The long drive, the naked lady, and a pigeon dinner

First off, I don’t want you to get too excited about the title of this post; the naked lady is, of course, referring to the Dolomites, and not anything illicit. Yes, this morning the geris consummated their visit to the Dolomites by doing the loop around Passo Sella, Passo Gardena, and two other passos that I can’t remember. The climbs were relatively tame, only about 500 – 700 vertical meters each, and it was apparently beautiful. I say apparently because there were about a bajillion cars / motorcycles / tour busses that needed to be avoided on the road, so it was a bit crowded at times. Apparently, on one day a year they close the road to all vehicles so that cyclists can ride the road alone, which is the best way to see the Dolomites. I believe it is in July, if only because Greg asked me if I would be able to come back here with the group in 9 months. He also mentioned that this next trip would probably be for 3 weeks.

A view from the Gavia pass.

Nothing goes together like mountains and beach loungers!

Spectacular.

1 down... 3 to go.

How would you like to wake up and see that every morning?

Just kidding; it’s only for 2 weeks.

In all seriousness, this town has got to have been the most hiking-crazed place in the world. It’s like a hiker’s Mecca, with trails everywhere. Interestingly, they describe distance on the hikes not in miles or kilometers but in the hiking time, which means you know exactly at what point in the hike that you are a wimp, because I think those average times are for wimpy old hikers. But because this is a ski town, all of the hikes start from the top of the mountain, so I took a tram to the top and went on a nice little walk. (For reference: it was a 90-minute hike and I did it in 80 minutes; I also ran the last little bit to make sure I wasn’t slower than a wimpy old hiker) Up top, there were about 50 beach chairs that people were sitting in, drinking coffee and eating some pasta. It was quite a sight. Unfortunately, it was a bit hazy, so all of our pictures are not quite as spectacular as the actual site, but hopefully they will give you an idea of what we got to see.

Greg wants Jen to know that he is taking care of her bike.

Riding up one of the passes. If you squint your eyes, you can just make out one of the legs of the woman.

Looking out over the valley.

So, after finishing in the Dolomites, it was off to Florence (or Firenze [fee–REHN–zay]), the jewel of the Italian Tuscan region. The drive, according to the people we asked, was supposed to take 6 – 7 hours. But we had learned in Northern Italy that you need to times by 150% what they tell you, because they zip up and down these mountain roads at Mach 10, and the gE-v only goes Mach 3. Anyway, we were planning on getting there really late. But it only ended up taking us about 4 ½ hours, so we got in at a decent time.

A typical view of the Tuscan countryside.

Now that we’re talking about it, I thought I would give you a quick lesson in Italian driving. We were talking about it in the car and came up with an apt analogy: Driving in the US is like playing a piece of Baroque music in a recital. It is very rigid, very organized, with rules, structure, timing, laws, etc. Driving in Europe and Italy in particular, is more like playing Jazz improv. There are certainly certain rules that apply (even here it’s against the law to run over pedestrians… I think), and the objective is still the same (don’t die, don’t die don’t die don’t die... there’s a church, there’s a bridge, there’s a statue don’t care, I don’t wanna die, don’t let me die… because living is good, and dying, not as good…), but it’s full of fluid movement, the application of those basic rules into a flowing, mutable, blended cacophony of improvisation that is pretty incredible to watch, if sometimes frightening to be a part of. So, the lesson is that if you come here, think more like Chick Corea than Johann Sebastian Bach.

Oh, and a bonus lesson: whenever you’re about to do something so completely outrageous that it would likely get you killed by a commuter in a fit of road rage if you did it in the states, simply turn on your emergency blinkers. It’s amazing what people get away with just by turning on their blinkers. Double parked while you go get a coffee and talk with the barista for 20 minutes? No problem, turn on your blinkers. Going in reverse and the wrong direction on a one way street? Blinkers on and it’s smooth sailing. Perhaps this is why the police here never pull people over for these stunts, because it your emergency blinkers are really meant to say “Give me a wide berth in every direction, because right now you have NO idea whatsoever what I am going to do and, quite frankly, neither do I.

More Tucanny.

