Recalling the 1988 Giro d'Italia, Hampsten's Victory

5 June 1988

The bad weather of the last two stages at the summit finishes recalls the much more severe conditions on Passo Gavia at the 1988 Giro d'Italia. Andy Hampsten donned the pink jersey after this stage and went on to win the race, the only American to do so (and also the first non-European). The story of that day in June at the 1988 Giro d'Italia as told by Andy Hampsten:

"We were about 400-500 meters above sea level, in this big valley in Lombardy… and it was snowing. Most of us on the 7-Eleven team were from Colorado, and were pretty good at math, and if it’s snowing and you go up… and it’s SNOWING… it’s slushy, it’s coming down and then melting, it’s belting in… There’s no hint of anything changing, looking at the weather forecast. So the Giro organizers held an emergency meeting with all the team managers, telling them “hey, we’re doing the race, the roads open, snowplows are keeping it clear. It’s not icy on the Gavia, but it is snowing.” When we left it was just raining… kind of sleet-rain, but bucketing down. We went over the Aprica pass, a category 2 with a pretty short descent, but even on that descent I was wearing ALL the warm clothes I could possibly put on. I was shaking uncontrollably on that silly little descent. Then we were up at about 800 meters (altitude) climbing on a long false flat. A break went away and my team was chasing it but we weren’t going too hard, there wasn’t anyone really dangerous up there.And everyone was freaked out. All the racers were just… “scared”. The roads were wet, we’re just getting soaked to the skin. The cloud cover’s really low, it’s belting down on us, it’s really thick clouds, sometimes it’s foggy, sometimes we’re just below the clouds. We just kno-o-o-w it’s gonna be incredibly cold.Andy’s voice lifts for a moment when he remembers “My team was taking really good care of me bringing me hot tea every 5 km, we had a big thermos, our team was really well prepared. They’re asking “Andy – should we chase that break? Should we catch ‘em before the mountains?” But we just did tempo, I think Chiocciolli’s team with the leaders jerseys did a moderate tempo as well.

We went through the town of Ponte di Legno, across the wooden bridge, then we turned left towards the Gavia. It’s a gradual climb for about 4km, things are stringing out a little bit but there’s quite a bit of talk amongst (primarily) Italians… about ‘hey, let’s have a little strike, let’s not really race it, let’s get in the cars, let’s just go home’…And someone says: ‘hey Andy, you’re not gonna attack are you?’I just looked at him… and I didn’t say… a word....they knew damn well I was going to attack.

The road was still paved, but after a couple of km it turns to dirt. My team doctor - Dr. Massimo Testa – who’s from Como and knew the roads really well told me it would go around a left hand turn, still paved, then narrow to one lane under a grove of fir trees, and it’ll be 16%, right away, and turn to dirt.

So sure enough, I was right at the front, with my teammates doing tempo. Road turns to dirt… and it’s a long way to go. But I knew everyone was terrified… I was scared… So I attacked. Not a hundred percent, but because everyone was sooo intimidated by the whole climb… It was the climb of the race, everyone had been talking about it. Gianni Motta, who was always really friendly with Americans, super encouraging, told me the first day ‘you can win this race, and you can win it on THAT day…’ And they hadn’t used it for 30 years – the last time was 1961 & 62 when Charly Gaul won both stages into Bormio…It’s a really hard climb 18% in parts, never really gets below 10%… dirt, one lane road – a really good dirt road, with every few hundred meters there’s a little parking place carved out of the mountain, so when two cars meet, one can pull over and pass…Steady, steep grades, tons of switchbacks. The top is paved for about 3 km. Then it turns back to dirt on the way down, pretty much a one lane road, incredible number of switchbacks… turns, gradual turns, super sharp turns…

