bici amore mio / press coverage

ADVENTURECYCLING02 2015

22 ADVENTURE CYCLIST february 2015

What do I think Im doing? rattled around in my head as I approached the base of Strada Statale dello Stelvio outside of Bormio, Italy. I was

being led by Daniele Schena, a man so superior to me in terms of cycling abil-ity that its hard to comprehend. This is a person that climbs the legendary pass made famous by the Giro dItalia three times per week and, as is well known locally, the first to do so every year. Me? The closest Ive come to climbing something like Stelvio would be Going-to-the-Sun Road in Glacier National Park or Beartooth Pass near northern

Yellowstone National Park. Ive climbed both three times each, but those climbs now exist only in distant memories.

Sure, Ive climbed a lot on previous tours, and I trained for this attempt but, to be honest, not enough. To do that, I would have had to comprehen-sively change my life and that didnt happen.

We left Hotel Funivia at 10:00 am with another cyclist from Australia, and by the time we made our way to the beginning of the climb, I knew I had to bail. Daniele was waiting for me at the first switchback, and I broke the news there. I told him that if I were to con-

THE TALE OF A TERRIBLE CLIMB

Story and photos by Michael Deme

ER

23ADVENTURECYCLING.ORG

tinue, the other client would essentially be on his own because Daniele would constantly be waiting for me, and I didnt want that to happen. Really, that was just an excuse a noble one, but an excuse. Truth was, I simply wasnt prepared for this.

What did I think I was doing? Was this entire trip a mistake? How did it even come to this?

It was a fairly typical day at Adventure Cycling. As I do almost every work day, I was lovingly gazing into my computers giant eye when I spotted an incoming email notification. I recognized the name of the sender so I popped over to

my mail program and opened it. It was from Daniela Puglielli of Accent PR and it read, Belated Happy New Year! Are you still interested in going to Italy for the editorial about Italy Bike Hotels?

My mind quickly leapt back to a phone conversation that had taken place between Puglielli and I a few months before. I wanted to immediate-ly answer Yes! but I first had to recall exactly what the conversation had been about so I searched my email. Nothing. Then I searched the web for Italy Bike Hotels. Bingo! It all came flooding back. Puglielli had pitched me the idea of Adventure Cyclist publishing a feature

about bike hotels in Italy, specifically, a group of five hotels under the umbrella of Italy Cycling Holidays. These hotels not only tolerated cyclists but wel-comed them with more than words.

Once I had familiarized myself with Italy Cycling Holidays (italycycling holidays.com), I gave Puglielli a call and we discussed the idea further. As an American, what I heard was foreign to me. These hotels not only wanted to attract cyclists, they wanted to cater to them, and they were willing to offer them amenities on the premises of each hotel that people would need for a successful cycling vacation: transfer to


and from the airport; meals to keep the legs, heart, and head properly fueled; laundry service; access to gym and spa facilities; a secure bike room with an alarm to keep your beloved bicycle safe; and, if you didnt want to bring your own bike, a rental service offering high-

end bicycles. My head spun. Of course, wed be interested in

this, and I decided I had to see it for myself.

As a person of Italian ancestry, Id

always wanted to visit Italy but,

from all the sto-ries Id heard about maniacal drivers there, I didnt think bicycles would be involved.

Well, now they were, and plans started to take shape.

A conference call was arranged for a day in February with Puglielli as translator. A lot was said, most of which, unfortunately, I didnt understand. Who cares? I thought. Ive ridden bicycles in many places when Id made but scant plans. This would be a piece of

cake. These people actually liked cy-clists, were cyclists themselves. I would have guides. The stars were all aligned. And, anyway, I wouldnt fly to Italy for another seven months. Surely wed have everything sorted by then.

Six months flew by, and I was still unclear exactly what would happen once I hit the ground in the mother country. I was hoping for another con-ference call, but with the time differ-ences and everyones busy schedules, it didnt happen. No worries. Id be attending Interbike the week before my departure date so Id be too busy to worry about it. Plus I now at least had an itinerary. What more would I need? I had been riding three times per week to get ready. Was I ready? I hoped so. The time had come to fly across the Atlantic to the land of my forebears.

From Missoula, Montana, my flight took me to Denver, Los Angeles, and New York before crossing the Atlantic to Milano Malpensa Airport where

I was met by a man named Roberto who was holding a sign

with my name on it. We exchanged pleasantries in a mixture of my feeble Italian and his somewhat-adequate English. We speed-walked to his van, and away we went, destination Bormio, the location of the first of the five bike hotels I would visit. I soon suspected that perhaps Roberto had been a For-mula One race car driver in his recent past, and apparently, everyone else on the road had been as well. I loved it. These people actually knew how to drive automobiles. After my deliriously long flight pattern, I was ready to get to Hotel Funivia in Bormio ASAP, so I sat back and enjoyed the ride.

We sped through rather unremark-able landscapes for a couple of hours but soon came to the magnificent Lake Como, and as we drove from there to Bormio, the mountains towered over us. It was my first time in the Alps and count me impressed. Ive traveled extensively in the Rocky Mountains as a backpacker and bikepacker but never did the those mountains feel so close as these. Looming was the word that came to mind, and I liked it.

Soon, however, our travel speed slowed as we passed through village af-ter village. After three hours, we finally arrived in Bormio. As we drove through the village, I saw cyclists everywhere and they all looked like they were ready for the Giro dItalia. Color-coordinated spandex outfits were clearly popular here. My gear would not match theirs. Not only did I not bring such clothing along, I dont even own such kit.

When we arrived at Hotel Funivia, I was met by friendly faces, although they were somewhat tired looking. I soon realized why. Hotel Funivia was technically closing that day and the cycling season had been a busy one. Theyd be hosting a wedding that very

night and would then close for two months as they prepared for ski season. At 4,000 feet above sea level, Bormio sits at the base of the famous Stelvio Pass and is surrounded by many other villages. Within 15 kilometers, there are five ski areas, one of which, Bormio 2000 Ski Resort, is directly behind the hotel.

After my circuitous trip

A view from the Fraele Towers, Roman ruins at the top of the climb up the Cancano.


to Italy, I was also quite fatigued, so after fairly brief introductions, I went to my room. I waved my key card at the wall pad and found myself inside a beautiful and modern room not large but immaculate. I had to insert the key card into a slot in the wall by the door to activate the electricity in the room. This has two major benefits: you always know where your key card is and the

electricity in the room automatically shuts down when you remove it to leave very efficient. The bathroom was spacious as was the walk-in shower, but something wasnt right. Next to the toilet there was another toilet? No, it had fixtures like a sink. Id find out later it was a bidet, something this unsophis-ticated traveler was unfamiliar with.

After my brief tour, I hit the sack at

about 8:00 pm and was quickly out cold. Im typically lucky to get six hours of sleep per night, but not this night. Id sleep for 12 hours before waking at 8:00 am.

I had soon showered away my grogginess and was ready for breakfast. Because Hotel Funivia was officially closed, the kitchen staff was gone so I headed out the door for my first meal

Left: Daniele Schena getting ready to order us another espresso from the bar atop Stelvio Pass. Right: Memorabilia shops atop Stelvio.


in Italy. I settled in a small caf and asked for colazione. The woman waiting on me began to rattle off questions and I, despite not understanding what was being asked, kept replying si. Next thing I knew, I was feasting on cereal, eggs, ham, bacon, cake, waffles, bread, cheese, and coffee. Although Im not usually a coffee drinker, I did indulge while in Italy. It might have been the biggest breakfast Id ever eaten, all for about eight euro.

It was a beautiful morning. The mountains were covered by clouds, but the suns rays were beginning to pene-trate through. I walked around Bormio taking in one spectacular view after another. Located by the Swiss border, the village featured similar architecture with its neighbor to the north. Colorful flowers cascaded from the windowsills of chalet-style buildings. It was like a mountain paradise.

