A sweeping lakeside landscape. A web of gravel paths betwixt the Euro-bungalos and heated pools. Palm trees. Tons and tons of palm trees. A morally reprehensible and environmentally confounding degree of palm trees. These are places the ITA6 crew, fresh off a transfer drive from Venice, would learn to observe, at a distance. Soot-covered face pressed against glass, newsiepapers wrapped tightly around feet and tied on with twine. Could this be my new home? A place where I could lose myself for several days of profound self discovery? And is that two-for-one chardonnay special still going? There's still three minutes left on happy hour! GOMES, KNOCK OVER THAT OLD GERMAN WOMAN AND LOCK DOWN A BARREL OF THE OAKIEST GODDAMN CHARD THIS SIDE OF BURGUNDY.
Some parting shots from Venice:
It was, as it happens, not meant to be.
In lieu thereof, the ITA6 squad was introduced to the HC Tours leads over pizza. Not unlike warring child factions at a Chucky Cheese. Minus the unreasonable enmity. And the diarrhea. Probably. In fairness, I didn't check in with everyone after the meal...
In any case, we received some guidance on our first day. A late start 50 miler. With a 2 p.m. roll-out and some respectable climbing, it was expected to be a reasonable entry into the Alps. Perhaps lost in some of the hubbub, excitement and anxiety was the three miles of ass-crushing "gravel" (read: sentient, hostile boulders), followed by a hot as hell climb to the next beautiful lake.
Turns out, mountain weather still remains wildly unpredictable. Believe it may be Brexit related. Something about exchange rates? The metric system? Are we still doing that bit?
Nuts and bolts: The weather turned rather suddenly to cool, then cold, then aggressively rainy, followed by relative clarity for the final climb, followed again by a rather cool dusk descent back to Riva del Garda. Almost. It got dangerously dark within the final miles. Alec killed a bat, we think. Later, Gomes ate a duck's liver. These things may or may not be related. It's all a bit of a blur, if I'm honest. I did not shut my Garmin off until 830 p.m., if that offers any indication.
The late evening on our bikes gave us a great opportunity to get off our bikes, stretch, take a deep breath and then get back on our bikes for more bikes. Equipped with an earlier start time (9 a.m. versus 2 p.m.) and a similar overall distance, ITA6 dipped out for a one climb ride on Tuesday: Monte Baldo - The ascent that shares names with no less than 17 mattress salesmen in New Jersey.
Leaning more heavily on support for the lengthy climb to the summit (roughly 13 miles and 4,000 feet), everyone kicked, clawed and scratched to the pass, and then absolutely decimated a mountain of bread, cheese and prosciutto. Real offputting levels of consumption, guys.
The rest was a simple (AMAZING), easy going (FREEWAY ENTRY SPEED) cruise down to Miro, some bonus miles weaving through a small labyrinth masquerading as a quaint Italian village and, finally, a blast back into Riva del Garda behind several slow moving vehicles packed with jovial Germans.
Did I mention the Germans? There are Germans here. Everywhere. Can't swing a weisswurst around here without decking a German. And what's that on the other end of the weisswurst? Another German. The real shock? The weisswurst was a German the whole time.
M. NIGHT SHYAMALAN: F%@# IT, WHO CARES, YOU'LL PAY FOR ANYTHING.
Tomorrow is the big one: Stelvio. Forecast temperature at the top? 40 degrees. Cross your fingers for us.
Also, seriously, check your closets for Germans...