For dinner that night, we went to a little trattoria in downtown San Casciano, which is where we are staying. It’s about 15 minutes outside of Florence, and is also the birthplace of Machiavelli. It’s a prototypical Italian town, an old, crumbling wall surrounding a few narrow streets that make up the downtown section. Our waiter for the evening was the twin brother of Grandpa Joe in the new Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Seriously, he looked, talked, and even moved like the guy. We were pretty pizza’d out, so we decided to do pasta, and the choices were a tagliatelle al ragu (red sauce), penne all’arrabiatta (spicy red sauce), buccolini ai porcini (mushroom cream sauce), gnocchi al pesto, and stracitelle al piccione (pigeon sauce). I asked the waiter what he recommended, and he said they were all good, but the pigeon sauce was a very typical plate for the area. I was pretty convinced that it was a provincial name, not real pigeons; you don’t have real cacciatore (hunters) inside of chicken cacciatore, right? But no, it’s a sauce that has honest-to-goodness scavenging, pooping, annoying, winged rats in it. I promptly ordered it, which for me is something I typically don’t do, given the fact that I have actually lost my lunch simply by watching “Fear Factor”. I’m a fairly skittish eater, and even the guys at the table looked askance at me a bit. Anyway, it was pretty good, except for the few bites I had that had pieces of pigeon spine in them; it tasted a bit like tuna fish. Maybe instead of “Chicken of the Sea” it should be “Pigeon of the Sea”.

May I get you some Pigeon Pasta, sir?

Anyway, this morning we got up and did a ride through Tuscany. While not nearly as spectacular as the mountain ranges in terms of raw beauty, this part of the country is just as beautiful. Driving through it you pass fields of grapes, olive groves, castles, forts, cloisters, and those driveways with tall, shapely Cyprus trees growing along the sides. It was a fantastic ride / drive which ended in a little town called “San Gimignano”, which was a city that saw its best days in the 1300s but now thrives on tourism and it quite pretty. One thing of interest at San Gimignano is that it tells a great story of what happens when you try to keep up with the Joneses: there are 7 towers that are the prominent features of the skyline, and each was commissioned by a rivaly family / guild that was trying to outdo the most recent construction, so they are all different styles and heights.

The towers of San Gimignano.

Piazza Cisterna, named for the cistern in the middle.

A really neat house on a back alley in San Gimignano.

I'm guessing these guys don't have an Expedition...

"My tower can beat up your tower!"

After that we headed into Florence, and had time to run into the Duomo, check out the Baptistry, wait in line to go to the top of the Dome, then decide we didn’t have time, then pick up our tickets for the Uffizi. We spent about 2 hours walking through, then headed out and got some dinner right by Ponte Vecchio (the famous covered bridge of Firenze).
Ok, I have to go now; the van has been in the middle of the road for an hour, and I’m worried that the battery will die since the blinkers have been on the whole time….

Santa Maria del Fiore, the Duomo of Firenze. It oddly looks more like the leaning tower of Pisa here.

The doors of the baptistry, by Ghiberti. Michaelangelo called them "The Gates of Heaven".

Looking up at the painting at the bottom of the dome.

Ponte Vecchio.

A look at Piazza Uffizi.

The Duomo.

Ciao!

Tuesday / Wednesday

Tuesday was the big climbing day for the geris. The plan was to do both Mortirolo and the Gavia. For reference (for those of you that aren’t cycling geeks and don’t know what those are), Mortirolo is what Lance Armstrong describes as the toughest climb in all of Europe, and the Gavia is (along with Stelvio) one of the two climbs that is always in the Giro d’Italia. And these fine gentlemen decided to do them both in one day. However, because it was Craig’s first day in the saddle, along with the fact that everyone was still hurting from the previous day, they decided to drive up half of the Mortirolo before doing all of the Gavia.

A view from the Gavia pass.

The Mortirolo pass starts in a little town called “Mazza di Valtellina” which, when translated, means something like “Don’t worry, if we don’t kill the bikers riding to the top, we’ll do our best by killing anyone foolish enough to try and drive a car up by making the roads so narrow that you can barely have to bicycles pass each other, let alone a gE-v.” The road starts with 2 sets of poles that nearly took off the mirrors on the van; I’m thinking it was a test of courage (or insanity). After that, it was up up up to the top. I dropped of the geris and went to the top where there was a herd of what had to be the happiest cows on the planet. And they also had those huge bells on them, so it sounded like a big beautiful bovine symphony. I think it was Symphony #12 in E-flat… by Moozart. Sorry, I couldn’t resist.

