20-27 September 2019.
Brenner to Fusine Confine, Italy Including a Long (3 nights) Rest Outside of Verona.
443 miles with 13,700 feet of climbing.
Brenner to Fusine Confine, Italy Including a Long (3 nights) Rest Outside of Verona.
443 miles with 13,700 feet of climbing.
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At Brenner, Italy, I rolled into a mass of infrastructure, rail lines, autostrada, secondary and tertiary roads, and it turns out access to a very nice bicycle trail, paved, smooth, that offers unmolested bicycle pleasure from Brenner to Bolzano, a distance of about 60 miles. The cycle way has many names, here's a nice summary from the Italy Cycling Guide,
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"This route is also known as the Eisacktal Radweg (because it follows the Eisack river). It forms part of the München-Venezia and Ciclopista del Sole cycle routes. Until relatively recently it was part of Euro Velo 7, but seems to have now disappeared from the maps of this network."
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September 20th, 2019, 11:47 am, Le Tour de Europe rolls into Italy at Brenner.
Amidst the infrastructure, I paused for a classic 'Welcome to Brenner' image. I usually forego these opportunities but I felt then, and still do, that my arrival to the famous col, "the most important transport corridor between Italy and northern Europe" (Italy Cycling Guide), was a significant moment for my tour. Although I hadn't previously identified the pass as a specific goal, as I had, for example, for Lake Geneva and Innsbruck, I certainly could have for reasons stated and more. In the meantime, its proximity to Innsbruck, a big goal for my tour, shadowed its significance at least until I was climbing towards the summit on the Austrian side and then rolling through the busy network of seemingly everything within the town of Brenner, Italy, itself.
Since arriving to Cherbourg, France, I've been building my GPS routes 1-3 days before I actually ride them. That's not a lot of time to get familiar with the many turns integrated into my choices including cycling ways. For this reason, haste primarily and perhaps a bit of a preference for last minute planning and the benefits that habit provides, I was unaware of the significance of the bike route that I'd chosen, using Ride with GPS, to get from Brenner to Bolzano. Even more into the ignorance spectrum, by the time I finished my adventure up the pass to Brenner including uprooting a section of electric fence with my bike and body, I had completely forgotten what was next on my route, was it a rough track? A busy secondary road? Or perhaps a bike path? Ignorance turned-out to be bliss in this case, one of many instances on this tour that stemmed directly from my reluctance to plan beyond what's necessary, from day-to-day, to maintain a rough compass direction towards a very distance destination.
Back in Brenner, in the here and now, I was reminded about infrastructure and how it can be a liability when attempting to follow a route on any form of GPS. Even with modern units, like Garmin's 1030, Brenner had plenty of man-made distractions and obstacles that had to be bypassed in order to get onto the track that took me south which is why I initially missed the entrance to the bike way. My Garmin 1030 head unit conveniently announced that mistake. When traveling solo, such a device is an even bigger asset than it otherwise would be. By now, inside a relatively nice part of Brenner, the old village, but still surrounded by the noises of man's mechanical beasts including tour buses, I pulled a few questionable maneuvers, up a sidewalk, around a few confused tourists, and then a short section of a one-way road, before successfully rolling onto the dark red line on my GPS screen.
Ahead of me was a well cared for, seemingly new, cycle path. I still had no idea how long I'd be on the path, but as I descended on a gentle grade, obviously on former rail bed, the highways and active train ways on my left, amidst gorgeous weather, I felt like the luckiest person on Planet Earth. Soon I was rolling through a series of train tunnels, past one abandoned train station after another, gently descending, and always a comfortable distance or more from the noise generated by nearby traffic. Mountains encircled all of us, both sides, a river running down the middle, which I couldn't hear but I could sometimes see. This was an exceptional exit point from the Alps for my tour and with it a new chapter began for my journey in life and touring. I easily slipped, over the next few miles, into an enviable space, mind and body. Time slowed down, colors, smells, and other senses amplified, I moved into a trance-like, flow state, aware but at the same time drifting just above the soft edges of our normally much harsher, grounded, connection to the reality that our minds and quantum physics creates for our id and ego.
High above and north of the village of Colle Isarco, I came to an intersection where I could descend or take an alternative route that followed the contour of a narrow valley to the village of Reisenschuh before circling back and eventually reconnecting with the main route. Overlooking Reisenschuh, a clue to the regions recent geologic history, was an obvious remnant of a formally massive, valley size in breadth and depth, glacier isolated on a ridge west of the town. The ridge-line that supported the glacial remnant was continuous, sharp, all encompassing, and well above the tree-line. Far below the ridge, the exit point from Reisenschuh could have been a tunnel but I was unable to see beyond the village, around a large hill that had been mostly converted to pastures. The view, sunshine, and lack of any wind were plenty of inspiration to get me to stop for lunch. Nearby, a couple of Guernsey’s grazed in a pasture that was green and lush. A few buildings were also nearby; one was formerly a massive barn that had burned. Since the fire, its many stone walls, peripheral and interior, had slowly caved in. From where I was sitting at the edge of a steep hill, I was looking down into a massive valley, formerly filled by ice about 10,000 years ago, at the village of Reisenschuh. Next to the Guernsey’s, and my inspired picnic, was a sub-unit of Reisenschuh called Lasta.
When I climbed back onto my bike, I was hoping the cycle way would last forever and the sunshine too. I rode into a moderate headwind as I approached Bolzano. By now my descent had leveled-off, nearly so anyway, despite a descending grade on average all the way to Lake Garda which remained many miles away at this point. The wind was not awful by any means, but over time this part of Earth's voice contributed to my fatigue, pushing into my ears, creating frenetic energy that my mind had to process, and pushing me, physically, backwards. It's hard to say which component is the most significant, wind in your ears on against your bike and body. My guess is the mental part is at least half of that equation, at least half of why we feel a penetrating mind and body fatigue at the end of a long day spent, in part or whole, pushing through the wind.
