(Maratonac trči (zapravo vozi) počasni krug) - The Marathoner is doing a victory lap (actually, riding)

 

Corvara in Badia, Dolomites, August 13, 2018.

This ride actually begins back in the fall of 2017, when my colleague, Plavi, said to me, "Well, now that you’ve conquered Stelvio, this is your next challenge," and showed me the homepage of the Maratona dles Dolomites race online.

Corvara in Badia, Dolomites

It’s done! "Challenge accepted!!!!" Time flies, summer of the following year. Italy, 2018, it’s basically a "copy-paste" of last year... We’re vacationing (again) in the south of Italy, just like last year when I "took on" Stelvio, except this time, I booked accommodation in northern Italy, I’d say in advance, though a better phrase would be just slightly earlier than last time... I knew when we were leaving for vacation and when we’d return, so it was somewhat easier this time (and by "easier," I mean I found accommodation at a "reasonable" price for this part of the world about 30 km away from where my ride begins, which compared to Stelvio is right around the corner).

We wrapped up the southern leg of our trip and made our way to the village of San Vigilio di Marebbe, or just S. Vigilio. It’s a cute little Alpine village nestled between mountain peaks. It couldn’t be more beautiful. The accommodation is fine, better than expected. We barely found parking behind the hotel, although they have their own parking lot—it’s packed to the brim with tourists. Incredible. If I ever get reincarnated, it must be in these parts (anything less would be a total miss)! I check the weather forecasts, and they’re all over the place, but one thing is certain: after 3-4 p.m., rain is inevitable (depending on which forecast you follow, but they all mostly agree). The only difference is in the amount of rain predicted, but rain, for sure.

I had originally planned (back when I wasn’t sure about the weather) to ride from the hotel (I mean, what’s 30 km to the starting point—just a good warm-up), complete the Maratona, and then ride back to the hotel by bike. But now that I’ve seen the clouds and rain forecast for tomorrow, I’m changing my plan. I decide to drive closer to the start so I can finish before the rain hits. Next issue, same as last time: where to park the car. I scoured the route on Google Street View all the way to Corvara and concluded: NO WAY. I even considered sneakily parking in front of one of the few hotels along the route, but thought better of it (and if I ask at reception, I’m sure there’s no chance they’ll let me park there—finding parking is already a nightmare in these parts at the height of summer, and now some "parachutist" expects to park on their already overfilled lot?). OK, I thought, we’ll see how it goes; I’ll figure out where to park somehow.

Next problem: breakfast! I ask the reception when breakfast is served in the morning, and they say 8 a.m. (heh, Italians clearly like to sleep in). I say, "That’s too late for me, way too late," and arranged for them to make me a lunch pack for the morning. Naturally, Mira (my wife) also saw the forecast, and the pressure begins: "Don’t ride, you’ll get caught in the storm and soaked (instant flu), and the lightning will strike and fry you..." I say, "What are the odds lightning’s going to strike me... c’mon." Then, of course: "Don’t ride alone for so many kilometers and climbs…" I reassured her, "I’ll send you messages from every summit I reach, so you won’t worry. And if something happens, don’t worry—there are plenty of cyclists and bikers; someone will help."

Now, a bit about the race and the routes: The Maratona dles Dolomites takes place every year on the first Sunday of July. There are 3 possible route options:

1. Short Maratona or Sellaronda circuit - 55 km, 1780 meters of climbing
2. Medium Maratona - 106 km, 3130 meters of climbing
3. (Big) Maratona - 138 km, 4230 meters of climbing

The number of participants is limited to 9000, with half (4500) coming from Italy, and the remaining 4500 from all over the world. Naturally, each year, a large number of cyclists apply (40-50,000 for those 9000 spots), and a lottery decides who gets to ride. There’s a bit of a trick with the numbers (which I haven’t fully figured out). For example, if a club registers to participate, they count it as one participant, even if the club has 50 riders. So, those 9000 spots should be taken with a grain of salt... They say clubs with more registered riders have a higher chance of winning the lottery than individual riders, and those who have participated before have some advantage over newbies. In any case, the lottery algorithm is obviously some seriously sophisticated software, taking all of this (and who knows what else) into account. For me, the race this year is long over—I’m just planning to ride the course to see and experience those potential 4000 meters of climbing in one day. So here I am, ready for the morning, with a few dilemmas (parking, attire, weather, rain, which route to ride, etc.), but that only adds to the excitement and uncertainty.

