The Dolomites archipelago

I think it is fair to say, how should I put it, that it probably was not the brightest idea in the history of the world. I might also point out that I had never been to Val di Fassa in all my life. I may have passed through once, on my way to the mountains somewhere − I can’t even remember exactly where. All I can remember is having a quick coffee in Canazei.

It should be said that as soon as we got to the hotel in Pozza di Fassa, it became very obvious that they wanted to pamper us. We found out there was a spa (it appears that most hotels in this area offer similar indulgences) and, after putting down our luggage, we almost gave in to the tempting idea of a warm outdoor bath, only to discover that the baths were already closed. So I immediately had something to complain about to my ‘friends from the neighbouring province’, and that made me feel better.

The next morning, however, I open the window and I am greeted by skies as clear as they only ever can be on certain autumn days. The air is so crisp it feels like you could crunch it; the mountains, whose names I am still not familiar with, sparkle as if lit from within. I hate to say it, but I feel rather at home.

We set off on our first day’s ride that promises to be neither short nor easy. But by now I have resigned myself to the fact that over a distance of about 130 kilometres I am going to have to deal with the kind of elevation gain you get in a grand tour stage in the Alps. So I might as well try and enjoy it as best I can. The first climb, the Alpe di Pampeago, – what a surprise – happens to be the hardest. It was made famous by the Giro d’Italia, particularly after Pantani’s performances in ’98 and ’99. I climb slowly, steadily, efficiently, saving my legs, which is also the best way to keep my spirits up and my mind clear.

The nice thing about this pass is that it connects Tesero in the province of Trento to Val d’Ega in the province of Bolzano. In other words, these are quiet roads and solitude is excellent company. I will later discover that – again, what a surprise – the side I am climbing up, over by Tesero, is by far the hardest, but the nice thing about taking on the toughest part first is that afterwards, at least metaphorically speaking, it’s all downhill, right? Upon reaching the summit, my bike computer tells me there are still 3,000 metres of elevation gain to do. As a non-climber I will just take it one pedal stroke after the other, little by little.

After lunch, we make a very brief detour to visit the Church of San Valentino in Castelrotto, although we only have time to admire it from the outside. We had just ridden through a town named after the same saint, San Valentino in Campo, at the end of a series of switchbacks following the long descent from Pampeago Alp. During my two-day stay, I repeatedly asked locals why South Tyrol is so devoted to Saint Valentine, who was born and buried in Terni, but nobody seemed to have an answer.

Anyway, back to the little church: it was built in the 12th century (a fact I only found out afterwards, I must admit) and is definitely postcard-perfect; frescoed both inside and out, it is surrounded by a beautiful green lawn that is meticulously cared for, as is so often the case in South Tyrol. Its onion-shaped dome with an Orthodox vibe stands out against the rock walls of the Sciliar. Needless to say, it is a great place to take a break before tackling the day’s final challenge.

You can’t actually see Sella pass from Selva di Val Gardena, you can just feel its presence up there somewhere on the right. What you cannot help noticing, though, is the incredible Sella Range, one of the many fossil cliffs that combine to create the unique landscape of the Archipelago Dolomites. At this point, my bike computer shows over 3,000 metres of elevation gained, making small gears my best friends, even more than usual.

But as you come to the final two kilometres of the pass, with the sun setting over Sassopiatto amidst a forest of Swiss pine trees, all the pain in your legs and all the climbing you have done (and still have to do) suddenly fade away. This light, beautiful in its own right, is rendered quite unique by the rocky outcrops of Piz Boè, which absorb it, mix it together and then project it back in a spectrum of ten thousand colours. The word that comes to mind is ‘pulviscular’, which Calvino used in his American Lessons to explain two other words, ‘multiplicity’ and ‘lightness’ that so fittingly describe these mountains.

On the second day we set off again from Pozza: we have not been here 24 hours yet and we already feel entitled to refer to the place without the suffix ‘di Fassa’. The stage ahead of us is almost entirely through a different province, Belluno. The first climb begins in Canazei and leads up to Fedaia pass below the Marmolada, the highest peak in the Dolomites with its breathtaking glacier. I notice the sign at the top of the pass and something tells me I should be happy, after all I’m back home, right? So why does everything suddenly seem so fuzzy, so blurred? Could it be that after noticing that over there was a lot like over here and vice-versa, the whole question of local pride seems to be rather a non-issue? Today, for example, I am more than happy to have climbed the Fedaia pass from the Canazei side and not from Malga Ciapela with a long straight slope at a constant gradient of 15%.

We ride down towards Caprile and, before we get there, we catch a glimpse of the Serrai di Sottoguda from a bridge, which has just reopened after the disastrous consequences of Storm Vaia: all the forested areas around Rocca Pietore and beyond, still bear the scars of that terrible night of howling wind and fear. Didn’t I see these same woodlands yesterday when coming down Alpe di Pampeago in South Tyrol? Because, once again, over there is very similar to over here.

I know the roads beyond the Fedaia pass really well. Seeing the north face of the Civetta pop into view at Caprile is always a wonderful sight to behold. As is Mount Pelmo, solitary and imposing on the road up to the Cibiana pass: it is hardly surprising that legend has it that God Himself chose it as a place to rest and admire His work after creating the Dolomites. After leaving Zoldo, we climb up the Duran pass, descend to Agordo and then head up Val Cordevole towards Pieve di Livinallongo.

Up here in the highlands of the Agordo area, everything feels very Nordic: everybody speaks the Ladin dialect and the cemetery is still set around the church, as was customary all over Italy before Napoleon introduced his Enlightenment reforms. And so, yet again, local provincialism makes even less sense.

Today’s final climb and the last of the entire weekend is the Pordoi pass. If the first climb, Alpe di Pampeago, was the hardest, this is definitely the easiest. Not just because the gradients are never too steep and not because there are so many bikes, far more in fact than the cars or even motorbikes we encounter at the switchbacks. And not even because, if all goes well, we will get to the hotel in time for a quick visit to the spa. It is the easiest because it marks the end of a short journey that has taught me that my home is part of something much bigger than I thought. Because the Dolomites are not mine or anybody else’s, they do not belong to anyone because they belong to everyone. Because they are not an island, they are an archipelago.