Archive for May 2011
How now, Giau?
“Cima Coppi” is the name given to the highest climb during each year’s Giro d’Italia. It’s a tribute to the memory of Fausto Coppi: one of the greatest Italian cyclists of all time. Instead of drugs and performance enhancers, he ate prosciutto, drank red wine, and biked without a helmet in a wool jersey…on dirt roads.
Along the road that leads to Pocol Giau, in the Italian Dolomites (north of the Veneto region), lies the
remains of the Muraglia di Giau: a great stone wall built in 1753 and completed in 6 months that stretched from the top of the mountain to Crepe Formin. This barrier was originally under a meter tall, with a 150 cm base width. Built by the authorities from the Republic of Venice and the Austrian Empire, it was used to settle border disputes between Cortina and San Vito.
The pass connecting Cortina d’Ampezzo with the Val Fiorentina is known as Passo Giau. It is this year’s Cima Coppi at the 2011 Giro d’Italia. The first time it was showcased as the highest pass in the race was in 1973, summited by the Spaniard José Manuel Fuente. The Giau is also the steepest and highest climb in the Marathona dles Dolomites: an amateur bicycle race that bisects these majestic slopes. I’ve participated with a number of my friends in this race – some who went the right way, others who didn’t – yet we all managed to make it to where we needed to be in the end.
As we crested the summit in our snazzy red van the other day, the pass was empty, deserted. A layer of snow softened footsteps and the only noise was the sound of the wind over the stone. The light was overwhelming: sun-rays came from every direction, reflecting off the snow, yet the views were beyond imaginable. To be up there at that hour of the morning, the only people around for miles, knowing that we were at the top of one of the most popular bike races in the world, was magnificent. Our next experience on Giau will be by bike, with hundreds of other multi-colored cyclists trying their best to master the Cima Coppi.
Zoncolan
Standing on top of this mountain reminds me of balancing a basketball on a pin-head. Each side of the mountain drops precariously in an endless abyss. The only animal that leaps and bounds effortlessly is the little cocker spaniel a local had brought to the top of Zoncolan for some fresh air. As for Vince and me, we are still mesmerized not only by the natural beauty surrounding us, but also the intensity of the ascent.
Monte Zoncolan is one of the most challenging climbs in professional cycling. I could explain percent 
grades and the lengths of the climb, but many other websites already do that (climbbybike.com does a great job of that here). We drove the route from Ovaro to the top, checking out its difficulty for our group to pass by in about a week’s time. My impression of this legendary climb is that it visibly made our van seem microscopic.
With other mountain roads (even Stelvio) the road is wider, giving you a false sense of space. On the Zoncolan, the road becomes increasingly narrow after the last village, just barely enough to fit our vehicle on what was supposed to be a two-lane surface. Each switch-back was not only narrow but steep, dragging the back wheels on the pavement as we continued upwards. On the valley side, we couldn’t see the road: a vast abyss of Alpine beauty seemed to open underneath us. We were no more than a speck on the side of the mountain, stuck in second gear, chugging up one of the steepest hills I have ever seen. The two tunnels near the summit – only a car’s width wide – were like threading a needle at 1,700 m in our 8 person passenger van. The snow at the mou
th of each tunnel made the entry a slippery one.
Once at the top, we got out and walked around for 15 minutes, stretching our backs from 10 km of leaning forward in the van (maybe to keep the van continuing uphill?). Apart from the satisfaction of doing something like this for the challenge, the bragging rights, or to tick another box, the panorama surrounding the Zoncolan is out of this world and worth the drive if you can’t make it up on a bike.
I’ll be blogging/videoing the climb when it’s done, on May 21st – the same day the Giro d’Italia finishes on the summit. Make sure to tune in.
Monte Grappa and The Fight of a Lifetime
Monte Grappa is a WW I battleground standing at 5769 ft. The scene of decisive battles during the First World War and some of the Second, it is known to many for the military shrine at the top of Mount Grappa, containing the remains of Italian and Austro-Hungarian military exploits along with a museum of the Great War.
In World War I, after the Italian defeat at Kobarid, the peak became the pivot of the Italian defense. They fought off Austrians desperately trying to gain access to the Veneto plain. By digging caves in the solid rock and fixing artillery positions from above, the Italians dominated the Austrian army and kept vigilance over the front at Montello.
