July 11th. 55 kilometers. From Cortina to the Rifugio Auronzo and back down.

Posted on July 12, 2014 by Ranjani

I woke up at 5am starving, even though I ate a hearty bowl of tagliatelle ai fughi last night for dinner. The sun was almost out this morning, and it wasn’t raining, so I put on my (not quite dry) cycling tights and got ready to go. None of the clothes we had washed last night were dry (cos its cold and there’s no sun) so we had to do some improvising with the biking attire. I did have my new wool socks that Gabriel bought me yesterday which were fantastic! The things-not-drying issue is one I haven’t figured out how to deal with yet. Cos our shit stinks, sorry to say. We need to wash. The hotel hairdryer helped a bit until I short-circuited it. The climb today was to be up and back down, coming back to Cortina and our hotel, so we didn’t have to pack up everything into the panniers–just a few essentials for the day. And its a damn good thing cos if we had been carrying the full weight of our stuff–absolutely forget it. In the first hour of riding, the sun peaked out of the clouds once in a while, creating a beautiful light on those mountains razoring the sky. We passed a German Shepard with a mane of hair around his neck like a lion, sitting in front of a farmhouse, master of his domain. Animal totem for the day. We exchanged greetings with a group of riders from Belgium. I think they said they literally rode from Belgium. This was at the first peak, the Passo Tre Croci. I was already hungry even though we had only eaten breakfast an hour and 42 minutes ago (the clock on my bike). I could have totally eaten a pizza right then.

About 45 minutes later we got to Misurina. Last stop for refilling water, etc. before the big monster climb, our biking book told us. Misurina was this valley with a sparkling lake between the mountains, and meadows of dairy cows and horses. Hikers were emerging from trails with their packs and their Alpine walking sticks. The hills were alive. Julie Andrews was not twirling in the meadow but she should have been. There were a couple of hotels with restaurants around the lake, so we stopped to fuel up as instructed. I discovered something amazing today: hot chocolate. I forgot how good it is. With fresh cream direct from the udders of the cows we passed. Oh my God.

The bike book warned that there would be a short “extremely steep climb” followed by a 6 kilometer “extremely steep climb” to the peak, Rifugio Auronzo. An average 16% incline to be exact. My life is now measured in percentages and kilometers. Gabriel said as we started: “I feel very pessimistic about this.” My thoughts exactly, man. We were already both thinking that this was the official “biting off more than you can chew” moment. We’d never done anything this hard. The short climb was agony. I never know exactly where we are on the route because Gabriel is the Itinerary Man and my bike clock/computer only works intermittently anyway. So as I’m pumping my heart out going up this hill I’m thinking: this IS one of the “extremely steep” climbs, right? Geezus, what if it’s not? We made it up that one, but that’s when the serious business began. Cyclists were coming down (beaming, cos they were going down) and seeing us with our panniers (even though they were light today) and shouting “Bravo!” and “Allez!” They probably thought I was smiling back at them but actually it was just the grimace my face makes when I am at my total limit of exertion.

Yesterday when we were climbing, this animal ran across the road in front of me, (Gabriel had been a little way ahead for a while) and I yelled out to it (cos that’s what you do when you’re hours in, and haven’t spoken to anyone in a while) “A badger! HELLO BADGER!” But what I was picturing was one of the ones that make dams. No wait, I thought, that’s a beaver. But there are no rivers up here. How could that be a beaver? Oh yeah, that’s a marmot. I remember them from last year. They’re like large squirrels. But then if that’s a marmot what the hell is a badger? Oh my God I’m freaking out. Seriously, what the fuck is a badger? I don’t know what a badger is. That’s crazy, I gotta google that shit. And this would be typical of the deep thoughts I ponder as I’m biking. But today, no. Today was just look at the road. Don’t look at the mountains, you might get dizzy and fall. Just keep going. Why? Why keep going? I have no idea. Try a mantra. Damnit I can’t think of my mantra. Ok I gotta rest: pull over.

Those 6 kilometers were without a doubt the hardest I’ve ever done. Not the longest, but definitely the steepest. It got to a point where I told myself that I could do it like intervals. Go hard for 3 minutes then stop to rest. Which I did, except 3 minutes is generous. I must have been stopping every 45 seconds. Who knows? My bike computer finally totally conked out and actually fell off the bike, apropos of everything. I would pull over and hang my head over the handlebars and just pant. I watched other riders as they stopped and spit, and blew things out of their nose, and whipped it out to pee. But nobody cares. This is not normal society. This is survival. I thought about this heavyset guy I had seen on one of the mountains last year. There are so many curves on these mountains you can see people above you and below you. He was definitely not one of those sinewy pro-looking cyclists. I watched him stop every few minutes to sit and rest but he made it. I saw him make it. I told myself to just do that. Stop and go. Stop and go. Gabriel was not far ahead of me. I didn’t see him stop to rest much but he was swerving around a bit. Its actually really hard to re-mount the bike and clip in after you’ve stopped at such an incline. The thought of food made me want to puke but I choked down some peanut butter energy goo anyway.I figured it couldn’t hurt.