Usually in a race I’d go 100% up a climb and be able to hold it together in good weather, even rainy weather, on the descent. But, when my head’s spinning a little due to the effort on the uphill. I’m risking losing time due to a crash on the downhill. So in these conditions, I decided to go up the hill at 90-95%. Physically, but psychologically the uphill there I was producing some heat, while for the downhill, I just kneeew… because the storm was coming from the north, which was the direction we were traveling – I knew the descent would be colder and snowier than the climb.When I attacked it was still pretty much raining, but within a few kms, it turned into big, heavy snowflakes, plummeting down – like in the Christmas movies…So I dropped everyone right away, and it was in the switchbacks so I could really see my main rivals – Breukink, Zimmerman, Chiocciolli, stretched out behind me, it’s too steep for anyone to organize anything… I like dirt – I really like riding on dirt roads, I was kind of having fun (he chuckles). It wasn’t gravelly or chunky, it was a good dirt road, no potholes. A perfectly fine dirt road to ride your bike on, soft enough that I could see my tires were leaving imprints, so quite a bit of resistance, but technically nothing challenging. Which was wonderful, because over the top I was testing to see if it was icy, and it wasn’t. It was just slush on top of a very wet dirt road, so it wasn’t ever very dangerous…When we had a meeting in the morning, we were more worried about the descent, due to the weather, than the climb. So I certainly kept that in mind. Even when I attacked with 18km still go… I was thinking ‘okay you’re going to go really hard, but it’s a really long climb – obviously don’t blow it – ‘So on the way up it turned to snow, I could see I was opening gaps up, checking the time splits, catching a bunch of riders who had been away. Johan Vandevelde had jumped away earlier, and he was a bit up the road, and I was slowwwly closing on him, but I was trying to be first over the mountain…A few kms from the top I got a bottle of hot tea from one of my soigneurs we’d planted there. 2 kms from the top I got a musette bag filled with clothes that each one of us prepared and gave to Jim Ochiwizc (our team manager), and we were the only team to prepare warm clothes for this whole thing…On the way up I got rid of all of my warm clothes, my legs were bare, no shoe covers. I did have a pair of neoprene diving gloves that I kept on for the entire climb. Along the way my team car gave me a neck-gator and a wool hat.I wanted to dry my hair before I put it on – maybe 4-5 ks before the top, so I brushed through my hair, thinking I was going to wipe some water out, and a big snowball rolled off my head, and down my back.I thought – ‘Oh my gosh – I’m really not producing much heat, even though I’ve been going up a really hard grade.’ So then I had my raincoat, a super thin polypro undershirt on , so my arms were covered, but I was NOT warm at the top of the mountain. We could spend a few hours while I figure out how to describe how cold I was…

But I was thinking ‘it’s still a race, I’ve still got to get down the other side, as fast as I can. I kept pedaling on the downhill, but no one was there – no team car. Breukink – I followed him for a few hundred meters and figured out he had no clue how to ride in the snow and I’d rather make my own mistakes. Visibility was okay, but it was probably 20 or 30 yards. I kept one gear moving because all my other gears were frozen up with ice. It was –4 celsius (25F) at the top.There was slushy snow on the road, they’d been plowing the road beforehand, but stopped probably an hour before we came over. I think I was riding in a 53x 14 or 15, and I pedaled the whole way down. I’ve been back twice, in the summer, so I know now what the road actually looks like – it’s a fantastic road. But you can’t go very fast on it anyway, because it’s soo narrow, and soo many turns, there’s really no place you can open it up and go too fast…

I told myself “neevvvver look down at my legs”…so I looked down at my legs and the were bright red with a sheet of ice on my shins… I thought ‘man I’m in biiiigg trouble…’ I know there’s nothing on the mountain, if I stop, there’s no team car behind me because it’s too snowy – they can’t go, the Giro directeur was already down in the next village just hoping the race came by, there’s no lead motorcycle, nothing out there.There was one Carrera team mechanic with a spare pair of wheels on the dirt downhill, just walking down the middle of the road, sweaarrring and ranting because he’s been left alone, thinking they cancelled the race and no one told him about it… he freaked and shouted when I went past him.Meanwhile Vandevelde - I didn’t see it but he stopped. This road goes back to Napoleon, and there’s 2 refuges, he stopped at the second one, his team gave him a cotton hat and a plastic raincoat … and he just freaked out – he finished 48 minutes later. He was sooo cold, and so unprepared for the descent…