Morning, 5:00 a.m. I peek out of bed with one eye. It’s still dark! I sneak around the room, trying to be as quiet as possible. I get ready, load the bike onto the car, pack my things into a backpack, and as I pass by the reception, my pre-packed breakfast is waiting in a bag (nice!). Off I go toward Corvara. The drive takes unexpectedly long because the road is quite winding, with lots of restrictions. I reach the area where I need to find a parking spot. No way. In front of a hotel, I spot a space off the main road, but I think if I don’t find anything better, I’ll have to be a "parachutist." I drive further, and on the left, behind a little pull-off, I see about 10 cars neatly parked in a row with one space in the middle—empty. Heh heh heh, looks like someone left early, just like me. Perfect. I turn around and go back. Parked! One problem solved for the day.

I unload the bike and start getting changed. Long pants, long sleeves. As I’m changing, a cyclist passes by in short shorts, short sleeves, and just a windbreaker over the top. Hmmmmm... Stelvio and last year’s snow are still fresh in my mind. I think, "Let that fool freeze if he wants, better to dress properly." Still in the middle of changing, another rider goes by dressed like the first, then another, and then a small group of 3-4, all in shorts and short sleeves, with only a windbreaker over the top. Now the odds are against me. I think, OK, if everyone’s dressed the same, they must know something I don’t. I change into short sleeves and shorts, pack the windbreaker into my bag (along with the long pants and sleeves just in case of emergency—Stelvio isn’t far from here, so better to be safe than sorry), and that’s it. Off I go!!!

If I said it wasn’t cold, I’d be lying! Outside, it’s about 8-9°C, that crisp mountain morning chill (I’d say comfortably fresh).

A refreshing 8.8°C

I think, "Why didn’t I dress like I planned....!" But I console myself that I have all the "long" gear in my bag, and I should warm up after a few kilometers, so it’ll get easier. I ride toward Corvara, and the morning sun begins to light up the mountain peaks.

The sun, which has just risen, illuminates the mountain tops.

I think I’m spending more time gazing at the mountains than watching the road, but luckily, it’s still early, and there’s not much traffic yet. I arrive at Corvara in Badia. At the very entrance, I spot a wooden sign with the name of the town. This definitely needs a photo.

The lowest part of the mountain range in the background is Passo Gardena (I figured that out later).

I’m not sure what’s more beautiful: the town, the mountains, the sign, or the combination of all of them together...

They still haven’t taken down the banner from the race; it kind of reminded me of our politicians who stubbornly remain on billboards months after the elections...

The road to Corvara had some ups and downs, but with a general upward trend. Over those few kilometers, I managed to warm up (as expected), and it was no longer particularly cold. In the town itself, the climb to Passo Campolongo begins. And it wastes no time, immediately ramping up to 10-12% without any warning. The switchbacks begin, left-right-left...
About a kilometer in, there’s a small parking area by the road, and again, there’s a wooden sign with the town’s name. I stop, but this time to take off my windbreaker. I’m starting to sweat from the climb, and now that I’m out of the shade and in the sun, it’s warming me up even more.

There’s a wooden sign at all three entrances to the village.

The morning sun has finally risen above the mountain peak.

A last look back at the Corvara valley.

Passo Campolongo, 1875 meters above sea level.

After about 40 minutes, Passo Campolongo is conquered (for the first time). It wasn’t too bad. The initial steep section over 10% was tough, but once you get through the switchbacks, the gradient eases to a manageable 6-7%, making the ascent to the top fairly easy. This pass is the lowest and, as I’d later realize, the easiest one after Gardena.

I stop and send Mira a text: "Passo Campolongo – perfect, sunny weather, not a cloud in sight. All good, cyclists everywhere."

