The 1001 Miglia - The Official - Unofficial Finish and A Farewell to the 1200&+Ks
Veronica Tunucci
A few requested to hear my story on the 1001 Miglia. Here is the long and too detailed story, the short story is the delete button J:
Here I am in Italy, somewhere in Italy, close to the finish of the 1001 Miglia (a 1,001 mile ride through the regions of Emilia Romagna, Lombardia, Toscana, Umbria, Lazio, Liguria and Piemonte with a time limit of 130 hours), with less than 120k (75 miles) to the finish. I’m on my bike following a police car with flashing lights and being escorted to the shoulder of the Autostrada (Italian freeway with speed limits of 80mph). Another encounter with the police, this time in Italy. I’ve gone international. We all stop, 3 Carabinieri exit their piccolino carabinieri vehicle and all descend on me in seconds. Is this really necessary? Those machine guns are intimidating alone without the intimidating attitude and three guys surrounding me. Comandante Napoleon (never did get his real name) is very angry. Comandante Napoleon’s English is limited as my Italian is. He barks “no bicycles on the Autostrada”. I reply, I’m trying to get off the Autostrada. He threatens a ticket. TICKET! That would add insult to my already pathetic situation. He repeats this “no bicycles on the Autostrada” and I reply now with moving hand action, that “it’s a mistake”. We have a reiteration of this same dialogue at least 10 times; “no bikes on the Autostrada”, “it’s a mistake”. It finally hits me that Comandante Napoleon thinks I just rode my bicycle on the Autostrada for some joy ride. If only my adventures were that easy. It took a great deal of effort and determination to get to this location. I then start to tell an abbreviated version of my story to Comandante Gentile (kind). He understands more English and has less attitude:
I arrived at the last control of the 1001 Miglia at 1:20am, mile 926, 30 minutes prior to the close of the control. The control was at the Fausto Coppi Museum in Castellania Italy. I now had 75 miles to the finish of the ride with 10 hours and 40 minutes to finish. That felt easily doable. Other than feeling totally exhausted from lack of sleep, I felt physically great. No saddle sores and my legs still felt pretty strong. I was much better prepared for this event than PBP 2007. At this point, I was still dreaming of stopping at a hotel to catch a bit of sleep and shower; the basic necessities become really important in these events. This control had nice tents with cots to sleep on, but at this time of night and without warm blankets, I knew I wouldn’t get much rest and the extra time on the road would probably serve me better. The last 75 miles of the ride, while flat, had many, a destra (right) and a sinestra (left) turns and the chance to miss a road marketing in my sleep deprived state was a concern. I departed the control shortly after checking in. I was really tired on the road and decided to take a brief rest on the side of the road. I chose a place carefully to be off road and then turned off my bike lights to not attract attention from other cyclists. Not long after I laid down a couple of cyclists rode by and panicked when they saw me down. I assured them I was okay, but after they passed I decided to move on rather than cause that scene as every cyclist passed. I rode on. I tried to stop at various times, but the grass on the side of the road was wet, really wet. I finally found a small roadside mausoleum with a small covered concrete patch at the entrance, no more than 3’x3’. The only dry stop in sight. I looked in the window. No body was visible. A picture of the deceased man was there. I can’t remember his name or birth/death details. I curled up on that small piece of concrete for at most 10 minutes. I can only guess that I performed some breach of respect to the dead protocol and I insulted the remains of a departed one by lying down before him without giving due respect. I can only attribute the following events to the curse of the Italiano Morto (dead Italian guy). As I departed this small mausoleum, I somehow got off route and off track. I ended up on a gravel road, and then a dirt road. It was dark and felt a bit eerie. The dirt road ended at what appeared to be a dark, run down large house which could have easily be used for a psycho movie. I had a strong feeling that I didn’t want to meet the occupants of this residence. I moved quickly. Around behind the house off in the distance appeared to be a road with moving car lights. My first thought a road and therefore, direction and orientation. I headed around the house in the direction of what appeared to be a road off in the distance. I then entered the backyard and garden. This was no family backyard vegetable garden. This was an industrial type field with huge industrial size tire tracks. My bike shoes sunk in the dirt. The tracks were deep and the dirt was extra soft. My bike wheels would not move over the dirt. I was forced to drag my bike and me across this large field as I continued to sink in the dirt with each step. The lights began to look further rather than closer with each step. Was this a mirage? I look back. Dark, deserted, the psycho house; going back was not an option. I moved forward then veered to the left a bit. The lights began to get closer. I wondered what night critters exist in Italy. My imaginative mind is in overload. I’m now close to the road. After all this trek, there’s a fence that is as tall as me halfway up a steep incline between the field and the roadside. Not a welcome site. I use a few choice words. And that’s no country road over the fence, but the dreaded Autostrada; no bikes allowed on the Autostrada. I turn around. There is no going back at this point. Total darkness behind me. I would never find my way back to the dirt road I took to get here. I attempt to move me and bike up the incline to the fence. I slide back down in the dirt. I attempt again. Again I slide back down. More choice words and I’m really over this and mad. I hurl my body & bike up the third time and grab on to the fence. This is not going to be easy. I need to get my body & bike over this fence and this fence is on an