At some point, I could see the top. The Refugio with a restaurant or something, and some international flags flying. When I saw it I knew I could make it, and everything got maybe 1 percent easier. I passed cars parked by the side of the road. Their drivers had placed rocks behind the tires in case they rolled. Gabriel was at the top with the Go-pro. I got there and kind of doubled over. When I could look up, the panoramic view was incredible. Not much time to enjoy it though. Rain coming.

Careful on the way down. Many hairpin turns. Down and down and finally back to the restaurant where I had had the hot chocolate earlier. We sat and ate a prosciutto and cheese sandwich. Back down pass the sparkling lake and the dairy cows. Drizzle started after a while, so we put on the ponchos. But by then it was not too steep, and Gabriel deemed it safe passage home.

Today is Gabriel’s birthday. We had an amazing dinner with pasta and steak and tiramisu. That’s about it for the excitement tonight. I think it’s fair to say our respective crotches have retreated into hibernation. See you in a couple months, Babe.

Happy Birthday, Gabriel. We didn’t think we could do it but we did it!

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July 10th. Selva de Gardena to Cortina d’Ampezzo. 55 kilometers.

Posted on July 10, 2014 by Ranjani

We rode today! Oh did we ride. We woke up to clouds but no rain and quickly headed out. The game now is Beat the Rain. The first difficult climb (Passo di Gardena) took about an hour and a half and wasn’t too too bad. The hardest part was my lungs making their acquaintance with the altitude. The Dolomites towered over us with their serrated peaks looking masculine and menacing. These are not the sensual curved mountain peaks of other places. The farmland and grass around us looked so electric green I thought it must be from the tint of my sunglasses. But when I took them off to check, no–it was really that color. But the mountains with the storm clouds cutting through them were really the dizzying view. They were right above us so close it looked like we were going to ride right into the side of them like a cartoon.

That was the easy part of the day. Into hour 2 1/2 or so, and as we started the next ascent, (Passo di Valparola) guess who showed up. The rain of course. Gabriel’s worst nightmare. I haven’t been so worried about it but then again of the two of us I’m the one who has never actually ridden through icy cold droplets so what do I know. He has, and reports it to be a misery. But what could we do in the middle of nowhere but pull over and don our ponchos (and to think I considered not bringing them this year, we’ve never had to use them before). And then the climb. The rain was really only a drizzle and it didn’t really matter anyway since we were already wet with sweat so that turned out to be no biggie. But my lungs, oh man. The altitude. My lungs were expanding out of my chest and still I was wrecked. Hour 3, I went through my “I think I’m going to have to pull over and puke” phase. 3 1/2 hours I really wanted to quit. After that climb there was another, Passo di Falzarego. Somewhere in there I pulled over and had to rest. By rest I mean lie down on the side of the road and pray for lightening to strike me. I pulled myself up to pee behind a bush and saw all these little yellow wildflowers and thought “Oh I just want to lie down here in these pretty flowers and never get up.” But even though the drizzle had stopped, the clouds were still dark and I knew Gabriel was obsessed with us making our descent before more rain came. And then he said the magic words: “Only 2 more kilometers up.” And I thought: I can make that. I have to make that. Its only our first day of biking for God’s sake. And we made it. At the top there was a little cafe where we ate apple streudel which was freaking delicious and also totally necessary. Also there was this preserved WWI outpost which would have been really cool to stop and check out if we weren’t already losing the game of Beat the Rain.

We bundled up big time to go down. It was COLD up there. Tourists dressed like for skiing weather. I put on my wool leg warmers, down jacket, and my balaclava head thing under my helmet which makes me look like a cycling / home invasion expert. Oh but it helps with the icy, windy descents. We got about 2 minutes down before it started to rain again. We stopped to assess. Gabriel was like “I don’t like it.” I was like “Maybe it will be okay if we just go really slow, blah blah blah.” Another minute going down and Gabriel stopped and said “No. Not safe.” So we pulled over to the ski-lift area, where there was another cafe and Gabriel set about asking people about buses, etc. There was a bus coming in an hour and 15 minutes and yes it was believed they would take our bikes as well. But Gabriel had read somewhere that sometimes the bus won’t allow your bike underneath in the luggage area unless they are bagged or wrapped up, so we did that. We wrapped our bikes in these giant plastic sheaths that we brought with us and tied them up with zip ties. And then we stood around freezing and me wondering as we saw some other cyclists head down: Ok, are we being overly cautious or just smart? And Gabriel watching them too and saying “No, we are not experts at that.” Well that’s true for sure. Experts we are not. I silently wondered if he was just worried about me because I managed to take a fall last year even without rain but then he said “I wouldn’t do it myself even if you weren’t here. I don’t feel safe. And if I don’t feel safe, we don’t do it. You can make the rules with everything else. I make the rules with biking.” Well there you go.

