A strange addiction. Climbing to the skies, slow motion, pain, body revolting, hour after hour of mental questions. Why am I climbing this mountain?
We’re a strange bunch us cyclists. Speeding along dressed in tights, bottoms padded, riding great distances much to the bemusement of non-cyclists.
To them it’s unfathomable that riding up a mountain, a mountain for god’s sake, can be pleasurable. If only they knew.
Mountains everywhere. Surrounded. An alien land for a city dweller. Mesmerising. A child looking up to the heavens, agog. The only way out is to ride up and over. Bliss.
This is cycling in the Dolomites. Jaw dropping views at every twist, every turn. Waterfalls and snow-capped peaks, ribbons of tarmac with more hairpins than your grandmother. Cycling paradise.