When I returned to the hotel, Dan-iele had already ventured off to Stelvio with a group of cyclists, so I was on my own for the day. Great, I would take a

warm up ride before my attempt at the 9,045-foot pass the next day. Directly behind Hotel Funivia was the climb to Bormio 2000. I checked the hotels map and it looked good to me so, after getting fitted to a carbon-fiber Pinarello

Dogma, I headed up. At 6,400 feet, the road climbs 2,300 feet over six miles at an average grade of seven-and-a-half percent.

The lightweight two-chainring Pin-arello soon found itself in its second-to-

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last climbing gear as I quickly gained altitude. This was no easy climb for me, but to the many cyclists who whizzed by, it sure seemed to be. I wondered what they ate for breakfast. Surely it contained the human equivalent of rocket fuel. Although I stopped many times to take in the amazing scenery, they only pedaled. Many a bongiorno was tossed my way over the next couple of hours, and I politely replied, Bon (gasp) gior (gasp) no.

Finally at the top, I gazed out over the peaks of the Alps. The success of the climb called for another meal, so I ordered Chicken cutlets and french fries, and washed it down with an orange Fanta. Having scarfed this meal down and wanting to avoid descending in the quickly cooling air, I pointed the Pinarello downward for the fun part. I flew down the same road Id ground my way up but soon found myself slowing for each of the many switchback turns. Aaargh! There were so many switch-backs that I could never truly let it fly. Lots of braking later, and before I knew it, I was back in Bormio.

Feeling pretty good, I rode around the village but soon found myself climbing again. Nope, thats enough for one day, I needed to save as much energy for tomorrow as possible. Stelvio would be harder than Bormio 2000. Gulp. Doubt crept in.

I returned to the hotel but stayed outside and sat in the sun. It felt good, but I was uneasy. Stelvio was on my mind, and I couldnt shake it. I went back up to my room and wrote for a while. Before long, my phone rang. It was the front desk telling me Daniele wouldnt be able to join me for dinner as planned but that reservations had been made for me at a place called al Filo. I showered again, dressed, and walked to the restaurant. For my first dinner in Italy, I ate antipasti, delicious potato pasta, and a wonderful cheese-cake for dessert, and lets not forget a bit of grappa to help with digestion. Then I was ready for more sleep.

I woke early the next morning anx-ious about the climb ahead. Ive never been known as a good climber a grinder at best. I found out why after I returned from a tour across Iceland in 2001. At 36, I was diagnosed with


asthma. Ive never had an attack, but my lungs can only take in so much air. This has many repercussions, especially when climbing. For me it means a lot of stopping. Once Ive maxed out, its the only way to recover so I can contin-ue. The key is to try and not max out, which is much harder said than done.

I met Daniele and the Australian cy-clist in Hotel Funivias Stelvio Bar, and we headed out. As Ive already written, my day would not include Stelvio.

When I broke the news to Daniele, he was disappointed. So was I. Of the many reasons I decided to take this trip, one was to find out what kind of cyclist I still was, and more important, what kind of cyclist I was going to be in the future. Since Iceland, Ive taken many short tours, but Id also suffered a major injury to my left knee and have dealt with a right ankle injury that worsens over time. More time at a desk hasnt helped, nor has aging. But I decided to rededicate myself to cycling, although I wouldnt fool myself. Id never be the cyclist I once was, but I didnt have to be.

To enjoy it again, this evolving dog would have to learn some new tricks, and this trip would hasten that learning curve.

No, I wouldnt climb Stelvio, but I could try another less daunting ride. Mortirolo? No, steeper than Stelvio. Gavia or Foscagno? Maybe. But I settled on the Cancano. Described on bormiobike.it as a simple but pleasant climb, it ascends 1,850 feet over five miles for an average gradient of seven degrees. Determined that the surrender at Stelvio would be my last, I rode on. Once again, the Pinarello was in second gear and soon first. Suffering was the norm, but it was necessary suffering if I were to conquer the physical challenges and the mental demons ahead. Pedal stroke after pedal stroke, Id prove to myself that I could do it get to the top, gain the ancient Fraele Towers. Just keep pedaling would become my mantra as Id rhythmically count off one, two, three one, two, three. I be-gan to feel that certain kind of pleasure.

Pleasure from pain may seem strange to some, and sound somewhat

stupid, but theres something about it. Pain reminds us that theres life beating inside. Time will surely bring us all a certain amount of pain, so why court it? To this question, there is no universal answer. We each need to figure it out for ourselves but, for me, avoiding pain means giving up cycling, and thats not happening at least not yet.

The land of my ancestors wouldnt be the breaking point but the turning point. 10 more days of cycling lay ahead.

But I wasnt done with Bormio yet. When I returned to Hotel Funivia, Daniele was waiting for me. He didnt want me to miss Stelvio Pass complete-ly so he offered to drive us to the top. My first thought was to decline, but he seemed eager to go and Im glad we did. What a remarkable drive it was! The road winds and hairpins for 13 miles, climbing over 4,900 feet with a maxi-mum gradient of 14 percent. The views are amazing, and at the top you can see for miles into Switzerland, Austria, and Italy. At the summit is a strip of

CONTINUED ON PAGE 59

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CONTINUED FROM PAGE 28THE TALE OF A TERRIBLE CLIMBER

tourist shops where you can buy Stelvio memorabilia, a ski area, and a caf with a bar where we drank espresso. A walk farther up a ridge takes you to the Rifugio Garibaldi, a mountain hut which accommodates travelers regard-less of their mode of transport.

During the drive, our conversation twisted and turned almost as much as the road did. We spoke about the history of the road and its construc-tion, how much water to drink on the climb, helmet use (Daniele is convinced Italian men dont like to wear helmets because it musses their hair), the kinds of people who cycle up Stelvio and the reasons why, the areas water supply, food, wine, and many other topics. It was a fun afternoon.

Back at the hotel, Daniele made plans for dinner at Vecchia Combo, one of his favorite restaurants. Of all the meals I ate in Italy over the course of three weeks, this one of local pasta, dried meats, and delicious cheeses was in the top three. It was rich and delight-ful, and a bottle of local red wine was the perfect complement. The own-ers treated Daniele like a prince and proudly described everything we ate as they placed it before us. Before leaving, I was invited into the kitchen to speak with the chef, which I considered quite an honor.

Daniele would be off early in the morning so we said our goodbyes that night. As I turned to walk up to my room, he said with gusto, Next time, you will conquer Stelvio! Perhaps I will. Stranger things have happened.

The next day, I was driven to Tirano by Danieles father-in-law to catch a train to Milan and then another to Torino where Id be whisked away to Hotel Scoiattolo in Pralormo, the second bike hotel of the five I would visit.

Michael Deme is the Editor-in-Chief of Adventure Cyclist. His Italian adventure continues in Part Two of The Tale of a Terrible Climber in Italy, which will appear in the June issue of Adventure Cyclist.

BIKE&TREKKING

Born in Cesenatico and raised in the Apennine foothills, the Nove Colli granfondo has a lot in common with one of Italys favourite cycling sons, including its love of the hills

The piratesplayground

The pirate flag flies in the early morning sun,

with a miniature model of Pantani stuck to the top for good measure

Words James spender Photography pete GodinG

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Nove Colli b Sportive

CYCLIST

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ccording to legend, Marco Pantani once competed in

the Nove Colli. To Pantanis fans that might sound pretty obvious after all, Il Pirata

was born in the host town of Cesenatico and cut his teeth cycling with local club GC

Fausto Coppi, which put on the first edition of Nove Colli in 1971. But delve into the details and even the most ardent Pantani disciple cant help but find the tale rather incredible.

