"What Fun a Fondo!": Uncle Tony's shoes take him on his first Gran Fondo, and, oh what a view from the top!

Ciao Zio Tony fans! Yes, it's time to slip into Uncle Tony's shoes again. As I recounted in my last post, "Obbedisco!" (Zio Tony's Tyrol Campaign), I explored the north-eastern province of Trentino over the second weekend of August. The primary motivation for that trip was to partake in my first "Gran Fondo".

What is a "Gran Fondo"? Well in the warm months, Gran Fondo's are as common place in Italy as 5K Fun Runs are in the States. Roughly translated into "Big Way", a Gran Fondo is a cycling event in which a thousand or more (sometimes many more) bikers done their favorite color of spandex and ride anywhere between 60 to 120 miles along showcase routes through the Italian countryside. Considering that Trentino is home to the rugged Dolomiti Mountains, I choose my first Gran Fondo for the monster 4,700 foot climb that it celebrates.

Specifically, the "Gran Fondo Charly Gaul" comemorates one of those astounding physical feats of sportsmanship that you've probably never heard of ... until you move to place like Italy. Charly Gaul (1932 – 2005) was a professional cyclist who hailed from Luxembourg and earned the nickname "Angel of the Mountains" for his reputation as a climber. Besides a Tour de France Yellow Jersey (1958) to hang in his closet, he also picked up a Gran Fondo to call his own because of how he won the first of his two Giro d' Italia Pink Jerseys (1956 & 1959).

The following re-cap of Gaul's epic 1956 Giro and his climb up Monte Bondone plagarizes from http://velonews.com/article/9244

" ... Going into stage 20 from Merano to the Monte Bondone summit, Gaul was lying more than 16 minutes behind race leader Pasquale Fornara with only three days of the race remaining. This was Gaul’s last chance to move up the rankings ... but Fornara and the other top riders ahead of Gaul all looked strong as they headed toward Monte Bondone above the city of Trento.

The weather turned colder and colder, and on the long, steep slopes of the Giro’s final mountain, light snow soon turned to a full blizzard as the temperature dropped to freezing point. Fornara was overcome by the cold and took refuge in a farmhouse. Other race leaders rode to a standstill before keeling over in the ditches. Some stopped to drink hot chocolate or dip their freezing hands in bowls of hot water offered by the spectators. In all, 46 of the day’s 89 starters would pull out. Gaul just kept on going ... riding through the thickening snow in his usual smooth style.


He arrived at the finish almost eight minutes ahead of the second man, Alessandro Fantini, and 12:15 ahead of defending champion Fiorenzo Magni. His face a wrinkled mess, his hands and feet turned blue, Gaul took the pink jersey, and won the Giro two days later by 3:27 over Magni. The young Luxembourger had etched his name into the annals of not only cycling, but all sports with one of the courageous and remarkable upsets in modern times."

Well, I won't be claiming any performances that approach "epic", but in experiencing that climb myself, on a perfect day in August, I can tell you that ole' Charly was one tough nut.

The Gran Fondo Charly doesn't actually follow the entire 1956 Giro route, but start's on Mt Bondone's western slope, runs down to Lake Garda, returns to Trento via the mountain's eastern valley, then makes the "Charly Gaul" climb, back up Mt Bondone to the finish line.

Here you see the colored spandex lining up for the start at the little alpine lake of Lagolo (once again, the Slow Food Guide to Italy that Julie & Tim gave me aced the place ... landing me in a B&B just a couple hundred yards from the starting line).


One thing you get used to in Italy are helicopters covering the start of a race, no matter how small, but, especially ones with bikes! Those who've been at a starting line can sense the anticipation in the faces and posture of my fellow cyclists.


I wish I could have snapped a few shots of the "peloton" descending into the valley ... it was one of those, "Wow! I can't believe I'm in the middle of this", first-time moments. But, I hope you can appreciate that I was a little busy careening down a mountain with 1,000 other cyclists.

We descended into the hamlet of Vezzano by Lake Toblino (although I lifted this pic from the website of the restaurant/castle you see at the edge of the lake, it’s the same view we enjoyed in the saddle). This delightful little corner of the “Valle dei Laghi” (Valley of the Lakes) appears to be renown for the Poli family of grappa makers. We literally passed just a few feet from the front door and sweet smells of Giovanni Poli’s artigianal distillery (http://www.poligiovanni.it/) and further along the road I sighted a conglomeration of signs pointing to at least five other Poli’s (I’m sure to return with any of you who want to venture to Trentino).


From Vezzano, we road through the Valle dei Laghi towns, orchards, and vineyards to within sight of Lake Garda. The shot I framed could very well be the same that Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe writes about from his 1786 “Italian Journey”, having traversed the same pass by which we turned back to Trento, “ ... at it’s head lies an enormous rocky ridge which one must cross before descending to the lake ... At the end of the descent one comes to a little village with a harbor ... Its name is Torbole”.


Goethe also described the peculiar wind patterns at this end of Lake Garda, blowing stiffly down from the northern valleys in the morning, then turning around just as forcefully after midday. Well, I’m here to report that over 200 years of global warming hasn’t done me any favors. Turning around at midmorning, we faced a stiff headwind all the way back to Trento, sapping our legs against the big climb ahead.

Although our route only passed through its outskirts, I had toured “The Painted City” the day before the race. Trento earns it’s nickname from the frescoed Renaissance facades that flank its streets. You can make one out on the left side of this panoramic of the Piazza del Duomo, which I snapped after having given in to the irresistible temptation of a capucinno and brioche at one of its curbside cafe’s. At this point, I have to interject that despite all the fuss the Bolognese make about their fountain of Neptune, I found this one much more pleasing to the eye and a bit more relevant considering that the Romans had originally founded this city as “Tridentum”. Overall, Trento is definitely worth a full day of exploring; but, with the mountains beckoning all around, to experience the real delights of Trentino, you’ll want to have a car (and a bike).


Which brings us back to the point of this story - the big “Charly Gaul” climb up Monte Bondone. I won’t bore you with a blow by blow description of toiling for almost an hour and three-quarters, hunched over my handle bars with the ground barely moving underneath me; instead, I think it’s sufficient to say that I had 20 km (12 miles) to climb 4,700 feet.

I would like to try to explain that finding enjoyment in that really doesn’t come from each pedal stroke; but, in the sum of them - not just in what it buys you in the end (which you will see soon enough), but also knowing that you managed them all. You can’t reach the top by cutting any of them short.

Here I am with most of them behind me and just a few hundred feet of altitude yet to climb. You can see Trento down below; that’s where the climb started. I’m dog tired but in a good mood. After watching the kilometer markers slowly dwindle down from 20, it was nice to see a number as low as 3.


Finally, here’s the view from the top. Here’s what 6,551 laboring pedal strokes buy you. Worth it?