Wind withstanding, by the time I reached a very significant apple growing region of Italy, including the town of Ora about 30 miles south of Bolzano, I was feeling just about done, neurons frayed on the edges, sore legs refusing to produce much power, and looking forward to settling into an Airbnb option that I'd booked a few hours before, for about 32$. Along the way, I had also transitioned onto another cycle route, nearly as good as the first, not quite as new, sometimes bumpy especially on sections that passed through busy towns but otherwise smooth under my tubeless 32 and 35 mm (rear, Mavic) gravel tires. Recall the 35 mm was a replacement, purchased from and mounted by a shop in Newport, Wales, a few hundred miles after I sliced my rear, 32 mm, Panaracer gravelking exiting Tullamore, Ireland. Since slicing the tire, I'd been relying on a small piece of tire, installed between the tube and the slice, that I carry for just such instances to avoid puncturing the tube.
A few hours earlier in the day, I sent a booking request to a host not far from Ora, Italy. So when I approached this vicinity, I also checked-in with that request, and was disappointed to discover that they had declined. I took it all in within reaching distance of what food I had left with me, at a picnic table close to the cycle path, and then began a new search using Airbnb, booking.com, and key word searches using Google maps, such as "zimmer" and "guest haus." I came-up empty, called a few places, all booked or no answer. Whilst all of this was unfolding another cyclist arrived, a woman, and she came to my aide. She spoke four languages, English, German, French, and Italian. But even with her mastery of languages, she too was unsuccessful in finding an affordable space. It's worth noting, part of the issue was timing, it was a Friday night. Assuming it was any other night except Saturday, I likely would have been successful right away, on my own, without the language skills of my kind, Italian assistant. At this point, I had my bivy sac, ground pad, and quilt (light, down sleeping bag) and I considered that option too before and after I rode into nearby Ora to look around.
The best place to ask about local lodging, especially budget friendly options, is a bar or restaurant. They know everyone in town and often have their own units for rent. My uniformed exploration of Ora led me, initially, to a high-end area, not my intention, and a restaurant with medieval roots. A dark cellar, thick beams and massive wooden tables, low ceilings and lighting, I was really hoping to come back to have a meal but that never happened. However, I did get a tip for a place to stay which I eventually located. This place was also full but the host called around the town on my behalf and he found a bed for 60 euro (ca. 66$) nearby. By this point, it was about 8 pm, essentially dark, I was tired from pushing into the wind for many hours, plenty of reasons to get me to step outside of my preferred, under 40$ lodging window. Under 40$ means I pay no more than double what I was paying a friend back in Fort Collins, Colorado, per day before I departed for the tour. That seemed like a reasonable threshold, which I arrived at and established as a general rule of thumb early in the tour, no more than double what you'd pay if you were paying 'normal rent' from wherever you came from in the World.
I made my way to the hotel but ended up leaving, it just didn't feel like a good match for my karma, not for 60 euro. If I'm going to spend 60 euro then the experience should be over-the-top, genuine, comfortable, etc. By now I was thinking something like "have a pizza then hide in the woods or an orchard." On my way to find a local pizza shop, I also found a guesthouse that appeared modest with hints of a family operation. My hopes were high that it could be 40ish a night. Unfortunately, this place was also 60 euro, with breakfast. But this time I really liked the owner, his two sisters, mother, his son, and probably a few other relatives that I didn't get introduced to but interacted with during dinner or the next morning at breakfast. I accepted his offer and he quickly showed me where to stash my bike and my room before he went back to attending guests in the restaurant component of the guesthouse, open to the public.
My room was first class, a private balcony, en suite bathroom and shower, far from the road, it was over budget but I'd be very comfortable. Approaching 9 pm, I finally sat down to eat something, in the restaurant of the guesthouse. I ordered a pasta dish and devoured it. Then a salad, bread, and a side order of French fries. It was egregious eating, which I ultimately regretted as I subsequently prepared to sleep. On this tour, I've had to remind myself, several times, that I need to shift my window of eating, in the evening, too much earlier. The primary counter argument is riding into quality light for photos and memories, which is also valuable, and I always enjoy the late afternoon, its gentle slide into evening, when I'm approaching the end of the day. Leaping ahead for a moment, by the time I reached Croatia I had made some progress on eating not only earlier, but less too, also sensible, and without detracting from image taking during the ideal 5-7 pm window.
After a social breakfast, thanks to Google translator (these folks spoke German by the way and had roots to Austria that were only broken by the conclusion of WWI), with plenty of coffee, I was back on the same bike trail where I'd diverted from the night before. Along the way, I backtracked through the orchard, where I enjoyed a couple of secluded moments amidst the apples to laugh about the last 24 hours. A moment later, my tires transitioned from a hard-packed gravel to an asphalt surface without much notice from the rider, it was about 9 am, a typical departure time for my tours, but not long thereafter something very untypical occurred, I joined a pace line comprised of two Italian cyclists. Both were riding strong and seemingly without any effort despite being in their 50s or 60s, my guess at the time. I worked hard to hang onto the first guy’s wheel before he peeled off, miles later, I took some turns as well. As he rolled back and into another group that was going much slower, the second guy powered forward and I nearly lost him, dropped as we say in cycling. At this point, I was about 50 miles from Lake Garda.
A few miles into this two-up, Italian-inspired tour, my guide slowed down and we tried to communicate for the first time but neither of us spoke each other’s language. These challenges withstanding, a few things did get across, one was my destination, Lake Garda. Once he had that in his head he led me out, into villages, around infrastructure, and back onto the bike path at times. He took me on the local route through the region of Italy that he knew best and it was an exceptional experience for an avid cyclist that enjoys getting away from the busy places that people congregate. Something else that we were able to translate was his age, 60 years old. He was super strong, fit, and healthy. I would never have guessed 60, closer to 50. He had me literally on my edge at times, but I managed to hold on and eventually we rolled over a minor col and there was Lake Garda below, a glorious scene because my legs were cooked and the lake with mountains rising sharply above the western shore was so beautiful. Riding with the two, seasoned, Italian cyclists was a real treat, I loved every moment of this short but otherwise significant chance encounter despite the pain in my legs and unhappy thoughts that I had to occasionally push back into the quiet spaces of my mind.
