The Alps Crossing

Where to start?  This was a big ride, one for which I was not completely prepared but nevertheless mentally ready to do.  My cousin Peppi, who you met via the last blog entry had proposed that I join him for a mountain bike ride over the Alps.  Seemed like a good idea.  He had done several similar rides over the years and he thought I would have a good time.  With such an invitation, how could I refuse?

As Lucy previously wrote, we arrived in Germany on July 29 and made our way to Niederbayern.  Niederbayern, or lower Bavaria, is a region east of Munich to the Czech border comprised of rolling farmland, forest, and villages; and is the region from which my grandfather emigrated to the US in 1927.  With just two short days to enjoy family, Peppi, Walter (a friend of Peppi's) and I were off to Innsbruck, Austria where we began our ride.

Actually, we drove about 30 km south of Innsbruck to the village of Steinach, avoiding the longish and boringish road ride up the Brenner Pass Road to where the ride really started.  It took about 5 minutes to ride through the pretty little village until we were on the first of seemingly thousands of >10% grade climbs - what a warm up, just like riding up Little Park Road from my driveway except steeper.  Having done this in the past on previous road rides through the Alps, I knew I would be rewarded with views to sooth the burning legs.  Even my seasoned cousin commented several times on the beauty of the valley we were riding through.  And if those views didn't suffice, we were on a Waldweg (forest trail) soon enough, passing Bergbauern (mountain farmers) who still use a scythe to cut hay because the valley sides are too steep for machinery.  I thought my bike was a bit of a drag to push and carry until I saw those folks cutting and raking hay by hand.

I soon learned the nature of this particular ride when the double track we were following turned steeply uphill into a trail that really was a small stream drainage.  Bike on the back but that didn't really feel good; and the trail is really long and steep (was that a bit of whining? on the first day out?, maybe-but I kept it to myself).  And just when I thought I was going to have to camp for the night on the side of that trail, Walter whipped out a power gel and I was good to go to the top of Sandjoch (Sand Pass).  I made the first big climb of the first day of this six day ride.

Funny thing about this region called South Tirol just over the border from Austria in northern Italy, the valleys are kind of low and the peaks and passes are kind of high making for very spectacular and dramatic elevation changes.  In other words, in a flash we descended 1000+ meters and we were in the village of Sterzing.  Many of the villages have central squares lined with restaurants filled with people sitting outside, and Sterzing was no exception.  I was amazed that evening as I was each time after I ate how much better I felt and how I could get back on my bicycle to ride again.  In this case, we rode for another 30 minutes after dinner, gently up valley to our hotel for the night.  With the climbing done, I didn't have to think about the next 2000+ meters of elevation gain until the next day.

Day 2 began sunny and warm, and uphill again.  We were heading to Schneeberg Pass.  We read in the hotel that there is a mine on the far side of the pass, opened in the 1300s.  For the first several hundred years of operation, the miners had to carry ore on their backs from the far side of the pass, over the top, and then down valley.  I bet their lives were short.  We used our modern mountain bike machines to make our way up continuous 10+% grades to the base of the "real" climb.  The trail, tipping up to a narrow and blocky 26%, was the same trail used by those miners from the 1300s.  As I carried and pushed my bike to the top I thought about how miserable life must have been for those miners and how relatively easy mine was at the moment.  And the view from the top, something I am sure the miners of old did not linger for, was again worth every bead of sweat squeezed out of my forehead.

The benefit of traveling in a region that has been settled for longer than 2500 years is that there is a Alpine hut or restaurant at or near every high point in the Alps.  We dropped out of Schneeberg Pass to the Schneeberg Alm (an alm is where the cows are cared for in the summer).  I ate soup and drank coke until I revived again.  In front of us lay about 1300 meters of descent and about 700 meters up to our next night's rest.  I knew I could do the descent but that additional 2300 feet at the end of the day would take a little negotiating between my brain and legs but I figured I could worry about that later.  And with that thought, we descended.

Despite those 2500 years of settlement, a fall is still a fall and we were pretty far out in the hills.  Peppi plopped his front wheel in a water rut and gracefully launched over the handlebars.  Happily he was uninjured though it was hard to see how he avoided injury looking at him in a pile of rocks on the trail.  His front brake lever was not so lucky as it was snapped off.  Now he was looking at 1200 meters of descent with just a rear brake.  He pulled it off expertly, though it looked a bit dodgy on some of the steep forest paths.  We finally exited onto the main pavement and enjoyed a speedy descent down the Timmelsjoch Road through forests of Larch and Spruce, with the steep walled valley on both sides of us - fantastic!!

At the bottom of the descent we were all intact but Peppi's bike needed to be repaired.  Though he got through the descent he did not fancy any more long descents with just one brake.  We diverted downhill, giving up a day of riding, into the city of Meran and the Etsch river valley for repair and sleep.  For me this was a welcomed diversion, as it gave me a chance to ride through a city I first saw and admired while bicycle touring in 1987.  It seems to me this area of northern Italy is completely unknown by Americans and that surprises me.  The climate is mild, the surrounding valley is filled with fruit and wine, the peaks are high, and the views are long.  In short, I could live there.  And we did for the night.  The bike repair went well, dinner outdoors filled me up, and the bed in a small home was comfortable enough for my weary legs.  We said good-bye to Walter as he left to return to Niederbayern to meet his wife and their upcoming adventure of 3 weeks of bicycle touring in eastern Kazakstan.

