Bikepacking Across the Italian Dolomites: A Journey of One Thousand Miles (Part 2)

Part 2 of my journey of one thousand miles, bikepacking across the Italian Dolomites, started in spectacular fashion. Camping at high altitude, not far from Livigno. That night was the night the weather was due to break across the alps. TDF stage 19 had already been abandoned and the bad weather was due to move east. I’d already been whalloped by rain crossing into Italy from Switzerland, thinking I’d escaped the worst of it, I set about cooking up my evening Firepot meal and drying some kit out.

Sure enough, later that night the storm started. It was incredible to witness. Minding my own business, wrapped up due to the cold and watching an incredible storm unfolding down the valley. I finally justified lugging a down jacket and trousers on my journey of one thousand miles across the alps!

When I look back on bikepacking across the Italian Dolomites, I remember it as the ‘ultimate adventure’ leg. The South Tyrol and the Dolomites gave me everything I wanted from this journey of one thousand miles. Challenging climbs; areas I’ve always wanted to visit; mesmerising alpine beauty. The storms and rain were just another element of what made these 4 days so spectacular.

Day 1 in Italy was the big one. Stelvio. No more words needed. Passo dello Stelvio is iconic, for motorists and cyclists alike, there aren’t many roads which look quite as spectacular as Stelvio.

Starting the day in Livigno meant I needed to get over to Bormio first and foremost. Beginning the morning with a coffee, as always, still wrapped in my down bag given the altitude meant it was a cold morning. Rolling into livigno was a pleasure, watching the morning rays split the down – it would be the only downhill for the next 5-6 hours!

600m ascent over Foscagno and Eira pass was just a mere warm up. A leg stretcher. A drop in the ocean on my journey of one thousand miles. I bumped into an ace Italian bloke up top, who was super keen on my bikepacking set up, asking for the selfie and intrigued about bikepacking across the Italian Dolomites.

It was from there I realised Italian cyclists love the community spirit. Shouting ‘Ciao’ became my favourite hobby – everyone does it! it’s great, no matter how much you’re hurting, no matter quick you’re going, or even what you’re riding, everyone speaks and acknowledges each other. We need to adopt the word ‘Ciao’ in England!

From Bormio, the lesser iconic side of Stelvio sits immediately due north. Setting out of Bormio, you don’t know you’re on such an iconic climb until a few kilometres later, where an insignificant road-side sign reminds you, ‘Passo dello Stelvio’. I cracked a smile, I knew from herein it would be hours of lamenting agony. But still, this was iconic. I was riding my bike through Italy, up one of the most famous passes in the world. I was bikepacking across the Italian Dolomites on a journey of one thousand miles, full of coffee. I couldn’t have been more contempt.

I had wanted to ride the Stelvio unpaved route, via the old Strade Militaire past Lago di Cancano and up the gravel tack to the intersection with Umbrail. But with the extra distance, inevitable slower off road pace, yet another thunderstorm impending and time not on my side, it didn’t seem particularly sensible.

I don’t actually remember seeing a hairpin for about an hour. Which was pretty unnerving! You know it’s going to be long few hours, when you haven’t seen a hairpin and you’re already in bottom gear. Slopes, tunnels and rivers dominated the scene on the lower slopes.

I found the lower slopes of most climbs to be the hardest when bikepacking across the Italian Dolomites. They drag. They’re a real grind. (Albula and Grimsel too). You’re suffering and you haven’t even started on the main climb yet. The reward isn’t even in sight.

I crawled my way up, being passed by just about every other cyclist! From those on e-bikes not even sweating, to the absolute beasts on KOM missions!

Don’t get me started on e-bikes. They have their place in the world, but it’s not on alpine passes. You haven’t climbed Stevlio by bike. Sorry for the offence, but I can’t accept a dude in sandals on a flat-bar city hybrid cruising past me going up Stelvio. I lost patience. I was sweating, suffering, cursing the weight of my bike and getting the most casual ‘ciao’ from a chilled out e-biker does you no favours. It just isn’t cycling – I won’t even entertain the debate! Rant over…

The first time I saw hairpins on that side of Stelvio, my jaw dropped. I could not believe roads like that existed, let alone be cycled up. I refused to stop and admire it, I knew I wouldn’t get going again. Refusing to lose momentum, I laughed out loud. What was I doing. Stelvio, on a steel gravel bike, set up to over 20kg’s. I was mad!