incline. The fence is as tall as me with fence points at the top. The thought of landing on those points after 900+ miles of riding was not a pleasant thought. I picked up my bike and managed to throw it over the fence. Next my backpack. I then had a moment of terror. Everything I own is on the other side of the fence, including money, credit cards & passport. I have to get over this fence. I try to put my foot in the fence. The openings are too small for bike shoes. I take off my shoes and throw those over the fence too. My shoeless feet are too big for the fence openings too. I try to pry the fence openings wider to fit my feet. They’re not budging. I try them all. I find the weak link. I manage to stretch one opening to fit my foot in. It’s painful to put my tired 900+ mile foot into that small wire opening. Less painful than the thought of being stranded there overnight. The grand feat of my 1001 Miglia; I am able to hurl my body over that fence. I’m quite pleased with this feat. I doubt I could do that better at a kid. And I do believe that’s probably the last time I tried hoping a fence. I now have the final trek to get the bike & me over the guard rail and onto the Autostrada. I can’t find my bike shoes. I’m down on my hands & knees feeling through the roadside grass, dirt & rubble for my bike shoes. Found. I’m now on the Autostrada in bike shoes with bike and backpack. No bikes allowed on the Autostrada. I resort to waving down cars. I am quite experienced at this. I’m doing dramatic big waves, both arms and close to jumping up and down. Numerous cars pass at really fast speeds. No one is stopping and I start having a dialogue with myself. I do this often in these times. My conversation went something like this: what are you doing? You have a bike right there, what are you waiting for, get on it and ride. So I did, I got on my bike and rode and I find that riding on the Autostrada is not that bad. The shoulder seems sufficient and I come upon a sign 1500 meters to the next rest stop/service station. Rest stops on the Autostrada are quite elaborate. Service stations with attendants and really good food & café; but no exit off the Autostrada. I exit at the service station. I approach the service attendant for help. His English is limited, but he seems to understand me. He wants to help me and I can tell he really feels for my situation, but I am causing him much stress, much stress. I do believe this is a first for him (and me!). And he’s probably wondering why this had to happen on his shift. He does not understand how or why I got here and I have little energy to explain. I try to find my last cue sheet for the ride to help explain. At this point, I realize I have lost my final cue sheet to the finish of the ride. As I hurled that bike over the fence, the final cue sheet attached to my handlebars fell off. I told him I was going to Nerviano (near Milan) and I could show him my previous cue sheet which ended in Castellania. He pulled out his detailed road maps. Where I came from, Castellania was on one page, where we were was on a second page and Nerviano, the ride finish, was on a third page. I was more confused and could not connect the dots. I tried to find out how far the next exit off the Autostrada was. He was trying to find a solution for me to get off the Autostrada, but at this hour, no one was available to take me off. He wanted to find me a ride to Milan and I tried to explain that I needed to ride my bike to the ride finish. I just needed help to get off the Autostrada. This was not going anywhere. He wanted me to wait and I didn’t have time to wait. The clock to the ride finish was ticking away. I needed to be in Nerviano by 12:00noon. I again started a dialogue with myself, the same one. You have a bike, get on it, ride on the Autostrada and get off at the next exit. As I started to do this, I hear the service attendant make some derogatory statement about Americani and their impatient ways, but I had no time to wait and I definitely couldn’t wait until morning until the Autostrada escort service showed up. I headed off to ride on the Autostrada. No more than a kilometer down the road, I heard the sirens and saw the flashing lights. This has to be the curse from the Italiano Morto.
As I finished the condensed version of this story, Comandante Gentile understood my predicament better and things seemed a bit more relaxed after that. I believe I saw a bit of a smirk on his face. We all waited on the Autostrada. An Autostrada worker was going to pick me up and with the help of the Carabinieri, escort me off the Autostrada. Was this all necessary? I had a couple of quicker solutions. I could put my bike in that back of that piccolino Carabinieri vehicle in five minutes and we could be on our way. I could also ride my bike off the next exit with the escort of the Carabinieri. I refrained from suggesting any of these alternatives. I don’t think they would have been appreciated and it was probably best that I remain quiet. The Autostrada has protocol and I needed to wait. We all waited. It felt like a really long time. Finally the Autostrada van arrived. The Autostrada employee put my bike in the back of the van and I sat in the cab. I was finally escorted off the Autostrada with the Carabinieri escort, flashing lights & all. At the exit parking lot, I had another moment of dread. My backpack. I had left my backpack on the Autostrada. I was thankful to not have to communicate this to the Carabinieri. The Autostrada employee delivered that news and the Carabinieri set off to get my pack. Again, I had to wait. By this time, daylight was starting to approach. The Autostrada employee gave me my map to the finish: a piece of paper with the names of the following cities: TORTONA, VOGHERA, CASEI GEROLA, PAVIA, MILANO. This was my map to the finish. I wasn’t feeling too confident. As I departed the parking lot exit, the Carabinieri warned me at least five times: Autostrada- green/white signs, no ride, blue/white signs, okay. Everywhere around me had green & white signs and the blue & white signs seemed to lead to the green & white signs. I headed off in one direction. I flagged down a van for directions. I was headed in the