The anonymous Italian and I parted-ways about half-way down the descent to Lake Garda and, after a few photos from a promontory overlooking Riva del Garda, I found a place on the north edge of the lake where I could sit in the shade and purchase a cappuccino nearby. Initially, I used the shade to eat some food that I had stashed in my bags. Then I bought a cappuccino and sat back down; that wasn't enough, so I went back, purchased another and sat some more. Once the caffeine effect was well underway, I took some photos of the lake and videos, it was a gorgeous day and as many as one-hundred wind surfers were quality entertainment as they pierced the sunlight reflecting off of wind encouraged waves. Following this enviable period of respite, I rolled on, south, on the east shore, as the day transitioned to the initial phase of late afternoon, roughly 3:40 pm. My original intention was to ride down the west shore of the lake, based on advice provided by my host Claudia back in Balvers, Lichtenstein. However, whilst buying the second cappuccino, a local encouraged me to avoid the steep, tunneled, west shore. I took the last minute advice and switched my GPS to just a map, absent a route, to avoid annoying beeps that seemed sensible only in the minds of Garmin's engineers.
Cautiously, I made my way onto the suggested secondary road, the only option I had going down either shore. The road wasn't heavily trafficked and the speed was moderate but it was still far from ideal for a guy riding a bicycle and wearing only Lycra below his head and above his feet. At about this moment, when I was contemplating my vulnerability, a giant of a man and a contingent of other, it turned out, Italian cyclists sped past me. I quickly closed the gap to the trailing bike and found Gabriela, who was smartly hiding in the shelter of David's mass. I tucked in behind her and with that move the wind that was blowing from the south essentially was no more.
Sensibly, and I suspect with a selfish grin under my Rudy Project helmet, I was totally content to ride this way for as long as this wonderful group of strangers were going in my direction. Eventually they stopped and we had a chance to meet, exchange names and stories. David took a photo and I've posted that here (scroll to the bottom of the page) and also on my Facebook page. David and his companions brought me to about the middle point, south, along the lake shore. Not far from where we departed I decided to turn inland, freelancing, using landmarks and mans infrastructure on the horizon to the southeast to guide me across the countryside towards the village of Pedemonte, rather than a GPS route, where I'd booked two nights with my next host, Christina, during my double cappuccino reboot on the north shore of Lake Garda.
I took my time, as mid-afternoon slipped into late afternoon and favorable light for photography, on single track, sometimes rough, which wandered through vineyards and orchards, and a bike way along a canal where I encountered about the same density of Lycra kits as I had on my ride from Ora to Lake Garda. I was also closing in on Pedemonte by now so there was no need to rush. Through text messages, Christina kindly provided directions to a massive grocery store, the largest I'd seen on the tour, where people were literally bumping into each other in the isles. I also found the pizza shop she mentioned, just before dark, in Pedemonte itself not far from Christina's driveway which I located for a momentary pause to erase any need for route finding after I finished eating. The pizza was fabulous and soon I was making my way down a long dirt driveway composed of crushed limestone and riding literally up to the heels of Christina and her companion as she was walking towards her house, mostly concealed behind rows and rows of grapevines and purple, hanging ripe fruit.
She laughed out loud when I approached; we smiled and were immediately friends. An hour later, I added a third night to my stay. And the next morning a fourth. This would be the place on the plains of northern Italy where I'd take a deep rest. When I had devised that plan, I had no idea where I would take that rest but Christina made that choice easy and obvious; and her partner too, also a gem, a kind fellow very much sweetened the deal as did others that came and went during my stay. Her son among them. He and I talked at length about my route to and from the vineyard and, for the latter, offered lots of local advice. I met the workers too, and the master wine maker himself, he made me lunch the day we met and despite non-overlapping languages we were able to share a lot of information. Outside the house, connected barns, etc, a fully-operational vineyard was in constant motion. I had by chance moved into an active winery. Two days later, Christina flew to Crete leaving her guest behind, to live in her beautiful house, in solitude for what remained of my stay. The entire experience, from driveway rendezvous to conclusion was very special, including getting to know Anna, traveling from Munich, before she departed the morning after I arrived.
On my third day of rest, I used some of what I'd regained to ride a short distance, just six miles each way, into the center of Verona. What a treat that was, I absolutely loved this city. The six miles were very comfortable, including the last two as I navigated city infrastructure, initially along a canal busy with foot and bike traffic and then along-side man's (primarily) fossil fuel powered machines on the city streets where I never felt in any danger from the drivers. To enter the old city, the heart of Verona, visitors have to cross one of many bridges over the River Adige. The night before, I used Ride With GPS to build a short route that took me past several of the city's most celebrated sites. Including Porta Borsari, a gate into the old city that was built by the Romans in the 1st Century (CE). Initially, I was a bit puzzled when I crossed the river and found no Roman gate, but puzzlement was soon replaced by pleasure as I discovered that the gate could only be accessed by foot, bike, or, I assume, scooter. I leaned the RLT between the two entrance and exit points and captured the moment with my Android motox4 smart phone.
Beyond the elegant marble surfaced, and brick supported, entrance, a city that recalled the ages in all details swallowed me and my steel bike as I pedaled into a space in my mind formerly prioritized by my childhood imagination. The narrow streets attracted me the most, just wide enough for two people, or a bike with projecting, rear panniers. The cobbles shook every bolt and bone and I was reminded of a helpful conclusion that had wandered into my consciousness earlier in the tour, "if it shakes it breaks." That goes for any metal, fatigue is a killer which can weaken even the strongest metal from constantly shaking. That's part of the reason welds holding a mounting pin for my rear wrack had cracked two times on my previous tour; it was the same reason a mount on this tour for my front headlight had cracked after 500 miles, something I repaired, temporarily, with a cable tie, an aide-de-camp that I strongly advise (bring along few sizes) when touring by bicycle. If it shakes it breaks, so, aide’s aside, it's always best to do something before the break occurs so I kept my pace down on the ancient cobblestone roads to minimize the risk of unhappy conclusions.