So I’m on my way down, I don’t care about the race I don’t care about anything, I’m pissing and moaning and grumbling, done asking God to come help me and I’ll make a deal with the devil if he shows up! (laughing) But there’s just me and my silly bike and there is a village after 15km of descending and I’m just telling myself to go go go. I knew if I put a foot down I was just going to freeze up. I can’t tell you how cold I was, but I was calculating “can I make it to that town?’ The only choice was to just keep going, try to create some heat – braking and pedaling at the same time.But I think I was going at a fairly good pace for the conditions because it was snow until about 3kms before the village of Santa Catarina and by that time I’m trying to do little tricks with myself – ‘oh joy! now it’s just sleet – it’s warmed up to just freezing!’ And I really don’t know if I’m going to make, it but I’m committed to going as hard as I can. Breukink caught me with about 8ks to go, and I tried to jump on his wheel… he must not have nee far behind me on the descent. I could not hold his wheel, but then I thought I could use him as a bit of a rabbit playing the silly game in my head… ’is it warmer to put on the brakes and go down this hill at 10 mph, or is it better to go 40-50 mph on this straight 8% slope?’ I’m going to get there quicker, but am I going to get hypothermia? But I figured if it’s so cold that I’m in danger of freezing, I’m just going to fall off my bike anyway… So I kept going down, kept him within 7 seconds at the end. I didn’t even want to stop at the finish line, but I didn’t even know where the hotel was anyway! (laughing) So I just sort of collapsed at the finish line, got warmed up, putting on the pink jersey, which was really really fantastic. At that point I ‘kind of’ cared about the race more than a hot bath… but not by a long shot. Talking about the Gavia… I get… pretty emotional each time. I’ve been back a couple of times to ride it with journalists and recount the day, and man, I’m waaasted by the end of the day…!”

Related story:
Andy Hampsten's 1988 7-Eleven Huffy Giro d'Italia

Addendum:
Sports Illustrated: During a snowy stage of the '88 Giro, Andy Hampsten rode into history


Note: Hampsten Cycles was founded in 1999 by Andy and his brother Steve Hampsten. Visit Hampsten Cycles at www.hampsten.com for a look at some beautiful frames that are being made. This poster is also available from them:

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Andy Hampsten: About Touring by Bike in Italy

Source: New York Times, full article here.

Putting a Spin on Touring

ANDY HAMPSTEN, 50, may be best remembered by cycling fans for overcoming a blizzard on a steep climb in the 1988 Giro d’Italia.

After retiring from professional cycling in 1997, Mr. Hampsten founded the Tuscan-based cycling tour company Cinghiale. But riders who join him, he said, need not brace for “a hammer session with an ex-pro.”

“I like to stop in a village,” Mr. Hampsten said, “grab something to eat, drink incredible wine and then get back on our bikes.”

Below are edited excerpts from a conversation with Mr. Hampsten about touring by bike in Italy.

Q: Why is Italy your favorite country for cycling?
A: There are so many gorgeous regions to choose from — Tuscany, Barolo, the Dolomites, Piedmont — and all of the secondary roads are safe and not congested. They incline at a 6 percent grade, which is perfect for riding. And motorists are never irritated by cyclists the way they are in the States. If they can’t pass you, they wait. Italy, as well as France, has a great culture of hospitality for cyclists. There’s a government program called agriturismo, which gives loans to farmers to restore their historic homes and rent out rooms. They’re reasonably priced and absolutely charming. Some have Web sites, but a better way to find them is by checking out the province’s tourism board.

Q: How physically fit must you be for a cycling tour?
A: If you don’t ride at all, you’ll want to start riding three to four times a week for three months before the trip. Most of our trips are 380 miles, so that’s 30 to 60 miles every day, about four hours each morning. But for people who race for recreation, our tour will be an easy week of fun riding.

Q: Any recommendations for cyclists who want to go on their own?
A: Instead of going to a bunch of famous cities that are 50 miles apart — whose routes will be jammed with traffic — I say pick a base in a beautiful region and get a map to find the sinuous secondary roads. The Touring Club of Italy publishes excellent maps, as does Michelin for France. A group called Erickson provides you with itineraries for all across Europe. Hard-core riders love them because they cover huge distances.

Q: Do you encourage people to bring their own bikes or rent them?
A: Bring your own bike because few rentals have good racing bikes. But check out airlines’ policies before booking because some charge absurd fees. Delta, for example, charges you $300 for each bike round trip, whereas British Airways lets you check it in like baggage.



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Stories for the Italian Cycling Journal about rides, granfondos, touring, having a good time cycling in Italy, Italian cycling history, etc. are always welcome. Contact me at veronaman@gmail.com. There are more than 2,500 stories in this blog. The search feature to the right works best for finding subjects in the blog. There is also a translate button at the bottom so you can translate each page.

