The secret season of Trentino

Here you get up in the morning and — depending on how you wake up — no matter whether you’re a lion or a gazelle, you can decide which outdoor pursuit you want to dedicate yourself to. There is something for everyone. Paddling on the lake or in the creek? Road cycling or enduro? Two pitches at the crag or just a stroll in the woods behind the house?
Well, if one practises as many outdoor sports as I do, sometimes the choice can become quite difficult. Still more so in the transitional seasons, like the spectacular autumn in Trentino.

What beliefs would crowd my thoughts? What dreams, hopes, traditions and experiences would I be realising? Would I still be as attached to and proud of my homeland? I’ve done a lot of travelling around the world; bikepacking, mountaineering, kayaking, van trips, motorbiking, but the feeling I get every time I return to my beloved valleys, perhaps after a month of solitude in remote and superlative environments, is always one of profound gratitude and amazement.
They say that Trentino people are a little bit like bears — shy, grumpy, certainly greedy, but equally curious. It is precisely this last adjective that motivates me to discover a route of almost 250 kilometres around Trentino that is nothing short of incredible. We thought we knew it like the back of our hand, and once again: gratitude, awe and wonder.

Yes, I spoke in plural. Travelling alone is something I love deeply, and my travelling companion is also a lone wolf. But for this tour, we turn a blind eye to our habits and agree to go together. Paolo is seventy years old and possesses the charm of someone who has lived a full, adventurous, true life. From memory, there is not a person I know who has not met his gaze and felt the humble affection of his beaming smile.
Paolo is a traveller who has crossed the deserts of half the world in his jeep, an insatiable explorer riding his Salsa Fargo (renamed Carmela in honour of his centenarian mother). He has cycled solo through the wonders of Patagonia, Bolivia, Chile, Spain and Portugal. For some years now, he has had a new disciple following him: his eleven-year-old nephew, Mattia.
Paolo is not only an excellent photographer, but the partner with whom I have shared ten years of graft and battles in the hectic world of communication. At the end of this year he will leave the scene, retiring permanently, and this seemed the perfect opportunity to commemorate our long friendship. As a song by Francesco Tricarico says, ‘A father is only a man / and men are many choose the best one, follow him and learn’. Thank you Paolo!
Now though, we’re off.

Trento, Piazza Duomo, eight o’clock in the morning. It’s a bit chilly, but for late October, let’s say I’d sign up for it.
As usual Paolo is the first to arrive, and I find him by the fountain tinkering with his new set of Brooks bags. We have packed the bare minimum because this time we will not pitch any tents, we will not hunt any wild animals to feed ourselves, but we will be pampered by the excellent hospitality and cuisine of Trentino. The feeling of being unloaded and light motivates us a lot, but we know perfectly well that small feats await us.
The city at this hour is teeming with life. Some people are going to work, some are having breakfast after dropping their children off at school, and some are pretending to be a couple of German tourists leaving for their three-day adventure.
We enjoy a good coffee under the porticoes and complete a final check of the essentials. Everything seems to be in the right place — we can set off.

The first 20 kilometres of the cycle path flow quickly. We skirt long stretches of plain among lush expanses of Teroldego, steal a few apples from a tree forgotten by some absent-minded farmer, and in just over an hour we are in the Piana Rotaliana.
We enjoy a snack close to the South Tyrolean border and are greeted by the overhanging walls of the Monte di Mezzocorona, providing an exciting backdrop to say the least. Between one wine cellar and another, we continue briskly along the well-maintained cycle path that hugs the Noce river. A few canoeists train between the rapids, and for a few minutes we enjoy watching them.
Paolo the Wise, however, knows that time is a tyrant and that the Val di Non must be tackled in a single breath. He calls me to order — we must start again! We gently begin to climb, ascending what was once the state road that led from the valleys of the Noce to Trento.

We pass above the vertiginous S. Giustina dam, a jewel of Trentino engineering. The Rio Novella forms a deep canyon. It is comforting to think about returning there in the summer, paddling serenely in a kayak to explore the inlet of the northern part of the lake.
We leave the sleepy village of Cles behind us. The valley landscape is dotted with mediaeval castles and we take a few more photos from the Castelaz bridge, above the emerald green waters. We set off again. The Val di Sole awaits us to complete our first round.

We take the wonderful cycle path along the tumultuous rapids of the Noce river and enjoy the forest of larch, fir and beech trees. And of course, walnuts — there must be a reason for the name of this river, right?
The time has come for a break. So, in order: the inevitable pint of Radler, a rye sandwich with speck and casolet — the typical cheese of the Val di Sole and Rabbi — and to finish, an invigorating espresso.
We start pedalling again, which is a pleasure. Between one area and another, riding along tarmac that would be envied by Swiss and Austrian cycle paths, we find ourselves at the starting point of the DOGA, the route that intrigued us so much and brought us here.
DOGA is an acronym of DOlomites and GArda. From the Dolomites to Garda with a vengeance. As gravel riders, we like that a lot!
The DOGA officially starts in Malè — and yours truly is playing at home. I was born and raised in the wild Val di Rabbi, and I trained for years in the Folgarida Ski Club.