Soon I was rolling-up on a theater built by the Roman's before the birth of Jesus. A massive, circular, structure with walls that tower over bystanders, like me, in imposing fashion. Inside, beyond the walls, the theater is still being used, primarily as an opera house. If I had more time, or more passion for such things at the moment versus being focused on a journey by bike across the European subcontinent without concern for any particular detail, preferring to let the trip unfold, then I might have inquired about tickets. Elsewhere in the city, I visited more Roman sites, some ruins, some still standing. Famous Piazzas came and went; I missed the famous balcony of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. I concluded my short tour of Verona close to the river, where I sat and enjoyed the sounds of the city and the smell of Italian coffee, among a fair number of unwelcome mosquitoes. Post coffee and insect bites, I made my way back to Pedemonte for my last night of rest at my own, private, vineyard.
Despite my reluctance to depart the solitude and friendships I'd made in Pedemonte, I was and had been as I planned and then rode to this point, excited to ride across Italy's plains towards Slovenia; and even more excited to eventually make my way into the Balkans for the first time in my life, by any means. For the first day back on the bike following three days and four nights of blissful rest, longer by two days than any other break I'd taken thus far on the tour, I set an ambitious goal to ride more than 100 miles. This brought me through the old city of Vicenza about mid-way through the day where I stopped for a cappuccino at a cafe with outdoor seating, and then Traviso at about mile seventy-five where I stopped for a slice of pizza served through the shops storefront window. Earlier in the day, I revisited Verona because it made sense when other routes were considered. I slowed my pace as I approached some of the sites I'd seen the day before plus a few others where I slowed even more, especially Ponte Pietra, a Roman arch bridge completed in 100 BC that was destroyed by retreating German forces at the end of WWII and, in 1957, rebuilt to match the original design and construction.
Between Vicenza and Traviso, I followed a long bike route, a former rail bed, flat and straight, that in hindsight I wished I'd avoided. Barricades about every half-kilometer, to obstruct cars from entering the cycle way, forced me to slow nearly to a stop then bring my heavy bike back-up to speed. The route also had little or no bed under the asphalt, a design oversight or shortcut, which provides no defense against tree roots that push-up what appear like massive worm tunnels on the surface of the trail. These are sharp and steep on both sides, much more than a bump, a hazard for tires, and the brain too as it is constantly rattled. The route could be fabulous but the surface and barriers are a constant distraction from the usual flow state cycling can otherwise offer. The secondary roads are likely far more comfortable alternatives in this lightly trafficked portion of Italy.
From Traviso I rode north, and a little east, towards a bed with breakfast, an unusual conclusion even whilst booking using the Airbnb app. This was a genuine bnb it turned out, advertising on the Airbnb platform; and a very nice place, adjacent to the busy town of Conegliano but far enough away to be in the sounds, smells, and solitude of the local countryside where vineyards flourished between rolling hills that spread southward from the Alps, towards the plains and eventually the Adriatic Sea, which wasn't far away at this point. I stopped for groceries on a busy road that I was happy to depart even though by now it had started to rain. And an hour later, approximately, following a bit of the usual navigation challenges closing the last kilometer to a rural address, I was being shown around my rented home for the evening, cost about 35$, by Juliet who spoke very little English but nonetheless made me feel welcome with her kind smile.
The next day, I pedaled deeper into the foothills, or so it seemed anyway, northeast, towards the Dolomites, a region of the Alps, and then turned east towards Slovenia and back out onto the plains that lie between the Alps and the Adriatic. From here and for about half of what remained from the days cycling adventure, I rode into and out of well kept, remote, and scenic Italian villages. across comfortable terrain, mostly flat with a few gentle hills. Always ahead, looming you might say, was a horizon that grew and grew, reminiscent of the Rocky Mountains rising from the Great Plains in North America when approached from the east, until eventually I was at the base of imposing slopes and ridge-lines, like those that I'd left behind in Switzerland and Austria. As I rode into the impressive drainage of the massive Tagliamento River, I could, by now, easily resolve fine details on the alpine summits that framed the river. Below these summits and talus slopes, a crisp tree line defined the edge of what was possible for woody plants in the region. For my Le Tour de Europe, it was here that I began the navigation of a massive arc, first north-northeast, then east, then, by this point in Slovenia the following day, southeast and lastly, south into Ljubljana (something like "ube-yana"), Slovenia's capital. The arc went up the Tagliamento River and then over a col before descending with the Sava River on the other side into the heart of Slovenia. Inside that arc, and to the north, the rugged sculpture of the Alps precluded travel by any means other than foot, hoof, or mountain bike.
Back in the here and now, at roughly Enemonza, Italy, which reminded me of a Chevy Monza that I owned in my youth and once crashed head-on into a highway guardrail during a New England snowstorm, I entered an impressive panorama of very high mountains above and the extensive Tagliamento River channel to my right or left. The weather was warm, dry, and sunny, and I had a tail wind which stayed with me as the road began to ascend farther into the true Alps, now well beyond the foothills and the plains. By the time I reached Dogma, Italy I was mesmerized, surrounded by sharp summits of limestone, each one a sculpted cathedral on an Earth scale. Talus slopes plummeted to the river, at this juncture overwhelmed by stone and sand which it patiently accepted as a burden it would eventually carry to the Adriatic Sea. Forests and open space filled in the middle, and a few remote villages, some of moderate size, others hardly noticeable on the scale of this beautiful space. Best of all perhaps, the entire scene, for the most part, was unexpected. As I planned from the comfort of Christina's vineyard oasis, I knew I would ride back into the mountains but the details were only clear when I arrived, and they were and will no doubt remain a highlight of the tour.