I put my windbreaker back on and begin the descent into Arabba. The descent ends at a roundabout where I take the first exit to the right, and as soon as I pass the roundabout, the climb to Passo Pordoi starts. Just like Campolongo, it starts with a steep 10% incline (no relaxing here) and pretty much stays that way until the top. While riding (actually, while still climbing Campolongo), I noticed an interesting effect with the morning dew. As the sun peeked over the mountain, it began to warm the ground and the grass (which was, of course, soaked in dew). And then an interesting phenomenon occurred: the dew began to evaporate, forming a light mist that gradually gathered into low clouds, slowly rising and transforming into the clouds we see in the sky every day. Honestly, I’d never seen this happen before with my own eyes (sure, we learned about the water cycle in biology and geography, and that’s fine, but witnessing how the morning dew that soaked my shoes while I was getting dressed by the car slowly turns into mist, which then rises and forms clouds that block your view of the beautiful mountain peaks—PRICELESS).

The dew slowly becomes clouds—right before my eyes.

These clouds were dew on the grass just 30 minutes ago...

On the way to Passo Pordoi.

Passo Pordoi is ahead of me. I climb slowly, no rush (though considering the forecast, maybe I should hurry). I’m in "trekking mode" (I’ve got part of my lunch pack in my bag, along with a few bars and chocolates I’ve packed for today’s ride, and of course, extra water, since I don’t know what lies ahead). I’m the slowest. The ones on road bikes are passing me like I’m a truck on an incline (which, in comparison to them, I am), but I don’t mind. The key for today is to ride in my comfort zone, because anything else would lead to failure.

Way off in the distance is the Pordoi pass (I thought the left gap was Pordoi, but later it turns out it’s actually the right one I need to conquer).

The view of the valley is breathtaking.

Now it’s clear where the pass is.

Almost at the top—the buildings start to appear (restaurants and souvenir shops, not to mention a touch of civilization).

Luckily, up at this altitude, the winds are different, so the clouds are constantly shifting and changing shape, occasionally revealing almost surreal views of harsh rock faces and cliffs.

Passo Pordoi, 2239 meters above sea level.

Here are the cyclists in their "shorts," getting ready for the descent.

After 30 switchbacks from the roundabout, I reach the summit. This one felt much tougher than Campolongo, but that’s behind me now—onward!
I send Mira a text: "Passo Pordoi – still perfect weather, not a cloud in sight. All good, cyclists everywhere."
I buy a few souvenirs, take a restroom break, and gear up for the descent. I spot a viewing platform that offers a stunning view of Passo Sella and "Steinerne Stadt" (translated as the Stone City). Naturally, I take a picture... and then comes the phenomenal descent.

Steinerne Stadt all wrapped in clouds.

"Torri del Sella" or the Sella Towers (you can also see Passo Sella).

Descending from Passo Pordoi.

The climb to Passo Sella has already begun (and it’s the highest point today).

The Sella Towers.

All the cable cars are running; you can reach most of the peaks. There are paragliders, cyclists, hikers, walkers, motorbikers, and people in cars—it’s like an invasion.

Once again, the climb ramps up to ~10%, but this is nothing new now. I proceed slowly, taking photos along the way. After the third switchback, I stop to catch my breath and take off my windbreaker. Unlike the climb to Pordoi, which is over 9 km long, the ascent to Sella is shorter (just over 5.5 km), but steeper.

The views are unbelievable, no matter which way you look.

View of "Stone City" from Passo Sella (2244 meters above sea level).

I reach the top, and it’s crowded—cyclists, motorbikers, hikers, cars—it’s amazing how lively it is up here.

 

Entrance to the souvenir shop.

Polovina avgusta, sve je zeleno, a kod nas u NS je sva trava spržena (i požutela)Mid-August, everything’s green, while back in Novi Sad, the grass is scorched (and yellow).

Stone City looks like three chimneys, with serious smoke rising from them.

A short break, I send another text, grab a few bites. I put my windbreaker on and slowly continue. But after just 100 meters, I stop again to take more photos. This is the most beautiful part of today’s route (the stretch from Passo Sella to Passo Gardena), as I would later realize...

