When I started with road cycling, I was happy if the chosen route was as flat as possible and was mentally very far from alpine passes. As a North German, this love of the flat landscape was probably laid in my cradle. The vast expanse, the wide sky, and then simply pushing watts going straight.
I remember pretty well how (before my road bike time) I “climbed” Stelvio (yes infamous Stelvio) by car the first time and wondered about all the crazy people on their road bikes, who had pain written all over their faces and went up curve after curve seemingly in slow motion. I couldn’t believe it at the time and couldn’t comprehend what moves a person to do such a thing.
Never did I think that one day I would be one of those crazy people myself
In the Munich area, you can ride some smaller mountains on a tour. Valepp to Spitzingsee for example (5 km, 200 hm, 4.5% average gradient) or Sudelfeld (depending on where you start, from Oberaudorf, 15 km, 600 hm 4% average gradient). But really high alpine mountain passes? N/A. So I didn’t have the faintest idea what it would be like to climb my very first real Alpine pass: the Timmelsjoch, 22 km, 1000 hm, 4.7% average gradient.
The first alpine pass with the road bike
Beforehand, I had heard only the worst. An absolute torture, lots of traffic, pure suffering, etc. So with extreme tension I started on my first every alpine pass with my road bike (everything about our alpine crossing here in detail) and was immediately hooked. Perhaps it is also due to my great love of hiking, where you also make the mountain yours step by step and at the end have a feeling like you conquered something.
It’s the same with cycling on alpine passes. With pure muscle power and a lot of endurance, you climb this mountain step by step, which has placed itself in your path. The bike computer shows numbers throughout that you don’t really want to know (especially the gradient). And yet you have to check again and again how far you have already come and what still lies ahead. You also have to manage your strength well. Check the wattage and, if necessary, take it back a bit so that you still have enough power to pedal towards the end. The non plus ultra is of course to ride the entire Alpine pass without stopping once (which is a great challenge for the photo-savvy pleasure cyclist like myself).
At the top there is then the pure feeling of happiness.
You can’t believe it. Did I really just ride up that mountain for X km, curve after curve? You have the feeling that you’ve outsmarted your body. To have wrestled something from the mountain. To have come one step further. Of course, it’s usually worth it just for the view. But it is so much more than the view. Simply a special feeling that is addictive.
Chaff and wheat separate in the descent
And then comes the part where the wheat is separated from the chaff. The descent. Here I clearly still belong to the chaff camp, this part is still the worst part of mountain riding for me. With 100 km/h one could ride down the mountain again, lie down in the curves, come close to the asphalt, brake at the optimal time and let go again. Pure enjoyment, or so I’m told.
Instead, I cling to my handlebars, trying desperately to alternate left and right braking so that nothing overheats and fails. The increasing weight on my arms becomes too much for me. Then it becomes too fast for me. And then I have to take a break every now and then to recover from the downhill (here then finally photo opportunity, yay).
I was told that it gets better with time. You should practice a lot. And at some point it is then a treat. Nevertheless, for me the Alpine pass is now the non plus ultra for road cycling. It doesn’t get any better than that. Again and again. Every year. As often as possible, I now ride mountains.