Hang in there tent!

32 Days, 960 Miles

Venice was a slight navigational error on an otherwise carefully plotted route. But it was a mere 25 miles off course, and the weather was rather splendid. I felt like I should at least take an evening stroll around the town in my camp slippers. I enjoyed watching the well practiced rowing of the gondaliers. And, then there was the less well practiced fellow who stepped out his front door and right into the canal, clutching a wine bottle.

Back on course, towards the mountains…well first, after 6 inches of rain between Verona and Venice, I needed to add a fresh layer of duct tape to the tent …the 3M duct tape from the German factory is odd, I mean it’s two sided, so I left on the part you are supposed to peel off?

North of Venice was a mix of heavy industry (a little taken aback when I crossed a California-style interstate, 11 lanes across) and bucolic landscapes, the castle towns a few hundred years more modern than in the South.

After skirting along the foothills, I reached a proper opening into the Alps.

I first tried going up and over the ridge on the left, the hard way, but no traffic. I was doing well, 3 turns up the 18 turn pass, when I rounded a bend and right into a roadblock. Now normally, I have good luck getting past roadblocks, mainly by looking exhausted and claiming it is the only way through. However, this Italian official was pretending like he didn’t speak English (or more likely, he actually didn’t speak English), and was quite adamant that no one was allowed through the road block. So, back down I went, and headed through the gap with the super highway flying above my head.

The super highway route was still quite scenic, and once I gained a foothold in the mountains, I had some nice traffic free paths.

My first night in the mountains in the tiny town of Termine, all of 18 buildings long, but situated in a most lovely canyon.

I spent the evening eating my dinner watching the townfolk (all 3 of them), work on the gardens (it was not really clear if they own the gardens or if they just co-opt the common areas behind the church).

There was a storm on the horizon, so I was up early to make the most of my last good day to see the Dolomites.

There was a good cycle trail to follow, an old railroad I think, complete with stone bridges and tunnels.

Well at least for 95% of the the way, for 5% I guess the railroad route was overtaken by the main road, and there they send the bicycles across some absurdly steep gravel pitches.

But above all, it was dramatic mountain peaks, emerging from the clouds.

Picking up my groceries in the fancy town of Cortina, I headed up the graded path towards the high pass

As the day progressed, I could see the clock ticking as the clouds thickened. I lost 30 minutes when I ran into this Englishman who was delighted to find another English speaker, and especially another English speaker riding a proper English Brooks saddle!

And then I lost another 30 minutes trying to get a clear view of the famous Three Peaks, I gave up, I think I saw parts of 2!

I managed to sneak over the pass before the storm, and descended into the drizzle, 1500 feet to the valley, and out of Italy. Not much formality here, the official border with Austria, just a bump in the path.

Tucked safely in my tent, the storm hit, 24 hours of steady rain…and then it started snowing, much to my surprise, since it was 39-degrees out. It was a novelty at first, but after 30 minutes my tent started to buckle under the weight of the wet concrete falling from the sky.

Through the evening I had to tap-tap-tap the inside of the tent to sluff off the snow, then tap-tap-tap on the other side, then eat a piece of prosciutto and a cracker, then start all over again on the snow clearing routine.

The morning introduction to Austria was positively frigid.

I descended down and down, another 2000 feet, my fingers icicles, to get below the snow line.

At the bottom, it was tolerable, even fairly pleasant, but I was now stuck: the South from where I came was snowed over, and now the backside of the storm, with a cold North wind, was hammering my Northern escape with a line of snow from Switzerland to Slovakia.

And, the storm just stalled at this point, here it is with me just below the blue line, at the vertical notch between Italy and Austria:

And here it is 3 days later, it hasn’t moved!

I made a first escape attempt: spending 4 hours in a futile battle against a 40 mph wind, driving sleet into my face. I made it only 400 feet up (20% of the way), before abandoning the effort. My tent was having an even a rougher go with the wind, the wind-facing side permanently bent inward. So, on the second night, I was grateful that the campsite owner insisted I set up in a sheltered area under a roof.

I made a second escape attempt, when a 5 hour break in the rain and snow showed up. Up and out of the valley, walking the portion into the fierce wind, then riding when the road turned away from the wind.

Until I reached the train tunnel, where the auto-train carries the cars (and bicycles!) through the tunnel to the other side of the Mountains, where it’s all downhill to Salzburg!

And I was free! The rain and cold closed back in, but I celebrated by going to, what I assume was the volunteer fire department fundraiser, New Bloomfield style, only with polka music! I think I saw Uncle Gary, showing off the new fire engine.