Warning! This is a public service announcement. If you have a nervous disposition, have no interest of suffering in adverse weather conditions, are offended by nudity or words such as Stelvio, Gavia, Aprica, Mortirolo, Bernina, Albula, Flüela, Fuorn or Umbrail, then please refrain from reading any further. Slowly move away from the computer, make yourself a warm mug of Ovaltine and go find your pipe and slippers. You have been warned, what follows may not be for you...
June 19th 2009, Nauders, Austria. The sky is a blanket of dark low level cloud, rolling through the valley with the gusty cold breeze of this, so called, summer’s day. Peaks of the surrounding mountains lost in the mist. It’s an angry scene, but at least it’s not raining, yet. Waking up to the sound of rain against a window has to be one of the worst noises a cyclist can face. I know just
how quickly the conditions can change in the mountains and once again I’ve had to witness it. The day before conditions were perfect, a light breeze, cloudless sky and warm temperatures. Race day was all together a very different story. There’s two ways you can take conditions like this. You can run scared or stand and fight. I went outside and announced to the sky “if you’re going to be bad, make sure you’re really bad, I want everything you’ve got, no holding back. Let’s make this one to remember."
Midday and the church bells in the centre of Nauders start to chime, the organiser gives the countdown and we roll out of town and towards the horizon. Who knows what we’re really in for? That’s part of the appeal, the unknown of the road ahead. Within minutes it’s raining, the pace is comfortable and with a tailwind we reach the village of Prad, at 910m above sea level, well within the hour. The first real test of the day is now within spitting distance, the auspicious elegance of the Passo Stelvio, with its 48 hairpins, unravels like a ribbon of tarmac with every rain soaked pedal stroke. The pace is lifting all the time with a series of powerful attacks from ex pro and 2008 race winner Maurizio Vandelli from Italy. It’s a surreal sight, so early on with huge efforts like this being made. You’ve got to forget about what’s going on around you and try and keep a pace that is sustainable to your own ability. Get caught up in the day and it’ll come back to haunt you in a big way later on. I settled into a position just outside the top 10 and to my joy, as we rode through the cloud line to the peak of Italy’s highest pass, we were greeted with dry roads and a moment of blue sky by the 2,757m summit. The fast flowing descent to Bormio was dry and, apart from the series of tunnels that needed to be taken with caution, was over all too quickly. The exhilaration of an alpine descent, free-flowing to the valley below, is impossible to describe.
The Gavia is a fearsome ascent, made famous by the horrendous conditions that riders faced on its slopes during the 1988 Giro d’ Italia. 25.6km in length with a height gain of 1,404m, in the right conditions it’s a truly beautiful climb, much quieter than its neighbouring Stelvio. I’m glad this isn’t cricket, as rain would have well and truly stopped play by now (for good). The temperature was dropping sharply with every metre climbed, ice and snow banked up at the side of the road, visibility reduced to zero in the thick cloud. Less than five hours in the saddle and the outlook was looking bleak to say the least, by the summit it was barely above freezing. The descent was torture, I could see this perfect road that I dearly wanted to carve at full speed but the wind chill and surface water meant that it had to be soft pedaled to avoid a potential accident. By the valley my core body temperature had dropped so I signaled to my support team that it was time to change into dry kit. It was hard to predict what to wear, a few minutes later and the temperature was up to 18 degrees C as we made our way to Edolo, in a small group of four riders, and onto the drag of the Aprica for the first time. From the 1,170m peak, the descent to Tresenda is amazing. A series of fast flowing chicane style bends, on an excellent road surface, meant no holding back.
The long drag to the village of Mazzo was spent trying to focus on the Mortirolo, an ascent that was once described by Lance Armstrong as the hardest climb he’d ever raced on. Strangely, the temperature on the Mortirolo remained high at around 16 degrees C for much of its length. With close to 200km covered the 18% sections were even more challenging than on a regular day but it was good to crest the summit still in daylight, even if it was just as the rain started to fall once again. It was at this point that my support team quickly snapped the Exposure Race light onto my bike and I switched to my second helmet with Joystick in place. Night was approaching quickly now and the wet road conditions and dwindling light didn’t make for an easy descent.