Not far from Travesio, as I approached the small village of Camporosso, I stopped to eat an apple, totally wasted by this point after 110 miles of cycling but otherwise deeply inspired, by the Alps and the Tagliamento, to continue the tour. I found a large grocery shop and then my bnb host, a woman, a sweetheart that spoke little English but communicated all that I needed, as Juliet had the night before, with her smile. I settled-in and stayed-up until about eleven, not unusual, winding down, editing photos, socializing via various apps, and eating! Far too much. By this point on the tour, I was also routinely dipping into coffee any time of day or night, this night included. Nonetheless, I slept, probably not deep given caffeine's known, proven reputation, and woke feeling rested, tired legs and mind withstanding, but there was certainly enough gas in the tank to go in search of one of my heroes, Jure Robič, the famous Slovenian endurance cyclist, including five time winner of the Race Across America (RAAM), that was tragically killed when he struck a tractor during a training ride, on a high speed descent, not far from his home. This would be an unusual day on the tour as I went in search of a town and a restaurant which I hoped would lead me to the final resting place of Jure and his brother, among others from his family. I'll pick that story up in my next entry to this travelogue...
Since arriving to Cherbourg, France, I've been building my GPS routes 1-3 days before I actually ride them. That's not a lot of time to get familiar with the many turns integrated into my choices including cycling ways. For this reason, haste primarily and perhaps a bit of a preference for last minute planning and the benefits that habit provides, I was unaware of the significance of the bike route that I'd chosen, using Ride with GPS, to get from Brenner to Bolzano. Even more into the ignorance spectrum, by the time I finished my adventure up the pass to Brenner including uprooting a section of electric fence with my bike and body, I had completely forgotten what was next on my route, was it a rough track? A busy secondary road? Or perhaps a bike path? Ignorance turned-out to be bliss in this case, one of many instances on this tour that stemmed directly from my reluctance to plan beyond what's necessary, from day-to-day, to maintain a rough compass direction towards a very distance destination.
Back in Brenner, in the here and now, I was reminded about infrastructure and how it can be a liability when attempting to follow a route on any form of GPS. Even with modern units, like Garmin's 1030, Brenner had plenty of man-made distractions and obstacles that had to be bypassed in order to get onto the track that took me south which is why I initially missed the entrance to the bike way. My Garmin 1030 head unit conveniently announced that mistake. When traveling solo, such a device is an even bigger asset than it otherwise would be. By now, inside a relatively nice part of Brenner, the old village, but still surrounded by the noises of man's mechanical beasts including tour buses, I pulled a few questionable maneuvers, up a sidewalk, around a few confused tourists, and then a short section of a one-way road, before successfully rolling onto the dark red line on my GPS screen.
Ahead of me was a well cared for, seemingly new, cycle path. I still had no idea how long I'd be on the path, but as I descended on a gentle grade, obviously on former rail bed, the highways and active train ways on my left, amidst gorgeous weather, I felt like the luckiest person on Planet Earth. Soon I was rolling through a series of train tunnels, past one abandoned train station after another, gently descending, and always a comfortable distance or more from the noise generated by nearby traffic. Mountains encircled all of us, both sides, a river running down the middle, which I couldn't hear but I could sometimes see. This was an exceptional exit point from the Alps for my tour and with it a new chapter began for my journey in life and touring. I easily slipped, over the next few miles, into an enviable space, mind and body. Time slowed down, colors, smells, and other senses amplified, I moved into a trance-like, flow state, aware but at the same time drifting just above the soft edges of our normally much harsher, grounded, connection to the reality that our minds and quantum physics creates for our id and ego.
High above and north of the village of Colle Isarco, I came to an intersection where I could descend or take an alternative route that followed the contour of a narrow valley to the village of Reisenschuh before circling back and eventually reconnecting with the main route. Overlooking Reisenschuh, a clue to the regions recent geologic history, was an obvious remnant of a formally massive, valley size in breadth and depth, glacier isolated on a ridge west of the town. The ridge-line that supported the glacial remnant was continuous, sharp, all encompassing, and well above the tree-line. Far below the ridge, the exit point from Reisenschuh could have been a tunnel but I was unable to see beyond the village, around a large hill that had been mostly converted to pastures. The view, sunshine, and lack of any wind were plenty of inspiration to get me to stop for lunch. Nearby, a couple of Guernsey’s grazed in a pasture that was green and lush. A few buildings were also nearby; one was formerly a massive barn that had burned. Since the fire, its many stone walls, peripheral and interior, had slowly caved in. From where I was sitting at the edge of a steep hill, I was looking down into a massive valley, formerly filled by ice about 10,000 years ago, at the village of Reisenschuh. Next to the Guernsey’s, and my inspired picnic, was a sub-unit of Reisenschuh called Lasta.
When I climbed back onto my bike, I was hoping the cycle way would last forever and the sunshine too. I rode into a moderate headwind as I approached Bolzano. By now my descent had leveled-off, nearly so anyway, despite a descending grade on average all the way to Lake Garda which remained many miles away at this point. The wind was not awful by any means, but over time this part of Earth's voice contributed to my fatigue, pushing into my ears, creating frenetic energy that my mind had to process, and pushing me, physically, backwards. It's hard to say which component is the most significant, wind in your ears on against your bike and body. My guess is the mental part is at least half of that equation, at least half of why we feel a penetrating mind and body fatigue at the end of a long day spent, in part or whole, pushing through the wind.
Wind withstanding, by the time I reached a very significant apple growing region of Italy, including the town of Ora about 30 miles south of Bolzano, I was feeling just about done, neurons frayed on the edges, sore legs refusing to produce much power, and looking forward to settling into an Airbnb option that I'd booked a few hours before, for about 32$. Along the way, I had also transitioned onto another cycle route, nearly as good as the first, not quite as new, sometimes bumpy especially on sections that passed through busy towns but otherwise smooth under my tubeless 32 and 35 mm (rear, Mavic) gravel tires. Recall the 35 mm was a replacement, purchased from and mounted by a shop in Newport, Wales, a few hundred miles after I sliced my rear, 32 mm, Panaracer gravelking exiting Tullamore, Ireland. Since slicing the tire, I'd been relying on a small piece of tire, installed between the tube and the slice, that I carry for just such instances to avoid puncturing the tube.
