Bidding an early morning adieu to our agriturismo hotel – on its own, a flashpoint for debate around the ability of U.S. customs intelligence to systematically cross-check whether you’ve pursued ethically dubious dalliances with foreign livestock – ITA6 shuffled off toward Lake Como, occasional home of famous people loosely characterized as “seeming so nice”, notwithstanding the fact that none of us knows them personally and, thus, have no reason to believe they are not completely out-of-touch assclowns.
But we digress. Again.
Starting just outside the Lake itself, the group, hindquarters firmly tenderized four days in, settled in for another spin opening with a comparatively reasonable climb. We would top out around 3,700 feet above sea level, rather than the decidedly less balmy climes typically associated with 9,000 foot alpine passes. But we shouldn’t conflate that framework with notions of “easy riding”. The starter ascent was still 2,500 feet of pitch, marked, for the final stretch, by Muro di Sormano, a 2 km patch of hate with an average grade of 15.5% and a maximum incline of almost 26%.
I realize this may be a lot of inside baseball for those readers who do not ride bikes. Completely reasonable. As a sort of loose analogue, let me recommend the following: (i) stand up; (ii) walk over to a flat vertical surface of some kind (traditional drywall is preferred, but reasonably sturdy glass will do in a pinch); (iii) rub your forehead with a heavy grit sandpaper; and (iv) slam your face into selected flat surface. Repeat for 12 to 18 minutes, depending on your athletic ability and general skull integrity.
Also there was just a ton of shit on the path, so if you’ve got a litter box or a neglected compost bin you can place nearby, that would really give you the full spectrum experience. Follow up with a lot of cured meat and bread. Probably on the way to the hospital. You got that PPO coverage? COBRA? Going month-to-month on it, then? That seems irresponsibly expensive.
SIDEBAR: Guided cycling is a competitive industry. There are many firms purporting to offer high-end, challenging trips to legendary Grand Tour climbs. At the top of Muro di Surmano, ITA6 and HC Tours ran into a representative of one such firm. And while I firmly believe international travel is the best means to experience rich cultural diversity first-hand, this representative – we’ll call him Antonio McChesthair Infidelityface – was an Italian caricature singularity. He sauntered over, remarked, in rather sultry tones, on the fitness of our ride leader and then noted his prior honeymoon experience in San Francisco before observing his “good luck” in being able to guide a group of “American women”. He then closed with what I can only describe as a slut chuckle and too-long-because-it-happened-at-all massage of Gomes’ shoulder. The disquieting smolderstare, lasting no less than 15 minutes for every normal second experienced by the rest of humanity, was, oddly, the least penetrating experience on offer. I guess I’m saying Tony likes to drag the ol’ cannoli through the Chianti region. If you know what I mean. And I think you do. Gross.
With a quick coffee and a high-speed HPV test (came out clean!) in the rearview, we zipped off for climb number two by hammering along Lake Como into Bellagio. The ascent was capped by a small chapel of a nominally Christian nature, which I say principally because the interior was packed wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling with cycling memorabilia, including nearly century-old bikes, championship jerseys and industry credentials for everyone’s favorite non-Pope, Joseph “I couldn’t be less likeable if someone sewed a coked-out Randy Quaid to my hip” Ratzinger. Good dude. More snacks, more descent and more lake. A huge group dinner – augmented by the arrival of additional good folk from the Garcia clan – and the squad hit the sheets to rest up for a final day of riding.