The Mortirolo, Marco and Me

Guest contributor Rich, a member of the Stockton Bicycle Club who was on a tour with CycleItalia, sends in his second contribution, this time about the Mortirolo and Gavia.

The Mortirolo, Marco and Me

"The Mortirolo has been called the toughest climb in pro cycling, and it is certainly the steepest and toughest I have encountered. Since we were tackling this climb, along with the Gavia, on our 10th consecutive day in the saddle, and since we had spent close to three hours climbing the Stelvio the day prior, John and I decided to sag the 30 km of mostly downhill and fairly busy roads to get to the start of the climb relatively fresh. It didn’t help much.


Everyone who has ridden Sierra Road outside of San Jose in California, thinks it is a hard climb, and it is. Sierra Road is 3.6 miles and climbs 1800 feet, which works out to about 9.2% average grade. But the Mortirolo is over twice as long (7.7 miles) and averages 10.2%. And the real killers are those 6 kilometers (3.7 miles) in the middle of the climb which average 12.4%. One of those kilometers is a whopping 14.5% average gradient. Even with a 34x32 low gear there are places where I had to stand to keep the bike moving. Sierra Road takes me something under 35 minutes to climb (my pr is 32:00) but the Mortirolo required 1:39 to do the 7.7 miles and climb 4150 feet.

I wanted to get to the Pantani Memorial, which is about 8 km into the climb, without stopping, and somehow I managed to do it. In 1994 Pantani wowed the tifosi with amazing attacks on the Mortirolo, and his memorial is different from the others we saw at the top of climbs with grand views of the mountains. Pantani’s monument is located at what appears to be just another unremarkable switchback of the 30 that make up this climb. It is wooded and shaded and there is no view at all. They say he put in the decisive attack on this corner, which is why his monument is here. Given the glory and disappointments of his career and his sad and tragic death from drugs and depression, it seems fitting that he should be remembered at a place where he fought to beat the mountain and his rivals and not on some grandiose summit crowned in glory.

The Pantani Memorial is sobering and I spent a good while there, taking pictures and thinking about how hard this sport can be and how much effort and determination are required from those who excel at it. Marco flew up the climb and the tifosi cheered; he died alone in a hotel room and the tifosi mourned the loss. I was also thinking about how amazing it was to be in a country where cycling could produce such passion that they build monuments to their heroes along the roads where they had their greatest moments.

Cyclists leave mementos at the monument. I didn’t leave anything, but I did get a picture with some SBC stuff and a Bicycle Café cap at the site.


After the photo op, I continued up the climb, and the reduced gradient over the last 4 km, which averages ‘only’ 9.6%, allowed me to complete the climb without another break. And finally I reached the summit, which is in the middle of a cow pasture. I was more than glad to be done with this one, and I actually felt pretty good after it was over. Of course, that could all change on the Passo Gavia, which is the next climb of the day.


By the time we started down the Mortirolo, it was getting on toward lunch time, and since there really isn’t anywhere to eat on the Gavia we decided to have lunch and then sag the rest of the downhill to the base of the last big climb of the trip. I haven’t been car sick since I was in high school, but as our guide and grand prix driver Larry sped the van down the switchbacks like the ex motorcycle racer he is, I got queasy, and then a little more than queasy. I didn’t throw up but I felt as if I could at any moment. When we parked at the base of the climb, I wasn’t sure I could even stand up let along climb another HC monster. I was dizzy and nauseated and sweating, though the day was cool. Heather gave me a coke and some anti motion sickness gum, and I started up the climb feeling decidedly weak and just trying to keep the pedals turning. We started the climb at km 13 in the profile below.


The Gavia Pass became well known to Americans in 1988, the year Andy Hampsten won the Giro. He didn’t win the stage (Eric Breukink did) but he take over the maglia rosa by 15 seconds in a horrendous snowstorm. Bob Roll was on Andy’s team and wrote about the terrible conditions in his article ‘The Day the Big Men Cried’. And back then, the road wasn’t even paved!

Even though the entire climb is now smooth asphalt, and instead of snow we were enjoying another perfect day with sunshine, light winds and cool temperatures, I was still finding the climb plenty hard. I rode along with John most of the way. Usually I climbed a little faster than he did, but I was feeling awful and was happy to ride alongside him. The last 7 km or so are very scenic, with amazing views across the valley far below on your left to the spectacular peaks on the other side.

