: “We’re taking a bus the rest of the way.” (The rest of the way? Aren’t we there?!) Fine. No, we had ridden for 6 hours but still had 30 kilometers (half uphill) to go. We ate a snack at a cafe that had a hole in the ground for a toilet and no water to wash your hands. Not to be a princess but I was getting cranky. The sun was blazing hot in the valley and I already knew I hadn’t drunk enough water that day. Gabriel: “I know you didn’t. I watched your bottles.” (Helpful, thanks.) We found our way to the bus station. I was really really hot and just wanted to take a shower more than anything I’ve ever wanted. We talked to an old couple while we were waiting for the bus. The husband used to cycle himself and he excitedly told us about the climbs he had done in the area until the bus came. The bus driver let us bring the bikes right on with us, I’m not sure if that was regulation but maybe he took pity.

This town is very pretty, very old. We ate salad and pasta and steak and gelato and grappa for dinner and got pretty giddy.Gabriel entertained me with a very funny running commentary about the tables around us. Our hotel room is the first one that has air conditioning but I kept complaining it was too hot–I couldn’t sleep. Gabriel said: “Its 21 degrees in here, how can you be hot?” He always talks in Celsius, like I know what the hell that means. Talk English, Foreign-Man! This morning I woke up and I was cold, of course. Cos that’s how it goes. My body is tired but my mind is clear. I’m not overthinking anything at least. Everything is simple right now.

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.

So last night after a long call to Apple, squinting in the dim light to figure out whether my serial number contains a Q or an O, and them not really being able to hear me anyway, they told me I would have to go to the closest Apple Authorized Dealer (in Bolzano) to reset the IPad. We were going to Bolzano the next day anyway so we wrote down the address. I can go without hair products but I kind of really need my IPad to work.

We woke up to brilliantly sunny skies. Of course this was our officially planned No Biking, travel-by-train-to-the-Alps day. Farewell Dolomites. And of course today there was not a cloud in the sky. Not One Cloud. We checked out of the hotel and hopped the bus to Bolzano–regular route for us now–and then jumped on our bikes, strapped on the panniers, and turned on the GPS to find this Apple Authorized Dealer. Thanks mostly to Gabriel’s unflagging determination and willingness to ask directions of everyone we saw, we managed to find the place, bumping over the cobblestone walk streets and dodging terrified pedestrians the whole way. But the sun was out so it was a good day already. Plus I’m sleeping now so I’m happy again.

The 2 young German / Italian guys that worked at DG Electronics, the Apple Authorized Dealer, were amazing. I have to say the people in this region couldn’t possibly be nicer. After some technical stuff, and a little ICloud magic, the young guy started to bring my IPad back to life. German/Italian accent: “I think he needs a little time to download.” He kept calling the IPad “he” which was killing me. We spent about an hour in the store, Gabriel pacing and checking the train timetables while we got it all working again. Then we jumped back on the bikes to catch the 11:35 train to Merano, changing trains to get here to Sluderno. They let us drag the bikes onto the train with us, and Gabriel whipped out some magic cord to tie them up so that they wouldn’t fall on anybody.

Two hours later we are here in this little village in the Alps. Its still sunny and gorgeous. The hotel owner was training his teenage daughter to check people in and she was all nervous and cute speaking english to us. We were her first customers. There is finally enough sun to wash and dry clothes on the balcony which I’m sure will be a relief to anyone we come into contact with. Tomorrow we ride the Passo Dello Stelvio so I’m trying to drink a lot of water. Unfortunately wine is not hydration, I’m told. There are a lot of serious cyclists here at this hotel and I can see them outside now tweaking and shining their bikes. No doubt they’ll be passing me up the mountain tomorrow.

I finally slept well last night. In fact, I crashed out in the middle of the World Cup Final. Today there was another in the endless rainy forecasts, so we talked to the hotel proprietress about the options for taking a bus. She speaks great english,(and likes to speak it ALOT). She’s obviously athletic, a ski instructor and cycling enthusiast herself, very into our escapades, and she kept explaining how we could take a bus to a certain peak and then cycle down. Not really getting the fact that the down is the part that we particularly don’t want to do in the rain. I could tell she was disappointed in our decision to bus it all the way to Fie, but you know, I don’t think we need to prove our commitment to anyone.

It was 3 buses and about 3 hours. (I find it ironic that the name of the bus system here is SAD.) One bus to Pera di Fassa, then change to Bolzano, then the last one to Fie. Gabriel has become a total rockstar in his ability to wave down a bus driver: Does this bus go to wherever? Ok, where do we change? Can you open the bottom for the bikes? etc. Then in a flash, he heaves and wriggles our bikes in and out of the awkward luggage spaces under the bus, me scurrying behind him with the panniers before anyone has time to get annoyed that we’re holding everything up. Not that they probably would get annoyed. No one seems to be in much of a hurry around here. He’s also been a rockstar about just Figuring It Out. When Plan A gets thwarted he bends over his maps and the weather report and figures out Plan B. He’s like a seasoned sea captain. We can’t let the rain bring us down.