A few hours earlier in the day, I sent a booking request to a host not far from Ora, Italy. So when I approached this vicinity, I also checked-in with that request, and was disappointed to discover that they had declined. I took it all in within reaching distance of what food I had left with me, at a picnic table close to the cycle path, and then began a new search using Airbnb, booking.com, and key word searches using Google maps, such as "zimmer" and "guest haus." I came-up empty, called a few places, all booked or no answer. Whilst all of this was unfolding another cyclist arrived, a woman, and she came to my aide. She spoke four languages, English, German, French, and Italian. But even with her mastery of languages, she too was unsuccessful in finding an affordable space. It's worth noting, part of the issue was timing, it was a Friday night. Assuming it was any other night except Saturday, I likely would have been successful right away, on my own, without the language skills of my kind, Italian assistant. At this point, I had my bivy sac, ground pad, and quilt (light, down sleeping bag) and I considered that option too before and after I rode into nearby Ora to look around.
The best place to ask about local lodging, especially budget friendly options, is a bar or restaurant. They know everyone in town and often have their own units for rent. My uniformed exploration of Ora led me, initially, to a high-end area, not my intention, and a restaurant with medieval roots. A dark cellar, thick beams and massive wooden tables, low ceilings and lighting, I was really hoping to come back to have a meal but that never happened. However, I did get a tip for a place to stay which I eventually located. This place was also full but the host called around the town on my behalf and he found a bed for 60 euro (ca. 66$) nearby. By this point, it was about 8 pm, essentially dark, I was tired from pushing into the wind for many hours, plenty of reasons to get me to step outside of my preferred, under 40$ lodging window. Under 40$ means I pay no more than double what I was paying a friend back in Fort Collins, Colorado, per day before I departed for the tour. That seemed like a reasonable threshold, which I arrived at and established as a general rule of thumb early in the tour, no more than double what you'd pay if you were paying 'normal rent' from wherever you came from in the World.
I made my way to the hotel but ended up leaving, it just didn't feel like a good match for my karma, not for 60 euro. If I'm going to spend 60 euro then the experience should be over-the-top, genuine, comfortable, etc. By now I was thinking something like "have a pizza then hide in the woods or an orchard." On my way to find a local pizza shop, I also found a guesthouse that appeared modest with hints of a family operation. My hopes were high that it could be 40ish a night. Unfortunately, this place was also 60 euro, with breakfast. But this time I really liked the owner, his two sisters, mother, his son, and probably a few other relatives that I didn't get introduced to but interacted with during dinner or the next morning at breakfast. I accepted his offer and he quickly showed me where to stash my bike and my room before he went back to attending guests in the restaurant component of the guesthouse, open to the public.
My room was first class, a private balcony, en suite bathroom and shower, far from the road, it was over budget but I'd be very comfortable. Approaching 9 pm, I finally sat down to eat something, in the restaurant of the guesthouse. I ordered a pasta dish and devoured it. Then a salad, bread, and a side order of French fries. It was egregious eating, which I ultimately regretted as I subsequently prepared to sleep. On this tour, I've had to remind myself, several times, that I need to shift my window of eating, in the evening, too much earlier. The primary counter argument is riding into quality light for photos and memories, which is also valuable, and I always enjoy the late afternoon, its gentle slide into evening, when I'm approaching the end of the day. Leaping ahead for a moment, by the time I reached Croatia I had made some progress on eating not only earlier, but less too, also sensible, and without detracting from image taking during the ideal 5-7 pm window.
After a social breakfast, thanks to Google translator (these folks spoke German by the way and had roots to Austria that were only broken by the conclusion of WWI), with plenty of coffee, I was back on the same bike trail where I'd diverted from the night before. Along the way, I backtracked through the orchard, where I enjoyed a couple of secluded moments amidst the apples to laugh about the last 24 hours. A moment later, my tires transitioned from a hard-packed gravel to an asphalt surface without much notice from the rider, it was about 9 am, a typical departure time for my tours, but not long thereafter something very untypical occurred, I joined a pace line comprised of two Italian cyclists. Both were riding strong and seemingly without any effort despite being in their 50s or 60s, my guess at the time. I worked hard to hang onto the first guy’s wheel before he peeled off, miles later, I took some turns as well. As he rolled back and into another group that was going much slower, the second guy powered forward and I nearly lost him, dropped as we say in cycling. At this point, I was about 50 miles from Lake Garda.
A few miles into this two-up, Italian-inspired tour, my guide slowed down and we tried to communicate for the first time but neither of us spoke each other’s language. These challenges withstanding, a few things did get across, one was my destination, Lake Garda. Once he had that in his head he led me out, into villages, around infrastructure, and back onto the bike path at times. He took me on the local route through the region of Italy that he knew best and it was an exceptional experience for an avid cyclist that enjoys getting away from the busy places that people congregate. Something else that we were able to translate was his age, 60 years old. He was super strong, fit, and healthy. I would never have guessed 60, closer to 50. He had me literally on my edge at times, but I managed to hold on and eventually we rolled over a minor col and there was Lake Garda below, a glorious scene because my legs were cooked and the lake with mountains rising sharply above the western shore was so beautiful. Riding with the two, seasoned, Italian cyclists was a real treat, I loved every moment of this short but otherwise significant chance encounter despite the pain in my legs and unhappy thoughts that I had to occasionally push back into the quiet spaces of my mind.
The anonymous Italian and I parted-ways about half-way down the descent to Lake Garda and, after a few photos from a promontory overlooking Riva del Garda, I found a place on the north edge of the lake where I could sit in the shade and purchase a cappuccino nearby. Initially, I used the shade to eat some food that I had stashed in my bags. Then I bought a cappuccino and sat back down; that wasn't enough, so I went back, purchased another and sat some more. Once the caffeine effect was well underway, I took some photos of the lake and videos, it was a gorgeous day and as many as one-hundred wind surfers were quality entertainment as they pierced the sunlight reflecting off of wind encouraged waves. Following this enviable period of respite, I rolled on, south, on the east shore, as the day transitioned to the initial phase of late afternoon, roughly 3:40 pm. My original intention was to ride down the west shore of the lake, based on advice provided by my host Claudia back in Balvers, Lichtenstein. However, whilst buying the second cappuccino, a local encouraged me to avoid the steep, tunneled, west shore. I took the last minute advice and switched my GPS to just a map, absent a route, to avoid annoying beeps that seemed sensible only in the minds of Garmin's engineers.
