LOCALadk Magazine

LOCALadk 43 in such foul weather. When we stopped at the local bike shop to pick up our rentals, we got our second hint at what was to come. They asked, "Do you have your own pads? Do you need a full-face helmet? " Oh, boy. We might be in over our heads. We rode back to the hotel on our rental e-bikes — the only bikes available — slightly ashamed we wouldn't be pedaling through Italy unassisted but also giggling at the sensation of zipping along with such ease. By the time we arrived back at our new home base, we were soaked. We retired to our room with a bottle of wine and a healthy dose of anticipation for our guided and shuttled singletrack tour in the morning. After a hearty breakfast involving all the charcuterie, pan au chocolat, macarons, cappucini, and all the fruit you could ask for, we found ourselves loading into a 15 passenger van and trailer with a posse of Bavarian bros in full body armor and a Swiss couple in matching laz- er-cat shirts. Yes, we were definitely in over our heads. Our only source of solace was our guide, Simon, who only wore a light pair of kneepads. Let me be clear: my inner dirtbag was loving this. A van full of bros in bike gear, blasting Euro house music, whipping around blind corners on two-way-one-lane roads as it climbs over 3,000 feet, and knowing we'd be riding singletrack alllllll the way back to sea level? Does it get any better? I still get pumped every time I hear the song Storm by AzZza. Then I saw Rhiannon's face, unusually pale and decid- edly concerned. Uh oh. She claimed it was from motion sickness, but I started to weigh the decision we had made. As enamored as I am with the hedonism of dirtbag- gery, love worked its magic and I admittedly started to get concerned. It's one thing to sign myself up for a suf- ferfest I'm entirely unqualified for, but to drag my new wife along for the ride — after she had a full-hip re- placement only five months prior, mind you — brought forth a sensation of responsibility a dirtbag simply doesn't have the skills to cope with. I had to adapt, and I had to adapt fast. It was like navigating the stages of grief in the second half of a 45 minute car ride. Denial: Surely it won't be that bad. All these euro sis- sies are just afraid of falling. Anger: I'm such an idiot, why didn't I do more re- search? Bargaining: Maybe if we ask nicely we can just get a ride back to the bottom. Depression: She is definitely going to ask for a di- vorce at the end of this thing. And then we were unloading the van, and all I had left to process was Acceptance: Rhiannon is a champion, we're going to get through this together. And that's exactly what happened. Despite deep mud, way more technical riding and mandatory drops than advertised, many (so many) bruises, eroded trails, and some unhelpful sing-songs about relaxing and Scenes from Finale. When it rains, you visit cafes. When the sun shines, you ride your bike!

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