When I woke up that morning, I was already in the zone. Days off are sacred — and for me, that usually means some combination of coffee, trails, and the kind of outdoor plans that make normal people question my sanity. I took my time pitter-pattering around, sipping my premade iced coffee, soaking up that glorious morning solitude before the world woke up.
The weather had been a coin toss all week — steady rain — but somehow, the day of my big ride broke clear and dry. It was chilly at first, the kind of morning where you second-guess not packing winter gloves or a windbreaker. But I had faith. Plus, there’s a rule on days like this: if you’re too prepared, the weather will immediately punish you.
I had 100 kilometers ahead of me, a steady climb the whole way, and one simple goal: pace myself without bonking. (Spoiler: pacing isn’t exactly my natural gift) I loaded up with granola bars, carb powder in the water bottles, and a promise to myself to actually remember to eat and drink on schedule.
Out of Familiar Roads and Into Chaos
The first stretch was home turf — smooth, familiar, a long straightaway perfect for warming up. I slipped in and out of my rhythm, finding it again right before hitting Bassano del Grappa. That’s where things got… let’s call it “adventurous.”
First, I got a little lost. Then, while I was trying to fix my route on my bike computer, a lady in a tiny white car came barreling down the wrong side of the road — right toward me. As I stood safely on the bike path, she actually tried to drive onto it and nudge me out of the way. I refused. I shook my finger at her like a disapproving grandma. Not today, lady.
If that wasn’t enough, a farmers market had taken over Bassano. Pedestrian traffic jam. Thousands of people, everywhere. I had to pedal slower than I thought physically possible without tipping over. But eventually, I punched through the crowd — like a salmon upstream — and found my stride again.
After that, the ride was magic. A river to my left, fields to my right, and the mountains getting bigger with every turn of the pedals.
Pizza Breaks, Random Dogs, and Confused Cyclists
In Bassano, I stopped for lunch at a place called PREMIATA FABBRICA, perched right at the edge of a beautiful old bridge. Pizza. Beer. Sunshine. Honestly, it would’ve been worth the 100km just for that meal. The staff was super friendly, the menu had a ton of options, and the pizza tasted like it had been handcrafted by some ancient Italian wizard.
While I was eating, a small dog trotted around freely like it owned the place. Meanwhile, a couple dressed like they time-traveled straight out of the 1800s posed for photos with tourists. None of this seemed strange to the locals. Honestly, I respected the vibe.
Refueled and semi-confused, I hopped back on the bike… only to immediately waste 30 minutes trying to find my way out of Bassano. Between my GPS glitching and the market chaos, I burned more time and energy than I’d like to admit. But hey — no psychic could have warned me.
Clear Skies, Bigger Mountains, and One Very Stubborn Stork
Once I got free of the town, the path turned perfect. Smooth, scenic, and just isolated enough. I followed the river deeper into the mountains. Watching the peaks grow taller in the distance felt surreal. I can see the mountains from my house on a clear day — but being inside them, on two wheels, was something else entirely.
I passed farms, fields, vineyards… and a giant stork. Just chilling in someone’s backyard like he paid rent there. I have no idea what storks eat or why one would post up behind someone’s house. I didn’t stop to ask. I had places to be.
Confusing Signs, Helpful Cyclists, and Language Barriers
Just when everything was flowing, I hit a roadblock. Literally.
There was a giant caution sign blocking the bike path right past a restaurant with lots of outdoor seating. It was in Italian — which I can’t read — but it looked serious enough to make me hesitate.
Turning back wasn’t an option (unless I wanted to backtrack 60 kilometers or pedal against traffic on the autostrada… which, spoiler, I didn’t). I stood there trying to figure it out while a group of cyclists watched me fumble around like a lost tourist.
I asked if there was a way through.
The two guys immediately jumped up to mime directions with their bikes.
Meanwhile, the lady with them kept insisting, “No English, no English!” — even though I hadn’t asked her anything else after the first question.
At one point, I think the guys were arguing about the best way to explain the detour, while the lady continued reminding me (to no one’s surprise) that she still didn’t speak English. It honestly cracked me up.
Thanks to a lot of enthusiastic miming, I got back on the right track.
The Longest 5 Kilometers of My Life
The final stretch almost broke me.
I knew I only had about 5 kilometers left — but somehow they felt longer than the previous 95 combined. My legs were fried. My patience was nonexistent. I was salty (both figuratively and literally).
The only thing keeping me moving was the vision of a cold beer at the finish.
I kept telling myself:
“The last 5 kilometers pay for the first 95.”
(And I stubbornly refused to let myself quit when I was that close.)
Arrival: Beer, Mountains, and a Full Heart
When I finally rolled into Bicigrill Castelnuovo, I could have kissed the ground.
Instead, I ordered a beer — priorities.
The place was perfect. No bad seats, just picnic tables scattered around with the mountains towering in every direction. I sat there, beer in hand, salty, sweaty, tired… and feeling really proud.
I’ve done longer rides before, but this one was different.
This wasn’t a loop. This was a climb the entire way — a slow, steady battle against gravity for nearly 100 kilometers.
It wasn’t just a test of endurance; it was a test of patience and stubbornness.
It was training for the 200km route I have planned later this summer, but it was also validation:
I can do this.
I belong here.
Sitting there, I looked at the mountains I’d been pedaling toward all day.
It’s easy to see them from my house — they’re a distant, beautiful backdrop.
But biking into them — being in them — felt different. Surreal.
Especially knowing that just a few years ago, I was half a world away, and now, here I am… riding into the Dolomites after a morning coffee.
What I’d Tell Anyone Thinking About It
If you’re wondering if it’s worth it — it is.
If you’re wondering if it’ll hurt — it will.
(Just accept the fact that it’s gonna hurt your ass. And don’t deny yourself breaks — you’ll thank yourself for soaking in the views.)
Truth is, once you start pedaling out there, it’s hard to let yourself quit.
Especially when there’s no option but to finish.