wrong direction. I followed his directions, but they seemed to lead to green & white signs. The Carabinieri warning was still very prominent in my memory; no green & white. I was going in circles and totally confused. No cue sheet, the name of 5 cities and the clock ticking away. This was starting to feel hopeless. I took out my cell phone and called my daughter, no answer. I called again, no answer. I texted “ I need help”. I called my son, he picked up on the first ring. Hi Mom in a cheerful , pleasant voice. Mick, I need help, long story, I’ll tell you when I get home and I started giving him directions to help me. Pull up a map of Italy and pull up the 1001 Miglia website. I lost my cue sheet for the last section of the ride. He pulled up a map of Italy and then checked my location to Nerviano. Mom, you need to go north. NORTH, that’s his advice, go NORTH, where in the hell is NORTH!!! I’m thinking to myself, there’s no north pole flag here. Mom, you need to calm down. Good advice; he is the calm, level headed person in the family. Again, I started giving directions. Mick, pull up the last route sheet on the 1001 Miglia website. He found the website, but had no idea what he was looking at. I’m trying to navigate him on the site from memory. Look under the ride, find the last route of the ride. The individual cue sheets between controls are called tappas on the website. I need the last tappa. He found the last cue sheet. The information was in Italian and he had no idea what he was looking for. I gave him my present location and mentioned I needed to get back on course. I had started this section at Castellania and then got off course. At this point, he determined I was about 90k from the finish. Daylight had arrived. This was still doable. First I needed to get back on track and I had no idea how to get there. Mick started to navigate me. He’s back in California and helping me navigate in Italy. I’m thinking technology is great. He leads to me a road. Mick, it’s a dirt road, I’m panicked again. Mom, the map doesn’t say whether the road is tar or dirt. You need to ride about 5km on that road. I hang up and tell him I’ll call back. I need both hands on the handle bars to ride on this stuff. I’m having a déjà vu feeling from last night and not feeling too confident. The dirt road does lead to a paved road. I call back for the next directions. He leads me down the road. I call back about 5 times for each next section and when I find I have trouble connecting at times, I leave the phone connected and store in my shorts while I ride to the next point. I find I’m on track with his directions and then I’m ecstatic when I finally find a road marketing of the Miglia. Mick then asked about my phone battery. And not long after the question, I started to hear the low battery warnings. He suggested providing me with the city names from the cue sheet/tappas on the website. Did I have something to write them down with? I remembered bringing a small pad & pen with hopes of writing down some of the details of my visits and places of interest. Did I have it with me? I did, YES. I knelt on the side of the road with pad & pen and began writing down the city names. Did all the cities have to have 7-8 syllables? He had to spell each one out for me. He had thirteen to pass along to me. I managed to scribble the names on 2 small pieces of paper in order of passage back to the ride start of Nerviano. This was my cue sheet to the finish. He wished me good luck. I hung up feeling really proud of him. He remained calm, helpful and thoughtful throughout this mini ordeal and helped me navigate back on course, all from our home in California.
By this time, I had approximately 80 kilometers to go and was still doable within the time limits. I’m still feeling hopeful. I tuck my list of cities in the leg of my shorts and begin to follow the Miglia road markings with help from the city listings from time to time. I’m doing pretty well. After quite some time, I hit a rotary and I’m unable to determine which exit to take. I round the rotary a few times, still confused. I wait. A couple of cyclists show up. I flag them to stop and show them my list of cities. They point to one and indicate it’s quite a ways back in the other direction. The rest of the cities are unfamiliar to them. Another one is familiar and it too is back quite a ways in the other direction. At this point, I’m really disappointed. How did I get so far off course again. I wouldn’t be able to make up the time. I’m too tired, too hot and really thirsty. I start heading back. I reach the first town and again take out my list of cities for help. I was so amazed at how many do not know the names of the surrounding towns in the local vicinity. Many would recognize one name on my list, but wouldn’t know the rest. The first person I asked for directions, took me through town, with many a destras (rights) & a sinistras (lefts). My eyes started to glaze over after the first 4-5 left & rights. I headed off and then turned around and headed back. I asked for directions to the train station. I found the train station, but it was boarded up with a schedule that I couldn’t read. That option was out. No option but to ride to the finish. I asked another man for directions. His directions were very clear, follow this road straight, take a right at some location that was very obvious at the time. I found the road. These were the flat lands. I was surrounded my tall grasses and most services were closed. This was Sunday. It was hot. I was tired and very thirsty. I kept navigating through the tall grasses. Quite a few cyclists were out in this region. More Miglia road markings. Yes, I was on course again! I finally came to a town with some festivities going on. I stopped at a very large, mostly deserted café for food & drink. Five or six other cyclists were there too (not cyclists from the Miglia). I waited and waited. I was not being served and only one woman appeared to be working (both waiting the tables & cooking). I left. I crossed a very odd looking bridge. Big metal parts with dangerous steep angles and wood boards that were loose. I would find out later this was a floating bridge. Under normal situations, I