Stopping wasn’t an option, counting down hairpins was. The pass wouldn’t climb itself. 21km. 7% average gradient, max 12%. 1558m elevation gain up to 2758m. 48 hairpins on the northern side… no biggie. Each hairpin is numbered, along with the elevation – that made for torturous reading!

After 2 hours of climbing this wondrous road, the pass topped out, connecting with Umbrail. That for me was the worst bit. I was broken and I wasn’t even at the top. Nope, the intersection with Umbrail means you can only see the top. The hectic looking collection of hotels and people, still over a kilometre away, with more ascent still to go.

Getting to the top was a surreal feeling. I couldn’t believe it. it’s one of the best, euphoric feelings you can ask for. Elation. 2.5 hours of agony, forgotten instantly.

I got my photo under the sign, ‘Stilfersjoch 2758m’, before tucking into an overpriced but well-earned bratwurst. What a feeling. I still struggle now to put into words how I felt. This was one of the biggest highlights on my journey of one thousand miles, bikepacking across the Italian Dolomites.

I text my dad the exact date and time I topped out on Stelvio. These moments, they’re once in a lifetime. They don’t come around often.

I was soon to be reminded of the brutality of the mountains. It felt like I was allowed just enough time to enjoy the moment, before the impeding thunderstorm finally landed. Rain like I’ve never seen before. Bouncing.

The elation quickly turned to sarcasm. Huddled like penguins under what shelter we could find, British, Italian, French, all stood in a cold unity. Shivering and laughing. The world of cycling had brought us together from different parts of the globe to this one spot. At the top of Stelvio, hoping and praying the rain would pass! I have fond memories of this moment and the amount of comfort that hot chocolate and strudel gave me in the cafe too!

I got up Stelvio dry, but I was gutted not to come down in the dry. I was to descent the iconic, incredible Stelvio in the rain, on greasy roads, on a 20kg bike. Madness.

But, I had an adventure bike. There were no shortcuts when bikepacking across the Italian Dolomites. My destination for the evening was Meran, some 70km away – 20 of which were down Stelvio. What goes up must come down. F**k it, off I went. Disc brakes squealing in the wet, but performing so well with no fade. Treaded tyres were a godsend.

Bikepacking across the Italian Dolomites meant I had to get to grips with the weather pretty quick, just accepting and dealing with it. You can hide in the comfort of coffee shops as long as you want. But the distance doesn’t get any shorter. It was an adventure; it was liberating to just get on with it.

The weather in the alps is unpredictable, no point trying to plan routes to suit. I had the kit to deal with it. My Gore jacket was that one piece of kit I hoped I wouldn’t need, but when I needed it, it was the best bit of kit I had on me, bar nothing.

I would sit here now and say Stelvio wasn’t actually the hardest or highest altitude climb of the trip. It was the longest and most iconic, one I’ll remember forever. But as far as pain levels go, this one was just the beginning!

My first experience of Italian cycle networks took me to Meran. 50km on a dedicated cycle path, next to a river, it was idyllic. It was flat! Obviously it was still raining – that goes without saying at this point.

The cycle network was impeccable – even to the point where there were dedicated bars along the trail. Just a makeshift shed, serving coffee and cake. I’m a huge advocate of things like this, so of course I took the opportunity to get out of the rain for yet more hot chocolate and strudel.

One thing worth mentioning – transitioning from Switzerland to Italy meant a currency exchange. I stupidly took no euros with me. When you’re so fixated on the cycling element of the adventure, it’s easy to overlook the other ‘smaller’ elements of the overall adventure. I had so much to think about each day… distance, climbs, food, camp spots, borders, safety. The pedalling was easy by comparison. Trying to swap francs to euros in small towns proved somewhat difficult – especially over the weekend!

Eventually I stumbled across an open Raiffeisen bank. Soaking wet, lycra clad, I stood in the queue… just trying to act casual, like the entire building wasn’t looking at this Brexit-riddled British plonker. In my best broken German, I communicated with an Italian banker and got my francs swapped. These hard fought, little wins made the trip. I could now buy some lunch!