As the story goes, having crashed out of the 1996 Milano-Torino after a head-on collision with a car, Pantani decided his former clubs queen race would be an ideal place to test his rehabilitated legs and regain some form. A rider of his renown would no doubt have attracted a lot of attention, so apparently Pantani took the unusual step of disguising himself as a woman, clad in a trisuit and sporting a fetching black wig. According to local folklore, it wasnt until Pantani rocketed off the front during the first

The crowds gather at the start line. As soon

as the gun goes, the pace is relentless

What Nove Colli granfondoWhere Cesenatico, ItalyNext one TBC, expected to be mid-May, 2015Distance 200km or 130kmPrice The 2014 price was 35, including jacket and free post-ride pasta, wine and beersSign up novecolli.it

climb that the amateurs saw anything amiss with this particularly wiry donna.

Where he finished and whether or not he was disqualified is unclear. The man regaling me with this tale as we wait for the Nove Colli to begin cant say for sure, but what he and our fellow participants do seem sure of is just how much Pantani still means to them.

The sun has just come up as we gather in the start pen next to the picturesque Cesenatico canal, and the race announcer has temporarily given up trying to blow the Tannoy fuses and is leading his captive audience in some kind of crackly reverie. My Italian isnt advanced enough for me to tell if it is a prayer or some kind of recycled eulogy, but what I can make out is the unmistakeable name of the man immortalised in bronze on the Cesenatico seafront. Each cry of Marco Pantani is met by mass genuflection by the cyclists around me, and in the case of one rider, actual tears flow down his cheeks and onto his bikes stem. Its a 7-Series Madone about as American as it gets but like almost every bike

the detailsWe did it for you. Now its your turn

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Sportive b Nove Colli

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real climb of the day. I do a quick bit of mental arithmetic and realise with a degree of concern that I have completed the first flat section of the course at an average speed of just under 40kmh. I know it isnt possible to maintain this intensity for the entire route, but my legs feel surprisingly good and I decide to attack the climb.

Turning up the wickBoosted by the idyllic Italian scenery all lush groves and burgeoning vineyards I hit the base of the 8km Polenta ascent as if its the only climb of the day. Ahead of me hundreds of riders are wheel-to-wheel doing the same, trooping up the hillside like an army of fluorescent ants.

By the time I get to the top and reach into my pocket for my first gel Ive come to accept that keeping pace with the front group wont end well. By now the sun is well and truly out and looks to be spoiling for a warm and humid fight, so I settle into an easier pace on the descent.

the riders rideCondor Baracchi, 1,799.99 (frameset); approx 3,865 as pictured, condorcycles.com

The Baracchi takes centre stage in Condors endurance bike line-up. Its got a proportionally shorter top tube and taller head tube than Condors out-and-out race bike, the Leggero, which on paper makes it an ideal candidate for the Nove Colli. And in reality, Id say it delivers on just about every promise it makes.

Built up with Ultegra 6800 Di2, Shimano Ultegra 6800 wheelset and Pro finishing kit, the Baracchi has a solid but light feel. Condor reckons the new rear triangle has increased rear end stiffness and Id agree big efforts seem to translate well onto the road. But I did have one or two hairy moments when the back wheel drifted out slightly through tight, fast bends to my mind indicating that the bumps in the road werent being absorbed by the bike, which, with 25mm tyres at 95psi, I put down to the overtly stiff frame. Its not a big deal, but it made me treat the Baracchi with a bit more racing respect than I thought it initially deserved.

Covering 200km and nine major climbs, the Nove Colli is as brutal as it is beautiful

As the road levels out again, I realise I am now more comfortable physically, but the Italian-race psyche is still taking its toll on my gentlemanly English mind. Every time it seems like our group is forming a coherent, energy-saving unit where riders come through and drop back in an efficient manner a strange fever takes hold and five riders come steaming down the flanks to the front. Not that they then take turns themselves, but instead sit third or fourth wheel, seemingly proud of their pointless leapfrog until the process repeats itself and another five go to the front to push back those that went before.

If we were nearing a decisive bunch sprint I might have more sympathy, but with three back-to-back hills on the horizon I decide to let myself slip to the back and sit in the slipstream. Each of the next three climbs is steeper than the last, with the averages rising from 4.7% to 5.5% to 6.9%. In themselves nothing lung-bustingly difficult, but by the third assault, which ramps

I realise with a degree of concern that I have completed the first flat section at an average of 40kmh

here its dripping with the finest Campagnolo jewels, which right now seems even more fitting as he clutches the crucifix around his neck with one hand and a Super Record Ergolever in the other. Im not sure whether to laugh or cry with him, but 30 seconds later both options are plucked from my grasp. The announcer is back to screaming excitedly as the sharp crack of the start gun echoes around us, signalling that the 44th Nove Colli granfondo is underway.

Sportive and granfondo seem to be almost interchangeable terms, both describing mass-participation cycling events, only one word is from the French cyclosportif, and the other from the Italian for big ride. However, in my experience there is a difference, specifically when the event is in Italy.

At over 200km long and boasting nearly 4,000m of climbing, granfondos such as the Nove Colli dont just have professional race- type statistics, they have professional race- type riders. And its not just the kit its the attitude. Where for similar events its enough for participants to get around the course in a decent time, the riders in Italian granfondos come to race each other, and even before the group Im in has passed the starting time- check Im already acutely aware of this fact.

Ive barely ridden a kilometre before I find my speed hitting the high 40s, and even then other

riders are still buzzing past me, weaving in and out of the gigantic pack and cutting corners. For a split second I hope its just the crowd gathered on the bridge overhead thats spurring everybody to ride so hard, but as the kilometres fly by and the huge peloton inhales and exhales like a crazed concertina around the closed-off roundabouts, I realise its wishful thinking. Time to make a choice: get dropped, place by place, until I find my true, ponderous calling, or try to embrace the race but risk being exposed as a fraud. Whether its the sense of occasion or some misplaced pride as a foreigner, I make the decision to go for the latter. Only time will tell if it was the right move.

Preventing poor performanceAccording to the highest authority (Google) Nove Colli translates as nine hills, which of course means that this event has nine climbs. Thats not to say its in the mountains these are foothills by the standards of the Alps or Dolomites but nevertheless the course profile shows a series of ugly spikes, which unnerved me enough before the race that I decided to scrawl the distances and severity of all nine ascents onto a piece of tape and stick it to my top tube. It was too long for my stem.

Around 28km into the ride, my masking tape strip informs me that Im about to hit the first

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to 18% for a spell, Im happy to be on the receiving end of yet another winding downhill.

Like the climbs, the descents arent overly long, but they do have some tight hairpins, so the smell of brake pads lingers in the countrified air, and together with the blur of trees and fizz of tarmac makes for a heady sensory blend. Yes, it can be frustrating being made to force the pace and jostle for lines, but when theres no pedalling involved, just a series of quick side-to-side leans and low-down body tucks, properly racing down descents is the most exhilarating feeling in the world.

When youve got to goThus far I havent stopped, despite the devilishly inviting spreads of local hams and cheeses laid on at the food stops atop each of the last three hills. But Ive been knocking back gels and drinking rather a lot of water, and my bladder is starting to produce the dull warning throbs that signal were both in need of a pause. I toy with something I once heard, that greyhounds run faster when they need to urinate (so never bet on one you see cocking its leg before the traps), but figure that with 90km and five climbs remaining, no matter how fast this discomfort makes me Im unlikely to hold on to the end.

For a while I consider on the fly action -la the professionals, but decide that it would be

unfair on those riders behind me. Im not about to break social decorum for the sake of a bicycle race, so opt to pull into a verge.

