It is the god figure. The symbol of a strong will and infallible self-confidence. It isn’t just the foundation of every number, but also a parable for my maiden ride on skinny tires.
I tug at my kit, as it pinches and pulls from every angle. I feel more at home on a mountain bike, but GRAN FONDO’s chief editor Robin has fashioned me into a roadie for the purpose of this ride. Complete with a cap, gilet and the requisite Lycra. A short ride, he promised, an introductory foray into the intricacies of road cycling.
It’s one of those sunny days that feels like winter. As expected, our early pace is ambitious. Riding in the South Tyrolean landscape means that the peaks of the Dolomites flank us on either side. Robin turns to look at me. I’m in his slipstream. He utters an encouraging ‘hey, come on, mate’, before laying out the lexicon of roadie hand signals. After 35 km my calves express the first sign of fatigue. Cramp, bottom left. The consequences of my over-eager start.
A road sign informs us that the Furkapass is 1,789 m.s.l. By now, the climbs and descents are on rotation, and the idea of pain subsides in favour of a strange sort of joy. The views get better by the minute. My eyes are watering and my jacket flutters in the wind. It still isn’t warm but my heart rate has risen. Now Robin is holding my wheel and it’s like I’m caught in a trance, my breath in sync with each pedal stroke. The tarmac is rapidly eaten up by my tires. If this is a short ride, we’re already long gone.
After 57 km the shadows grow longer. As the sun drops in the sky, the pain returns. We impulsively take a turning onto a gravel path, carpeted with roots. It’s more like a mountain bike trail. I question the logic of 28 mm tires and gravel, but from up ahead I hear ‘Let’s gravel.’ My own response is more resigned: ‘Do we really have to?’
On a navigational sign it says 1. To Robin, it’s the distance to Lake Braies; it becomes our new goal. For me, it means turn off the mind and pedal. The fact that the sign still says 1 even after 5 km does not register. We communicate through rasping breaths and weighted phrases like, ‘I’m turning round right now.’ My lungs wheeze with cold air and yearn for the end of the ride.
I think I’ve made it. No, not to Lake Braies. Not yet anyway. This is the moment that I make it some headway into understanding road riding, a moment in which I have a sense of inner peace. Or at least it’s an idea I toy with as the kilometres tick by. With each twinge of cramp I’m becoming more ingrained in road cycling, peeling back the curtains on why some choose to spend hours in the saddle, daily. Once you understand the principle of suffering and satisfaction, it gets easier. As I crank down on those pedals, I’m in that sort of dream phase where the mind is processing mundane life things. The potential for discovery is heightened, my adventure mode activates. But above it all, there’s the team spirit that keeps you going out here.
Even Terence Hill could have predicted it from now on: ‘One step from heaven.’ But for me it’s more like the gateway to the underworld. More reminiscent of the way to Mordor. We reach our goal. The pearly lake to beat all lakes. Reflected on its crystal surface are a thousand dancing peaks of the Dolomites. There are no more gasping breaths, just stillness. No people in sight, and with dead phone batteries we’re left to enjoy the simplicity of this moment, uninterrupted. No Instagram, no default messages, no appointments. Our breath hangs like clouds in the icy air. The smile brought on by the scenery is eternally frozen in space. We zip up our jerseys and jackets, burying our faces into the collars and grin. With every step, our feet rattle against the cold. We gorge on nuts and dried fruit, our remaining supplies. There’s a small dinghy moored on the lake. On its side is the number 1. It’s astonishing the kinds of places you end up when you leave things to fate. This lake was never our goal, yet perhaps the goal was to discover this place.
1 and 0, on and off – the fundamentals of any programming, a lot of concepts and ideas, Is it a sign? Should I relent and give in to road riding, turn my back on enduro and downhill? The landscape flashed by me as we rode down into the valley. Clipped in, we sped along the valley floor. A sprint across a car park, and back into a line of cars, a metallic waltz at half speed around the town of Bruneck. The head wind brings tears to our eyes, but the sonorous tones of the free hub channel our minds on the task. A final look at a road sign confirms that it’s 1 km to the end. If I’d had my phone out, that would be the eternal photo. Ok, I’m convinced. 1 stands for: On.
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Words: Julian Lemme Photos: Robin Schmitt