But as much as I enjoyed where I was, we were even lower in starting elevation, necessitating gaining all of our meters in one pull.  Our goal on day 3 was Tarscher Pass.  At almost 2600 meters, we had 2300 meters of climbing in the next 40 or so kilometers.  Well, the first part was pleasant enough - we rode along the Etsch River up valley and aside for the 7 switch backs through the 16% grade we had to go over, it was pretty flat.  I rode up this valley 24 years ago heading toward the Reschen Pass and return to Austria.  For me, I enjoyed reminiscing about that ride.

When the goal of the day is 2300 meters (7546 feet) above where one wakes up, it is best not to ride flat for too long.  Eventually, we turned uphill riding through kilometers of apple orchards until we were again in the forest.  It was a really long climb to the Tarscher Alm and I thought I would never get there.  It was a significant rest goal at 1800 meters in elevation.  We sat, ate, and rested to prepare for the last 500 meters of climbing, designated in Peppi's guidebook as a push/carry.

Surprises happen all the time and as I started to push up the trail, I was surprised to know that I was going to make it to the top.  I felt good.  The trail was surprisingly easy to push on, and as usual, the views were magnificent.  From the top, we gazed upon broad and spiky alpine peaks, cloaked with glaciers, a feature of mountain views rapidly melting in our own lower 48 states.  It was late in the afternoon, which softened and warmed the light on the surrounding mountains.  We could see the head of the valley we were heading toward, where we would stop for another night.

Never say never is a good phrase to live by.  We started our descent into Ultental, or Val d'Ultimo in Italian.  The region we had been traversing, South Tirol, was officially part of Austria until the late 1930s and retains a strong Austrian feeling.  All of the place names are written in both German and Italian.  I stumbled upon Ultental on my bicycle tour in 1987.  Over the course of a very long day of kilometers and climbing with a loaded bicycle, I camped high on the side of the valley for several days.  I clearly remember thinking as I rode out of the valley that I would never be there again and never have to climb up into the valley.  Was I in for the second surprise of my day!  In my mind, the hotel we had not booked or found yet was exactly at the end of the descent we were enjoying from Tarscher Pass.  In reality, we bottomed out and then turned up valley (read: up hill) toward the village of St. Niklaus.  Worse yet, the place in the village where the hotels were was at least 75 meters up, believe it or not, a > 10% grade.  Worse squared was that when we rode up the steep hill, nobody had any room for two worn out mountain bikers.  We ended up visiting with a woman who formerly ran a Pension (small guest house) and she ultimately opened up a room for us in her very beautiful and traditional mountain valley home.  I made it through day 3.

Day 4 began with a rapid descent out of town but then gradually uphill to the head of Ultental.  We had two goals for the day:  Rabbijoch (Rabbi Pass) and then the village of Madonna di Compiglio.  I definitely felt better now and was able to ride all of the road up hill until nobody could ride anymore.  I was beginning to train into this Alps thing.  We crossed Rabbijoch in a cloud, which was the first foreboding weather we had encountered.  On the descent we had the pleasure of two events:  winding single track through a beautiful meadow filled with flowers and the sounds of cowbells; and the first views of the Dolomiti di Brenti - a group of especially sharp spired peaks within the Dolomites.  When we descended to the valley, we were definitely in Italy and no longer in Austrian-influenced Italy.  We arrived at 2 pm, just as the Italian restaurants close for the afternoon.  We found one place willing to serve us and we enjoyed polenta served on a wooden platter upon which we spooned on a vennison stew.  Add some coca cola to that mix and I felt ready to achieve our second goal of the day: Madonna di Compiglio.

So what's the big deal about riding into one of the more exclusive ski resorts in the Dolomites?  The 1000 meters of elevation we had to gain to get there (on top to the 1400 we had climbed to the Rabbijoch).  By now I can't embellish the climb with any magic; it was really a matter of turning the pedals in such a way that the climb went away.  And it did.  We arrived in town and found our place to  stay all within 30 minutes before the skies opened up with a powerful thunderstorm and deluging rain.  Lucky again!

Our last day of riding started in full sunshine with outstanding views of the Dolomiti di Brenti.  We made our way through forests, climbing to a glistening lake.  Along the way we were passed by some gray-haired fellows on a day ride - I hope I ride like they do when I am their age.  The pass we attained from the lake was a walk up, in that all of us, including the gray-hairs, pushed our bikes.  Again, the 360 degree view validated the sweat dripped along the way.  We thought we had the day in the bag, what with only one pass of < 500 meters elevation gain, how hard could it be?  We rode through ride open valleys as we approached Lago di Garda, a glacial lake in northern Italy, where Lucy and the boys were staying in the city of Riva.

Of course it wasn't straight forward, and we lost the trail for a while, ending up in a different place at the top than we expected or hoped for but we made it.  The descent was, can you guess?, steep.  But the views of the lake with sailboats and windsurfers dotting the surface was like a magnet that drew us even faster down the hill.  We arrived, unexpected because we were a day early as a result of the bicycle repair, and were welcomed into the apartment Lucy and the boys had settled into.  We were happy, successful, and safe having arrived back with my family.

Despite the physical challenge of the ride, it was absolutely awesome and something I would love to repeat.  I would be happy to provide more information to anyone who might be interested in a similar bike tour.  This tour is not about riding single track but instead, about using a mountain bike to traverse a long distance, even when the trail seems more appropriate for hiking.  In my mind, there is nothing similar to this ride in the US for the volume of climbing for the distance, and the views afforded throughout the route.

Ciao,
Paul