probably would have walked this bridge. I was too tired to be worried about it and rode across, however, very cautiously. The area surrounding this was quite beautiful. White stoned shoreline with a river flowing through. On the other side of the bridge, another outdoor café with a person in uniform at the entrance. I asked if I could enter and he was very friendly and waved me in. The help at the café was equally very friendly and the young women spoke English very well. I ordered 4 drinks including una birra and un panino. I discovered granita at this café; the perfect finish to a meal when the temperature is high. I headed back on the road. I was feeling better about navigating to the finish. Near the finish, on the bike paths near a residential neighborhood, I found a worn, wrinkled final cue sheet for the Miglia ride. I was so excited. At this point, I was within 20k to the finish, but it is so much easier to hand a cue sheet to someone to help with navigation. Now, I’m down to less than 5km to the ride finish. I see signs on both sides of the road for Nerviano, the ride finish. I head off at one exit. It’s a dirt road in pretty bad condition with ruts, scattered clothing, debris, etc. I decide this can’t be right and cross the road to the other exit to Nerviano. Again, dirt road, same poor condition. I decide this can’t be the way to the ride finish. I ride up and down the street, looking for another entrance to Nerviano. I’m confused, tired. An older Italian gentleman on a cruiser with shorts, sandals and very tanned legs is riding across the street from me heading in my direction. I decide to once again ask for directions to the finish. I start to ride across the street in his direction. He says “Veronica”. I say “si”. He says “Veronica” again as if he has found his long lost friend. I’m so glad to be found. He leads me to the finish and down one of those dirt roads. I’m riding through the pot holes and gravel and through narrow dirt paths. We come to a gravel downhill and I say “oh….no”, I’m not going down that on my bike. Stanca morta (dead tired). I wouldn’t do that with all my facilities and definitely not at mile 1000+. We walked down that. He then continues to navigate me to what appeared to be some back entrance to the ride start. All the ride organizers were there packing up. Everyone was very excited to see me and gave me such a warm welcome. I had no idea that people would be worried or looking for me. I was busy trying to navigate back to the ride start. I thought the ride organizers would still be busy with logistics. They had tried to call, but my cell phone was off (low battery). One organizer suggested it would have been easier for me to get a ride back to the finish. I thought “easier to get a ride back”. How could he suggest that? What should have been a final finish of about 75 miles turned into 101 miles. How ironic to finish the 1001 Miglia with 101 miles. I received my medal and my official certificate signed by the President. They stopped to take several pictures of the final finisher, more teasing than serious. Everyone was more than kind. I was offered a ride back to my hotel which at this point I greatly appreciated. I did feel very sorry for those who wanted to hug me or ride in closed quarters with me. I was in desperate need of a shower and soak in the tub. I was sweaty, dirty and reeked. Back at the hotel, I showered, bathed and passed out in bed. I found out that the contingent from Seattle waited for my arrival at the finish for quite some time; very nice of them. Unfortunately, my finish was on a different time zone.
Why did I sign up for this? I ask myself this question at the start of every difficult ride. I came to the conclusion last fall that 1200k rides were not for me. I liked to ride, eat, tour and sleep. Sleeplessness nights and deadlines are not my idea of touring. Then, someone posted the 1001 Miglia ride to the listserve; that was like giving alcohol to an alcoholic. Io amo Italia (I love Italy) and wanted to do that ride. The ride was cheap, 180 euros; that definitely had a lot of appeal and I had enough airline miles to get a flight there. I kept that e-mail for quite some time. Looked at the website, roster, and relooked. Then, re-justified why I needed to do one more or maybe just two more 1200ks. And if one more, then why not, the longest randonee in Europe and how could I pass up riding in Italia. Last October on my b-day I signed up for the 1001 Miglia. This ride was by far the toughest I would attempt; 1600k (1001 miles) and close to 60,000 ft of climbing. I had my plan to do the ride, then had my last minute backout plan too.
I trained for the past year for this ride. Since I had a plan and an easy to execute backout plan, I decided to keep training, but not commit to attending the ride or tell anyone of my plans until the month before my departure. When I rode the Devil Mountain Double in April (208 miles, 19,000ft climbing) and then got up the next morning to ride the SF brevet (200k with 8,000ft climbing), some wondered what I was trying to prove. I was training for the 1001 Miglia, hoping to prove I could justify my name on the list of riders. The SF brevets and California double centuries fit perfectly into my training schedule as well as the Santa Cruz Central Coast 1000k. My training slipped a bit in July, but I also knew I had developed solid endurance ever over the past year. Then, things started to unravel. My sexy, carbon partner, Monsieur Guru had a major breakdown a month before the ride. A trip back to his homeland for rejuvenation was not going to have him back in time for the big ride. That didn’t leave me with any good alternatives: a mountain bike, my old stand-by Dale (Cannondale), now down to 3 speeds (52,42,30X16) or rent a bike. The week before my departure, I invested the money in Dale to get him back into workable condition, new shifters, cogs, cables, etc. Disappointing to not be bringing Monsieur Guru along, but then it was Dale who led me through all those miles over the past 10 years and it was Dale who brought me to the finish of PBP. Dale was not going to be left behind for some lightweight performance dude; he had proven reliability.
