Raid Dolomites day 6

This turned out to be one of those days that are nightmares at the time but are nonetheless what elevate a trip from the ordinary to the special.
My notes at the day sum it all up pretty well "Remember waiting for the rain to stop, Remember eating at top of pass, Remember the snow falling, Remember the extra clothes, Remember the cold , Remember the cold, Remember the long downhill with a tail wind,
Remember trying to find the hotel".

The days itinerary was pretty simple. Just one mountain to go up then down the others side. Only thing was that the mountain was the Stelvio, the highest pass on the route and one of the highest in Europe. And the "down the other" was down the famous 48 hairpins and went on forever. Still we thought, looking at the route. "Could be worse, we could have had to go up the hard side". As things turned out that may have been a better option.

Having just had several hardish days, with more to follow I had decided that this would be a "rest" day, planning to keep the power and HR down on the climb then coast to the hotel. As a result I did not have too long a lie in and when I came down for breakfast a few of the group were still in the lobby. Worryingly they were dressed up for bad weather and when I poked my nose outside I found the reason why. Bormio is 1300m or so above sea level so suffers the vicissitudes of mountain weather. Yesterdays sunny evening had been replaced with a solid grey sky from which it was raining. Heavily.

By the time I had finished breakfast the others had left. I poked my nose out again. It was still raining. More heavily. I decided to wait. My previous experience of touring had taught me two things about rain. One: nothing is worse than starting the day wet, Two: even heavy rain has to stop at some point. So I reasoned, that given there was only a short stage to do today it would make sense to wait an hour or so at the hotel if that mean the downpour eased. The tour lorry was anxious to get off as some of the early birds should be nearing the top of the pass soon, so I handed over my luggage, aside from a book which I read for an hour or so in the lobby.

After a while, true to hopes, the rain had eased off. I put on my various outer garments, and set of in what was now just a light shower. The climb started immediately and keeping to plan I took it easy averaging just 187W (HR 128). For most of the way up I enjoyed the climb. I was feeling slightly smug about avoiding the rain, not trying to hard and the road up was very pleasant with a good road surface and pretty signs to mark each hairpin. Unfortunately as the metres ticked by and I passed 2300m or so the weather started to close in. The rain increased and got noticeably colder. The carnet needed an obligatory stamp on the way up. I made an abortive stop at a church thinking it was the place but it turned out not to be. Restarting after then was tough as the damp seeps into you when you are not active and it takes a while to warm up. When I passed another building I decided to give it a miss and press on to the top, reckoning a stamp there would just have to suffice.

By the time I reached the top I was feeling very damp and cold. My "waterproofs" were just protection against UK showers. They weren’t sufficient for conditions on top of an Italian mountain. Consequently I did not feel much initial elation at passing 2700m, the highest ever on my bike, quite a contrast from last year when the Galibier was one of the emotional as well as literal high spots of my trip.

The tour lorry was there to greet me at the top. I was asked if I was OK and said fine. (I did not realise then but most of the tour group bailed out at the top and got lifts down in the lorry. This did not even cross my mind as an option. Even with the benefit of hindsight it would have been the last thing I would have wanted to do.)

The lorry headed off and I headed towards the nearest restaurant needing: a stamp, warm food and somewhere to dry my clothes. I got all of these (including lots of soup) but this entailed a stay of a couple of hours. I had hoped that the rain would pass over in this time. Instead it got worse and turned to snow. Now call me an idiot but this came as a surprise. After all it was in Italy and it was August. I waited a bit more for the snow to stop. It didn’t, it just got heavier. Then it started to settle and I started to get worried. Then I heard thunder and the clouds lit up. I got really worried. The lorry had departed and I was alone at the top. If the snow settled any more I might be stuck here. So I needed to make a move. I togged up again and set off, but first made a detour to the souvenir shops. One purchase was a Stelvio cycle top. A bit cheesy but I think it looked quite cool and in anycase I needed more layers of clothing. I also bought some ski gloves to keep my hands warm.

I set off in a full on blizzard. The warming effects of the soup quickly wore off. When I came to the first of the 48 hairpins my heart was chilled but not due to the weather. The hairpin felt almost vertical, the tarmac that wasn’t covered in snow was covered in huge cracks. When you descend you are meant to use the brakes to the minimum extent. Not in these conditions. I clung onto my brakes for grim death through this and the next and the next and the next etc hairpin, each as scary as the previous one. In fact more so as my ski gloves were utterly useless quickly becoming water logged so that my hands were freezing and it was getting harder and harder to judge the braking. This judgement is pretty crucial, there are no crash barriers if you get it wrong, just a chasm. I was going down very very slowly and at one stage was passed by another, braver chap. Bizarrely quite a few cyclists were coming up the hill. I was actually a bit jealous of them, at least they were not as cold as me.

