On my last post I told you how yesterday’s 8 hr in the saddle, concluding with both a Category 2 and a Cat 1 climb wasn’t really over after we stopped riding. The strength of our riding group was consistently Nina leading the way, and Jennifer brining up the rear. We all shared our time in the front pulling on the flat lands, but in the mountains, this is how it shook out. These climbs were no joke – each one taking 1 to 2 hrs to complete. By the time we hit our last climb Jennifer was basically depleted of all sources of fuel and just barely made it to the top. But made it she did – I was very impressed that she didn’t give up; most people would have – but Jennifer Sage is made of different stuff, and she pressed on to the end.

This would however, cost her, as she was not able to eat or even drink without throwing up at the end. She tried to go to dinner with us, but couldn’t manage sitting at the table, and had to be taken back to the hotel. By the time the rest of us finished dinner, she was in an even worse state and we had to call local paramedics. After checking her vitals, they only were permitted one course of action, and that was to take her to the hospital – and being the only somewhat bilingual person in the group, I was the logical one to accompany her. Long story short… she was fine after she got an IV of Glucose, but we did not get back to the hotel till 4:30am (there aren’t too many hospitals high in the Dolomites).

Basically I figured my Giretto was finished at that point. After 8 hrs in the saddle, and the three consecutive 100 mile days, I did not plan on riding with just a few hrs of sleep. I really did not think it possible. Then Nina woke me at 8:30 and told me she was leaving and was going to do everything possible to beat the pros to the finish. The thought of her riding alone didn’t sit well with me (obviously Jennifer would not be able to ride). Her obvious enthusiasm to finish strong gave me a jolt of inspiration, and I decided as long as I can sit on the bike, I was coming too.

I rushed around finding all my gear, getting dressed, and whooofing down just one bowl of cereal before heading out the door. I didn’t want her to know I was coming till I was ready, as I did not want her to wait for me or to be slowed down at all. By the time she got outside the hotel I was also ready and we rolled immediately into the first climb together.

The sun was shining, the mountain road had only an occasional runner and cyclist on it. There were patches of snow through the trees, still giving way to the powers of spring, and the jagged gray peaks of the Dolomites were always in front of us seemingly shouting – YES YOU CAN!!! I knew I made the right decision, even if I felt only partially human. The only thing I can compare it to is how I used to feel after flying the “red eye” from Hawaii to LA – like a veritable Zombie.

But there is a good side effect to this too. It slows you down mentally (as well as physically), and I found myself reflecting about all that we’ve accomplished already and that God has yet again, for the 5th straight day, blessed us with weather to die for. Here I was, about to complete something I was never sure I could do, and doing it with my daughter. She was riding just ahead, and I was prouder than any papa could be. Despite everything, I was incredibly grateful and that sense of gratitude began to fuel my soul first, and that fuel seeped into my legs with every km of fresh climbing.

You’ll see from our gallery of pics early in this stage the views were to die for. It was as if God Himself was stoking the fire within and I found myself climbing faster and faster. I’ve always found road riding to be a time of spiritual retreat and regeneration, and it was happening as it has so many times in the past. By the last 1.5 km, I was flying – going uphill at 25+km/hr. This was the fastest I’ve climbed for the entire trip, and physically it made no sense. With every switchback my speed increased, my legs got stronger, my mind more awake, my heart feeling better and better. I reached the summit nearing 28km/hr (about 15mph). It was one of those rare “out of body” experiences that comes only once every few years. Grazie Dio!!

Nina and I met at the top, where we ran into one of “her kind” – a gentle Gnome from the mountains. He was a kindly gent, and he agreed to posing for a picture with Nina. He made himself look like a statue for the pic, but of course, he was real.

The next section was essentially the reward for all the long hrs, weeks and months of preparation and training, and the miles under us since we arrived in Italy – a 40km rolling descent. It was phenomenal. This was one of the things I wanted Nina to experience the most, since there is really no place in PA to even get close to this; perfect roads, long views ahead so you can “let it go”, smooth banked swithbacks, and killer views the whole time. Once again, we were in Cycling Heaven living the good life!