I’m in the Alps, over 2200 meters above sea level, and the cows aren’t purple—strange?! Something's not right!

Pastures and cows are everywhere. This is where real Alpine milk comes from...

Another panorama, and I’m ready to descend again.

The descent is once again phenomenal, but it’s short... I stop a few times to take more pictures... It’s truly unbelievable how us "flatlanders" are so mesmerized by mountains and their views (especially these kinds of views, which are all around me).

I keep circling the same mountain, essentially making a loop around it, and it looks FANTASTIC from every side!

I’ve descended and reached a junction where I turn right toward Passo Gardena. The climb starts again, and after a few hundred meters, I take off my windbreaker (for the umpteenth time today). I continue climbing, everything’s fine, and after a switchback, I spot a hotel with a restaurant.

The hotel.

The hotel’s parking lot, with Piz Boè mountain in the background.

"Stone City" as seen from in front of the hotel (from the direction of Passo Gardena).

Another panorama.

A glance at my water bottle tells me it’s time to stop and refill.
I park my bike in front of the hotel and head inside to get some water. The waitress politely asks if she can help, so I think, well, why not let her fill the water for me (instead of hunting down the restroom to do it myself)...
I walk up to the bar, hand her the bottle, and while I wait for her to fill it, I notice the "apfelstrudel" (apple strudel) lined up on the counter, still steaming, fresh from the oven. There’s no way I’m missing out on that!

She hadn’t even finished taking the strudel out of the pan when I showed up with my water bottle.

This picture needs no caption.

If I said I inhaled it, that would probably be the best way to describe the speed at which I devoured it. Just to be clear, it’s almost noon now, and I’ve been riding (with all the events along the way) for almost 5 hours. Everything I ate before the ride this morning is a distant memory.

The bottle is being filled, and the apple strudel is "smiling" at me from the counter... I’m probably smiling back at it...

You sit down to eat, and this is your view… Or you could sit outside, where the view is even better..

Seven minutes later, bottle full, strudel safely consumed, I thought, "This strudel is so good, I have to bring some for Mira and Nikola." I asked for three pieces to be packed (and well-packed, since I still have a lot of kilometers to ride, and it’s going to get jostled around a bit). The girl really did a great job packing them nicely.
Paid. Packed. Onward.
This water refill stop was way better than expected...

You can see how the road zigzags, and the gap on the right is Passo Gardena.

After the hotel, the climb eases off, and the road to the pass isn’t too challenging. I conclude that this is the easiest climb, but it also offers the best views.

Passo Gardena.

Half an hour after the hotel and strudel, another pass conquered.
I send a text message... :)
The view toward Corvara is spectacular.

Passo Gardena – view toward Corvara.

Looking at the clock, it’s 12:20 p.m. I’ve been at it for over 5 hours (well, not riding the whole time—everything together has been going on since 7 a.m.—riding, taking photos, breaks, putting on/taking off the windbreaker, and of course, the strudel and everything else—souvenirs, etc.).
I’ve covered about 45 km, and now I’m calculating whether I’ll have time to finish the remaining 60 km in the 3.5-4.5 hours before the rain hits.
All the math is against me continuing, but I don’t give up that easily—I’m usually persistent... Looking at the sky: OK, it’s still sunny, but there are far more clouds than this morning, something is definitely approaching, just not yet…

I conclude that if I hurry, take fewer photos, and pause less, I might just manage to complete the medium Maratona (106 km) without getting rained on. The full Maratona is out of reach by all measures (another 30 km with the worst climb of the whole route—it’s simply not realistic). I descend into Corvara, there are a few roadworks, so the descent is, as our English friends would say, a little "tricky," but with some caution, I make it to the outskirts of Corvara.

Calfosch – the village before Corvara.

I enter Corvara and reach the junction where I rejoin the road I took this morning, and the climb to Campolongo begins again.
At the same spot (as this morning), I take off my windbreaker, snap another photo, and carry on...

Déjà vu from this morning.

With a little effort, Campolongo is conquered once more!

Campolongo – second time today.