My hands were particularly freezing because I had managed to sweat inside my gloves so much that they were super damp. I started thinking about the “Man with the Van” we talk about every year. Where is this fabled creature? He showed up last year right when we needed him. When I had left my wallet and passport at the bottom of the Col du Telegraph, he drove up and saved us. We stuck our thumb out at a few passing minivans but they were filled with families and had no room for us anyway. Then he came. He was more of a “Man with a Delivery Truck”, but yes he would take us and our bikes down to Cortina, he was going that way. He was Austrian, and so nice, and was driving with his son who looked about 14 and was working with him that day. There was only room for one of us in the cab of the truck, so I rode up front and Gabriel got kind of closed into the back with the bikes and our panniers. They spoke only a little english, but a hell of a lot more than I speak German, and they were so kind and so cute in their matching lime green shirts that I just kind of wanted to cry a little bit. Sometimes people are so wonderful. They told me where in Austria they live but I couldn’t repeat the name if I tried. I asked them what food I should try and they said weinerschneitzel. We talked about the World Cup. The son had been rooting for Brazil, but between Germany and Argentina they were going for Germany. They took us the 15 kilometers down to our little town of Cortina and of course–of course!–when we got there it was blazingly sunny. Gabriel tried to give the man some money for the ride but he wouldn’t accept it, but he finally let us give it to his son because he was working for his dad. Oh they were so sweet.

And so here we are. We’ve washed our clothes in the bathtub as usual and now Gabriel is foraging around the town for a needle and thread cos his leggings are ripped. And I asked him to find me some wool socks if he can. After this, food and bed. More rain forecasted for tomorrow.

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July 8th and 9th. Fie Allo Scilliar, Italy then Selva de Gardena, Italy.

Posted on July 9, 2014 by Ranjani

Technically we are in Italy but everything about this region is Austrian. No one is even speaking Italian. The signs are in German. The waiters at “Binderstube”, the restaurant we went to last night, were wearing Lederhosen. But they did make great homemade spinach ravioli, and the local wine is amazing, so I guess its the best of both worlds.

Backing up, we flew to Bologna yesterday from Barcelona after spending a week with Gabriel’s mother, Carmen. We basically did nothing but eat and sleep in a constant rotation so we are now plump and rested and ready to ride. The only glitch is the weather. Back to that in a minute. We were both in kind of bad shape yesterday morning, waking up at the crack of dawn to get to the airport after finally having gotten our body clocks on the Spain timetable. (The jazz concert we had gone to 2 nights before started at midnight and ended at 4…) Also I think I ate too many melocotones (peaches) that Carmen bought from a guy selling them out of the back of his van. They were delicious. Anyway, neither of us had slept much the night before and my stomach felt like someone was clutching it in their fist. We got to the airport way early, dragging the bikes in their gigantic boxes as usual, heads turning at the spectacle of us, as usual. But we got everything checked in without a fight and then had a couple of hours to kill. I found it necessary to walk in circles around the Duty Free area to try to distract myself from my stomach pain by looking at bright and shiny objects. Finally we got on our flight (much turbulence, more stomach issues, plus fear of imminent death) and arrived in Bologna. From there we stuffed our bike boxes into the rental car (a dusty clunker with 80,000 miles on it) and programmed the GPS for Fie Allo Sciliar, about 300 kilometers north. We pretty quickly drove straight into a hailstorm and had to pull over to the side of the highway to wait it out. (“We’re going 120 kilometers an hour on an Italian highway, in a Ford Focus, in a hailstorm. I vote we pull over.”) We waited a while and when the hail seemed to let up slightly we continued on.