Larry warned us that a few guests had ‘freaked out’ in the tunnel 3 km from the top. The tunnel is 800 meters long, unlit and lacking in any windows. It is also uphill at around 9 percent, so it takes a good long while to get through. Because of the incline and a slight curve the exit isn’t visible for the first 500 meters or so, and it is very dark in there. Fortunately traffic was sparse, though a motorcycle did overtake us and the roar was deafening. Heather was driving the van behind us with her headlights on, which helped some. When we emerged into the light I was finally recovering and I finished the last 3 km of serious climbing on our trip feeling much better than I had at the bottom. I’m even smiling at the top knowing that only the shorter climb of the Madonna di Ghisallo remains for tomorrow and the big climbs are all behind me. And while I did sag a few descents and stretches of false flat roads which had a little more traffic, I did every climb of the tour on my bike.


After my bout with car sickness I decided to ride down to Bormio on my bike, and I enjoyed the ride down until the road narrowed in a village, where two tourist busses had met in oncoming directions and couldn’t get past each other. I had to wait with the other cars while one backed up enough to find a spot wide enough to let the other one past. But after the slight delay I made it down to Bormio and managed to find my hotel. This was the last descent of the tour, and I made it down all of them without incident, even though I was pretty worried about the steep downhill roads before the tour started. Tonight I will celebrate with an extra glass of wine, since tomorrow there is only one short climb on the program, from Lake Como up to the Madonna di Ghisallo Chapel."



From The Day the Big Men Cried, by Bob Roll:

I grabbed a plastic hat, long-finger gloves, and Oakley Pilots and took off down the pass for Bormio, a mere 15 kilometers away. I thought I could ride 15 kilometers in any condition, at any time, anywhere on Earth. I have never been more wrong in my life.

After a brilliant climb, Van de Velde, forsaking extra clothes in order to gain time on the descent, was the leader on the road and had the pink jersey waiting for him in Bormio. Only 2 kilometers of descending later, Van de Velde was on his knees in tears. Savagely hypothermic, he crawled into a car to warm up. One hour later, he got out of the car and rode to the finish way outside the time limit....

Meanwhile, I kept my head down and hammered, following the tire grooves through the snow. After only 1 kilometer, I was bloody cold. After 2 kilometers, I was frozen to the core. After only 3 kilometers, I was laughing like a lunatic and passed Rolf Sorensen, screaming at the top of my lungs in an attempt to generate some warmth. After 5 kilometers, I was crying and about to slip into a frozen coma. About halfway down, I was not thinking straight and was making poor choices. At one point, I got off my bike and began to run back up the hill in a lame attempt to warm up.

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Win A John Slawta Custom Bike

Easton is having a contest in which the prize is a custom frame by John Slawta (Land Shark). The contest requires building a miniature version of your dream bike using one, or more, spokes.

You might ask yourself, "What does this have to do with Italian cycling?". John Slawta was the frame builder for the bike that Andy Hampsten used to win the 1988 Giro d'Italia.

This is the story was written by James Huang in 2010 and appeared in www.cyclingnews.com:

The bike that conquered the Passo di Gavia and the 1988 Giro d'Italia

"Saturday's torturous run into Montalcino will undoubtedly go down as one of the most memorable moments of the Giro d'Italia with shattered riders crossing the line looking more as if they had just finished Paris-Roubaix, not a stage of a grand tour: minutes were gained and lost, spirits were broken, heroes were made.

But for many Giro d'Italia watchers, stage 7 also harkened back to another brutally unforgiving day 22 years ago – when Andy Hampsten left behind all but one of his competitors ascending a snowy and freezing-cold Passo di Gavia, bravely descended the other side, and then went on to become the first and only American to win Italy's greatest bicycle race.

Hampsten's steed back then was a prototypical road racer of the late '80s with a lugged steel frame and fork, a 1" threaded steerer, and shifters that were mounted on the down tube, not conveniently integrated into the brake levers. But the characteristics he sought from his machine back then aren't far off from what racers still demand today.

Though it wore the red, green and white livery and labels of official team sponsor Huffy, Hampsten's bike was actually a custom made rig crafted to his specifications by famed US builder John Slawta of Land Shark after a team-issued frame broke beneath him earlier that spring at Fleche-Wallone. That failure was eventually sourced back to an errant shipment by the builder's tubing supplier but still, Hampsten says his confidence was shaken and he wanted to go with something tried and true.