This past May, a fellow American rider, Greg put together an e-mail list of the American riders signed up for the 1001 Miglia. There were 10 of us in total and most of us had not met. One rider, Bob completed the 1001 Miglia in 2008 and shared some of his experience with us. We conversed by e-mail a small bit over the months before the ride. Many of the riders were staying at the Poli Hotel in San Vittore Olona, just a few kilometers from the ride start in Nerviano. Contador and Team Astana stayed at this same hotel in 2008. Hamid, another American rider, organized a get together the Sunday night before the ride so all the American riders could meet. Earlier that day, I ventured out to the famous ride of the Madonna del Ghisallo. I rode my bike to the train station a few kilometers away, took the train to Como and then rode my bike from Como to the Madonna del Ghisallo and the Museo del Ciclismo and back to Como. The weather started to turn on my way up the pass. A friendly Italiano cyclist asked if I needed help with directions on my way up. He led me part way, past the fork in the road with the “easier” vs. “harder” option. He chose the “easier” option. I was glad he didn’t leave that choice up to me. He then provided the directions for the rest of the ride; only one of many friendly, helpful Italiani I would meet along my travels. As I rode through the museum parking lot, not one other cyclist was to be seen. The parking lots were full of cars, no bicycles. Something felt really wrong with that; a bike museum with no bikes and all cars in the parking lot. The museum and cathedral overlook the Lake Como area and provide a spectacular view of the region. A museum worker came outside and called that day’s view “brutto” and I agreed and said “si”, but after another look said “brutto e bello”. While the sky had various colors of gray and some quite dark areas, the view was still very beautiful and dramatic with that multicolored, dark grey backdrop.
More on Madonna del Ghisallo if you’re interested;
http://www.cyclingnews.com/features/la-madonna-del-ghisallo-the-patron-saint-of-cycling
As I entered the museum, a heavy downpour started (good timing!). As I exited the cathedral, the sun shone for a few seconds (my blessing) and then I started my descent down the pass. Another downpour (my baptism) and it didn’t stop until I was almost down the pass, back at the Como area. By this time, it was just after 5:00pm and I realized I wouldn’t make it back it time for the Americani get together at the hotel. I decided to stop at a local café, have a bite to eat and una birra (beer). As I finished my dinner and sat there people watching, the weather changed in a second. The wind picked up and suddenly the workers, packed up the outdoor café and moved all in house in literally a minute. Time to head back to the train and hotel. As I exited the train, a perfect double rainbow in the sky. I don’t believe I ever saw a perfect doubt rainbow; a first. I arrived back to the hotel close to 8:00pm, much too late for the Americani get together.
The next day, Monday was ride start day. I still had a few things to get together. On my ride up to Madonna del Ghisallo, I had shifting issues. This was only the second ride since my bike overhaul. I also needed to go to the bike shop and pick up some water bottles (yep, forgot to pack those essential items). The bike shop was 5km away and easy, flat ride. Prepared with directions to the town and the bike shop’s business card, I set off. I made it to town pretty easily, but once in town couldn’t find the bike shop. I resorted to my “scusi, parli inglese?”. A yes or no answer prompted the same action. I would provide a written description of where I wanted to go. After asking this about 4 or 5 times to different individuals, without help, I happened to stumble on the street myself. The shop was tucked away in a residential neighborhood. The shop owner didn’t speak English either, but I guess my hands are pretty descriptive and can communicate pretty well. He adjusted my derailleur and fixed my shifting issues. He had no large water bottles to sell. I needed water bottles, so asked for the smaller ones. He gave me both the water bottles and mechanic work free of charge. Again, very helpful, nice Italiano. I was ready to start the ride.
A pre-ride dinner was planned for 6:00pm Monday night with a ride start of 9:00pm. I was getting ready to head out for the ride start and pre-ride dinner. Outside of the hotel, I was making the last minute preparations on my bike. As I put on my front & rear lights, Hamid and his wife Shab approached me. They offered to bring my drop bags to the ride start. Very nice and very appreciated. And then as I continued with my lights, I realized my two battery packs for my lights were missing. Just minutes before they were on the ground by my helmet. I asked Hamid and Shab if they saw them. They did not. We all looked around, they were no where to be found. Did you ever have a pick pocket experience where someone distracts you in front, while someone is trying to pick pocket you from the rear? That’s exactly how I felt at this time. How could I accuse these nice people of taking my battery packs? A friend of mine would say I was being paranoid. I went back in the hotel, checked the hotel room, rechecked outside the hotel. No battery packs. Okay, backup plan, think quick. No lights, no ride. I went back into the hotel and asked the front desk attendant for elastic bands. I left with 10 elastic bands, a back up to a back up to a back up. On to the ride start.