Back in the saddle and a kilo lighter I glance at my Garmin and see Ive completed well over half the distance in less than four hours. A mental audit of legs and engine seems to suggest theres a lot left in the tank so, with renewed vigour and delusions of a sub-7.5 hour finishing time, I attack the next climb. And the next. And the next. Then, all of a sudden, pop! Its as if someone has removed a stopper from the heel of each foot and is draining the energy right out of my legs. For a split second I struggle to understand the sensation, but quickly it dawns that Im in the throes of blowing up.

I drop down through the gears and increase my cadence in the hope that I can somehow ride just under that critical level of outright bonking for long enough to reach the next food stop. Its agonising, but whats worse are the stabbing pains in my stomach and the mental kicking Im giving myself for neglecting all those delicious foods passed by. My Condor for a banana!

The feeling that I may surrender to exhaustion ebbs and flows. One minute it recedes slightly and I convince myself Im back to full strength, then boom a hairpin rears up and smashes the squares Im already pedalling and scatters the remaining watts to the wind.

Im no stranger to energy crashes, but Id yet to experience one on anything other than a training ride, so having finally made it to the rest stop on the eighth climb, I shove as much food into and about my person as is humanly possible, including a banana up one bibshort leg and a salami sandwich up the other. I get an odd look from one of the volunteers, but undeterred in my last-gasp fuelling strategy, I grab one of the Cokes hes pouring and neck it. Its the sweetest thing Ive tasted all day, so I grab another cup. Only this one isnt Coke but some abomination of cold instant coffee. He looks at me with a smile that says Im not the first to make this mistake. I shoot him a look that I hope conveys how useful it would be to label the drinks.

As I remount my bike I can honestly say Id rather eat an inner tube than cycle any further. My right leg trembles as I swing my left over the saddle and, once on, my head slumps between my shoulder blades like a breezeblock being dropped on a cheap tent. Cycling is no longer beautiful. There are still 40 kilometres to go.

Its as if someone has removed a stopper from each foot and is draining the energy right out of my legs

The red flag signals a dangerous descent

something most of the Italian riders

seem to relish

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TravelThe nearest international airport to Cesenatico is Bologna, which has a regular influx of flights from the UK each day. However, the budget airlines tend to fly either very early or relatively late. Expect to pay upwards of 110 return plus bike carriage.

accommodaTionWe stayed at the superb Hotel Lungomare (hlungomare.com) right on the beach front. Its geared up for cyclists, with a spacious workshop, hire bikes

for the evening and a free all-day buffet. But best of all is the wellness centre and gym, where expertly administered sports massages are a post-ride treat.

BikesBe warned lots of cyclists travel to the Nove Colli from the UK, so make sure youve booked your bike onto your flight before turning up at the airport, especially on the way home. If you dont fancy taking your own, Hotel Lungomare has a fleet of high-end machines

ready to go. Contact the hotel for frame sizes. If they dont have yours, theyll order one in.

Thanks Thanks to event organiser Matteo Gozzoli for showing us around and motor-pacing me to the start line despite the ungodly hour of the morning. Thanks also to the incredibly hospitable Silvia Pasolini, who runs the Hotel Lungomare and knows more about the race than almost any of the cyclists competing (her father helped set it up).

The unbearable heaviness of beingThe last climb is something of a blur. On paper its the second steepest of the day, and in between sips of water that a fellow rider has just given me I curse the tape on my top tube for reminding me of this every time I drop my head. Which is often. Im concentrating so hard on bobbing and weaving my body in time with the pedals that I almost miss the fact that Ive managed to crest the summit. Im still in a state of shock at this unlikely progress when I catch sight of my Garmins screen and see that, while the 7.5-hour finish is not about to happen, I could still manage less than eight.

By now Im well beyond the stage of being buried and into a state of decomposition. I latch onto the riders who have bunched at the bottom of the last descent and hope Ill be able to cling onto a wheel that will drag me to the end. Then all of a sudden, as quickly as it came, the bonking funk begins to lift from my aching body. I dont know whether its the salami-short sandwich or cola-coffee combo, but where there was once nothing I suddenly feel like Ive got something. Not quite as much as the something I had on standby back at breakfast this morning, but it seems like it might be enough.

Rounding the corner back into town, driven on by the crowds drumming on advertising boards and shouting their encouragement, I suddenly realise Im just metres from the coveted line. And then, somehow, its over.

For the second time today relief envelops me, and without thinking I turn around and hug the nearest person. Unfortunately its not one of the beautiful ladies handing out medals but instead a rather sweaty fellow cyclist. Luckily hes Italian so hes used to it, even if right now its just his legs supporting the entire weight of my body.James Spender is keen to know why there arent more piccolofondo events in Italy

How we got there Follow in our wheel tracks

This is one wall that Cyclist is relieved to hit

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ADVENTURECYCLING06 2015

E A R LY RO U N D -T H E -WO R L D E R S 38

Fearless Travelers

BICYCLING ACROSS PERSIA

10

A TERRIBLE CLIMBER IN

ITALY, PART II28

WILLIE WEIR MEETS ZEKE

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JUNE 2015Vol.42 No.5

A publication of ADVENTURE CYCLING ASSOCIATION

Images of


A Terrible Climber in Italy, Part IISince the publication of the Part I of A Terrible Climber in Italy in the February issue, Italy Cycling Vacations has re-branded and is now known as Bici Amore Mio (biciamoremio.it). From my recent conversations with them, their services have not changed they still provide wonderful accommodations and services for cyclists visiting Italy.

Leaving Bormio was difficult. It was a mountainous wonderland, the kind of place I could see myself retiring someday. But the other bike hotels beckoned.

The next morning, Daniele Schenas father-in-law gave me a ride to the train station in Tirano. He spoke very little English and I speak very little Italian, but we managed to communi-cate when necessary. Besides, he was having what sounded to me like an orchestra of a conversation with a friend on his mobile phone for most of the drive.

Little did I know, but my train tour of Italy was about to begin. The ride to Milan was on a regu-lar train, but the one I rode to Torino was a Red Arrow high-speed train. At 300 KPH, I was in Torino before I could even take a nap. Maybe I was just excited to ride on my first high-speed train (not counting the Amtrak Acela Express from New York to Washington, DC. European trains are different animals altogether!)

Gianni Marsaglia, the owner of lHotel Lo Scoiattolo, picked me up at the train station and drove me to the town of Pralormo in the Piedmont re-gion. His English was passable where-

as my Italian remained nauseatingly bad. Actually, I believe it was already worsening. Id thought Id be able to communicate effectively in Italian, if only crudely, but even that had already become just a pipe dream.

Scoiattolo, although much different in character than the Hotel Funivia, was also immaculate. I took a swim in the pool and sat in the sun for a bit and admired the property, which featured a large garden (yard) with a special section for kids again, all immaculately kept.

Dinner was at 7:30 pm and I hadnt eaten all day because my last meal, dinner the night before in Bormio, was amazing and had strong legs, but now I was very hungry. As a result, I went a bit overboard, attacking the buffet as if making up for my inability to do so to the many climbs Id made

so far. Unfortunately, I failed to realize that the first and second courses, as well as dessert a delicious green sorbet were still to come. The ravioli and swordfish carpaccio were outstanding, but because of my overindulgence in the buffet, I couldnt finish the ravioli (Unnacceptable!). I promised myself not to let such a thing happen again.

