Lago di Garda is a grand old lake that stretches through a corridor of mountains in the heart of northern Italy. Tourists flock to its banks from near and far to swim, boat, dine, camp, and generally soak in its beauty. Towns dot its shores like a string of old pearls with pots of cherry-red geraniums lining the windowsills. Between sailboats and ferries, cars and buses, there are plenty of ways to get from one place to another. But we had come to Lago di Garda for the cycling.
The Challenge
One morning in 2020, long before the idea of SALA was conceived, the four of us woke up in our holiday apartment, checked the ever-changing skies, and geared up to go cycling. Bike lanes abound on Lago di Garda’s periphery, and routes lead up into the mountains in many directions. So we had plenty of options to choose from. The only issue was the weather. It was hot. And one other tiny issue: some of us had little experience cycling, and all of us had little experience cycling in this location.
We headed north through Riga de Garda. At the edge of town, where residential neighborhoods gave way to flat empty stretches of highway, we pointed our handlebars toward the hills by way of what we thought was a shortcut. For a moment, the beautiful scenery distracted us: winding lanes, old barns, grape vines trailing into the road. But then we turned a corner and – bam. The pebbly track turned straight up, seemingly vertical.
After grinding to a halt, we circled back and tried it again, this time with a little more momentum. But it wasn’t meant to be. One by one we dismounted and began pushing or carrying our bikes up the rest of the little hill. It may have been psychological, or physical, but I have to admit that even pushing my bike up the hill was too hard for me in that moment. Alonso, always quick to look for solutions, switched mine out for his lighter bike. We rode like that the rest of the day.
Once we got back on the main road, the mission seemed simple again. Climb the mountain. Get to the pass. Find a lake. Come home. But the seemingly endless switchbacks that followed would test me to my core. After each break, I gained hope and confidence, hopping on the bike and thinking, this time I’m going to last longer. I’d pedal hard and then less hard and then, suddenly, I’d feel like I’d hit a wall again and need to stop. I must have taken thirty stops.
Adrian, Hien, and Alonso were patient. They waited for me in the shade and cheered me on gently. Eventually we made it up over that first pass. Then came a series of ups and downs through which I panted and wheezed. Alonso stuck close by, reminding me to breathe, ideally through my nose. I discovered that singing to myself helped, but when e-bikers passed us casually I stared after them in jealousy. By the time we reached our destination, the smaller Lake Tenno, we had taken half our clothes off and stopped for water too many times to count.
To get down to the lake, we had to dismount again and wheel our bikes down a rough path through some woods. But even just the view from the top was worth the detour. The water was a deep, smooth, turquoise gem reflecting the sky. We made our way down, somebody got a flat, we cooled off in the water, and crashed on the rocky beach for a short rest.
The Reward
About an hour later, we were back on our bikes. Every time the road began to climb again, my body crumpled at the prospect. I had to pump it up with breath and song at every step of the way. But slowly, the descents started to outnumber the ascents. When tunnels in the road forced us off onto a bike trail (bring bike lights, even in the daylight: lesson learned), we entered another world.
The smooth, paved path curved around and under the crags of rock, overlooking a beautiful green valley. Finally we could coast and cruise, soaking in the surroundings and taking big long breaths of air. We dipped and swerved for a few more kilometers, lost the trail, found the route on the road again, and then broke back out into nature.
The trail cut through vineyards illuminated by the golden light of late afternoon. Locals took dips in the river. Dogs were out on evening walks. The road still passed over gentle hills, but the inclines were short and my body was starting to anticipate, adjust, go into autopilot. Finally, our hard work had paid off.
Back in town, we hobbled to a table and sat down to refuel. The pictures on our phones from the day already far felt far away, hard to believe we had reached all those different points along the way with just the strength of our legs and lungs. It wasn’t the best restaurant or the most beautiful view, but it sure felt luxurious to sitting still and resting.
Cycling is full of painful moments. It can be a daunting undertaking, especially for beginners. But get yourself a group who’s patient and supportive, and give yourself time to improve, and you just might find yourself in places you wouldn’t be able to reach any other way.