Finally I had a chance to meet up with some of the other American riders at the pre-ride dinner. I met Dave, Catherine, Bob, and Greg. Hamid joined us as well and some spouses and friends. We all lined up at the front of the start line after dinner. While in line, an Italian woman approached me. She wanted to introduce me to the ride organizer and wanted a reporter to interview me for Italian TV. It had to be the jersey. I was wearing the wool retro jersey with the biscione, the symbol of Milan, and it caught much attention as I entered the ride start. I’ve also received many compliments on the jersey in the states. I called Catherine over and volunteered her to replace me. The interviewer still wanted me included. She proceeded to ask questions on why we came to Italy to ride and if we had rides like this in the States. Catherine was quick to sell the good old USA and yes we had rides like this in the states. They picked the right person to answer the question, me, why do I have to be so camera adverse? I would have answered quite contrary. Of course we don’t have rides like this in the states, we come here because Americans love everything Italiano. We copy Gucci, Pucci, Italian cuisine and art, landscape and architecture. We love the culture and the renaissance and medieval cities . What compares to riding through centuries and centuries of history? In California last year, Levi Leipheimer brought the Gran Fondo to California, modeled after the great rides and cycling culture of Italy. The ride was an instant success and this year Gran Fondos are all the rage in the US. In Italy, cycling is part of their culture. We can only wish to have cycling a more important part of our culture, rather than a nuisance to many. I’m not sure if we ever did actually make Italian TV. Of course, my opinion is biased. I grew up in an Italian speaking family with a Nonna who would roll out homemade pasta by hand and a Nonnu who had a large family garden that would rival the old country, and with the tradition of the extended family all day Sunday meals. This was a culture I grew up with and I missed.
The ride was starting. We were the second group of 30 to leave the start line. This felt like a small scale version of PBP all over again. This ride had 300 riders as opposed to PBP’s 5,000. The 9:00 pm start, the small group starts and the rush fast pace right from the start gate. Did I really sign up for this all over again? I do not like night starts. I never recover from them and I never understand why someone would want to travel thousands of miles to a foreign country and then ride in the dark. Why did I sign up for this? I do believe when I signed up for the ride, the start time was not publicized. Maybe it was, and maybe I missed it. I thought I had six days to ride 1,000 miles, like 166 miles per day. That’s doable in summer daylight or with little night riding. How did I miss the 9:00pm start time? How did I miss this was PBP all over again and more? Despite all of that, I really did enjoy PBP, even with all the rain and I really do like night riding. I do not like sleep deprivation. And I do not like missing out on spectacular scenery.
Déjà vu; here I am riding through the night at the back of a fast paceline. My fellow American riders are fast and I’m barely holding on. What’s the rush? We have 5 1/2 days of this. But we want to hang on to the Italiani and have help navigating through the dark. We have a few regroups at a few roundabouts. Between the various GPS devices and the maps, and the road markings, we have to have a few conferences on which direction to go. At one junction the Italiani went one direction and we went the other. I’m guessing at some point up the road, both routes merged. The first control was at 85 miles and the second 118. We seemed to breeze right through those. I believe in the next section as I was hanging on to the back, a UK rider, Peter, went down hard right in front of me. Luckily, he left me about 12 inches of road/off road to navigate around him to the left. Whew, that was close. I yelled STOP, rider down. Most of the group continued on; language issue? He was unconscious; I thought he was dead. Peter’s UK riding friend was a doctor and came back to help. Is it proper to slap an unconscious man around? Looked pretty brutal to me, but then I’m not experienced in this area. Someone poured some water from their water bottle over his face. That didn’t seem too much better than slapping him around from my perspective. The Italiani started to call for help. Dr. UK got very testy very quickly. He demanded to know who they were calling and demanded they not call. He was taking responsibility for his friend. Meanwhile, Peter is still unconscious and now slowly starting to come around, but still not communicating. He’s still sprawled across the road as the next fast peloton descends upon us. The Italian riders yell “piano” (slow). I yell “rider down”. It is clear that Dr. UK is not going to call the paramedics. With Peter in Dr. UK’s care, I take off alone.
I’ve lost my peloton and lost the peloton behind that. I’m thinking that I’m in big trouble. Further up the road, I ran into a group of fast Swedish (?) riders. I cling on to the back for quite a few kilometers until they all started going in different directions at a roundabout and I decided to drop off. Was it this night that we came upon the call girls by the roadside fields? At PBP, farmers are at the road side fields in the middle of the night to cheer you on. In Italy, call girls with bikinis and blazing fires in garbage cans light the way. I call Italy a very colorful country and there was lots of color on that roadside that night and lots of skin too.
I spent time that first night riding thinking about what attracts me to these rides. At various times, I was very annoyed at myself for choosing a ride that navigates through the night again. But, I did so enjoy many parts of the nighttime riding. Typically there is very little traffic, the weather is much cooler and more desirable for cycling and it’s peaceful and serene. The first night is also typically the only time through the ride that I’ll be riding with a large peloton. There’s a strong sense that you’re all working together to navigate to a common end goal; despite your varied backgrounds and countries of origin and ability or inability to communicate with each other. Over the following days, you’ll reach your goal with the help of numerous different people, different strategies, but no doubt you’ll be helped by many of these riders surrounding you. Then, there is beauty in night riding, when you pass through a historic Italian village and the night lighting makes the view magical or you pass through the towns that are having their large celebrations at night and navigate through the village by foot since the small cobblestone roadways are full of lively people enjoying the festivities and celebration. These moments are so enjoyable. Can we stop the clock for a while and take a break? A hotel, per favore? For a few hours, please.
Daylight comes and the next control at mile 170. This was control 3 and we had a total of 18 controls to navigate through as we make our way around 1,001 miles of Italy. The control cut offs in the beginning of the ride were very aggressive which leaves very little opportunity for sleep and attempting sleep was futile at some controls. The women’s dorm room at Dicomano (mile 304) was awful. The door made an incredible loud creaking noise every time it was opened and closed, which was pretty regularly. I wasted about five hours at that control. Due to the tight control times in the beginning, night time riding was impossible to avoid and sleep time hard to come by.