The next mornings breakfast spread was excel-lent (bread, thinly sliced ham, cheese, yogurt, cereals, pas-tries, fruit, etc.), and I packed it in again. Good thing, because my guides, Davide (pronounced Dveeduh) and Sergio, had a devilish ride planned for me. If Bormios climbing was relentless for its

constancy, Piedmonts climbing was sneakily its equal. Although it wasnt Stelvio Pass, we may have climbed the equivalent distance, plus climb after climb were quite steep. And Davide and Sergio were either whistling, chat-ting each other up, or on their mobile phones, all while I sucked in all the Italian air I could. It was on this ride that I began to think Italian cyclists are simply super-human. I cant believe they dont win

Story andphotos by Michael Deme

Four of the cyclists in the Garda Bike Hotel group take a break at a caf high above Lake Garda, Verona.

3130 ADVENTURE CYCLIST june 2015 ADVENTURECYCLING.ORG

the Giro dItalia, the Vuelta a Espaa and the Tour de France every year.

To my guides credit, they were very patient with me. Each time I reached the top of a climb, they would be wait-ing, using their mobile phones. Im pretty sure Sergio was Googling where the next climbing opportunity was. I thought, Hey, I know where it is. Its anywhere you look! Which is true. But I was finally figuring my own approach to these climbs. A method for the mad, no doubt.

We carried on with Davide and Sergio answering in fabulous detail the many questions that streamed out of me. I had waited my whole life to visit the land of my ancestors and I wasnt going to let the fact that I could barely breath stop me from finding out ev-erything I could about this enchanting country.

As we rode, we came upon a police road block. At first, I thought we had cycled upon a crime scene, but no. Much better. The Italian National Cy-cling team, including 2013 Giro dItalia and 2014 Tour de France winner Vin-cenzo Nibali, were training in the area and the police were keeping the roads clear. We only had to wait about 10 minutes before the team came streak-ing by. Im not typically star struck, but that was a pretty cool stroke of luck.

Soon, it was time to stop for lunch, and the boys took me to Eataly. Yeah, you read that correctly. I was extreme-ly skeptical, hoping instead that we would have stopped at some quintes-sential Italian relic, but my disappoint-ment was soon diminished. Eataly (eataly.com) is a high-end eatery/deli/market with an incredible selection of local wines, beer, dried meats, produce, etc., and lunch was delicious.

The only reason I didnt leave with a bottle of wine was because I didnt want to carry it in my hydration pack, a piece of gear Italians barely under-stand. (If it wont fit in your jersey pocket, you dont need it!). But Im not easily swayed and I prefer to have plenty of room for what I consider necessities and found items.

We capped off lunch with an espresso, naturally. Im not usually a coffee drink-er, but when I travel, I dont want to pass on anything. If the locals eat worms, Ill

eat worms. Fortunately, Italian espresso, generally, happens to be excellent.

We continued riding along quiet roads and past many vineyards, the locals busily tending their vines. We climbed up to a hilltop castle and gazed out over the Piedmontese countryside and the rolling hills of Langhe. We spoke about the history of the area, its culture, and its current state of affairs until it was time to head back to the hotel.

Before dinner, I availed myself of Scoiattolos jacuzzi and sauna, soaking and sweating out the days ride, spend-ing much of my time reminding myself to go easy at the dinner buffet. Mission accomplished. I nibbled a bit but saved my appetite for the full courses. The meal was, again, delicious.

The next day, Davide and I took the

van with a couple of city bikes to Tori-no, the capital of Piedmont and a city of just over 900,000 people. We parked at a trailhead, hopped on the Bianchi townies, and headed for the city cen-ter. The trail through the park was not overly crowded, but there were quite a few others riding, walking, running, roller blading, and skateboarding. No worries everybody gets it; people just make way for each other. Every imaginable type of person rides bikes, and we were just two of them.

We rode along the Po, a very serene river, perfect for the many training rowers we saw. After a couple of kilo-meters, we arrived at the Museo Na-zionale dellAutomobile. I mentioned to Davide that, if there were time, Id like to stop for a visit on our way back.

Americans are known for their love of cars, but the Italians are also passion-ate about automobiles, and I was keen to see what this museum in the home of Fiat had to offer.

First, we tackled a climb, which cul-minated at a popular overlook above the city marvelous. The fog was be-ginning to burn off, and the red-roofed city looked alive and vibrant. So we headed into it, but only after another espresso break.

Id never toured a large metro area by bike before but, with Davide leading the way, we covered a lot of ground and saw many magnificent and inter-esting sights. Before joining Scoiattalo and Bici Amore Mio as a guide, Davide had worked at the Museo Nazionale del Cinma, and he recommended I pay a visit. Many people know Rome as the capital of Italian cinema, but Tori-no can hold its own. The museum was enlightening and generally terrific. I couldve spent hours ogling its massive collection of cameras alone, but Davide was waiting outside watching the bikes so I didnt want to linger too long. I did want to take the panoramic glass elevator to the viewing platform of the Mole Antonelliana, which houses the cinema museum. If you ever visit To-rino, dont miss it. The view of the city from atop the Mole is phenomenal.

Once I reconnected with Davide, we rode through the city until we found a sidewalk caf for lunch. It was located on a piazza that housed the National Museum of the Italian Risorgimento on the Palazzo Carignano.

And so it came to pass that I had my first pizza in Italy, a monumental occasion. I was born and raised in New Haven, Connecticut, a place renowned for its excellent Naples-style pizza, so I had been looking forward to this since I first started planning the trip. It wasnt cut into slices so I had to dig in with a knife and fork, a no-no in New Haven. Well, I wasnt in New Haven so knife and fork it was. It was fresh and hot, but I couldnt hold back. Whats a slightly burned roof of the mouth between friends at such a heavily an-ticipated moment? It was worth it. The pizza didnt disappoint, nor did the mouth-cooling gelato.

Back on the bikes, we bobbed and

The author rides the cobblestones in front of the first-century Verona Arena in Piazza Bra.


weaved our way through the crowds, nobody minding in the least. We ducked down alley after alley, visiting one interesting gem from antiquity after another. It was a whirlwind tour and very stimulating on many levels.

Davide knew I wanted to visit the auto museum, so after another hour or so, we headed back toward the van. It was pretty cool that we were able to ride bicycles right up to the entrance of an auto museum, but it shows how accepted the bicycle is in Italian cul-ture. Again, Davide waited outside with the bikes. With all possible sincerity, he said hed forgotten to bring a lock, but I think hes seen these museums so many times, he just couldnt muster up the necessary enthusiasm. But I could.

Inside was an auto lovers dream, which I wouldnt consider myself to be, but the machines significance in

Western culture cant be denied, and a good museum is a good museum. The Museo Nazionale dellAutomobile is a good museum. There were many beau-tifully maintained and restored cars from all over the world, but most from Italy, Germany, England, and the U.S.

Cars, engines, frames, race cars, futuristic cars, videos you name it, the Museo had it. A video about the size difference between European and American cars was extremely inter-esting. And a display of where cars are now made around the world and how many cars are owned per capita was an eye-opener. It turns out there are a more cars per person in Italy, Canada, Germany, and Iceland than in the U.S.

Once out of the museum, it was a short jaunt back to the van, and before long we were back at the Scoiattolo. Id be meeting Gianni and Sergio at 6:00

am the next day so they could drop me off at the train station in Torino as I began my next journey to Cesenatico on the Adriatic Sea. They would then pick up Davide in Torino and head to England for the Cycle Show 2014 trade event in Birmingham.

Navigating Italian train stations can be a bit intimidating but I managed and soon arrived in Cesenatico where a woman named Laura took me the short distance to the beachfront Hotel Lungomare, another immaculate estab-lishment. I got situated in my room and soon was strolling on the beach, which I seemingly could have done all the way to Rimini.

When I returned, I met Silvia Pa-solini, the hotel owner, and I chatted up the staff. Ive never been more convinced that English is the modern equivalent of Latin in earlier times. Its

the language that people of the world use to communicate with each other, and we single-language Americans are lucky for it.

