
Shot on Sony DSC-RX 100 III
Vaddamorgana II: The Pilgramage
Unbiased open mind
While I switch out Tobi’s worn for new cleats in the train, he inquires about today’s route. Seppi just grins – that’s what he usually does.
I admire their lack of and the openness to new experience they portray. If they inquire with an open mind and – more importantly – heart, they will find answers to questions they have not yet formed in their heads. Their unencumbered approach works like a tranquilizer to my usually nervous mind. Consequently, when we could start pedaling we sit down for one more coffee and croissant.
I collect my shirt when we come back to the sign “only for competent mountaineers”. Seppi is sitting on a wooden bench 150 meters below us, enjoys the mild mountain air while curiosity forced us to touch that waterfall we thought just eighty meters above us (reality was 200m of elevation gain). The next morning we resume on the last part of the Vršič Pass, when I look up one more to our refuge for the night the gray façade blends in perfectly with the sky. The climb is quiet, pedal stroke and breath are calmly in tune before we fly down the descent and through the Soča valley.
“This trip feels like a 90s skatepark-punk playlist — highly energetic, raw, breaking from the norm and full of camaraderie.”
The climbs and descents offer space for individual exploration of depth of fitness and character while the flats glue us together. Unnecessarily, we pepper the experience with the occasional pointless sprint that will break our necks latest at the next day. This trip feels like a 90s skatepark-punk playlist — highly energetic, raw, breaking from the norm and full of camaraderie.

Anecdotal Glory
With the same intensity we sprint for anecdotal glory, we hang our freshly, sink-washed bib shorts on the ceiling fan and celebrate the last one hanging like the winner of an etappe at Le Tour. I strategically booked one fancy hotel on this whole trip - the one with the ceiling fan. The breakfast-gallery photo had me book it, anticipation was high. We swore to eat everything and then some more, but weather predictions with looming thunderstorms at noon destroyed all prefabricated breakfast-binge dreams. Instead we stuffed our faces with supermarket croissants and cake at ungodly, early hours. We climb Passo Giau conservatively but are ahead of schedule. The climb up Passo Fedaia is preceded by a Formula-1-resembling quick pit stop at a supermarket for grape juice and water (winning combo!). Further nutrition strategies are as individual as climbing speed and range from one gummy bear per hundred meters climbed to mixing salty and sweet stuff to primitively stuffing your face with gummy bears at every photo stop. One thing that has been consistent throughout this trip, we push each other. Whenever required we play motivational tunes, motivate verbally or suffer together. There is one rule we abide by: No one is left behind.
Discomfort does not hinder happiness
Much to Tobi’s amusement, Seppi and I give him our best motorbike imitations we had learned the last five days in motorbike country, i.e. the Alps in summer — ironically Harley Davidson on Route 66 is our best. When we finally leave the forest, I noticed the drop in temperature as I see my condensed breath in front of me. Tobi stops right behind me and we put our buffs and rain jackets on when Seppi, unzipped jersey flapping in the cold wind, flies by. “Looking for a pee spot” we hear him shout before he’s gone around the next bend. It seems urgent. Layered-up we head on and when we pass him, I signal to the top of the pass and the ever darkening sky simultaneously shouting “first one to the pass?”. Formed like a question, all of us know this was an indirect stimulus to push hard. When I reach the second to last corner it starts raining. In the last corner I jump off my bike, my by now ice-cold fingers try to fumble my camera out of my pocket and snap some photos, but the boys are approaching fast. Like their biggest fan I verbally push them up the last ramp before I jump back on my bike. We high five at the pass sign, put gloves on, zip-up, and descend in catastrophic conditions. When we reach our destination, I shiver but smile.

Bums at the station
The next day, we freeze again. After we sprinted for the Cima Coppi of our trip, I sit on the ground in front of the Timmelsjoch tunnel and put my rain jacket and leg warmers on. We inhale the last view south and push into thick fog.
I like the fog it conceals, it discourages achievement culture to flock to the mountains. The dreaded uphill towards the toll station within the descent is a welcome compulsion to produce enough power to heat up again. One last supermarket-picnic with too much food fuels mind and body for the perfect forty kilometer team-time trial to the train station. On the platform nudity was displayed to befit ordinary-life attire. As much as we care about our blank bums on the platform we care about purchasing insufficient train tickets and jump aboard the comfort-oriented homebound option.