The rain stopped and started as we drove but the scenery was stunning. We passed through the Trentino region – vineyards everywhere, Medieval villages, castles…The Dolomite mountain range began to emerge through the rainclouds. The peaks were these aggressively jagged points piercing the sky, some snow-capped. The rain started coming down hard again. Visibility was difficult, but I could see to my right a fast flowing river churned up by the rain, and I started to have a medium-size concern that we were going to get swept into it. Stomach still clutching. Then worse, the GPS instructed us to cross the river on a bridge/tunnel that in terms of size, I assumed had to be pedestrian-only. But no, they do that in Europe: teeny-tiny tunnel spaces that look like they can’t fit a car but somehow they do with maybe an inch to spare on each side. So we drove on this rattly wooden bridge over the raging water because the GPS told us to and because Gabriel said he saw a sign that said “2 ton limit.” (Implying that cars under 2 tons were more than welcome). Needless to say, by the time we started up the rain-slicked one-lane road up a mountain, where you had no visibility of anyone driving that same lane towards you from the other direction, I was kinda done. Finally, finally, we made it to our hotel.

Next hurdle: we had to drop off the bikes at the hotel and then turn in the rental car in Bolzono, the only town around of any size–about 30 kilometers away. And the question being, then how do we get back to Fie Allo Scilliar? By bus, was the plan. By now it was about 7:30pm so we decided to put off the errand til the next day, borrowed umbrellas from the hotel, and walked over to Binderstube to eat some homemade pasta.

This morning it was still raining and forecast for more. This was supposed to be our first day of biking: Fie Allo Scilliar to Selva de Gardena. But Gabriel–out of concern for our downhill bike safety–nixed the plan. Instead we drove the bikes to Selva de Gardena, dropped them at the hotel there, then drove to Bolzono airport, turned in the car, took a taxi to the bus station, then a bus back to Selva de Gardena. At least the scenery was lovely. After we ate something, Gabriel took on the heroic business of re-assembling the disassembled bikes, me handing him tools and feeling like a total chick. In the end, we had to take the bikes to a local bike store for some maintenance anyway, cos we have this crazy idea that somehow we are going to ride tomorrow even though there is nothing but rain forecasted for the foreseeable future. And by the way its cold here, too. Like curl-up-by-the-fire cold. We are walking around in our down jackets. I really really want to ride tomorrow. But if the weather doesn’t let up I guess we are going to get to know the bus system here really well.

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July 24th, 2013. NICE

Posted on July 24, 2013 by Ranjani

This will be the last post on this year’s blog, unless something wild and unpredictable happens tomorrow on our travels back to Barcelona and then home. We will pedal to the airport, disassemble the bikes– you know the routine. We’ll see Gabriel’s mother, eat gazpacho, visit the tweaky waiter. Hopefully we’ll go back to my favorite restaurant and have one final mouth-watering meal in Spain. ESPANA – still the best food in the world! (Sorry France).

Nice is heavenly. Or maybe I’m just really high on life today. I was expecting it to be just tacky and touristy but its alot more than that– so multi-cultural, gorgeous old architecture preserved, fascinating to walk around. Our hotel has a panoramic rooftop terrace and last night we got to watch the bright orange super-moon rise over the pink and peach and yellow skyline.

I’m remembering one of the climbs during the trip. I don’t remember which one. But I was struggling and straining up a mountain road with my panniers, and a German woman passed me, also struggling (no panniers, just riding). And she called out to me–you have to imagine it with her thick German accent, struggling with English, cos that’s what makes it so funny and adorable. And her voice was just bursting with enthusiasm as she called to me. She said: “You are so strong! I can’t believe it!” I thanked her and I thought: We are all so much stronger than we think we are. I can count several people right this minute who I know are struggling with an unfathomable challenge– disease, loss, heartbreak– but they’re doing it, they’re climbing. And those are just the people whose struggles I know about. So we’ve all got our mountains, don’t we? And now, the next time I have a friend who is wrestling something that feels impossible I’m going to shout out (in a German accent of course): “You are so strong, I can’t believe it!”

Tomorrow, July 25th, is my 43rd birthday. I couldn’t be more grateful for my life, my friends, my family, and this adventure. The bad has made the good so much more delicious when it comes. And Gabriel, what can I say? You are the everything.

Thanks for reading, cheering and being on this ride with me. Your support truly helped me stay on the bike. I hope someday I can do the same for you somehow. Until then, ALLEZ ALLEZ MES AMIS!

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July 22nd, 2013. A day I’ll never forget. Isola to Levans. 80km.

Posted on July 23, 2013 by Ranjani

Its always darkest before the dawn… (and other cliches that it turns out are true).

Isola — well its very old (charming) and very, very small (limited options). Our hotel was dilapidated, and didn’t smell very nice. But on close inspection, the sheets looked clean. The toilet flushed with a motor that sounded like heavy farm machinery. The restaurant next door– don’t ask. On the surreal side, that night a Gospel choir was passing through and performing right outside our window as we were going to bed. I don’t go to church but I do love the sound of Gospel music. I drifted off to sleep to amazing voices belting it to the heavens.