I caught a glimpse of my heart rate. It was heading down below 60bpm. When descending you do no work so your body cools down. This is nice on a hot day, but in the snow its disastrous. I could feel myself begin to shiver. I got more and more worried. I was in a vicious circle, the colder I got the less control I had off the bike so the slower I went so the colder I got. The descent was over 30km, I had done barely 1km and was starting to wonder how I would make it. Then through the snow I saw some lights. It looked like a restaurant, some 300m or so below. I promised myself I would stop there and worry about the rest of the descent after a cup of tea. I just made it. I parked my bike and went inside.

Only then did I realise just how cold I was. My entire body was shaking uncontrollably. I staggered into the bar area, beheld a blazing fire and saw the chap who had overtaken me on the descent before. We were a mirror image. Each of us shaking, barely able to speak. We were not alone, a number of other cyclists were there, also seeking refuge though they were a lot warmer and dryer, having presumably been there for longer.

Eventually I warmed up enough to order a tea. Drinking this was quite a challenge as I needed to co-ordinate the shaking of my hand to that of my head in order not to spill more of the drink than I swallowed. Still it had an effect so I ordered a second, and a third, and a fourth and a fifth. With each cup I warmed up a bit and was able to do a re-enactment of the dance of the 7 veils, except in my case I peeled off successive layers of soaking clothing and placed them as near to the fire as I dared. I spoke to the dry cyclists and found out they were going up the Stelvio. They had no choice but to get there as they were staying in a hotel on the col overnight, However they were going to take the bus the rest of the way.

This a gave me an option. Not one I really wanted to consider but needs must. I could take the next bus going down. Having just reconciled myself to this course of inaction the cycling gods smiled on me. I looked out of the window and thought it was getting brighter. I mentioned this to the others, they were sceptical at first but then agreed. We looked out of the door and sure enough it had stopped raining, the clouds were a very light grey and with a bit of imagination you could see your shadow.

I went back inside and put on all my layers of, now only slightly damp, clothing. As I set off I noticed my HAC had given up the ghost. It had suffered during my fall in the Yorkshire dales a while back but despite a huge crack it seemed OK. Now though it looked as if the snow and rain had killed it. This was a bit of a downer however not too much of a problem. The hairpins were numbered so knowing how close to the end was easy. Just count to 48. Warmed up and with roads now clear of snow the descent turned out not to be too bad. However it was very very long. Eventually after what seemed to be an age I came to a T junction that marked the official end of the climb. I stopped and looked at my brake blocks. I had put new ones on for the trip, now both were showing severe signs of wear and took quite a few turns to reset.

Though the official climb had ended in fact it was still downhill all the way for another 50km or so to our overnight stop in Lana. This was accompanied by a tail wind so I made good and fast progress averaging over 33kph despite only working at 133W/116bpm. The weather had now changed markedly for the better. It was hot and sunny so I dried out nicely as I sped along and had to make several stops to take off garments. It was scarcely credible that just a couple of hours earlier I had literally been the coldest in my life.

Our rest stop for the night was in Lana, in the Italian Tyrol. I knew this area well from holidays as a child. It’s a very scenic place, far more typically Swiss or Austrian than Italian and German is the first language there. Since the tour lorry had departed early I had not checked exactly where the stop was but did have a photocopied map with an X marking what I presumed would be its spot. After a few false turns I found the road containing the X but no sign of any hotel. I stopped and used my rudimentary German to ask a gardener if there were any hotels nearby.

He said no, so, confused, I made a call the tour company in the UK. They could not help directly but said they would get the guide to give me a call. Just after I put my phone away, quite by chance I happened to see a couple of guys from the tour. I hailed them and they said they would show me to the hotel. We went back down the road I had just come up, walked up to a house, opened a door and hey presto were in the reception area of a camp site. This apparently was the unofficial back door hence no sign. The receptionist was not happy to see me wheel my bike across his floor and uttered the classic phrase "This is not possible!" Having had the day I had I was in no mood to correct his English, I was just happy to get to my bedroom and change clothes.