I let myself go and pretend my name is no longer Claudio, but Klaus, one of the many German tourists who literally migrate to our lands in search of outdoor adventures. My partner has understood everything — after all, Paolo is a man of experience and knows that children must be indulged. Komm Klaus, wir gehen!
Our day ends in a B&B in Dimaro. We have ridden enough kilometres for today. Tomorrow we want to enjoy the climb and arrive fresh at the top to enjoy the Brenta Dolomites!
Shower, aperitif with a fresh Trentodoc, mixed cold cuts, canederli in broth for me and spätzli panna e speck for Paolo. We also split a polenta with stew and a slice of strüdel, just to play it safe. Good night dreamers, this is the life!

By 8:30 a.m. we’ve already eaten breakfast, saddled our steeds and yes, even done some stretching.
I think to myself that you don’t have to go to the other side of the world to be happy. What are we missing? Immersed in these reflections, I complete the morning run-in by sucking the wheel of a wild Paolo, who is evidently in splendid form.
The road to Folgarida and Campo Carlo Magno is a silent snake winding its way through wonderful meadows and mighty larches. I watch this valley flow by from my pedalling perspective: I will have enjoyed it hundreds of times, but I will never tire of such beauty. We climb, slowly but steadily: the breath is there and the team spirit too.  Chatting about this and that, we wonder what we should do in case we spot a bear on the road. Here, just like in British Columbia - remember the premise from which we started from? - it would not be at all uncommon to have a close encounter with the plantigrade... But fortunately, all is quiet on the horizon. We enjoy the most beautiful stretch of unpaved road on our journey.

We quickly descend from the pass, past the historic Madonna di Campiglio et voilà, his majesty the Brenta opens its arms as if to welcome us. And seduced by its immortal beauty, we accept the invitation.
These are magical moments, the autumn foliage is at its peak, the sky is blue, and before us only the descent that leads us to the Giudicarie. At Spiazzo Rendena, we take some refreshments before tackling one of the most beautiful climbs in Trentino: the Daone Pass.
It’s a tough climb, with an average gradient of 9%. It won’t be a walk in the park, but if you want to cycle in Trentino — let’s face it — you have to suffer. So nobody loses heart, with eyes full of beauty and a stomach full of energy we set off determinedly. Yes, the ascent is demanding, but the view that opens up all around us is a reminder that we are here to have fun, to enjoy being together and to discover another piece of our land.
It is done and it is only 2:30 p.m. So we decide that we have not had enough and we set ourselves another goal for the evening. We still have three hours of daylight, a breathtaking descent to Preore and then another gentle climb through Ponte Arche, Comano Terme, Fiavè and finally up to the Ballino pass. It doesn’t seem real, the dirt road that reaches the emerald Lake Tenno is something incredible, a continuous dance of light, one bend after another.
This is it: our B&B is in Canale di Tenno, one of the most beautiful mediaeval villages in Italy, where the Germans who populate Lake Garda below come in droves on a devout tourist pilgrimage.

We eat to our heart’s content: croutons of bread with Garda oil, carne salada with apples and Trentingrana, salmon trout, baked potatoes from the nearby Val di Gresta, all washed down with excellent Rebo, an indigenous vine from the Valle dei Laghi. Satiated, a little tipsy and nicely cooked from the day full of beauty and fatigue, we say goodbye and let ourselves fall into the arms of Morpheus, knowing that tomorrow’s last stage will be the hardest.

In the morning, the sun is shining and the lake looks like a Norwegian fjord from up here. After a hearty breakfast, we roll out with smiles on our faces, speeding along the winding road to Riva del Garda. The last blast of summer, it seems. The temperatures prompt us to opt for an ice cream instead of the usual sandwich, and so sitting on the quay in Piazza Catena, we enjoy our last moment of peace before the final battle, the fearsome ascent to the Santa Barbara Pass.
Next year the Giro d’Italia will pass through here, and this requires us to maintain a certain level of grit without overextending ourselve.Once again, I am surprised by my team-mate who doesn’t give up, even when the gradients touch 13%. Almost 13 kilometres with 1,079 metres of altitude gain. At the top, in addition to Saint Barbara, we seem to see the Madonna, but the fairytale landscape of cultivated fields, rich, leafy woods, meadows and perfectly maintained ancient terraces is not a vision.

This moment has the flavour of a great achievement. Certainly for the wonderful three days of pedal-powered adventure, but especially for the two of us, for this piece of life spent together. We are happy, we hug each other, and as always, we shoot off some nonsense to disguise the emotion that would make us appear too sensitive by our everyday standards.
For Paolo, a glorious and sparkling career comes to an end; for me, the legacy of a great project to continue begins. These are not easy times, but what I have learnt from being beside him is the importance of positivity, a little light and pushing on the pedals. So come on Paolo, let’s enjoy this last descent, two pints of radler are waiting for us!
We leave the fertile Val di Gresta behind us, enjoy the view of Lake Cei and finally take the state road towards Aldeno. The Adige Valley welcomes us back with the usual routine that we had put on hold three days ago. We return towards Trento on little-used stretches of road between vineyards and orchards, pedalling side by side. Our long shadows anticipate us on the road.
What an experience this has been, what beauty lies in Trentino. Have we already told you how lucky we feel? Perhaps we have, but it is worth mentioning again.