Listening to the beautiful moosic atop Mortirolo.

Anyway, after finishing the climb, we headed on down the other side to hit the Gavia. We stopped in a town so tiny that it doesn’t even show up on a map to get a bite to eat (and, let’s say, to take care of some… “official” business), only because it was a little after 2:00 everything was closed. I think that is the only thing about Italy that I really don’t like, that everything closes in the afternoon just about when I’m thinking about getting something to eat. Anyway, I walked over to a panificio (bakery), and was headed back to the car when a little old lady popped her head out of the window from across the street and told me she would come and make us some sammiches. She was really cute; she asked where we were from, and when I said the US she said “Oh my gosh, America! Giovanni (her grandson), these big guys are from America!!” Giovanni wasn’t really impressed, but she thought it was the coolest thing. After we ate, she joined us for a picture.

The cute little "nonna" that made us lunch.

So, rested, refueled (and relieved…) we headed out. Gavia, much like Stelvio and Mortirolo, is full of numerous sheer switchbacks, gorgeous views of Alpine meadows, glaciers, waterfalls, and giant mountain bunnies. Yes, there were rare giant Alpine rabbits running around at the top of the mountain. Fortunately for all of us, they didn’t have any big, sharp, pointy teeth. And there was also a lady playing the trumpet for no apparent reason. I’m guessing she had a lifelong dream of playing the trumpet at the top of the mountain, and play she did. Also, she might have been insane. But we got a cool video of it that I’ll try and post later.

Atop the Gavia pass.

We finished the night by walking through town and going to a little pizzeria in Bormio, having a great dinner, then getting gelato and strolling back to the hotel. It was, by all accounts, a great day.

It takes a very secure man to both shave his legs and wear those socks.

Fortunately, Jason is just such a man.

We said goodbye to the Alps and headed out to Castelrotto this morning early. Castelrotto is a little town near Bolzano, and it’s nestled right in the foothills of the Dolomites. It’s kind of like a storybook town. Every window has a huge cascade of flowers, the buildings have beautiful murals painted on them, and our hotel is fabulous, with meticulous attention to detail and really fine craftsmanship. It’s sitting right on the main piazza, with a beautiful church and a humongous bell tower right outside. The people at the hotel are also very considerate, as they have a room for dwarves, and so few hotels are considerate of our vertically challenged brothers and sisters.

Are you there, Frodo? Gimli??

Speaking of the hotel, I have to tell you about the highlight of the trip so far. I’d also like to take this opportunity to advise the parents of our younger readers to perhaps censor this next bit from them. The guy at the front desk of the hotel is an avid cyclist, and was very helpful in giving advice for what routes the geris should take. Because we have a long (6-7 hour) drive tomorrow, we were thinking about just doing a short ride and missing out on what is the quintessential ride of the Dolomites, a loop that goes over 4 smaller passes right in the heart of the range. When he heard this, he got an extremely pained look on his face, almost like we’d told him his kids were ugly, and said “Guys, you simply cannot come all the way here and NOT do this ride; it’s just not right. It would be like having sex and never seeing the woman naked!” Needless to say, we’re getting up early and heading out on the ride in the morning.


Anyway, since we got here relatively early, the guys went for an “easy” 50k ride through the countryside while I walked around the town, read a book for a while, talked with some people, took some pictures, and had a nice afternoon. I’ll let you decide who you think is really on vacation. We won’t have internet access for the rest of the trip, but I’ll try to sneak over to an internet café or something and keep people up to date with pictures. Below are a bunch of pictures from Castelrotto. Buona notte!

Nice view of the Dolomites.

There are 12 murals on this building, one for each of the seasons.

A little fountain outside of the hotel in the piazza.

The belltower from one of the alleys in the town center.

The inside of the church is beautiful.

Beautiful! Loving it! Wish you were here!