I should probably point out my average speeds bikepacking across the Italian Dolomites. Considering I was riding a steel gravel bike, weighing over 20kg with all my kit. I averaged 25-30km/h on flats. 7-10km/h on climbs. And 40-50+km/h on descents. This was crucial knowledge in determining how far I could feasibly cycle each day. In conjunction with Viewranger to establish my rates of change in elevation, I could approximate where the tough bits would be, timings and where I should aim to refuel.

6000-7000 calories per day were not unusual. I definitely gained weight this trip, all in the name of sustaining my body and giving it the fuel it needed to do what I was asking of it. Some calories were nutritional, others… ice cream… were just because I was on holiday!

The only thing I couldn’t plan was where to rehydrate. Most alpine countries provide road side water stations. A little fountain of potable water. Austria didn’t, much like the UK, I got the impression Austria wasn’t a big advocate of cycling.

From Stelvio to Meran, the next day took me down to Bolzano – of course after pizza. This was the bit I was most excited about. The Dolomites. What a sight, what a feeling, what a place for yet another thunderstorm!

I heard cycling in the Dolomites was hard, but I also knew the scenery would be second to none. I knew if anything would crack me, bikepacking across the Italian Dolomites on this journey of one thousand miles, it would be here. I already had thousands of metres ascent in my untrained legs, I’d had no rest days either. Naïve.

I had been so excited by the Dolomites, I thought it wouldn’t be possible that fate would allow the weather to be so grim.

The mountains are beautiful no matter the weather, but I wanted to experience those shear granite walls. I wanted to feel small by comparison. I can cycle in clag anywhere in the UK!

I took shelter in a spar shop, demolishing half a roast chicken for lunch praying the weather would turn fair. It didn’t. So I set off up.

I’m never one for looking behind, it’s not productive. But climbing the switchbacks I couldn’t help but notice it starting to get a little brighter. I pushed on, deep into Val Gardena. bikepacking across the Italian Dolomites would take me over the Passo Gardena and Passo di Campalongo, via Corvara on the Sella Ronda loop. The Passo Gardena was breath-taking. The clouds started to parted as if by magic, I could not believe my eyes. Maybe the photos would be better to describe the Dolomites…

Those famous Dolomiti peaks scraping the sky, it was just superb. Everything I hoped it would be. I felt so privileged to be able to explore this magnificent part of the world freely.

From the Sella Ronda, the same day I ticked off Falzarego on the way to Cortina d’Ampezzo. All these places I’d heard off, ticking them off under my own steam was a feeling of such achievement.

Falzarego was one of my favoured passes. So quiet, well away from the hordes of tourists. The top of Falzarego gives superb views over the entire Dolomite range, I had only minutes to enjoy mind. Once again the clouds closed in. I would have to descent the next 20km into Cortina in the rain. Nothing new there then!

Cortina offers some of the best base camp views the Dolomites has to offer. I saw the views with my own eyes, shrouded with cloud. But I was wet through, I wanted a shower, warmth and pizza.

My final day bikepacking across the Italian Dolomites would continue to take me east through the Dolomites towards Tolmezzo. Not before a detour via Tre-Crime di Laveredo. From minute one, it was a dreich day. Lightening didn’t strike twice. I hoped once more my uphill exertions maybe rewarded. Not this time. I cycled up to Lago di Misurina hoping for views of the famous three towers. Alas, no joy. Soaking wet… again, I cracked a smile. What can you do, some you win and some you lose. This one I definitely lost. All the more reason to return!

Heading east towards Slovenia, drifting away from bigger settlements, I got a real sense of remoteness. I felt disconnected from the Alps. It felt other worldly. I’d become so used to busy roads, high density of people. Now I felt lonely. Out of the way. This felt more like bikepacking, like a proper adventure worth of a journey of one thousand miles. The consequence of faults here was more severe. My senses heightened. You forget trivial things in these moments. You know what’s important and what’s not. For 2 days I would push on through sparsely populated villages, through the misty mountains. These were perhaps the most therapeutic days. Tiny little sidestreet coffee shops. No English to be seen, just locals.

The mountain scenery began to change. I had left the rocky Dolomites way behind. I was riding at lower altitude. Lush green dominated the landscape. My journey of one thousand miles was entering the Julian Alps.