During the Second World War Monte Grappa served as a refuge for the partisans. It was subject to horrifying Nazi and fascist raids. The partisans that weren’t killed in the mountains were publicly hanged in the village of Bassano del Grappa. The Nazis employed between 15,000 to 20,000 men to hunt down and execute the 1,500 partisans hidden in the villages and the slopes of the mountain.
But this adventure will be done on a bicycle. Monte Grappa has been visited three times during the Giro d’Italia, the last time in 1982 when it was won by Spain’s Vincente Belda. As of May 15, 2011, we found the top of Monte Grappa covered in 10 cm of fresh snow. As we made our way to the top, the emerald pastures gave way to a wintery landscape, as the clouds and fog funneled upwards, releasing themselves to the thermal lifts coming from the valley. At times, we wondered if our van would make it to the top as it slipped and slid along the narrow, snow covered asphalt. Eventually we reached the top, where winds topped at 40 kms an hour and the snow continued to fall.
At approximately 25 km for 6% average grade, it will be an adventure for our cyclists. Yet the images of young soldiers giving their lives to protect the delicate valley below give new meaning to what sacrifice really means.
What you don’t know about Sardinia could Thrill you.
I was already concerned about the weather during our departure from Pula, in the southern part of the island. By the time we had packed our bags, the rain began to fall. The skies were grey. I lifted a large backpack filled with notebooks and cameras on my back as tiny drops fell on my face. My good friend Enrico had even less to carry: a small rucksack and a burning desire to pedal. Our adventure teetered on the brink of waterlogged shoes and uncomfortable shorts. We didn’t carry a change of clothing with us and we had no intention of doing so. But that is all part of the adventure when mountain biking in southwestern Sardinia.
For early spring it was uncommonly cold weather along the second largest island in the Mediterranean. We had specifically chosen this week to do a more intense hike along the snagged routes and plummeting pitches of the Selvaggio Blu: a challenging itinerary along the Gulf of Orosei. All the more reason we had packed lightly (Enrico packed light; I was hoping for spectacular pictures). We opted for a mountain bike itinerary along routes designed by the Sardegna Tourism Board and while Enrico had
already shipped his bike to the island, I was able to get a new Felt front-suspension from Simone at ProBike in Pula.
Fortunately for us, July and August are the high tourist months in Sardinia, when most Italians and North Europeans flock to the island to marvel at its ivory beaches and azure waters. The first week of May permitted Enrico and me the opportunity to have the dirt roads and lonely paths all to ourselves. A shepherd or forest ranger would pass, tending his flock, or roasting pork chops along the side of the road. Some hunters were around, but we were mostly on our own. The weather was damp and menacing, yet the heavens never fully unleashed the wrath we were expecting. In fact, a few times the skies let out a fine spray of mist which was a cool welcome after one particularly sweltering day.
Not only was the weather in our favor, but so was the ride. It unfolded as a fairytale excursion through dense forests, desert dunes, ridge rides and quintessential small hamlets. Our travels took us to the Temple of Antas, the Mines of Rosas, the abandoned digs at Ingurtosu, a cheese maker, multiple small animals (wild and domesticated) and a run-in with the Carabinieri in Sant Angelo. We soared to the bottom of downhills (with only one brake) and sweated uphills that would put alpine climbs to shame. The amount of pure virgin Sardinian countryside we saw is unimaginable, especially when you think you’ve seen all the island has to offer. Mountain biking – even for four days – brought us to peaks and valleys we would have only stared at from the beach saying to ourselves, “I wonder how you get up there.”
July and Augus
t are the months to go to the beach and soak your toes. If you are looking to do more on an island that has so much more to offer, take trips like these in the off-season on a shoe-string for some epic adventures. Anyone interested in riding an organized trip through this savage and wonderfully untouched area of Sardinia, should contact one of the tour operators active on the island. For example Skedaddle, HappyTrails MTB, and Dolcevita Tours all organize wonderful Mountain Bike excursions through Sardinia. For those of you looking to go on your own, contact the Sardinia Board of Tourism and bring a GPS, a map, and a good sense of where you are. For further details of our exploits, you’ll be able to read about them in Free Wheelin’ in about a month (link to follow), and maybe another bike publication, if they find it as cool as I do to publish.
So if you find this cool, make sure you like it here below.