Marmolada

Interesting title for a blog post. Marmalade - a sweet and interesting breakfast jam made from citrus. A tart but pleasant experience.

The Dolomiti today gave us all aspects of cycling pleasure and suffering today. If I had been a professional (ha!) cyclist I would have gladly stopped and handed my dossard over to the raace official and climbed into the warm car.

The start at LivinLaVidaLoca was warm, and I considered an icecream for second breakfast. Applied sunscreen to arms and legs and wondered whether I should leave my small 5litre backpack in the van as we wiped up these passes, Fedaia, a new one, and Pordoi, which we did earlier.

SuperModel chose to relent on the ride. I witnessed him wincing from his sore guts, and I could see he was making a brave decision not to take on 2000m of climbing on our last day together. Buble Boy chose a more subtle route of hiding in the dunny until we had left. It didnt work. He jumped into shotgun seat and helped pilot me up and down the Falzarego Pass towards Livinallongo.  Kransky Polenta was coughing less, and the blue skies that greeted us gave no hint of the delights we had in store. OGF was sarcastic beyond belief so we just took everything he had to say on face value, something he took with wearied expectation.  OGF has painstakingly mapped every single ride we have done, sending us on boulder strewn got tracks, superhighways, and even through the middle of a church during a christening, but of curse we ignored the beeping from our collective garmin gpsunits and just followed the road signs. OGF has researched all the climbs over three weeks, some done before, some moderated with feedback from colleagues who also travel, and we have had a wealth of information and superb journeys and experiences. I know I have grumped about slave to gps, but often the false trails have lead us to amazing sights, white knuckled descents and delicious unexpected omelettes. Oh those Bourg D'Oisans omelettes how we love them.

I kind of knew this blog was going to be a stream of consciousness effort, write drunk, edit sober. One beer post ride, two beers at the restaurant, one glass of wine at the restaurant. Two vodka and prosecco lemon sorbets at the restaurant. I'm pissed.

I am now sipping Lip Ton. A rare and refined brew. Note to self, use the teatowel to pick up the stainless steel kettle handle.

Yeah anyway Ricky Lake/Nelson/ Martin whatever Livinallongo.

 Start. Its hot at 10am. Sunscreen. 65kay and 200m lets smash this. Yummy cake and coffee. Lets click in and ride. GPS takes us to a road that has a severe diversion half way - probably a bridge out, we cant get through, diversion is only a couple of kays further. Nyeah no worries.

Beaut descent into Caprile. Nice town. ROll through and the ascent of the Passo Fedaia begins and we traverse the northern slope of the Marmolada.

There it is just popping up under that blue sky and that wispy stuff.

I had researched Fedaia, long, awesome, crazy long steep gradient. Someone wrote the road designer had spent ages getting the hairpins just so, the as she fell asleep and as her eyelids dropped she drew a straight line up the slope, later she awoke and the hairpins recommenced. The result is a 3km straight uphill at 12%.

Which is nice. Note the atmos.

That ski lift was very enticing. It had a roof.

I saw sheep! I also saw OGF sprinting away.

You're OK Le Chef, but you're no OGF

Dissed by ovines, the gradient did not cease from 12% with occasional pinches to 15%.  This was OK. The rain would ease off, we would refuel at the Passo rifugia. Piece of piss. Half way there. In. The. Bag.

We actually used these words.

We were fine as long as we were warm.

Lunch at Passo Fedaia, and the drizzle relents. We take off on the long descent through a series of galleria, when we decide to wait at the exit as it is now pissing down. And cold. and we are exactly 180 degrees from the van. Either way is a massive climb back. We are not in Kansas, which is a good thing because Kansas is shit.

We are now in the shit, but we don't know it.

On the descent we don, rainjackets, arm warmers, neck buffs, beanies, shoe covers. On the start of the Passo Pordoi, the one we did a couple of days ago, we strip that stuff off because climbing makes you warm.

Nuh uh. There is a cold headwind. No amount of standing and pushing on the pedals is doing anything to make warm. BB is racing ahead because in his panicked state from his self selected lavatory asylum he forgot his rainjacket, newly bought in Sondrio Italy, it is on the balcony back in Cortina. He is using my hopeless gillet I loaned him. Paper thin with the comforting and insulating properties of chewing aluminium foil with fresh amalgam fillings.

He may as well be wearing a paper doilie.

KP is operating on depths of strength and reserve that are rarely called upon, and I am glad because none of us has anything left to give to assist.

Pordoi was a delight to descend in heat and sun and we became upset that other people could possibly be in our way in their cars, clogging the roads and slowing us down. More than once I look forlornly at their comfortable climate control and leather seats. Todat climbing this side I am COLD. I stop and don the rainjacket. Never done it before because it usually sweats me up and makes too hot. Its what I need. OGF stops with me on the climb. KP also. Not too far to go and the gradient averages only about 7% and we would normally smash this. But the headwind is chilling us. I stupidly tap the garmin for confirmation and did I see 6 degrees? Oh crap.

I have never shivered from cold on a climb before, and I am wearing everything I have.

Mercifully we make the summit dodging more sheep.

I roll across the passo, cannot see BB or OGF, surely they havent gone on to Arabba or Ricky Martin? Nope I see them enter a restaurant. KP arrives shortly after me. We go inside. Its warm. I am sodden leaving a puddle with every footstep.  We are welcome. I buy a stupid hat. Cake and coffee. and lay my gloves, buffs and jackets out for slight drying. Another coffee. BB wants to go straight away. A cloud rolls through the passo and visibility is downto SFA.

We jointly decide to make abreak for it. We have to get off this mountain. I have never ridden so slowly. Braking constantly. I mean for twelve kilometres I am braking. My arms ache. My hands cannt move. Even if I relent for a second I gain so much speed I fear I wont make the next corner.

I stop just past Arabba to shake out 13 km of braking. I take one look at BB and know we have to keep going. We are all hypothermic, but his manic smile is out of place here.

The expected uphills dont appear, a chance to pedal and move and make heat. Then a red light for road works. I checked the video - 110 seconds. "Go fucken green ya cunt"

Green and 0.24 seconds later I am clicked in and accelerating hard, slight faux plat and stamping the pedals, I cant look around all I want to do get to the van, open the door, turn on thee engine and heater and get home.

KP OGF and BB have the same experience. We have enough nouse to make it back to the van, sodden, chilled and hysterical. What an amazing ride.

Wait a couple of minutes to settle then drive over Falzarego and back into Cortina. we are buzzed. A ride for the ages. A fitting last ride where we suffered just enough, and not a bit more.

I would like to do it again in fine weather and I would take traffic over the cold.

Postscript: The mountains around the Cortina valley have all received a dusting of snow last night.