Some of you may have heard I did a ride in Italy last week. Here’s the report…
Strava stats http://app.strava.com/rides/24841224
I was once asked by a French lass who, having just found out I was a cyclist, asked me “Are you a lover or a fighter?” Not having a clue what she was talking about, I mumbled something about being both, just not at the same time if that’s alright with you thank you very much. It turns out she was asking me if I ride a mountain or a road bike. Mountain bikers being the fierce fighting, mud-loving, big hearted mob they are, while road riders being passionate tarmac lovers with a true fondness for the culture of the sport. Thinking about it now, maybe the lover vs fighter analogy typifies a lot about cycling in general. Are you a fighter like little Thomas Voeckler or do you ride with the souplesse of Franco Coppi? Are you a fan of the battle royales of the Tour de France or the scream with the passion of the tifosi at the Giro d’Italia? Inclining more towards the lover than fighter, the Giro has always been my grand tour of choice and the mountains in particular. Monte Zoncolan, Passo del Stelvio, Mortirolo, Passo Giau – all climbs with histories seemingly etched into the very road.
So when my wife said she wanted to go to Vienna for a conference in October, I was immediately planning how I could wrangle a ride in nearby Northen Italy. A few clicks of the mouse, some minor negotiations and a few minutes later, I was entered into a Gran Fondo in Northern Italy on our last weekend in Europe. Called the Prosecco Cycling (http://www.proseccocycling.it/en) and timed for the end of summer, this 120km ride aims fair and square at the middle-aged, pot-bellied rider who is more interested in chugging down the pasta than riding fast. Hills aplenty but nothing longer than a kilometre. To emphasise the point, they serve the local regional wine (Prosecco) at the refreshment points along the course and give you a free bottle of the stuff on entry. Now that’s what I call riding. And what better way to prepare for such a ride than to spend the week prior in Munich for Oktoberfest on a healthy diet of beer and pretzels. Can life get any better? No, I didn’t think so.
Fully carb loaded, we trundled into the local town the night before, having arranged the hire of a road bike and helmet from Venice. A little small in the frame, but hey, it had two wheels and it rolled, so what did I care? And so it was that an American called Dave (who was staying at the same accommodation) and I rocked up an hour before the gun. I had no intention of keeping up with Dave – it could have been the race-fit physique or maybe his stealth black Campag EPS spec’d Colnago or maybe his razor sharp tanlines that gave him away as a true racer, but ultimately it was the fancy Lightweight wheels Dave had on his bike. Those things were not wheels, they were weapons of mass destruction and some poor Italians were going to suffer on his wheel.
The parcour was tougher than it looked on paper. Set in vineyard hills of the Prosecco region, a local comparison would be the Hills of Death. But just 120km of it. The all too infrequent flats being split by winding corners, short + sharp ramps and fast downhills. A course for what the French call a puncheur and what turned out to be an energy-sapping leg-snapper of a ride.
A few speeches by the mayor, an appearance by an opera singer, a bit of Pavarotti and we were off in a shower of confetti. Apparently I was the only Aussie participant, but 18 riders from 18 countries managed to get to the start line.
The weather was high teens, misty and overcast, but with little chance of rain – great riding weather. The ride started with an immediate climb out of town which broke the mass wave start of 1000 participants almost immediately. Everyone was way too jumpy off the start for my liking and I wasn’t surprised to see a stack on a downhill in the first 10km. It was fast-going for the first 40km, and I knew in the back of my mind I was burning too many matches for my level of fitness, but I was hoping I could somehow hang on to a bunch as several rolled through. I yo-yo’d off the back of a few before giving up and riding at my own pace. I was riding a 53/39 with 12/26 rear and was spinning out regularly on the downhills trying to keep up.
The first real pinch at 40km came and went. With sections up to 15%, I was able to hold and even improve my position a little. Only to have the advantage withered away in the next 10km. No matter, I had to hold something in reserve for a monster called Il Muro, or The Wall, at 80km. A kilometre long with long sections of 15 to 18%, it wasn’t going to be easy. So famous in the local cycling lore, it even has it’s own website (Il MURO di Ca’ Del Poggio) and featured in the 2009 Giro d’Italia. Needless to say, after little training and no cycling in the 2 weeks prior, I was weaving up this puppy at a snail’s rate, posting letters across the road. The reward for such a climb? Prosecco and mussels at the top. And gee it tasted good. By this stage, I was cramping up something fierce and had to have a break. Fed and rested, I called the missus to let her know I was going to be a while getting home. With 35km to go, it was going to be an exercise in survival.
I cant say I remember a lot about the last 30km. With the kms ticking down slowly, I had my eyes on the scenery looking for familiar landmarks to indicate how far it was to go, convinced my Garmin was lying to me. False flats and slow rises required the granny gear all too frequently I’m ashamed to say. I was crawling. With 10km to go, the course veered onto some local Strada Biancha. Never having tackled loose gravel like this on a road bike, it was an effort to stay rubber-wide down. After a millenia, the 3km sign was in sight. The final ramp to the finish line was made all the more bizarre when two Italians on a tandem rushed me and another guy for the line. Kudos to them for doing the whole 120km.
I’d come 480th out of 600-odd riders and had lost a bucket of speed in the 2nd half of the ride for a total time of 4hrs 46mins. Not exactly warp speed, but hey I got to ride a Gran Fondo in Italy and drink Prosecco while doing it.
I capped off my Italian holiday with a ride up the local Mount Cesen behind the town, and was rewarded with a beautiful view and a sweet 25min descent through a dozen switchbacks. I can definitely recommending riding in this region of Italy if you have the chance. Photos attached.
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