By the time I reached Bolsena (mile 493), I was desperate for a hotel bed and shower. I arrived at the control at 3:10am. The control was a restaurant and many riders were sleeping on chairs and the floor. All the hotel front doors in the area were locked and no attendants at the front desk. I rang the bell at one, no answer. I rang the bell at a second and the attendant indicated no rooms were available. I went to a third hotel and rang and the very kind attendant let me in and gave me a single room. I was so tired, I slept as soon as I hit the bed. I needed to wake up in a couple of hours, but that few hours of sleep did wonders. The shower felt equally as wonderful. I wanted to be on the road by 7:00am and that was pushing it. The next control cut off was at 11:55am and I had 45 miles to ride and the section had some sections in excess of 15%. I went down to check out at 7:00am and the 2 hotel attendants could not check anyone out and I needed to wait until 8:00am until the front desk attendant came in. They also wanted me to have breakfast. I just wanted to get on the road. I tried to explain I had a tight deadline and my ride was in jeopardy, but this discussion was going nowhere. I had no choice to wait until 8:00am and in the meantime, they made me a cappuccino and gave me a plate with 2 cornetti (croissants). A nice consolation prize; forfeit the ride, but have a wonderful cappuccino and cornetto. And they were very friendly. Hard to be anything but thankful with that kind of service. I did make the next control with 10 minutes to spare. Must have been the help from the cappuccino.
The terrain navigating through these controls was just spectacular. From the medieval and renaissance cities and towns to the carefully planned landscape of vineyards, olive trees and large Italian cypress, the lakeside villages and some very unique places in between like Pitigliano with its unique arches. I passed fields and fields of sunflowers. I never expected so many sunflower fields in Italy. We also had the opportunity to ride the famous Strada Bianche Eroica, an extra 7 miles of unpaved road, if we chose to. We stopped and asked someone for directions. He spoke English very well and spoke my language. He said it’s stupid. Bottom line, just stupid. It would be dark soon and what’s the point, we wouldn’t be able to see anything. I was glad the group decided to pass on that opportunity. Our trip would have been on the Strada Nero.
From this point on making the control cut off points were close or when I did make up hours, they were eventually lost over a meal or birra at a local café or attempting to sleep at some control. I kept hoping to make up time to sleep at another hotel, but it wasn’t happening. I resolved myself to sleeping at the next control, Castelnuovo (mile 620) which had my drop bag and last drop bag. I showered and once again tried to sleep in the gym. Snoring in arpeggio is quite common in these venues. Obviously some have no problem with sleep. Another few hours wasted on an attempt at some sleep.
On our way to the Aulla-Pallerone control (mile 788), Hamid, Isaac, Wolfgang and I were looking for a sleep location. I was checking all the local cathedrals & churches. All locked. Where has Christianity gone these days? No help for the wayward travelers? Finally, Hamid stopped at a local business. I went around checking all the storage boxes for openings or shelter from the cold. The others were starting to find their sleeping locations near the building. This appeared to be some sort of car repair service. Various used cars were in the side lot. Desperate for a little shelter, I found one car door unlocked and called the rest. We all found shelter and a bit of sleep in a Renault for the next hour. It was around 1:00am in the morning. We reached Aulla-Pallerone at 5:30am. This was a free control and we stopped at a local bar for our proof of passage and also our morning café & pasta (pastry) fix. This bar was large with an area that included couches. After I had my latte (steamed milk with sugar) and several paste (pastries), I headed for one of the couches. I managed to get some shut eye.
Hamid, Wolfgang and I departed together. We were on the final stretch of the ride, shortly after leaving the Aulla-Pallerone control, Wolfgang took a quick right turn which led to a steep ascent. This was a tough climb and starting to feel like the hardest climb of the ride. We continued up, and up. Hamid’s GPS indicated we were on the right path. We stopped and asked a gentleman along the side of the road. He indicated we made a wrong turn. We indicated we wanted to continued going up and asked if we could get to Deiva Marina by going up. He indicated “brutta” and we wouldn’t want to go that way, we indicated we didn’t want to go back down. It was a long way down. He repeated again, we didn’t want to continue to go up and pointed down with a shake of his head. We all descended and it was a long, long way down.
This little mishap dividend our little group. Wolfgang felt bad about the course error, Hamid was on a tight schedule to get to the next control and I didn’t want to be rushed. Can’t remember what exact comment had me off the back, but I separated from the group. Wolfgang approached me and apologized and thought I was mad about the extra climb. I was not. What’s a couple of extra thousand feet of climbing when the ride has 60,000 total. No big deal, I was feeling good. This day we would be riding over Cinque Terra and there was no way that I planned to rush and do someone else’s ride. Good decision. This riding day was incredibly spectacular (and hot). I rode above the coastal villages of Cinque Terra and while the terrain was challenging, the payoff was unparalleled scenery to any. I ended up at the Deiva Marina ahead of Hamid and Wolfgang. They arrived at the control and then Isaac also came in. We all decided to take a rest there. Hamid, Wolfgang, Isaac and I headed out together. Hamid, Wolfgang and I made it to the top of the climb and a bar was located across the street. We decided to stop for a drink and ice cream and wait for Isaac. Isaac ascended and kept on going. I highly recommend a large beer a day for endurance cycling. Worked wonders for me, especially on hot days. Speeds up recovery……really. Red wine works pretty well too, but I would suggest that after 8:00pm when things cool off. I credit this regime with why I felt so good after completing the 1001 Miglia.
