Prologue

This story starts some indeterminate time ago when I developed a noticeable obsession with suffering, I suppose the cycling followed. However, and more precisely, 15 years ago marks an event that can be directly connected to this summer’s Italian Adventure. Early July of 1993, I traveled from my then home in Warsaw, Poland to a small town near the City of Brindisi in Puglia, the “heel” of Italy with two of my three daughters, Rebecca, 7, and Susannah, 4. We traveled through the Austrian Alps and on into the Italian Dolomites. It was while driving up a since forgotten mountain pass with my bike strapped to the roof, passing cyclist after cyclist, that I started to feel the itch, an itch that has ebbed and flowed for all these years since. An itch that I finally get to scratch, with a little help from Andy Hampsten and Bill Ale.

Bill and I are just about out the door. The Parlee is packed away in its own traveling case and after nearly a year of planning and seemingly thousands of miles on the road, our appointment with the high mountains of northern Italy is nearly upon us. Final packing, bike preparation and deciding the angst of the day is occupying most the free time. Andy has sent us a packing list and, priding himself in old-school style, has suggested mostly wool-based wear for the cold days and descents. We prefer poly to wool. This time of the year it can snow on the upper elevations, remember the infamous 1988 Gavia stage in the Giro. He also suggested we bring front and rear lights for the tunnels. I am told the Gavia has a 1 km tunnel with a 7% pitch. That should be a fun time indeed!

Bill and I fly out of JFK tomorrow, 8/26/08 at 7:00pm and arrive in Rome on Wednesday morning at 10:00am. Our connecting flight to Verona doesn’t leave till 5:30pm and, hopefully having slept some on the flight over, and once through customs, we will slip into Rome for a tour of St Peter’s Basilica and some slow time at a café on a piazza, our first cappuccino and biscotti. In an effort to overcome the effects of jet lag before hitting the climbs we plan to see the sites of Verona for a couple days before we meet the rest of Dolomiti Fest group, which is scheduled for Friday morning at 9:00am. As a bit of an indulgence and a quest for the pure Italian, we will be going to the Opera at the Forum in Verona on Thursday evening to see/hear Verdi’s Rigoletto. The remainder of the time in Verona is unplanned.

On Friday morning we meet the rest of our group at the Hotel West Point and following a brief orientation meeting, will be transported via vans to the base of the Stelvio Pass. Although our leader, Senor Hampsten, has been a bit vague as to the daily itinerary, the first day’s plan appears to be that after travelling north via van for 4 or so hours, we arrive at a small village on the south side of the Stelvio Pass, our ultimate destination Bormio being on the north side, we change in the shadow of the van and wheels down and head over the Pass, then descending the 48 hairpins into Bormio. Having not ridden since Monday, or at these altitudes, this will be an interesting introduction to Italian “soffrire”. The following day, Saturday, is Stelvio Day. From 8am to 4pm the three routes to the top of the mountain are all closed to vehicular traffic. Rumor has it that +6,000 cyclists show up for this annual event, “molto fresca”. This day will be pure fun, mixed with hopefully a small dose of suffering.

Excitement and nervous anticipation surrounds us as the days grow closer to our departure. Excitement: by far, this will likely be the trip of a lifetime! Nervousness: have we done the work required to deal with the physical demands it will take to climb the famous passes of the Giro D’Italia, what about the altitude, what about the descents, what if I forgot something? Oh well! Bring on these Dolomites and the fine Italian wine.