Gran Fondo Pass Diary: The Best Road in Europe?
San Gottardo, from the road. A report on the famous Gran Fondo with Kudos Cycling.
It was with the usual mix of excitement, anxiety and trepidation that I joined Kudos Cycing for a weekend trip to Ticino, the Italian speaking Swiss canton. The reason? A challenge to complete the Granfondo San Gottardo; a mere 110kms of cycling, which just happens to take in three 2000m+ Alpine passes.
Had I done enough training? Of course not. Why did I add these unnecessary challenges to an already too busy life? What would the other cyclists be like? Should I, could I, just cancel?
Immediately upon meeting Anthony from Kudos Cycling my fears dissipated, here was someone clearly committed to ensuring everyone enjoyed and got what they wanted from their cycling, and if I wanted to pootle along and enjoy the views, rather than focus on my power output, that was going to be just fine.
After settling into a cute B&B with an incredibly welcoming owner, and carb loading on seriously cheesy pizza and Frizzante, it was time to settle in for a night of pre-sportive sleep, anxiously anticipating the next morning.
After closely following the forecast all week and seeing only dreaded black clouds and raindrops it was a relief when the day finally dawned, Cloudy, but dry. After an early breakfast we drove 5 minutes down the valley to the airfield where the Granfondo would begin. At which point I had my first pleasant surprise, a very welcome queue for the ladies loo and my first chance to chat with the pleasing number of other female riders that day.
All the female riders in the sportive were given starting numbers in the first 200 which gave us the opportunity to start at the front. It was a great experience to start an event surrounded by other female riders.
And then we were off! The early pace was steady, about the same as you’d find on a local sunday club ride. It was clear to me that riders were not just saving themselves to go the distance, but also leaving enough in the tank to go full gas on the timed cols.
Despite such a reasonable pace, we soon began to climb, and for the first 12kms I was passed by many riders. But I’ve cycled enough to do it my way, and, as we hit the spectacularly snaking last 6 km cobbled section of the San Gottardo pass I began to overtake the early puncheurs.
The feed station at the top was typically busy, filled with snacks and areas to refill bidons. I decided to grab a banana and jump straight on the back on the bike.
With legs still heavy from the first mountain, it was time for a tough decision. At this point, you’re greeted with a sign, one arrow points to the shorter distance, the other to the full 100km...
It is always tempting to take the easy option, and I cursed myself as I froze descending for the next few kms, switching hands under armpits to maintain feeling. Then the incredible rush of warming temperatures as we descended into the valley and legs moved again.
An enforced stop for a passing mountain train and the next pass began.
The Furka was a beautiful ride. I felt happier with one col in the bag, and this was a clear path along the mountain. You just had to keep holding on. This time, with the field more spaced, I enjoyed the full spread of the feed station with some very welcome warming buillion, the best mocha chocolate ever and a topped and tailed banana personally prepared for me. Another technical descent, another stop for a train, and then the Nufenen.
There’s an art to these events, and I’d learnt from the locals. I stopped before the road ramped up, removed my rain jacket, ate my banana and readied an energy gel for the second half of the climb. I’d been told this was the hard one.
A fellow cyclist near the top of the Furka told me ‘it starts hard, don’t be frustrated, it finishes hard, don’t give up’.
As I contemplated his advice I wondered precisely when it was going to get hard. With the absence of km markers and gradients I turned my pedals and felt pleased that my legs still felt strong. As another cyclist grumbled about the 11% displaying on his Garmin I pondered the psychology of not knowing the gradient and decided ignorance was definitely bliss, reflecting on the sinking sensation I usually feel passing a 12% sign and how here I was just enjoying the view rather than fearing the upcoming hairpins.
Steep gradients bring out the best in cyclists and this was a climb full of ‘Ciaos!’, encouragements and brief chats as we passed each other. I struck a common pace with a Danish man half way up and the kms passed quickly in pleasant chat, until I didn’t think I could continue to maintain both my pace and quality of conversation.
With the chrono in sight for the first time ever I felt the urge for a 50 metre ‘sprint’ to the line. And felt sick as I crossed it.
A final feed station was filled with a mood of elation as we all knew we simply had to descend all the way back to Airolo.
On seeing the line we enjoyed an exuberance sprint along the runway.
After finishing, and on the journey back home, I began to ponder one of my earlier questions.
Why do I add these unnecessary challenged to an already busy life?
They force to slow down, and live in the moment. To stop looking ahead, to the next pass, or even the next kilometre, and to enjoy the feeling every metre. To lose my ego as yet another cyclist more talented and disciplined than me passes me by, to look up and gulp at the climb still to come, then to look down and marvel at the height already gained.
Getting out of bed early on a Sunday, gathering on a start line, feeling intimidated the other riders, finishing the ride I set out to accomplish, making new friends along the ways, gives me the knowledge that I can handle whatever else life throws at me on any given day.