Second time over the Aprica and the descent was a different story with slick roads eager to catch out the unaware in a moment, lightning striking in the distance didn’t do anything for the nerves. Branching left we crossed the border control to enter Switzerland. Even on the few flat sections attention was needed with railroad tracks crossing the road in the prelude to the Bernina pass. I hadn’t ridden this climb before and, if I’m honest, I’m not sure I want to set a wheel on its slopes again. The constant head wind and rain was relentless. People often ask how you break a ride like this down into sections, well in the case of the Bernina I was only focusing as far up the road as my lights would illuminate. On more than one occasion I questioned to myself if this climb actually had a summit, at 2am the answer finally arrived. We’d been told at the race briefing that it’s always very windy at the top and to descend 300m after the peak to the hospital (how fitting) where there is slightly more shelter. It’s here that my support team peeled back the layers of soaked kit, replacing with fresh for what I hoped would be the only change needed for the night. Without even asking, new lights and Garmin 705 were fitted to my bike and within minutes it was game on for the descent. It’s a humbling experience having three people dedicated to your every pedal stoke. At the summit of the Bernina it was 3 degrees C, lower if you factor in wind chill. I could see the team suffering, hands shaking as the warmth is leached out of them in seconds, but not once did anyone pause, actions robotic, in these adverse conditions. That’s special.
By the start of the Albula pass we’d covered 320km and it looked like the storms were finally starting to subside, a fine mist of rain fell but it was peaceful which helped build motivation once more. Approaching 4.30am and the 2,319m summit was shrouded in thick freezing fog, the descent is narrow and technical and I remember the cold ripping straight through all of my thermal clothing like I was in summer kit. To hear the dawn chorus of chirping birds as night turns to day is a truly uplifting sound.
The monotone drag to Davos seemed to last forever, grey clouds hung above looking as though they could burst at any given moment. I’d have loved to try and appreciate what a beautiful area this is, although my concentration was momentarily interrupted whilst trying to eat macaroni from a cup whilst riding. Rock n’ Roll it definitely was not. With the backbone of this epic adventure well and truly broken I was eager to get onto the Flüela pass, a climb with a good constant gradient, 13km in length and topping out at 2,383m. Despite twenty hours of utter abuse, my body and mind were still responding well to the demands. As we approached the summit huge ice walls were banked up at the side of the road and, right on cue, mother nature played her part once again, this time in the form of a heavy shower of snow. Trying to maintain body warmth I pulled on an extra thick pair of ski gloves, a piece of kit I’d said to myself “am I really going to need these?” when packing for the race and was handed up a cup of warm soup. The road was awash with ice particles with the first section of the descent at zero visibility. Fortunately this was relatively short lived and by the bottom we were back on dry tarmac and back up to full speed.
The Fuorn (or Offenpass depending which language you speak) is deceptive, with an average gradient of 3.3% for its 21.6km length. This basically sounds like a long drag but the main reason for the low average gradient is the downhill section that you have after the initial 6km of climbing. It’s a harder climb than the statistics would otherwise suggest, at this point the sun had finally got its hat on and was coming out to play. Broken cloud with piercing blue sky suggested that this was going to be the order of the day from here on in. It had only taken twenty-two hours but its arrival was not a moment too soon. The fast open descent to Santa Maria gave a good opportunity to try and relax and prepare for what would be the final main ascent, the 13km Umbrail pass, intersecting the Stelvio 3km from its summit. What a superb climb, initially passing through winding tree lined roads before hitting a long gravel section where I was praying that a late puncture wouldn’t scupper this mechanical-free ride, before opening out towards the top. With a panoramic view of snow capped mountains, and pure mountain air being breathed deep into my lungs, it was impossible not to be inspired.
The final 3km to the top of the Stelvio now felt like a procession, as did the euphoria of nailing every one of those 48 bends on the way back down. Gravity is a wonderful thing in the right conditions. By all accounts it should have been plain sailing for the final 35km’s back to Nauders, but there’s a very good reason why the windmills on the Reschenpass are oriented as they are, and that’s because it’s windy, very windy. Naturally, just to ensure that no competitor is lulled into a false sense of security in thinking that this is an easy ride, it seems only fair to finish off 535km’s and 27 hours on the bike with the mother of all headwinds.
The satisfaction of finishing such an event is inexplicable, you go through every conceivable emotion in the space of a day. The bond between rider and support team is truly unique, with equal credit going towards the final 10th place finish. The prize money didn’t last long, most of it was invested straight back into the local community and chewed up (literally) in the town’s pizzeria. It’s about life, it’s about teamwork, the challenge and getting the most out of yourself. But most of all it’s about the simple pleasure of bike riding, after all that’s what we all are at heart – bike riders to the end.