I descend into Arabba, reach the roundabout, but this time I turn left (Falzarego/Giau) instead of right (Pordoi).
The next 10 km are mostly downhill, then flat with some gentle ups and downs, before the climb to Passo Falzarego begins.
I start climbing, but it’s not going as smoothly as I’d like or as it had before... It seems fatigue is starting to catch up with me... And suddenly, hunger hits. OK, I stop to eat something and realize I only have a few bites left.
Somewhere I miscalculated with the food. It is what it is. I make a plan to ration those few bites evenly until I reach the top.
The climb to Falzarego is about 12 km, and my legs are heavy. I set up a riding regime: pedal for 300-500 meters, take a short break, then pedal again, then another break, slowly making progress. The breaks help me enjoy the ride more and actually make me faster than if I were to ride slowly without stopping. About halfway up the climb, I turn around and see that the sky has darkened in the distance—those ominous black clouds are closing in.
Now the drama begins… I need to speed up to avoid the rain, but I can’t. I make peace with my fate, go as fast as I can given the circumstances, and try to climb as quickly as possible. I’m taking fewer photos to save time, and I’m careful not to capture the black clouds in the shots (for purely practical reasons).

About half an hour before reaching the summit, this was the view toward Passo Falzarego (you’d think it was a beautiful sunny day), but if you turn 180°, it’s a completely different story.

Every time I glance at the black clouds, they seem closer and darker. "This doesn’t look good," I think, but there’s nothing to do except keep going to the end.

A few more turns and I’ve reached Passo Falzarego.

Passo Falzarego, 2105 meters above sea level, finally.

I send a text message, strategically avoiding mentioning the weather—just that everything’s OK, I’m alive and well, only one more descent to go, and I’ll be done...

Passo Giau in the distance.

Next up is a short climb to Passo Valparola, just 1 km from Falzarego, with about 90 meters of elevation gain (an average of 9%, not easy on tired legs).
This kilometer is the hardest for me, but I manage it. Then I decide to take a few photos.

The clouds sneaked into this photo, at least partially.

While taking this panorama shot, you can see a glimpse of what’s coming from Passo Falzarego.

 

Now, all that’s left is to roll downhill to the car, and I’ve MADE IT!!!

I couldn’t resist taking a couple of photos on the descent.

I’m flying downhill at over 60 km/h. Occasionally, I feel tiny drops of rain brought by the wind.
That doesn’t discourage me—I keep riding, pushing as fast as I can.
I reach the car, load the bike onto it.
I grab my backpack from the trunk and get inside the car to change. Literally, the moment I sit down and close the door, it’s like someone unleashed a waterfall onto the car.

A complete DOWNPOUR! I message Mira that I’ve finished the ride and didn’t get rained on.
I change clothes. The rain shows no sign of stopping or easing. It’s pouring relentlessly.
After waiting in the car for about 20 minutes, I decide the rain has lightened up enough for the windshield wipers to stand a chance.
There’s a traffic jam due to the rain, but with some patience (well, a LOT of patience), I make it back to the hotel.
I unpack... "Upload" the ride to Strava. The photos are amazing, the comments are great.
When I think back on it all, it was a PERFECT cycling day! Shower, change, and then: THE STRUDEL, which I carried for about 60 km up and down (a piece each for Mira, Nikola, and me), was, to say the least, perfect.
I show them the pictures, explain where everything was taken on the map, etc. Morning comes again.

This time I head to breakfast as usual. After breakfast, the three of us get in the car and drive the route I cycled the day before.
It’s only fair that they see all these beauties in person.
The weather isn’t nearly as nice as yesterday—it’s cloudy and gloomy, but you can still see most of the scenery. Of course, we stop at the hotel, and this time we eat fresh, hot strudel with a view of the surrounding mountains—perfect!

A cappuccino in its homeland.

Strudel with a side of ice cream.

Strudel with vanilla sauce and a view of "Stone City."

 

What can I say after all of this? It was F E N O M E N A L.

This definitely needs to be repeated (when the weather’s better), and next time, I MUST do the full route (the full Maratona).

D.

Continuation of the story:

Maratonac II