The buses here are clean and comfy, almost like tour buses. You get to see all the scenery and roll through the villages. The local language in these valleys is called Ladin, a mixture of German and Italian, and its cool to listen to people speaking it. Its got the musicality of Italian but lots of German words. On the last bus, I was sitting at the front next to an old, very blue-eyed Italian woman, with maybe not all her marbles, who kept talking to me even though we had well-established that I couldn’t understand a word. Every few minutes she would poke me on the shoulder and tell me something about the road or the landscape (I think). The inexplicably angry bus driver was muttering to himself as he drove. And Gabriel, across the aisle from me, had his lips pursed in this look I know so well. I knew he was thinking: “I’m sick of buses. I’m sick of trying to communicate with people. I want a cappuccino.” And then it just all seemed funny here on the SAD bus and I got the giggles and had to restrain myself.

Here in Fie its cloudy but not raining, and Gabriel–hard core man that he is–got on his bike for a ride. I stayed in the hotel room and laid out our clothes that we finally broke down and washed, and then carried in a plastic bag cos they still haven’t dried. The view from our room is out to the pastures and mountains, misty now. I opened the windows on each corner. The smell of rain was coming in on the breeze and I could hear children on a playground below. Such a happy sound, the same wherever you are in the world I would imagine. Below that, a little hammering and occasional saw–a couple of men building something. And below that, faint piano music coming from a restaurant. I crawled under the duvet and took a nap.

Later to Binderstube again for lasagna and truffle pasta. So good. And then I locked myself out my own IPad which prompted a ridiculous Skype call to Apple. We always have at least one ridiculous Skype call where I’m trying to make the person on the other end of the call hear me. Its usually a bank or a credit card. This time it was Apple. And me trying to read the teeny tiny serial number on the back of the IPad to the guy, while standing in WiFi range, while not talking so loud as to be yelling in the restaurant / hotel lobby, whatever. I was wondering when it was going to happen this trip. It finally did.

Post delayed. iPad down (but we are not!)

I felt so much better today. We rode up the Passo Pordoi and it felt kind of easy. Of course it was technically much easier than yesterday. And we’re back at the same hotel again tonight so we didn’t have to carry everything. But I was thinking that maybe this is the Day 4 Phenomenon. I’m pretty sure it happened the last 2 years around day 4. When my body just kind of surrenders. Like, okay, this is what’s up. Metabolism adjusting, new capillaries forming maybe. Welcome to the new normal. And now things are easier. The Day 4 Miracle. Just hold out for 4 days and you will adjust. I wonder what else it might apply to in life.

We passed some honking geese by a pond. “There’s your animal.” Gabriel said. I think I was holding out for something else, but when he said it, it was like yeah, ok. A goose. The ride was easy enough that I could really take in the view this time more than ever. It was overcast and cold, as usual, and the fog rolling in over those jagged mountains made it all feel kind of–I don’t know–Macbethian. In spite of that I felt grateful. What an amazing life I have (we have) that I get to choose my torments (for now, for the most part). I don’t have to scavenge for food and water. I get to have a hot chocolate when I get to the top of this thing. I felt so good riding that its kind of strange that today is the day I cried.

The top was at 7000 feet altitude. Actually I didn’t get to have a hot chocolate then, because once again we had to play Beat The Rain. But I wasn’t even that cold. Once again I’m thinking: Day 4. My body is being more selective about the discomforts it wants to bother me with. We rode down, which was almost fun because it wasn’t as steep as the earlier days and I could let down my guard just a fraction. 33 hairpin turns, though. There were signs to tell us that. At the bottom the rain was really coming down, so we ducked into a cafe. Finally, hot chocolate. We still had much farther to go on the planned ride but the rain wasn’t having it and secretly I was relieved. No, actually I was thrilled. No buses, we had to call a taxi. Expensive but who cares. THIS. This is what I work for. To have the money to pay for a taxi that will take us and the bikes rather than to ride another 30 kilometers in this freezing cold rain. Some tough German motorcyclists came into the cafe while we were waiting. Even they couldn’t take the rain. Gabriel was still pondering when we might be able to re-do this ride, because its supposed to be beautiful, but I was already thinking about a hot shower and maybe a grappa.

I’ve never been happier to see a taxi arrive in my life. Gabriel chatted with him in his Span / Italian while I stared out the window on the way back. Suddenly I’m tired again, weary. I didn’t cry until we had showered and gone out to get some food. Gabriel is so perky right now. I’m not. We sat down for some paninis and wine and I just wept. “We have another 7 days. I don’t think I can do it.” He tried to console me. Really its only another 5 days of riding and then we go to Amalfi. And tomorrow won’t be hard. And the day after that is a rest day… “Just let me go through my process, okay!” I said to him. I’m trying not to let the group of Italian teenagers next to us hear me. They are all arriving in shifts and rolling cigarettes and even as I’m having my meltdown I’m thinking: “Don’t do it, kids. Don’t start the habit.” But they’re doing their self-annihilation and I’m doing mine. Live and let live.

Its raining again. But tonight we will watch the World Cup final and we will be warm somewhere with a glass of grappa. That’s all I know today.