Monday

Today, we awoke in a fog-shrouded village in the Swiss Alps. That alone should explain what kind of a day it was. If the word “picturesque” had a home, it would surely be St. Morritz, Switzerland. And as much as I love Italy, there’s something to be said for Switzerland and their meticulous organization. In fact, it was wonderful to cross over the border just to be on Swiss roads; there was a noticeable difference. It reminds me of a joke:

A definition of heaven and hell in Europe.

In heaven:
The British are the policemen, the French are the chefs, t he Italians are the lovers, the Swiss organize everything, and the Germans are the mechanics

In hell:
The British are the chefs, the French are the mechanics, the Italians organize everything, the Swiss are the lovers, and the Germans are the policemen

So true.

"Picturesque" is the only word you can use to describe this place.

So, three of the four geramigos went on a ride to Stelvio pass today. For reference, it is the highest paved road in Europe. And these guys rode it. Seriously. To describe what it looks like, imagine a gigantic spaghetti noodle dropped on the side of a sheer mountain, full of insane twists and turns at impossible angles. That’s pretty much what it looks like. All three of them said it was the most difficult climb they’ve ever done. Here are a few cool pictures:

This is switchback number 47. Which means there are only 46 left.

I told you it looks like a spaghetti noodle.

These faces say "We did it!". And also, "I can't believe we are paying a ton of money to come here and hurt ourselves."

Another shot of the pass road up. Craziness.

Meanwhile, I was driving back to pick up Craig Hale, the fourth geramigo that has had a miserable time just getting here; wait til he starts riding tomorrow. His plane leaving Salt Lake was delayed, then he wasn’t able to land in New York so they rerouted him to Pittsburgh, then he stayed the night at a hotel in New York, then finally arrived in Milan this morning. He also really stunk, as he hadn’t showered or changed clothes in 3 days. But because we were already so far away, he had to hop on a train and meet me in a little town called Sondrio. I picked him up there this afternoon and we spent 4 hours (remember, no showering...) in the car getting to Bormio, which is where we are staying tonight and tomorrow. He’s done really well and seems no worse for the wear, and we finally managed to meet up with the crew this evening at about 6:30.

A cool little chess set I found outside of a cafe in St. Morritz.

I think this is an appropriate time to talk about the GPS that I have. I borrowed it from my brother in-law Steve, and it has been a life-saver. However, every once in a while she (I can’t tell you what we call her; Greg made me promise not to. You’ll have to ask him) tells you to go the wrong way. Take tonight, for example. Senior Stinky and I were trying to come up the opposite side of the Stelvio Pass to meet them, and we had the coordinate in the GPS, but somehow it directed us to go up an entirely different way. The whole time I was driving I was saying that it felt like we were going the wrong way, but when we got to the top I asked the guard if we were at the Stelvio pass and he said “Dude… you’re about 2 hours away from there. You need to turn around, and on your way down I would throw that thing out the window.” So, we went back down, started up the right road, and found the riders.

One more item of notice: because “Greg” and “Craig” sound so alike, Greg is now going by Paolo and Craig is going by Antonio. Perhaps this isn’t quite fair, because the phrase “going by” implies that they have had some sort of choice in the matter; really, I’ve just decided to call them that. It makes life easier.

Ok, it’s late now, so I’m off to bed. Arrivederci!

Day 2... I think

Just for reference, take a look at the picture of the spider that I took. For scale, that is about the size of a manhole cover. Or maybe a quarter. But still, they were very large.

This spider would eat your face off.

As previously mentioned, the OFs (Old Fogeys) went for a ride around Como today, and, if you listen to them talk, the rest of the trip is going to be a letdown. It was incredibly beautiful, with amazing vistas all over the place. They did a famous climb called “Madonna di Ghisello” which, when translated, means “a nearly vertical wall of switchbacks that is typically ridden during a downpour similar to what you would see during monsoon season in Pyongyang”. Seriously, I got tired… and I drove. But it was a beautiful drive, and the guys stopped and took some pretty cool pictures on the way.

The guys at the top of the climb.

Inside the weird museum.

Como is amazing. Just to reiterate. A-MAZ-ING.

At the top of the climb, there is a shrine to the patron Saint of bicycling. What, you didn’t know there was a patron Saint of bicycling? Yeah… neither did we. But boy, the Catholics do know how to honor their patron saints of sports. The shrine contained no fewer than 8 bicycles (ridden by the world’s most famous cyclists) lining the walls, along with pictures of a bunch of cyclists that died while riding. It was… creepy, but one of the more memorable shrines I’ve been in.