Cautiously, I made my way onto the suggested secondary road, the only option I had going down either shore. The road wasn't heavily trafficked and the speed was moderate but it was still far from ideal for a guy riding a bicycle and wearing only Lycra below his head and above his feet. At about this moment, when I was contemplating my vulnerability, a giant of a man and a contingent of other, it turned out, Italian cyclists sped past me. I quickly closed the gap to the trailing bike and found Gabriela, who was smartly hiding in the shelter of David's mass. I tucked in behind her and with that move the wind that was blowing from the south essentially was no more.
Sensibly, and I suspect with a selfish grin under my Rudy Project helmet, I was totally content to ride this way for as long as this wonderful group of strangers were going in my direction. Eventually they stopped and we had a chance to meet, exchange names and stories. David took a photo and I've posted that here (scroll to the bottom of the page) and also on my Facebook page. David and his companions brought me to about the middle point, south, along the lake shore. Not far from where we departed I decided to turn inland, freelancing, using landmarks and mans infrastructure on the horizon to the southeast to guide me across the countryside towards the village of Pedemonte, rather than a GPS route, where I'd booked two nights with my next host, Christina, during my double cappuccino reboot on the north shore of Lake Garda.
I took my time, as mid-afternoon slipped into late afternoon and favorable light for photography, on single track, sometimes rough, which wandered through vineyards and orchards, and a bike way along a canal where I encountered about the same density of Lycra kits as I had on my ride from Ora to Lake Garda. I was also closing in on Pedemonte by now so there was no need to rush. Through text messages, Christina kindly provided directions to a massive grocery store, the largest I'd seen on the tour, where people were literally bumping into each other in the isles. I also found the pizza shop she mentioned, just before dark, in Pedemonte itself not far from Christina's driveway which I located for a momentary pause to erase any need for route finding after I finished eating. The pizza was fabulous and soon I was making my way down a long dirt driveway composed of crushed limestone and riding literally up to the heels of Christina and her companion as she was walking towards her house, mostly concealed behind rows and rows of grapevines and purple, hanging ripe fruit.
She laughed out loud when I approached; we smiled and were immediately friends. An hour later, I added a third night to my stay. And the next morning a fourth. This would be the place on the plains of northern Italy where I'd take a deep rest. When I had devised that plan, I had no idea where I would take that rest but Christina made that choice easy and obvious; and her partner too, also a gem, a kind fellow very much sweetened the deal as did others that came and went during my stay. Her son among them. He and I talked at length about my route to and from the vineyard and, for the latter, offered lots of local advice. I met the workers too, and the master wine maker himself, he made me lunch the day we met and despite non-overlapping languages we were able to share a lot of information. Outside the house, connected barns, etc, a fully-operational vineyard was in constant motion. I had by chance moved into an active winery. Two days later, Christina flew to Crete leaving her guest behind, to live in her beautiful house, in solitude for what remained of my stay. The entire experience, from driveway rendezvous to conclusion was very special, including getting to know Anna, traveling from Munich, before she departed the morning after I arrived.
On my third day of rest, I used some of what I'd regained to ride a short distance, just six miles each way, into the center of Verona. What a treat that was, I absolutely loved this city. The six miles were very comfortable, including the last two as I navigated city infrastructure, initially along a canal busy with foot and bike traffic and then along-side man's (primarily) fossil fuel powered machines on the city streets where I never felt in any danger from the drivers. To enter the old city, the heart of Verona, visitors have to cross one of many bridges over the River Adige. The night before, I used Ride With GPS to build a short route that took me past several of the city's most celebrated sites. Including Porta Borsari, a gate into the old city that was built by the Romans in the 1st Century (CE). Initially, I was a bit puzzled when I crossed the river and found no Roman gate, but puzzlement was soon replaced by pleasure as I discovered that the gate could only be accessed by foot, bike, or, I assume, scooter. I leaned the RLT between the two entrance and exit points and captured the moment with my Android motox4 smart phone.
Beyond the elegant marble surfaced, and brick supported, entrance, a city that recalled the ages in all details swallowed me and my steel bike as I pedaled into a space in my mind formerly prioritized by my childhood imagination. The narrow streets attracted me the most, just wide enough for two people, or a bike with projecting, rear panniers. The cobbles shook every bolt and bone and I was reminded of a helpful conclusion that had wandered into my consciousness earlier in the tour, "if it shakes it breaks." That goes for any metal, fatigue is a killer which can weaken even the strongest metal from constantly shaking. That's part of the reason welds holding a mounting pin for my rear wrack had cracked two times on my previous tour; it was the same reason a mount on this tour for my front headlight had cracked after 500 miles, something I repaired, temporarily, with a cable tie, an aide-de-camp that I strongly advise (bring along few sizes) when touring by bicycle. If it shakes it breaks, so, aide’s aside, it's always best to do something before the break occurs so I kept my pace down on the ancient cobblestone roads to minimize the risk of unhappy conclusions.
Soon I was rolling-up on a theater built by the Roman's before the birth of Jesus. A massive, circular, structure with walls that tower over bystanders, like me, in imposing fashion. Inside, beyond the walls, the theater is still being used, primarily as an opera house. If I had more time, or more passion for such things at the moment versus being focused on a journey by bike across the European subcontinent without concern for any particular detail, preferring to let the trip unfold, then I might have inquired about tickets. Elsewhere in the city, I visited more Roman sites, some ruins, some still standing. Famous Piazzas came and went; I missed the famous balcony of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. I concluded my short tour of Verona close to the river, where I sat and enjoyed the sounds of the city and the smell of Italian coffee, among a fair number of unwelcome mosquitoes. Post coffee and insect bites, I made my way back to Pedemonte for my last night of rest at my own, private, vineyard.