Oh my God, is it really only the third day? We both woke up groaning this morning. And the truth is, I haven’t even been sleeping that well. How that’s possible I don’t know. We had to stop and ask a lot of questions just to navigate out of Cortina. Gabriel is really good at that. He will stop and attempt to ask anyone anything at any time, in any language. He’s fearless. I, on the other hand, am more the shy American, embarrassed to be in their country having no clue about the language when I know they’ve been studying mine their whole lives. So Gabriel asked for directions a million times and we finally got on the right road, the Passo Giau. That was 9 kilometers of a “very steep climb.” I was hungry in the first hour but promised myself I could have my energy bar when we hit hour two. Got very excited about that. The first bad thing that happened was that my Ganesh (remover of obstacles) charm that my friend Heather had given me, and I had tied onto my handlebars, fell off. I noticed right away and stopped my bike. But before I could even take one step to go pick it up out of the road, a car drove over it and smashed it. Totally destroyed. This could not be a good sign for the day.

We had more sun today, although always the ominous clouds. I was still suffering from yesterday and the climb was hard. A tour bus passed us. A woman in the front had a microphone up to her mouth and I imagined her saying: “And if you look to your left, you’ll notice two malodorous American fools trying to bike up this mountain.” Oh how I wanted to be in that bus. Farther along, a super-cyclist raced passed me as I’m huffing and puffing. “You go, shave-legged cyclist dude.” Shoot, I didn’t even bring a razor with me. We passed a field of cows. One had this black and white speckled face and I called to it “You look like an Oreo milkshake.” That was my animal friend for the day.

The climb was so hard. I was so tired, and honestly–over it. Why are we doing this? I tried to force myself to ponder the question. All I could come up with was: I don’t know, but this is the last year. I stopped to eat my energy bar and Gabriel looked up and said: “Hurry up, I don’t like the look of the sky.” Well I don’t like the look of you, Fuckface. How do you like that? We can say these things to each other, thank God. We had to keep going. As we neared the peak the view became so incredible. Green everywhere framed by those jagged snowy mountains. Yellow and purple wildflowers everywhere, and with the sun out it was like a whole different landscape than yesterday. Gabriel has taken to calling me “Specky” as in “speck”, as in a little tiny thing. And against this magnificent backdrop he’s right, I’m a speck and so is he. I kept looking to the wildflowers for strength. Yellow, purple, yellow, purple. Keep going keep going. My legs ache, my wrists tingle. The area between my shoulder blades is one big knot. Finally I could see the top, like yesterday. It looked so far away, but at least I could see it. As I finally crested the peak, a group of French cyclists sitting on the hill at the top erupted in a cheer for me. “Allez!” “Brava!” They even popped the cork on a bottle of champagne. I beamed and gave them the thumbs up. I believe this appreciation is a perk of being one of the rare females on these roads.

At the cafe up there we had hot chocolate (yes please!) and a grilled cheese sandwich. It was an odd place. There was inexplicably a sign near the bathrooms that said “Sex Stuff”. Also, they had mounted the head of a mountain goat, but on the other side of the wall was the other half of him, basically a big graphic goat ass. Was this…humor? I couldn’t tell. As we ate Gabriel told me: “We’re not doing the other mountain today (the Passo Fedaia). We’re too exhausted.” He was right. My movements were tortoise-like. I’ve never been quite this depleted before. I get huge hunger pangs but when its time to eat I can hardly get food down. I can’t be drinking enough water either. I think we do need to take it down a notch. I didn’t argue. Plus there were the clouds again, looming.

We bundled up, rode down. Stopped to put on ponchos as the rain started, then had to take them off when the rain suddenly stopped and we got too hot. There is a lot of stripping on and and off of layers that has to happen on this trip. We got to a little village that was supposed to be our halfway point that day and quickly found a bus to take us and our bikes some of the way to Canazei. Gabriel jammed those bikes into the luggage area and charmed the bus drivers while I kind of stood there in an exhausted stupor. Then we took the bus up the climb we were supposed to do on the bikes. No regrets about that, not one. The Passo Fedaia was abysmal. Horrendous. And rain-slicked. We got to the top of that one and the bus dumped us off. The rain was just a light drizzle and we had our ponchos on. We were right next to a lake and the sunlight was teasing in and out of the clouds over the mountains. We waited for the next bus with a bunch of school kids (or summer-campers) who were singing of all things “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.” Another inexplicable thing. Like the pull cord in the shower of our hotel room that has a sign: In Case of Emergency, pull cord.” Wow, okay. I’d really like to pull it to see what would happen, but of course I won’t.

After a half hour or so of waiting for the bus, and with the sun out again and baking the road, Gabriel deemed it dry enough for us to try to ride the 12 kilometers down to our destination, Canazei. After a minute he stopped by the side of the road. Back brakes are out. He did some adjusting and then said, okay let’s go. We made it down about half-way and then he stopped again. The adjusting hadn’t worked. He only had front brakes but we were almost there and he wanted to keep going. We did and we made it.

The bike shop in town fixed the brakes. The shower at our hotel was hot and dinner was good and I even had a grappa. I hope I sleep well tonight finally.