We left early the next day (couldn’t wait to get out of there), expecting a long, but not difficult ride. We expected wrong. The first few hours were flat and downhill through canyons. Cool air and a beautiful sunrise breaking through and making everything sparkle. Signs for Nice said 20km (nothing!) we could have gone straight there, a day early. But no, that felt like cheating. We wanted to stick to the course. We hit the hard part. The sun was up and on full blast by then. We had expected 2 km of 10% climb. That’s difficult, but that’s short. I don’t know the stats of what the climb actually was but I can tell you it was endless and it was hell. Gabriel was ahead of me, after a while he was way out of eye or earshot. The terrain was forest-y, but the road was wide enough that there was no shade. Not a car, not a cyclist passed. Hot, exhausting, endless, alone. Sisyphean. There was no mercy from the sun. My water was the temperature of tea. My stomach was cramping from whatever I had eaten the night before. What follows is the thought process / experience of a woman exhausted and possibly suffering the beginning of heat exhaustion. Now mind you, I had given myself permission from the beginning of this trip: if I need to get off the bike and walk it, I can. That’s allowed.

I cried. (Not like with tears, but more like a whine). Literally a cry in the wilderness, if you will. My arms throbbed. Forget the wrists. I cursed. I told myself: just ride to that patch of shade, then you can get off. Then the next one: just ride to that tree, then you can get off. I stood up out of the saddle and counted backwards from 100, puffing, pumping. I recited Shakespeare monologues that are still in my head from college. “Oh for a muse of fire…” I practiced counting in French. I repeated mantras. I cursed myself, Gabriel, and anyone who has ever ridden a bike. I howled. It was so HOT. I’ve now cut holes in my biking tights where my knee wounds are, and I bandage them LOOSELY (for reasons you won’t want to hear about). The problem is, there is not enough medical tape in the world to hold these bandages on my knees, which are constantly bending, straightening, bending, straightening… and are continuously slicked and re-slicked with sweat. So my bandages keep unsticking, and flappity-flapping as I ride. And I keep trying to slap them back on. “FUCK YOU, BANDAGES!” I scream out into the forest at one point. But there are these butterflies everywhere. All types and colors. And lots of yellow ones. Someone told me once that yellow butterflies are good luck. So a yellow butterfly (my animal for the day) would flutter in front of me and I would just follow it. I can’t get off the bike because the butterfly wants me to keep going. Follow the butterfly. Then it would disappear and another would replace it, leading me forward.

The bandage on my left knee eventually flew off (FUCK YOU, FUCKER!!) and after some minutes of riding I thought, okay, I have to stop and re-bandage. I can’t have this new, healing, raw skin get broiled in the sun like a toasted cheese sandwich (sorry). So finally I found a patch of shade and I dropped in it. My chest was heaving, I was breathing so hard. I re-wrapped, and found one last wrinkled up pack of energy goo. “Espresso Love” flavor. Yes. And some tea-water. I thought hard about walking the rest of the way. No, I’ll just try to get back on the bike. More climb. I suddenly thought of this movie from the ’80’s where Madeline Stowe is being tortured by Alan Rickman. She says (I think? Somehow I remember this) “You can break my body but you can’t break my mind.” I yell it out to the sky, its a mantra. YOU CAN BREAK MY BODY BUT YOU CAN’T BREAK MY MIND! Clearly I’m a madwoman. I’m still on the bike. Then that stops working and its “All You Need is Love” by the Beatles. “All You Need is Love…ba ba da da…” I’m singing that now. The yellow butterflies keep appearing. I will not get off this bike. Finally, somehow its end. Gabriel is there in a little cafe, waving, waiting. I fall off my bike and lay down on the sidewalk under a tree. The leaves are twinkling like stars. Gabriel leans over me: “Do you want a Coke?” “Water.” We agreed that was the hardest ride we’d ever done, period. If I had known how hard it was going to be, I would have made us choose a different route. If I had been with someone who had quit, I probably would have quit too. But I’m with a man who doesn’t quit and that’s my inspiration.

We wanted to finish our ride right away, screw the plan, stay in the next closest town. But there were no hotels in existence there, so we rode on, slowly, ever so carefully. Aware that we were both compromised in every possible way. It was another couple of hours. We got to Levens. We stopped to check the GPS for our hotel (the heat still blazing) and I said: “I think I tore my ass.” (Turned out just to be chaffed). 8 hours on a bike will do things to you. But seriously. You know the party’s over when you’ve literally torn your ass. Our hotel was a cute house with blue shutters. Too late for lunch, we fell into bed, dozed, napped, counted the minutes until 7:30 when we could eat.