Having only a bowl of cereal, I needed a quick pit stop before one of the rollers, so we stopped for a quick fuel break. Within minutes Nina had a flat (probably something we picked up when we pulled off the road). We also had to first fix my frame pump since it had somehow gotten packed with pollen to the point that we had to disassemble and clean it before we could use it. We did get it fixed though (both the pump and the tire) and after the short roller we were decending again. I stayed behind her to keep an eye on the tire for a while, and I could see it was going flat again. I had thoroughly checked the inside and outside of the tire, so this was a complete mystery.

We had to stop again, and repeat. The support van was still 20km back, and so we knew now these mechanicals were robbing us of our chance to beat the pelaton to the finish once again.

The van eventually caught us before we finished changing the tire again, and at least we were able to use a floor pump to put air in it. We continued riding basically until the caravan caught us, being forced to hitch a ride to the bottom of the steepest climb at the end in order to make up for the lost time with mechanicals.

As we approached the last 10km, the crowds on the road were so thick and the riders so close, there were police and officials everywhere. We were still not sure we could do these last 10km of climbing. It was incredibly steep, category 1 stuff, and our cumulative fatigue meters were well into the red zone. This was our final monster we had to conquer. Thank God Nina has such a relentless determination, as she would simply not be denied this final climb and she inspired me yet again, to press on till the end. It would be the longest, toughest 10km of the trip. To make matters worse, we had run out of “aqua naturale”, and all we had was “frizzante” – yes… FRIZZY water. There was no time to look for water elsewhere, we had to move, and move quickly, so off we went.

We got just 3 or 4 km in, and we were told by one Italian polizia after another to pull off, as the “professionalisti” were coming. Naturally, we ignored them, and they did nothing (the standard Italian response all week). However, this was closing in on the boarder with Austria, and we ran into our first German policeman. He gave us a loud “SHTUP!!” and waved his little stick with the red dot in our face. He understood Italian, and I argued with him vehemently that we were an “official group” and had to complete the climb, but he continued to only tell us SHTUP, SHTUP!!!!

I saw some switchbacks up through the woods, so I had the great idea to hike a bike straight up and meet up with the road that way… but we had to do it out of sight of the Gestapo. So we found an old logging road just out of his sight, and we started carring our bikes. We went for quite a while but could not see any road anymore, and ended up riding our roadbikes back down through the woods before the pros would arrive, so we wouldn’t miss them. The way I figured it, we got to do some bonus MTB while we were in Italy ☺

We spent the next 20 minutes watching the pros go by for the last time during the Giretto, and my last tweets went out with that final pass. As the last rider passed, and the directional signs were quickly taken down by race officials, our friendly German naysayer moved on, and we could resume our climb. We had just 7K to go, but this would be the hardest climbing of the trip, not only because of a double digit grade in steepness, but also because within a few km, the race above was finished and the mass exodus had begun. Imagine if you will, hundreds of cyclists, official cars (all seemingly frustrated autobahn racers), given both lanes open for their descent (since no vehicles were allowed up the mountain since early in the day). Every inch of the road was taken up by crazy fast descenders, and we are hugging the right guardrail making our climb ever so cautiously. Fortunately for us, a few brave souls are walking down as well, and they are also hugging the same guardrail – they in effect act as our lead blockers; they’ll get taken out before we will.

That final climb was not only steep, dangerous, and mentally draining since my body was crying out for rest, but each minute it seemed to get colder and colder as we got higher and higher. Eventually, the end came, and Nina was there…our Queen of the Mountains, to meet me. Although I was flooded with emotion, by now it was after 5pm, and I had only a bowl of cereal, a banana, and a couple of pop-tarts the entire day. I was both famished and freezing. As luck would have it, they were still selling beer, sausage and fries outside and we tore into them like hungry mountain wolves.

The only thing to do now was to somehow manage a potentially hypothermic descent for 10K back to the van. As I was turning into the iceman, I noticed some big RVs making their way down the mountain. I raced ahead to follow the biggest RV I could see, and stayed close enough to block all the wind during the descent, saving me from another uncontrollable shiver attack. It was a long hard day, but the Giretto just flew past us seemingly at light speed.