That morning when I woke up 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 normally make my friends and family question my sanity. I took my time pitter-pattering around, sipping my premade iced coffee (don’t judge me), soaking up that glorious morning solitude before the world woke up.
I love my morning solitude.
The weather had annoyingly been a coin toss all week, mostly rain, but somehow the day for one of my big rides broke clear and dry. It was chilly at first, the kind of morning where I typically 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 is obligated to 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, and a long straightaway that’s 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 in the bike lane. As I stood safely on the bike path, she actually tried to drive onto into me and nudge me out of the way. I stood my ground and shook my finger at her . 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 (gently) 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
While I was 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 was better than it looked; and it looked GOOD.
While I was eating, a small dog trotted around freely like it he was no different than any of the other pedestrians in the streets. 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 still worried I was a little lost, 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 — if it went perfectly then would it still be an adventure?
Clear Skies, Bigger Mountains, and One Very Stubborn Stork
Once I got free of the town, the path couldn’t have been more perfect. Smooth, scenic, and just isolated enough. I followed the river deeper into the mountains. Watching the peaks grow taller and closer in the distance felt surreal. I can see the mountains from my house on a clear day, but being amongst them, on two wheels, was something else entirely.
I passed farms, fields, vineyards… and a giant stork. This massive bird was just chilling in someone’s backyard looking like a dinosaur. 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 I was on 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. As you may have guess, I’m not Italian. I try to avoid doing things that could get me on trouble.
Turning back wasn’t an option (unless I wanted to backtrack 60 kilometers or pedal against traffic on the autostrada/freeway… which, spoiler, I didn’t). I stood there trying to figure it out while a group of Italian cyclists, two guys and one lady, watched me fumble around like a lost goofy tourist.
I asked in English if there was a way through.
The two guys immediately jumped up to mime directions with their bikes and use the little English they knew.
Meanwhile, the lady with them kept insisting, “No English, no English!” — even though I hadn’t asked her ANYTHYING else after the first question.
At one point it looked like the guys were arguing (to speak Italian you have to do a lot of hand signals) 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. I was cracking 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.
According to my bike computer’s GPS, I only had about 5 kilometers left, but somehow they felt harder than the last 95 combined. My legs were toast. My patience was gone. 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:
“Just keep pedaling … just keep pedaling…”
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; because priorities.
The place was exactly what I needed. 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 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 year, but it was also validation:
I can do this.
Sitting there amongst 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 cycling 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 and a “brief” traffic jam.
What I’d Tell Anyone Thinking About It
If you’re wondering if it’s worth it — definitely.
If you’re wondering if it’ll hurt — yup!
Truth is, once you start pedaling out there, it’s hard to let yourself quit.
Especially when there’s no option but to finish.