Today, July 23rd, 2013 we have arrived in Nice–easy from Levans, truly easy. The hotel clerk took a picture of us in the lobby. We hugged, we laughed, we danced naked in our hotel room. (By the way, my legs and butt look like a map of the world. No pictures, please). Our ride is technically over, although we still have to cycle a few kilometers to the airport on the 25th.

One more post coming tomorrow. A few more details to share, and then… FIN.

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July 22nd. Isola to Levens. 80 km 7 1/2 hours

Posted on July 22, 2013 by Ranjani

Just when you think the worst is over…it’s The Hardest Day ever.
Will write tomorrow

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July 20th and 21st. Guillestre to Jausiers (45km) & Jausiers to Isola (65km)

Posted on July 21, 2013 by Ranjani

From Guillestre to Jausiers was an uneventful ride. The Col de Vars. The scenery was less exciting than other rides. My animal was a cow. I was more tired than usual (because we had a rest day?) It was a total slog. Gabriel keeps asking me which ride I think was the hardest. Honestly, I can’t answer. Its so much more mental than physical for me now. Depends on my freaking mood.

We keep arriving in these villages starving, but too late for lunch and too early for dinner. At a bar in Jausiers (where they had the Tour on TV), the bartender let us bring in bread and cheese which we cut with our swiss army knives and ate at a bar table drinking wine. That was delicious.

Today we set off early for our last big climb: Cime de La Bonette. The highest road in Europe, they say. 23 kilometers. My animal was a happy white dog outside of our hotel as we left. The scenery up was breathtaking, and thank God, because I needed distraction. The hotel manager or whatever he was in Jausiers kept singing “Riders on the Storm”, not really to himself. Kinda full voice. And he didn’t bother with the rest of the song, either. Just “Riders on the Storm…” so that song was stuck in my head for the first hour or two. I kept seeing things and then thinking them in that tune: “Pinecones on the ground…”, etc. I couldn’t stop it. Pro-training type guys kept passing me. I thought: pass me Dude, I ain’t racing. The only race I’m in is against my own desire to jump on a plane, go home, and fall on the couch with my cat and a bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. Cycle on, my friends.

Several kilometers in I went through another plague of flies. A couple dozen just circling me, landing on me, riding on my handlebars. I HATE FLIES! If even one gets in my house I’ll spend 45 minutes chasing it down. But for some reason, they love me here. Maybe they can smell the blood of my wounds–disgusting I know. But I’m riding and sweating hard and what do I have to contend with? Flies. Why? Because I hate them. Cos that’s the way it works, right Universe? So I tried to get Buddhist and love the flies. Like they’re my team. It didn’t really work but I tried.

When a sign said I had only 10 km to the top I stopped. I took a break and ate a banana (bananas, unlike flies, are wonderful!). Gabriel was way ahead of me, I couldn’t even see him up the winding mountain. He has become a climbing monster on this trip. He is a force to be reckoned with in so many ways. After my break, there were signs counting down each kilometer. 9, 8, 7… I was thinking to myself: the next one will be 6, the next one will be 5, etc. I promised myself when I got to 5 I would stop, get a fresh bottle of water, and eat some Peanut Butter energy goo. Finally I was at 5. I refreshed and went on. The scenery was like a few days ago: trees, mountains, patches of ice, cascades of melted snow blasting down the mountain. It was gorgeous but hard hard hard. And at that point cold. When the sun went behind a cloud my legs stayed warm but my chest turned to ice. I felt joy, though. I had felt it less after my fall, but today it was back– the wonder and the joy. Finally, I hit the top. Gabriel was there, as was a guy who was giving riders free Pepsi and dried fruit, and slices of pumpkin bread. Gabriel and I hugged. We did it. We really f-ing did it! The ride down was careful, and I had sugared-up. We stopped to eat lunch at a restaurant — we had never indulged ourselves in that before. We rode on, another 15km to our village and our hotel. We each had one glass of Rose at lunch (one sip of which had caused my hamstrings to literally melt into the chair). But now it was hot, another slog, and I rode slowly (way too slowly for Gabriel) to offset the affects of the heat and the wine. We lost then found each other– our Euro cell phones work, it turns out. We arrived here in Isola. There are exactly 2 hotels here, each a little worse than the other. And one restaurant, period. But we don’t care. WE DONT CARE!!! We’ll be in Nice in 2 days.

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July 18th and 19th. Briancon to Guillestre. And a day of rest.

