The Dolomite Giants:Tre Cime and Gruppo di Sella
(Conclusion)

I had made a mental note to check out the Fausto Coppi memorial at the junction of the Pordoi and Sella roads, but was too pre-occupied with making good time that I completely forgot about it until I was mid-way through the next climb.

But before I started the ascent of Passo di Sella, the penultimate one of this pass-climbing feast, I took another quick break at a restaurant at the base to fuel up with another (overpriced) can of Coca Cola. Being honest though, the other reason for the breather was the intimidation factor that had been engendered by the imposing half-silhouetted Sella and Sasso Lungo (Langkofel) walls that loomed ahead, walls that blocked out the weakening rays of the slanted sun.

(Above: The start of the climb to Passo di Sella from the south)

As I started my climb, a group of Italian motorcyclists parked at a rest stop encouraged me on, though, this being 1999, their shouts of "Indurain" attested to their rather outdated knowledge of professional cycling. But the guys were good natured, their shouts well-meant. I responded with a friendly wave.

The climb up Passo di Sella was only moderately strenuous, though it was quite beautiful and, on this late afternoon, rather quiet. The road went around the Sella base from south to southwest. One disadvantage of riding in such a consistently breath-taking place such as the Dolomites is that one tends to lose the sense of appreciation for the exceptional beauty of the place. I have been on many rides where all I got for my efforts was a two- or three-mile stretch of "so-so" scenery. But here, one’s senses get spoiled. I feel this quite acutely as I finally get around to writing this ride’s account several months hence—as I previously mentioned—on a dark, rainy London winter’s day—and find myself longing to be transported to the sunny, serene, majestic and uplifting character of early summer in the Dolomites.

(Above: Shadows started creeping in on the middle section of the climb)

In contrast to the quiet of its approach road, Passo di Sella was busy, busy, busy. Rock climbers were busy coiling their ropes after a full-day’s effort among the Sella cliffs and shutterbugs were capturing on film the vivid hues brought on by the declining sun.

(Below: Nearing the Passo di Sella)

(Above and Below: Verdant Passo di Sella, looking east)

I had made good time. And now, with only Passo Gardena left, I had the luxury of relaxing, knowing that I had but an easy climb then an express ride down to the Adige Valley and to Bolzano.

In Dolomite terms, the dip between Passo Gardena and Passo di Sella was very slight. The climb up Passo Gardena started from a right-turn approximately 5½ kilometers from the Sella summit. The climb itself was only 6 kilometers long and was relieved by a flat stretch of about 3 kilometers sandwiched between two moderate rises.

(Above: The beautiful descent on the western side of Passo di Sella)

Here, the lateness of the afternoon had an even more dramatic impact on the landscape. The moon was dramatically perched just above the Sella peaks and stood out quite prominently against the lapis lazuli sky. I excitedly snapped a photo but was later disappointed by the way my zoom-less pocket camera captured the scenery—the moon appeared but a dot in the sky. Oh well, you had to be there.

(Above and Below: If you look carefully, you may be able to see the moon--yes, it's the faint white spot)

The silhouetted peaks of the Puez group to my left appeared like hooded, wrinkled monastics on their way to an evening of religious chanting (the things my imagination comes up with!).

In no time at all, and with fairly minimal effort, I reached Passo Gardena (2,137m). I took a few minutes to peer over the other (i.e., eastern) side of the pass. The view was very open and quite lush. Ten kilometers below stood the towns of Corvara and Colfosco. And perhaps it was just as well that I reached the Sella area this late in the day—I very much doubt that the flat afternoon light could have created such a dramatic effect on the scenery.

(Above: At the Passo di Gardena)

Time to head down. Forty (count ‘em) kilometers of downhills awaited. The initial stretch around San Christina was a tad busy, though. But I picked up considerable speed as I breezed towards Ponte Gardena, especially as I went down the 14-percent sections past Ortisei (St. Ulrich(!) in German).

I emerged in Ponte Gardena, still a good 24 kilometers northeast of Bolzano. When I drew my course the night before, I had assumed that this last stretch would be a piece of cake, as it appeared to be mostly flat to dowhill. But the change of pace from up-and-down riding to one of constant pedalling proved more difficult than it looked. I’ve always felt that I could always grunt out uphill distances, but covering flat (read: boring) terrain motivated me little. Perhaps it was because riding the flats when tired always summoned remembrances of the last 40 or so miles of the Davis Double Century in California. Those had always been difficult for me.

I had been running on adrenalin the last couple of hours, and now, having put the mountains behind me, I needed to muster my last reserves of energy to complete this, the anti-climactic last bit of the course. I stopped a couple of times to pop a couple of Starburst chews in my mouth. The last kilometers were torture. Visions of a warm shower and then an hour of lying in bed with a liter-and-a-half of iced tea danced in my head and carried me through.

(Follow this link to view boring pictures of Bolzano (use your browser's back arrow to return)).

Fini.

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