At 5:30 pm, Marco Agostini took me on a tour of Cesenatico. We walked along the citys ancient canal that still uses a lock designed by Leonardo da Vinci to keep the sea at bay. Cesenati-co is the home of Marco Pantani, the great bike racer and climber who won both the Giro dItalia and Tour de France in 1998, the last person to do so in the same year, and we visited a small but impressive museum ded-icated to Il Pirata. Pantani died in 2004 from cocaine poisoning. His life spiraled downward after a blood test revealed a 52-percent level of hema-tocrit during the 1999 Giro, resulting in his expulsion. His death in 2004 has been a big blow to this village

where he remains a hero despite the circumstances at the end of his career and life.

The next day, Marco and I set out at 11:00 am. We rode over flatlands before reaching some climbs, but they were not as steep as Bormio or Langhe. I told Marco that long, steep climbs werent my strength so we started slowly too slowly but we were talking about the history of the area so it was fine. Eventually, I told him he could pick up the pace, and he took us up to 20 KPH. I encouraged him to go faster still so we began to pick up steam. By the time we got to the climbs, we had been humming along at around 30 KPH. After the climbing Id done in the previous regions, I felt a bit stronger, but facts are facts and my lungs can only take in so much air, so I fell behind Marco

on the steeper, longer climbs. At the top of one climb, we stopped

for espresso. The bar seemed to be in a lonely spot, but soon many other cyclists were stopping in. The number of cyclists in the Cesenatico area is as-tounding. Theyre everywhere and on every kind of bike but the road bike rules. Its truly amazing to see.

We climbed a bit more, and then we turned around. On the way back, Marco cranked it up, and we sped back to Hotel Lungomare, stopping only once at a local market where I saw the biggest salami I ever hope to see.

When we got back, we tucked into the cyclists-only lunch buffet of local seafood, pasta, dried meats and chees-es, and bread.

After eating, we took advantage of the hotel spa, soaking in the hot tub and dozing in the sauna and Turkish

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Above: Nicola Verdolin (left) and the Garda Bike Hotel group take a break on one of the days climbs. Center: The author rides past the Basilica San Zeno in Verona. Right: Many astounding treats await the curious visitor at a local market near Cesenatico.


bath. Theres nothing better after a good ride.

On our ride the next day, Marco didnt hold back and we rode at 28 to 30 kph the entire time unless we started to chat about American movies or mu-sic. All in all, it was a good ride, and we stopped at the Pantani family residence. It felt a bit weird, but it seems the fami-ly is used to it.

Upon our return, I showered up and, after another wonderful dinner, hopped on one of Hotel Lungomares city bikes and headed into Cesenatico. It was a beautiful early fall night, and I sped toward town. Once there, I was surprised to see how much was going on. Music was blasting and people were buzzing in

and out of shops, bars, and restaurants on both sides of the canal. So much for sleepy, traditional Italy on a Sunday. I tootled around on the city bike, stopping occasionally to take it all in before head-ing back to the hotel.

In the morning, I hopped on a slow train to Milan and then took another Red Arrow to Verona where Alberto Verdolin picked me up. Twenty min-utes later, we were in Peschiera where I met Nicola, Albertos older brother. Nicola is owner of Garda Bike Hotel and the engine behind Bici Amore Mio. Garda Bike Hotel is a fantastic place. My room even had a round bed, another first for me.

After introductions and a shower, it

was time for dinner. Salad and dessert were buffet style, but for first and sec-ond courses we had sit-down service. On my table was a flier about the next days ride. Yikes. 110 kilometers with a 4,500-foot climb along the way, so I ate well, drank a couple glasses of the local red, and hit the sack.

On this ride, we would have company. Tracey and Mickey from Colorado and Terry and Ari from Toronto would join us. Off we went through Peschiera, then down the east side of Lake Garda. After 25 kilometers, we caught a ferry across the lake. Nicola and I took time on the boat to discuss Bici Amore Mio, its formation, and the concept behind the bike hotels. He had been president of

a group of 50 bike hotels, but he wasnt getting the level of cooperation from the government or the other hotels that he wanted, so he started over with this group of five Funivia, Scoiattolo, Lungomare, Garda, and Silva.

He seemed concerned that most of his clients come primarily to hammer out miles. Our conversation turned to Adventure Cyclist and the kinds of peo-ple who read it. It seemed to me that hed like to have more people visit who like to ride but who would also enjoy the other amazing travel opportunities Italy has to offer.

Once on the other side of Lake Garda, we began the long climb. The air was heavy with the haze of smoke from the local vineyard burn piles but I could see how magnificent the views were. Up and up we went until we came to a little village where we

stopped for espresso and gelato. We stood on a balcony that seemed to be floating in the sky. I wanted to lin-ger and enjoy the view, but we had a ferry to catch. I may be a bit slow on the climbs but not on the descents. I flew ahead of the group and reveled in the joy that only flying downhill on a bicycle can bring. Unfortunate-ly, we missed the ferry and decided to ride around the lake back to the hotel. Good thing Nicolas father had followed us in a van because after 100 kilometers (mostly climbing) with another 45 to go, we were all ready to hop in for a ride back to the hotel.

Once we returned, I showered up and met with Michele Mutterle of the Federazione Italiana Amici della Bicicletta (FIAB) onlus and Albergbici (fiab-onlus.it, albergabici.it, bicitalia.org). We discussed their efforts to

promote bike touring in Italy and the network of accommodations needed to support it. They are the Italian partner of EuroVelo and have established a 10,000-kilometer network of touring routes throughout Italy. Tent camping as Americans know it is not common in Italy so much of their focus is on the accommodations along the routes. He and Nicola spoke at length while I drank wine and enjoyed listening to two Italians use the language of my ances-tors like instruments in an orchestra. I could have sat there all night, but it was time for dinner.

I joined Terry and Ari in the dining room. It was their third bike trip to Italy, and the next day they would head to the Adriatic coast. We discussed the experience of cycling in Italy and how different it is from what were used to in North America. We all agreed that

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Left: The view of Torino from the Mole Antonelliana atop the Museo Nazionale del Cinema; Center: The van ready to leave lHotel Lo Scoiattolo; Right: After a mad dash, Andrea and Sergio enjoy the train ride back to Peschiera.

36 ADVENTURE CYCLIST june 2015

the concept of the bike hotels made these trips enjoyable and surprisingly affordable.

On my second day in Peschiera, it rained hard, which was good. That meant no riding. My legs were shot, and I needed a rest day. Instead of riding, Andrea arranged a tour of the Zenato Winery, famous for its Valpolicella and Amarrone, as well as the other wonder-ful wines made from the indigenous Trebbiano di Lugana varietal. I enjoyed the tour led by a highly knowledgeable guide who ended the proceedings with a wonderful wine and cheese tasting. I left with a couple of bottles of the delicious Amarrone as gifts for some recently married friends and family. I also purchased a bottle of grapa for me. Go figure.

On our way back to Garda Bike Hotel, we stopped at a medieval village and wandered about discussing various subjects of interest, with me asking most of the questions. Some things can be learned by reading books and others cannot, and these are the things that interest me most.

On Day 3 at Garda, Davide had come from Torino to meet with Nicola so Sergio came along and rode with Andrea and me into Verona. Because I had to catch a train at 2:50 pm, it was a speedy trip and a best of tour, but Andreas guide skills came to the fore and he managed, during our short time, to take me to many fascinating and historic places, including the famous Ponte Pietra, an ancient stone bridge that crosses the Adige River.