Posted on July 19, 2013 by Ranjani

51 Km. 6 or so hours.

It was hard to leave Chez Bear Ski Lodge, a little slice of homey heaven in Briancon, but since the hail stopped the night before it was time to move on. We had eaten a lasagna dinner and shared wine with the other guests at a big long table the night before. A really sweet family from England–mother, father and 11 year old son who is an oboe prodigy; a Swiss cyclist (reserved but nice enough); a IronMan-competing triathlon couple from Florida. The wife was nice but the husband had apparently graduated from the Lance Armstrong School of Dicky-ness and had no time to be friendly to anyone except occasionally the Swiss cyclist who I guess he deemed worthy. Our hosts were the kindest couple in the whole world, though, and if you are ever in that area– it was one of the most special, beautiful places I’ve ever stayed in. Magical. Also a dear friend had sent us a care package there: soap, shampoo, foot cream, bandages… we needed all of it! So we were in total luxury for about 17 hours and as I dozed in the den to the sound of the hail the crick in my neck went away.

As we rode in the early morning out of Briancon we passed a surreal sight. Garishly painted train cars of a traveling circus, like out of another century. See Zorro the Magnificent! Or something it said. Bright orange and red and yellow signs. Most of the train cars were closed or draped over, but one was open: the lion’s cage. A huge adult male lion, just sitting there. We were on the other side of the street but if I had crossed over I could have reached through the iron bars and touched him–not that I would. I couldn’t believe it. Clearly I had my animal for the day. As we rode on we could hear him roaring. There is no sound like that in the world.

We began the Col D’Izoard. 17km, but the first few not a bad climb. Mostly forest-y on the way up, and quiet. No cars, hardly any cyclists except one group of Brits and Americans also on their way to Nice–“We’ll see you in the bar!” “Absolutely!” It was a long, slow, lonely climb. Gabriel was strong yesterday so he was way ahead of me. Rain was threatening the whole day (merciful to have no sun, though) so we were crossing our fingers that we would get up and descend before wetness hit. Three hours or so to the top. The landscape was drier than previous climbs. Big jagged mountains jabbing the sky, but no grass or snow. We bought t-shirts at a souvenir store up there. Bundle up, eat a bar, then down. After the big descent we were riding forever through canyons, alongside a river where people were white-water rafting. We went through several tunnels. In one of the last ones, something stung my thigh. I saw it for a split second and it wasn’t a bee–at least it wasn’t yellow. I pulled over and pulled out the stinger. Damn! Seriously–now I’m just getting insulted. I pulled down my tights in the road–nothing was swelling up or anything. I’m so passed the point of giving a shit if someone drives by when I’ve got my pants down or whatever I’m doing. So much goes on when you’re riding for so long– grunts and moans are coming out of me, bodily fluids, talking to myself…I am the animal now. We got to our hotel in Guillestre and we are here for 2 days. They have a jacuzzi! (What is this thing you humans call a jacuzzi? Bring me to this thing!) Actually though I can’t use it because my wounds aren’t healed enough to be dunking them in public waters. DAMN AGAIN!

Last night we Skyped with my parents–so good to speak to loved ones in the real world. The rain was coming down but we donned our sexy crossing-guard ponchos and walked into the village and had a great (and large) dinner in a restaurant built in an old farmhouse. This morning we slept in because its a rest day!!! And my body almost feels normal today. (I still have to turn myself all night like a slow-cooking rotisserie chicken so that I don’t put prolonged pressure on any one injured body part). Today the sun is out and we have no agenda except to explore the village and nap as needed. Tomorrow we ride again. We only have 4 more days of riding, I can’t believe it. If we continue on schedule, we’ll be in Nice on the 23rd…

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July 16th and 17th

Posted on July 17, 2013 by Ranjani

“What fresh hell is this?” Dorothy Parker

July 16th: Bessans to Valloire. 70 km. Lots and lots of hours
July 17th: Valloire to Briancon. A little less of both

They say bad luck comes in threes. Well ours did. (I’m not going to count the merciless 90 degree heat riding uphill; the Old Testament-style plague of flies we road through in one of the valleys; or my flat tire going up the Col de Telegraphe which Gabriel had to change twice because the first tube was broken). Ok, here are are the three:

1) The fall (3 days ago now)

2) Upon reaching the top of the Col de Telegraphe yesterday, I realized I had left my little purse (holding my money, credit cards, Iphone, and passport) down in the last town we had stopped in to have coffee and a snack before the climb. The young guy at the pizzeria had filled my water bottles for me–nice cold water from his bar tap. I had set my little money bag down–outside, on their outdoor patio–as I got myself organized, and never picked it back up. So now its hours later, and we’re at the top of the Col. Well there was a taxi parked up there but it was broken down or something. We decided I would stay with the bikes while Gabriel hitched a ride back down to St. Michelle de Maurienne and back to the pizzeria. We stood in the middle of the road with our thumbs out, and guess who came by? The Guy With The Van! He does exist, and he was a nice, kindly fellow who drove Gabriel all the way down while I waited with the bikes.
As I waited, I surrendered. (It helps when you’re too tired to even be upset). I thought: credit cards can be cancelled, Iphone replaced, passport—well, sucky. But if I have to stay here a couple of extra weeks while embassies sort things out, so be it. All I ask now is that Gabriel return to me safely. That’s all that matters really. Please just don’t let him get murdered by The Man with the Van. He was back in an hour or so. Driven by another Man with a Van (another hitch) and with my purse in hand which he held up in victory. The sweet guy at the pizzeria had found it and saved it. Good people. So after that, elated, we rode down into Valloire and found our hotel (not our best choice) and then found a restaurant (a much better choice) and ate a dinner of thick vegetable soup, crepes, and peach sorbet. By the way, the Good Luck animals that day were two mules in a field cos I thought: that’s Gabriel and I, two pack mules.

