"Take Me (Back) To The Giro" or "How Sweaty is (the Back of) a Pro Cyclist?"

Two weeks ago we had a taste of Italy and the Giro d'Italia. We wanted more, and convinced a friend to join us. Thinking we'd need a larger car than we used on the previous trip, I tried to make a reservation for a station wagon on Wednesday. The wonderful people at the rental company told me that there was a "tragic situation with combis" (a station wagon in Prague and most of Europe is called a "combi"). The best they could do was a sedan, which would probably be fine. I went ahead with the reservation. At the rental agency on Friday afternoon, they told me that just that morning they had picked up a brand new Skoda Octavia II Combi and that I could rent it instead of the sedan if I wanted to. I didn't hesitate. I am quite a big fan of Skoda's automobiles, and the chance to drive a brand new car didn't seem like something I would want to pass up. Skoda was bought by Volkswagen a few years ago and now a Octavia is comprable to a Passat.

When they handed me the keys the car had 17 kilometers on the odometer. Now it has 2016. Here's how it happened:

Leaving rainy Prague in the Octavia:

We drove 8 hours to Italy and then headed up into the mountains. We found the mountain peak we wanted but police were blocking the road - it closed at midnight and we were two hours late. Luckily, anything goes during the Giro so we set up camp on the side of the road - we didn't see this until the morning:

In the morning we headed up the mountain. Alex by bike, Tina and Brandon on foot:

Alex started a little behind us and caught us 4.2 km up the hill. We say hill, but we're talking about the Dolomites! These aren't just hills. He told us we were half way there (we weren't) and took off at a break neck speed up the hill (7 km/hour - it was a 10% grade):

The mountain village of Monno:

13.4 km later, we found our spot on the mountain to wait with 5,000 other people for the race to come through. We knew we had a long time to wait.

(Anticipation level: 2/10)

(Anticipation level: 3/10)

While Alex napped, Brandon taught me how to play backgammon:

Just two weeks later watching the Giro was vastly different. Instead of a small number of enthusiastic locals, thousands had migrated to the Mortirolo for the race. Many people had large tents, and loud music reverberated off the mountains.

(Anticipation level: 4/10)

(Anticipation level: 6/10)

The large, dark Italain-style sunglasses are trendy for a reason-- You can see Alex in the left lens and Brandon in the right:

(Anticipation level: 8/10)

A young Giro enthusiast exercises his Italian-born right to spraypaint the roads during May:

(Anticipation level: 10/10)

Waiting for a cycling race is much like cooking at Thanksgiving. You know that the food is going to be good, and you can smell it hours before you get to really sit down and enjoy it. But just like Thanksgiving, there are snacks and nibbles that keep you going throughout the wait. At the Giro, a taste might be talking to someone in a broken, slow mixture of English, German, and Italian, with some Spanish thrown in, about what happened during the previous day's race. Or you might wander around and see somebody's portable television picking up a fuzzy signal of the race coverage. Or a police motorcycle will drive by, and you'll think that the racers must be coming any minute now....

And then finally, after a dozen police motorcycles go by, each one elevating your heart rate slightly, you see them! We were fortunate to see them go around a hairpin corner below us before they actually went past us. Here Basso, the eventual winner of this year's Giro, leads Gilberto Simoni up the Mortirolo:

The Maglia Rosa with his awesome fierce grin:

Just a half minute behind was Jose Gutierrez, the eventual second place finisher of the Giro.

Discovery Channel's Paolo Savoldelli could not keep up with the other climbers this year:

Leonardo Piepoli gets cheered as he climbs by:

As you can see, there was hardly anything resembling a peleton up this mountain. Everyone was spread out and really suffering:

Here is one of our favorites, Paolo Bettini:

A little of everything in this shot:

I thought I'd try a self-portrait, and really surprised myself with how well I caught a rider, myself, and our arch-nemesis in just one picture. We were getting extremely upset with the man wearing green and standing in the road pushing all the cyclists up the hill. We weren't getting mad at him for pushing people, because believe it or not, only the first 10 or so riders go by without being touched--after the real contenders go by, the riders actually ask for a boost from the spectators. Green Guy, as we started to call him, was pushing them sideways, and nearly caused a crash at one point.

And then it's over.

A van goes by with "Fine Corse" and the just like that the race has moved on, down the mountain and off to the finish line. We're sure you're dying to know the answer to the title question--Very sweaty. Just giving a rider a quick push up the hill (which we did) leaves your hand soaked.

After the final riders, team cars, and police go by, there is just one thing to do: join the masses heading down the hill. I rode down on my bike while the hikers found a nice Italian couple who deposited them at the bottom of the hill, where we promptly found ourselves in a massive traffic jam. When in a traffic jam, play with the camera! Even the cows seemed interested:

Kristina found her true calling on this trip: As a professional backseat photographer. Check out some of her fine work in the next four pictures:

On the left, Italy. On the right, Switzerland:

A final view of the Dolomites as we prepared to enter the Alps:

We stopped for an stereotypically wonderful Italian meal before crossing into Switzerland. Knowing that the Swiss are not part of the EU, we thought we might get a stamp. In my best German I asked the Italian border agents for a stamp, and got an Italian exit stamp and not a Swiss entry stamp. Oh well.

Rise and shine! Setting up camp in the dark is turning into quite a habit of ours. The biggest benefit is that you are truly amazed when you see the area you camped in when you wake up! Comments like "We camped here?" were repeated often as we stared in awe at the Alps.

I tried to sell a few of these pictures to the car rental agency, and I'll probably try again in the future. Not a bad looking group--you'd think a picture like this would encourage people to rent cars and go driving!

Kristina resumed her lastest hobby, and snapped some awesome shots of the Alps as we climbed two huge passes, one at 1800 meters and one at 2200:

This was taken heading out of St. Moritz. What is the significance of this town? We'd all heard of it before, but couldn't remember why. Want an even more specific trivia question? What does St. Moritz have in common with Innsbruck and Lake Placid?

Up and up and up... the Octavia handled extraordinarily and even though we climbed two mountain passes and drove a healthy speed on the Autobahn we still averaged 6.2l/100km. For a solid, heavy feeling but snappy "combi" it really impressed me. It felt very similar to a Volvo or Passat wagon. Those of you who like math can translate the mileage, or consumption, as they call it here. If you don't like math, trust me that it is good.

If we weren't driving, we'd probably be taking this train:

In Zurich for lunch, we thought we'd snap a flag photo:

Who knew that there were canals in Zurich? Someone's surprised:

Photo au Lac:

Back on the road, we headed through a doubly-landlocked country you might have heard of:

Doubly-landlocked means that both countries surrounding Liechtenstein are also landlocked. They are Switzerland and Austria, if you were wondering. Here's the flag:

At some point we found a Swiss border and got our Swiss exit stamps, which, just like Switzerland, don't conform to any standards, European or otherwise. After battling heavy rain in Austria, we came out of the clouds and descended into Germany, and after some construction arrived in Munich near seven o'clock--perfect dinner time. A ring at our Munchner friends' doorbell, and they led us to a big party where we had our bratwurst and listened to a Mariachi band from Mexico City. This trip had a taste of everything... and our appetites were truly satisfied!

From Munich, back to Prague. Arrival time: 3 a.m. Whew. These posts keep getting longer and longer. Hopefully you're not up until 3 reading this.

Next weekend: Prague!

Thanks for reading. Na Schledanou!