We werent going to make it back to Peschiera in time so we flew to

the train station and jumped into the space between passenger cars with our bikes. It was nerve wracking and exhilarating. We arrived back at 1:40 pm so I busted it to my room, speed packed, took a shower, and we were off to the Verona train station with Andrea doing his best Mario Andretti imper-sonation. We made it by a hair, and I was on another Red Arrow Frecciarossa (no stops) with two minutes to spare. Fortunately, Nicola had shoved a lunch bag in my carry-on so I had something to eat on the train. As I sat eating, it made me think of the many times an older family member had thought to make sure I was well nourished. Mem-ories flooded in, and I sadly realized my time in Italy was beginning to slip away.

Adriano of Silva Hotel Splendid was waiting for me at the Roma Termini train station. We hopped on a crowd-ed commuter train and soon arrived

at Fiuggi. After a 15-minute van ride, we were at the hotel. The Silva Hotel Splendid is more of a classic hotel than the others and the biggest. There were more non-cycling guests, many to visit Fiuggis thermal baths. Formerly Anticoli di Campagna, Pope Boniface VIII, once claimed he had been healed of kidney stones by the mineral waters from the nearby Fiuggi spring. Michel-angelo made this same claim, stating he was cured of the only kind of stone I couldnt love.

My first ride with Adriano was on mountain bikes, and it was nice to be on a rig with a triple chainring. The countryside was green and it seemed more devoid of people than anywhere else Id been, which seemed odd be-cause Fiuggi is only about 30 kilome-ters from Rome.

After our ride, we went for a drive

CONTINUED ON PAGE 62

A guide leads a tour of Zenato Winery in Peschiera del Garda. Their Amaronne is world famous.

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A TERRIBLE CLIMBER IN ITALY

up to the Comune di Fumone. The castle there was the main papal stronghold in southern Latium, and Pope Celestine V had been jailed there after his renunciation of the papal throne.

We walked the steep, slippery cobblestone streets and visited the church of Santa Maria Annunziata, which houses relics of St. Sebastian. This was quintessential Italy, no doubt.

That night, I had dinner with Mar-co Giorgi, the hotel manager. Marco regaled me with various tales, and it turned out that many of his relatives live in the U.S., including Bridgeport, Connecticut, only 40 miles from where I grew up. He excitedly told me story about the infamous Crown Prince of Indonesia coming to stay and cycle there with his entourage and causing all kinds of mayhem.

The next day would be my last day of riding in Italy. Adriano and I climbed and descended through many small villages, houses clinging to every hilltop and steep slope.

We stopped at as many markets as possible for espresso and gelato, and we rode a bike trail that skirted and rolled through the mountains with spectacular views at every turn. I knew, at some point, this day would end, and riding bikes in Italy would, like all things, become but a fading memory. Such is our fate.

But I wasnt done with Italy just yet. The next day, I would take a train to Naples and spend a week in southern Italy, visiting villages with which I have family ties. After that, Id spend a few days in Rome, wandering around the spectacle that is the Eternal City, a place that epit-omizes Italy for me a querulous mixture of both the modern and the ancient.

But those are tales for another place and another time.

Michael Deme is the Editor-in-Chief of Adventure Cyclist and the publications director of Adventure Cycling Association.

CICLOTURISTA01 2014

LA NOVE COLLI RACCONTATA DAI PARTECIPANTI Abitudini, impressioni e fatiche dei protagonisti della Nove Colli

LA NOVE COLLI AS TOLD BY THE PARTICIPANTS Habits, impressions and efforts of the stars in the Nove Colli

EBERHARD SCHAUER

RDIGER KAUFMANN

To get a better understanding of the Nove Colli its a good idea to mingle with the participants and listen to their stories of the challenges, their interests and especially the motivations which each year spur 12,000 cyclists from all over the world to converge on Cesenatico to take on a gruelling route which, when all is said and done, leads to a tremen-dous sense of achievement. Behind each participant there is a story made up of habits, tastes and different ways of approaching a competition that requires a strong dose of commitment and effort. There are many aspects to consider: how much time you have to train during the winter, solutions for accommodations and what you can eat as soon as youve rolled out of bed. DIEGO MONACO from Cusano Milanino has already ridden the roads in Romagna 7 times and the 2014 edition will mark his eighth time participating. Hes a regular guest at the Hotel Miramare di Cesenatico and when asked what he finds special about the queen of the granfondo events he has no doubt: The route, the time of year, the reception and the organization.Then its useful to get an idea of the route so the standard question is, Which climb is the hardest?Diego answers: Definitely the Barbotto, but he points out that he has always ridden the shorter, 130-km route so he isnt quick to evaluate the other climbs. Is the hospitality in Romagna really tangible or is this just a legend? I can say that a few years ago,

the day after the race, some team mates and I were walking along Cesenaticos Porto Canale and we were watching some fishermen at work. As soon as they saw us they called us over and gave us a ton of mussels and clams. This is the atmosphere you live and breathe in Cesenatico.Going back to the best meal to have before the grandfondo, Diego with the huge selection that he always finds at the buffet chooses to load up on hearty sandwiches, cakes and lots of coffee. Lets go to Switzerland to talk to Mister EBERHARD SCHAUER, a veritable veteran of the Nove Colli who will surpass his 20th participation with the 2014 edition. Schauer is a regular at the hotel Beau Soleil in Cesenatico and this is how he sees the Nove Colli: Its a big party with lots of people who share the same views and interests.When it comes to the route, Schauer mentions two names: The Barbotto for the short route while for the long one the final climb on the Gorolo is absolutely exhausting.Schauer underscores the importance of prepara-tion on the morning before the start: At 5 in the morning you need to cover up to get to the starting grid because the temperature is still quite cool. As for his advice on nutrition he says, Im used to bread and jam, and cereal, and Im a stickler for staying hydrated, so I suggest energy drinks high in vitamins and minerals. RDIGER KAUFMANN from Germany already has 11 Nove Colli under his belt, and now hes getting ready for his twelfth. He always stays at the hotel Valverde in Cesenatico. Mister Kaufmann confesses

Per capire lo spirito della Nove Colli necessario immergersi tra i partecipanti e ascoltare le loro sfide, i loro interessi e, soprattutto, le motivazioni che ogni anno spingono 12.000 ciclisti ormai provenienti da tutto il mondo a muoversi fino a Cesenatico per affrontare un percorso molto impegnativo ma che alla fine riempie di soddisfazioni.Dietro ad ogni partecipante c una storia fatta di abitudini, gusti e modi diversi di affrontare una com-petizione che richiede una buona dose di impegno e fatica.Sono molti gli aspetti da tenere in considerazione: quanto tempo si ha a disposizione durante linverno per allenarsi, a quali strutture ci si rivolge per lospitalit e cosa si riesce a mangiare appena alzati dal letto.

DIEGO MONACO da Cusano Milanino ha gi solcato per 7 volte le strade romagnole e quella del 2014 sar lottava partecipazione. Ospite fisso dellhotel Miramare di Cesena-tico alla domanda cosa trova di speciale nella regina delle granfondo non ha dubbi: Il percorso, il periodo, laccoglienza e lorga-nizzazione.Poi utile farsi unidea sul tracciato e allora la domanda dobbligo qual la salita pi dura? Diego risponde: Sicuramente il Bar-botto ma specifica che ha sempre fatto il percorso breve da 130km per cui non si spin-ge a valutare le altre salite.Lospitalit romagnola tangibile o si tratta di una leggenda: Posso solo dire che qual-che anno fa, allindomani della gara passeg-giavo insieme ad altri compagni di squadra sul porto canale di Cesenatico e stavamo osservando dei pescatori al lavoro. Questi appena ci hanno visti ci hanno chiamati re-galandoci una valanga di cozze e vongole, questo il clima che si respira a Cesenatico.