The weird cycling shrine. Look at the bikes nex

Have I mentioned what driving around Como is like? Yeah… imagine the Road to Hana, take away the palm trees, add in a bunch of half-crazed Italian drivers that are convinced this is an Indy-car race, and make the streets about half as wide, and you’re just about there. The road is barely wide enough for 2 cars to pass each other going opposite directions, but rather than slow down to ensure that nobody gets killed, you barrel past each other at mach 3, and find time to wave. I think I’m getting used to driving here though, as I was honked at multiple times, and an old lady even gave me the Italian equivalent of the finger. I figure I must be doing something right.

A statue of a winner... and a loser. Nice view though.

After the museum, they rode around the other side of the lake, and I took a ferry across and met them in a little town called Verano. Then, it was a long and windy ride to Saint Morritz, Switzerland, where we got to our hotel really late and, for dinner, had a plate full of various cured meats, some bread, and a random assortment of fruit and pickled things. It was entertaining and tasty. Next up, a long sleep and then a ride to Stelvio, which is the 3rd-highest road in all of Europe.

One of the many little cities surrounding Como.

The first day (part 2)

If you're ever on a trip where you have a few concerns about things working out because you don't feel like they were necessarily organized super well but you're just kind of hoping that it all is going to be ok and, upon getting all of your bags the person responsible for all of the "organizing" says something to the effect of "Wow, this is a great start to this trip. Everything is going to be perfect!" do yourself a favor and just prepare for lots of things to go wrong in the immediate future.

Friends, and I'm sure this will come as a surprise to you, that is exactly what happened yesterday.

We were in Italy, we had our bags, all we needed was the car (and by car I really mean a 9-passeneger ginormous Euro-van [gE-v]) and we would be on our way. Only... it was not to be. We went to get the car, only to find out that the travel agent had provided the wrong dates so it wasn't reserved until the 9th. Not good. So, we went to all of the other rental agencies and none of them even had a Smart Car to rent us, let alone a gE-v. I was talking to the girl at the rental desk (she was from Russia but spoke Italian... more on this later) and trying to figure out what we could do, but even if we were able to change the reservation she wouldn't have been able to help because they didn't have the car. So I'm on the phone with some people from Italy using my broken Italian to try to explain the situation while the girl at the desk is using her broken Italian trying to help... it was highly amusing.

As luck would have it, someone had returned a gE-v that day and we were able to change our reservation and were out of there after a 3-hour+ interlude. I immediately told Greg I deserved a raise; he said no.

Il duomo di Milano

We then drove into Milan to see the Duomo, and after driving around looking for a parking spot for 20 minutes I just triple parked so the old guys could take their walkers out of the back and walk over to see it. They were suitably impressed. We then drove (or rather, I drove while they slept) to Como, had a lovely dinner at a pizzeria, then collapsed into bed at about midnight.

Como at night.

A couple of interesting things about our Hotel:

• There are spiders in the garage. Not little spiders, but the kind that I'm pretty sure I have seen on animal planet, where some crazy guy from Australia says things like "Be careful, mate, or one of these fellows will make off with your cat! They're so aggressive!!!", and they're all ceiling of the garage. Which is 6'5" tall. I'm 6'4". Not cool.
• I have a bidet.
• I used the bidet.
• I like bidets.
• This is what all of the geezers at for breakfast. I was amused.
  And you wonder why I make fun of them being old? This is Greg's second bowl...

So now the guys are about to go for a ride around the lake, and they're going to stop off at a museum to see the sweaty old jerseys and socks of some long-dead Italian riders. Sounds like a great time.

Bike troubles this morning.

I have to make a note: throughout this blog I will refer to the riders (Greg, Gordie, Jason, and Craig) as geezers, fogies, geriatrics, old men, and other age-related mildly insulting terms. Know this: each of them could easily tear me limb from limb and are in better physical shape at their advanced age than I have ever been. So my referring to them as such is merely a result of a bit of good-natured teasing, rather than any indication that being over 40 is old. Wait... yes it is. They're older than dirt. But they could still destroy me.