Despite my reluctance to depart the solitude and friendships I'd made in Pedemonte, I was and had been as I planned and then rode to this point, excited to ride across Italy's plains towards Slovenia; and even more excited to eventually make my way into the Balkans for the first time in my life, by any means. For the first day back on the bike following three days and four nights of blissful rest, longer by two days than any other break I'd taken thus far on the tour, I set an ambitious goal to ride more than 100 miles. This brought me through the old city of Vicenza about mid-way through the day where I stopped for a cappuccino at a cafe with outdoor seating, and then Traviso at about mile seventy-five where I stopped for a slice of pizza served through the shops storefront window. Earlier in the day, I revisited Verona because it made sense when other routes were considered. I slowed my pace as I approached some of the sites I'd seen the day before plus a few others where I slowed even more, especially Ponte Pietra, a Roman arch bridge completed in 100 BC that was destroyed by retreating German forces at the end of WWII and, in 1957, rebuilt to match the original design and construction.
Between Vicenza and Traviso, I followed a long bike route, a former rail bed, flat and straight, that in hindsight I wished I'd avoided. Barricades about every half-kilometer, to obstruct cars from entering the cycle way, forced me to slow nearly to a stop then bring my heavy bike back-up to speed. The route also had little or no bed under the asphalt, a design oversight or shortcut, which provides no defense against tree roots that push-up what appear like massive worm tunnels on the surface of the trail. These are sharp and steep on both sides, much more than a bump, a hazard for tires, and the brain too as it is constantly rattled. The route could be fabulous but the surface and barriers are a constant distraction from the usual flow state cycling can otherwise offer. The secondary roads are likely far more comfortable alternatives in this lightly trafficked portion of Italy.
From Traviso I rode north, and a little east, towards a bed with breakfast, an unusual conclusion even whilst booking using the Airbnb app. This was a genuine bnb it turned out, advertising on the Airbnb platform; and a very nice place, adjacent to the busy town of Conegliano but far enough away to be in the sounds, smells, and solitude of the local countryside where vineyards flourished between rolling hills that spread southward from the Alps, towards the plains and eventually the Adriatic Sea, which wasn't far away at this point. I stopped for groceries on a busy road that I was happy to depart even though by now it had started to rain. And an hour later, approximately, following a bit of the usual navigation challenges closing the last kilometer to a rural address, I was being shown around my rented home for the evening, cost about 35$, by Juliet who spoke very little English but nonetheless made me feel welcome with her kind smile.
The next day, I pedaled deeper into the foothills, or so it seemed anyway, northeast, towards the Dolomites, a region of the Alps, and then turned east towards Slovenia and back out onto the plains that lie between the Alps and the Adriatic. From here and for about half of what remained from the days cycling adventure, I rode into and out of well kept, remote, and scenic Italian villages. across comfortable terrain, mostly flat with a few gentle hills. Always ahead, looming you might say, was a horizon that grew and grew, reminiscent of the Rocky Mountains rising from the Great Plains in North America when approached from the east, until eventually I was at the base of imposing slopes and ridge-lines, like those that I'd left behind in Switzerland and Austria. As I rode into the impressive drainage of the massive Tagliamento River, I could, by now, easily resolve fine details on the alpine summits that framed the river. Below these summits and talus slopes, a crisp tree line defined the edge of what was possible for woody plants in the region. For my Le Tour de Europe, it was here that I began the navigation of a massive arc, first north-northeast, then east, then, by this point in Slovenia the following day, southeast and lastly, south into Ljubljana (something like "ube-yana"), Slovenia's capital. The arc went up the Tagliamento River and then over a col before descending with the Sava River on the other side into the heart of Slovenia. Inside that arc, and to the north, the rugged sculpture of the Alps precluded travel by any means other than foot, hoof, or mountain bike.
Back in the here and now, at roughly Enemonza, Italy, which reminded me of a Chevy Monza that I owned in my youth and once crashed head-on into a highway guardrail during a New England snowstorm, I entered an impressive panorama of very high mountains above and the extensive Tagliamento River channel to my right or left. The weather was warm, dry, and sunny, and I had a tail wind which stayed with me as the road began to ascend farther into the true Alps, now well beyond the foothills and the plains. By the time I reached Dogma, Italy I was mesmerized, surrounded by sharp summits of limestone, each one a sculpted cathedral on an Earth scale. Talus slopes plummeted to the river, at this juncture overwhelmed by stone and sand which it patiently accepted as a burden it would eventually carry to the Adriatic Sea. Forests and open space filled in the middle, and a few remote villages, some of moderate size, others hardly noticeable on the scale of this beautiful space. Best of all perhaps, the entire scene, for the most part, was unexpected. As I planned from the comfort of Christina's vineyard oasis, I knew I would ride back into the mountains but the details were only clear when I arrived, and they were and will no doubt remain a highlight of the tour.
Not far from Travesio, as I approached the small village of Camporosso, I stopped to eat an apple, totally wasted by this point after 110 miles of cycling but otherwise deeply inspired, by the Alps and the Tagliamento, to continue the tour. I found a large grocery shop and then my bnb host, a woman, a sweetheart that spoke little English but communicated all that I needed, as Juliet had the night before, with her smile. I settled-in and stayed-up until about eleven, not unusual, winding down, editing photos, socializing via various apps, and eating! Far too much. By this point on the tour, I was also routinely dipping into coffee any time of day or night, this night included. Nonetheless, I slept, probably not deep given caffeine's known, proven reputation, and woke feeling rested, tired legs and mind withstanding, but there was certainly enough gas in the tank to go in search of one of my heroes, Jure Robič, the famous Slovenian endurance cyclist, including five time winner of the Race Across America (RAAM), that was tragically killed when he struck a tractor during a training ride, on a high speed descent, not far from his home. This would be an unusual day on the tour as I went in search of a town and a restaurant which I hoped would lead me to the final resting place of Jure and his brother, among others from his family. I'll pick that story up in my next entry to this travelogue...
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