Tornando al pasto ideale prima della gran-fondo Diego nella grande offerta che trova sempre al buffet sceglie di abbondare con panini imbottiti, torte e tanto caff

Ci spostiamo in svizzera da signor EBERHARD SCHAUER un vero e proprio veterano della Nove Colli che con ledizione 2014 superer le 20 partecipazioni.Schauer cliente fisso dellhotel Beau Soleil di Cesenatico vede cos la Nove Colli: Si tratta di una grande festa con tanta gente che ha affinit di vedute e interessi..Per quanto riguarda il percorso Schauer fa due nomi: Il Barbotto per il percorso breve mentre per il percorso lungo la salita finale di Gorolo davvero faticosa..Schauer sottolinea limportanza della pre-parazione al mattino prima del via: Alle 5 di mattina bisogna coprirsi per arrivare alla partenza perch la temperatura ancora bassa per lalimentazione invece i suoi consigli prevedono sono abituato al pane

e marmellata, ai cereali e sto molto attento allidratazione, per cui consiglio bibite ricche di sali minerali..

RDIGER KAUFMANN dalla Germania ha gi alle spalle ben 11 Nove Colli e si appre-sta a prendere parte alla dodicesima. Ospite fisso dellhotel Valverde di Cesenatico, il si-gnor Kaufmann ci confessa il suo amore per Cesenatico e per la Romagna, amore che lo spinge a fare 900 km ogni anno: La Nove Colli non una granfondo come tutte le altre, c qualcosa di speciale. Lorganizza-zione sempre eccezionale e nella citt gi nei giorni precedenti si respira unatmosfera unica, vibrante ed emozionante..La parte pi ardua del percorso rimane il Barbotto: Conosco ormai quelle strade a memoria, faccio almeno due vacanze allan-no a Cesenatico, percorro spesso quelle sali-te anche se devo ammettere che il Barbotto mi spingo ad affrontarlo solo in occasione della gara..

Quella di Rudi Kaufmann per la Nove Colli simi-le ad una malattia: Esco da lavoro in Germania alle 12:00 del venerd e alle 23:30 circa sono a Cesenatico dopo 900km di automobile. Il sabato mi rilasso insieme alla moglie, la domenica il grande giorno e, finita la gara, mi rimetto subito in macchina per essere di nuovo in ufficio alle 8 in punto del luned!..Rudi Kaufmann non molto interessato allali-mentazione pre gara: Il buffet della struttura che scelgo davvero ricco, ce n per tutti i gusti ma credo che non conti ci che si mangia alla mattina ma come ci si allena nelle settimane precedenti..

MARIO SERRATORE un neofita della Nove Colli e dal 2012 ogni anno compie il suo pelle-grinaggio dalla Svizzera fino a Cesenatico per partecipare ad un evento che ormai giudica im-perdibile: Ledizione 2014 sar la mia terza vol-ta, ho sempre scelto il percorso lungo chiudendo il primo anno in 8 ore e 13 minuti mentre lanno scorso mi sono migliorato decisamente chiuden-do a 7 ore e 39 minuti.La Nove Colli unica al mondo sostiene Ser-ratore c dentro tutto: il fascino, la storia, la bella gente; poi quei 12.000 partenti, tutti in fila uno spettacolo che mette i brividi e aggiunge pensi che lo scorso anno pedalavo insieme ad un altro ciclista svizzero che ho scoperto essere un vicino di casa, incredibile..Sul percorso il signor Serratore ha le idee chia-re: Si il Barbotto duro ma la salita pi dura della corsa rimane il Gorolo. La si affronta dopo 170km!..

DIEGO MONACO

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Mario Serratore che sceglie da anni lhotel Lun-gomare di Cesenatico al mattino si prepara cos: Faccio il pieno con la pasta asciutta, poi frutta e cereali.. Quella del 2014 sar la mia undicesima parteci-pazione ci racconta Karl Stark, cicloamatore tedesco la Nove Colli per me una festa, una manifestazione straordinaria che ti fa venire la pelle doca; poi c anche la competizione, come gestire le proprie energie ma quello viene dopo..Per il signor Stark la Nove Colli ha un fascino spe-ciale: Mai vista tanta gente che ti incita lungo il percorso, poi le strade tutte chiuse, sembra davvero di partecipare ad una tappa del Giro dI-talia, una cosa del genere sarebbe impensabile in Germania..Anche per Karl Stark il Gorolo il totem da supe-rare prima di arrivare a Cesenatico. Per quanto riguarda lalimentazione prima di salire in sella per affrontare la Nove Colli Stark ben prepa-rato: Da anni mi affido sempre alle cure di un bike hotel di Cesenatico, lhotel Savoia. Cono-scono bene le esigenze di chi deve alimentarsi per una granfondo e non manca davvero nulla. Io mangio salato, per cui pasta, uova, prosciutto e formaggio. Per finire un caff e una banana da mangiare sul percorso ahdimenticato la sve-glia alle 4.30!.

his love for Cesenatico and for Romagna, a love that moves him to travel 900 km each year: The Nove Colli is not a granfondo like all the others; theres something special about it. The organization is always exceptional and in the city the days leading up to the race buzz with a unique atmosphere thats vibrant and exciting.The most arduous part of the route is always the Barbotto: By now I know those roads by heart; I have at least two holidays a year in Cesenatico, I often ride those climbs even though I have to admit that I can only bring myself to take on the Barbotto in the occasion of the race.For RUDI KAUFMANN the Nove Colli is like an illness: I leave work in Germany at 12:00 on Friday and at around 11:30 p.m. Im in Cesenatico, after a 900km drive. On Saturday I relax with my wife, Sunday is the big day and, once the race is over, I get right back in my car to make it back to the office bright and early, at 8 on the dot on Monday!Rudi Kaufmann is not very interested in the pre-race meal: The buffet at the hotel I choose is really gen-erous, theres something for every taste, but I think it doesnt matter what you eat in the morning so much as how you train in the weeks before. MARIO SERRATORE is a newcomer to the Nove Colli and since 2012 each year hes been taking a pilgrim-age from Switzerland to Cesenatico to participate in an event which by now he considers something not to be missed: The 2014 edition will be my third time. Ive always chosen the long route. The first year I finished in 8 hours and 13 minutes, while last year I definitely improved, coming in at 7 hours and 39 minutes. The Nove Colli is unique in the world, maintains Ser-

ratore. It has everything: charm, history, nice people; then there are those 12,000 starters all lined up; its a scene that gives you chills. Then he adds, Just think, last year I was riding next to another Swiss rider and I discovered we were neighbours! Incredible! Mister Serratore has a very clear idea of the route: Yes, the Barbotto is hard, but the hardest climb in the race is still the Gorolo. Its taken on after 170km!Mario Serratore has been staying at the Hotel Lungomare in Cesenatico for years. In the morning he prepares like this: I fill up with pasta, then fruit and cereal. The 2014 race will mark my eleventh participation, says KARL STARK, a German cycling buff. For me the Nove Colli is a party, an extraordinary event that gives you goose bumps; then there is the compe-tition, how to manage your energy, but also what comes after. For Mister Stark the Nove Colli holds a special charm: Ive never seen so many people who cheer you on along the route, then the roads are all closed to traf-fic, it really feels like participating in a stage of the Giro dItalia; something like this would be unthinka-ble in Germany.For Karl Stark, too, the Gorolo is the totem to over-come before arriving in Cesenatico. As far as food, be-fore getting on his bike to take on the Nove Colli Stark is well prepared: For years Ive been relying on the care of a bike hotel in Cesenatico, the Hotel Savoia. They really know the needs of those who have to feed themselves for a granfondo, and they have absolutely everything. I eat salty foods, so pasta, eggs, ham and cheese. To finish, a coffee and a banana to eat along the route, ahI forgot, wake up time is 4:30!

PARTEZA 2013

Mario Serratore

Karl Stark

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