3) Today, July 17th. I woke up from another bad night of sleep. (I can’t sleep on my left side because of my bruises, and if anything touches my cut up right knee I wake up. I’m an achey, cranky mess in the morning. Plus I tweeked my neck somehow too. I get slightly less miserable after some cafe au lait and Advil). Plus we are way short on first aid supplies. Not every village has a pharmacy, and that’s the only place you can get medical tape and cotton wrappings and I seem to keep underestimating how much I need. We’ve also had to duct tape the holes (from the fall) in my cycling pants, cos we haven’t found a sports store selling another pair. (They’ve got plenty of ski supplies though). So we are full ghetto-style cyclists now with our duct tape and slapped-together bandages. So I wake up, pained and mad, and I open my email to find that someone back in the US has gotten his (or her) hands on my Amex info and has gone to town at Home Depot and Target. Now, I have my card here with me (and it wasn’t the guy at the pizzeria because the charges were several days ago). So someone got the card number and is shopping online? But they also had a 7-11 charge so how does that work? Online 7-11 shopping? So then its a Skype call to Amex to deal with it (but I discover the hard way I have to stand in a particular one foot circumference spot in the hotel ” lobby”–if you want to call it that– to not lose the phone connection to whichever Amex person I’m talking to in India). So finally the card is cancelled and we get on the road. That, I can only pray, was number three.

Immediately our route takes us up the Col de Galibier. 17 km, some at up to 9 and 10% incline. The good luck animal: a marmot in a field! I’ve never seen one before. But still I’m obsessing about the Amex thing. Can they actually take your info and manufacture a fake card? Probably. I’m pissed. But I console myself that maybe it was some guy who really needed some stuff– Home Depot, Target. At least it wasn’t Neimans and Saks. I spend the first hour trying to figure it all out and I have to keep reminding myself to be present and look at the view. Which was spectacular. And then this really cool thing happened. I looked down in the valley and saw sheep — hundreds of them–and they were coming up the mountain toward the road. Then they started crossing the road and we had to stop—me, another cyclist, a couple of cars–and this big fluffy white dog was there and he was standing in the middle of the road stopping the traffic. We all just stood there, people got out of their cars, everyone’s mouth agape as hundreds of sheep crossed and continued up the mountain–from babies staggering to keep up to adult males with the curved horns–all shepherded by this one yawning dog. (All in a day’s work for him). And then after several minutes the sheep-herder drove up in his truck with a few other dogs. He gave a command and the dogs parted the sheep in the road to let the cars and cyclists pass. I was so awestruck by the beauty of the whole thing I forgot to take a picture of course. There were still hundreds coming up the mountain as I passed through.

Col de Galibier: hard, but early in the day which made it seem easier. I ate every hour, hungry or not. (Learned my lesson about altitude and blood sugar and all that didn’t I?) Rainclouds were forming overhead and I knew what Gabriel was thinking: Please don’t rain before we finish the descent. At the top, we ate again, and bundled up quickly to go down. (He rides behind me on descents now, new policy). Down and down and down and no real rain, just a few teasing droplets. Finally arrived in Briancon and found or hotel which is about the most charming place I’ve ever been. Five rooms, a cozy ski lodge, owned by a British couple. Impeccable and homey at the same time. A sauna (Not that we’ll be using that. I’ve had enough sweat today, thanks), a den, a cinema room. Its a little outside of town so we will eat dinner here at a long table with the other guests, also cyclists. Plat du jour is lasagna. Perfect. My mouth is watering already. And now we’re inside and so cozy and showered in our robes (they provide robes here, what a concept!) and now its HAILING outside. Gabriel went down to the den and reported that there is a cat here that looks exactly like Lola. Maybe we’ll be stuck here an extra day. 🙂

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July 16th

Posted on July 16, 2013 by Ranjani

I’ll post tomorrow friends. 8 hours riding today. One lost (and found) passport. I must rest

Xoxo.

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