Wolfgang, Hamid and I departed once again together for Control number 17. Hamid again on a tight schedule. Wolfgang was having stomach issues and we stopped at a local store and then rested a bit. Once back on the bike, again rush to the next control. This time we were very tight for time. We were navigating some very busy coastal areas, lots of traffic, and fun parties. We made control number 17 at the deadline. Hamid was insistent on taking a shower there. No one needed a shower more than I, but between eating/drinking at this rest stop and refueling for the next stretch, we already used up 30 minutes of time. This left 34 miles to Control number 18, the last control before the finish and 3 hours left to get there. Most of this stretch was downhill, however the climb into Castellania is steep. I didn’t want to risk not making the control, didn’t want to be rushed and didn’t want to sit around waiting in sweaty, wet clothes, shaking while someone else was taking a shower. I took off alone for the next control. I made it to Castellania with 30 minutes to spare. This last control was at the Fausto Coppi Museum. I was feeling really good now, I’m on the homestretch, however really tired and in desperate need of a shower. The control had nice large tents set up with cots. I declined to sleep. No blankets and with damp, sweaty clothes, I would have a really hard time warming up to sleep. I left this control alone and worried that this last section of the ride had many a destra(right) and a sinestra (left) turns. This last stage led up to my travels and my encounter with the Carabinieri on the Autostrada.
The next day after the ride finish, I met up with many fellow riders at the hotel breakfast. And many that I had the pleasure to ride with over the course of the past week. Some I told a very shortened version of my finish to. Hamid came in and told of his side by side finish with Wolfgang and Isaac. As I sat there enjoying breakfast and hearing of other’s stories, Hamid’s wife, Shab came in and dropped off my light battery packs on the table. “Veronica, you must have left these in our car.” I was glad to have them back, but disappointed that my pick pocket sentiments were right on.
This was my last day in Italy. I planned to spend the day on the shores of Lake Maggiore in the town of Stresa. I head off by bus to catch the train. After a bit of sightseeing and shopping in Stresa, I sat down at a lakeside café and had a gelato banana split; a dessert I passed up for lack of time on my final day of the ride. My celebration for completing the 1001 Miglia and a farewell to the 1200+ks.
I ended with a very spectacular ride; 1001 Miglia, un molto bello giro. The scenery on this ride was just spectacular and the night festivities in the towns lively and fun. Do we have anything like this in the U.S.? In my opinion, no, not anything even remotely close. While it is my style to plan “on the move” vacations. I like to be moving, see as much as I can in the time I have. The 1200k rides take this to an extreme. I fell asleep on the bike on more than one occasion and too many of my fellow riders knew exactly what I was talking about; that point where you jerk awake, because your center of balance on the bike is starting to veer off center. Not a pleasant feeling and not an experience I want to repeat again. I feel very fortunate to have ridden two of the best 1200ks and more, PBP and 1001 Miglia. Both were very unique and fun and a little bit crazy too, but a lot of fun in that craziness.
When it was time to depart Italy, Gaetano picked me up from the hotel to bring me to the airport. He was also the one who picked me from the airport on my arrival. A nice touch coordinated by the ride organizers. At the airport, a woman approached me taking a survey about tourism in Italy. She asked the question, how was I treated by the people of Italy on a scale from 1-10, 10 being best. I immediately thought of Signore Cazzo, who wouldn’t serve me at the Dicomano control, but then thought of the countless other folks who helped me navigate through Italy. The man who left the bar to provide a car escort for me to follow when the directions weren’t clear, another man who escorted me in his truck late one night to keep me on course and the countless others I asked for directions along the way. All were more than helpful and friendly. I rated the people of Italy a 10. And I would rate the 1001 Miglia, a 10+.
Me at the finish:
http://www.1001migliaitalia.it/gallery/index.php?page=5
Veronica
bsandborgh
I really enjoyed reading your account of the Miglia. I was there too.
I think it must have been you I talked to when I passed the site where
Peter where laying on the road.
I really liked the route and the ride, although I think it was a bit
too hard. Every 'tappa' by itself was a nice but challenging ride. But
doing them all, more or less, non-stop was too much.
The concrete 'wall' on tappa 10 will become legendary. And the ford!
And the pavé bridge. The pontoon bridge! The pontoon bridge, which I
passed very early Saturday morning was very dangerous. There is
nothing more slippery than wet steel!
But what really disappointed us (from Sweden) was the controls. We
thought that 'all food is included' meant just that, not 'all food
there is is included'. We where really fed up with cold risotto! And
the sleeping facilities was a joke. I spent one night directly on a
tile floor (at Pomonte).
But it was a real randonneur ride. A real adventure!
I hope you will reconsider your decision to never do any more 1200 and
1200 + ride. This was my 6th and I am looking forward to the next one!
Yours
Bengt Sandborgh
Stockholm, Sweden