"I felt bad about not using a Serotta [the company that actually built the team 'Huffys'] and sticking with the team supplier," Hampsten told us. "It wasn't Serotta's fault. But I was in a period of my life when I didn't like crashing due to mystery bike failures, so I went with the sure ride I knew Land Shark would build for me.

"John gave me a deal on it and the 7-Eleven team was nice enough to let me buy a frame for myself," Hampsten continued. "He made bikes earlier for my Levi's Raleigh team and I knew he would do a great job."

Hampsten's racing experience at that point taught him to seek out a frame that was light – but not too light – and handled with the stability and predictability needed to not only ascend the highest peaks but also get down them safely and quickly as well, too.

"I asked John to build it light for the mountains but it needed to put up with some bad roads," Hampsten said. "It was light but I know John was fairly conservative about going too light. His geometry is perfect; I never felt it would not get me out of the way when I was going around or through a crash, yet on the bad road conditions we experienced it was never unstable.

"The year after '88 we had Eddy Merckx as our bike supplier," he continued. "He is the master at fitting bikes to riders and taught us not to get hung up on light bikes. Why save seconds on a climb and lose minutes on a descent? Slawta certainly has an old world style of making bikes that go up and downhill properly."

Hampsten's build kit back then featured box-section Wolber aluminum tubular rims and tires; a deep-drop aluminum handlebar, XA forged alloy stem, Volare saddle and cork tape from Cinelli; and a Shimano Dura-Ace group complete with down tube shifters and forged alloy seatpost.

Some of the original parts have unfortunately gone in separate directions from the rest of the bike, however, including the Look-style Dura-Ace clipless pedals and the then-prototype eight-speed cassette and rear wheel (all of which, "went to a junior racer with another bike in '89. Who knew bike parts would keep changing?").

Hampsten says his local shop, University Bicycles in Boulder, Colorado (where the bike is now on display amongst the shop's impressive collection of vintage gear) has otherwise done an excellent job of restoring and caring for the bike and aside from a non-spec chain, is just as he raced it in Italy in '88, fit and all.

Total weight as pictured here without pedals is 8.93kg (19.69lb) – heavy by today's standards but typical for its time.
Hampsten tells us he hasn't ridden the bike in years but by his account its handling characteristics and overall feel aren't far off from what he prefers now – though the fit has shortened by nearly two centimeters in both reach and saddle height on account of his now more relaxed demeanor on the bike.

"I haven't ridden one of my old race bikes for a long time, but I don't think they handle any different than what I enjoyed when I was racing," he said. "Now that I am a dedicated café 'tourerererer' my demands are less on the speed of the bike than they are feeling good on my ride. So I want a bike that is light and handles extremely well on descents and switchbacks, especially if I am trying to race rain showers. I want to finish my rides without my body hurting and have the energy to ride more if my (imagined) schedule would allow it.

"As it happens what I demand from my bike now is exactly how Eddy designed bikes," he went on to say. "Make a comfortable ride that lets a racer feel great and full of energy at the end of the race."

Despite offers from collectors, Hampsten says he'll never sell the bike to anyone as it holds too dear a place in his heart and too many fond memories.

"[That bike] is what carried me through the defining moment of my career as a bike racer," he said. "I never thought I would face crazy weather on the crucial stage of what is the biggest race I ever won, so I never prepared for that mentally. I dreamed of being a bike racer for most of my life, and I dealt with winter six months of the year when I was young. So when my moment was met with snow on the Gavia pass I got far enough past my fears to accept that I was in for a hard time, but it was going to be my hard time. I might have been better at being a bike racer than winning bike races, and on this bike I went farther past the "can't dos" in my mind than I have ever imagined possible.

"On the Gavia I was never, never, never going to give up."

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Stories for the Italian Cycling Journal about rides, granfondos, having a good time cycling in Italy, Italian cycling history, etc. are always welcome. Contact me at veronaman@gmail.com. There are more than 1,700 stories in this blog. The search feature to the right works best for finding subjects in the blog. There is also an Italian weather widget along the right side and a translate button at the bottom so you can translate each page. What I'm riding.

Holiday Gift for Andy Hampsten Fans

From Steve Hampsten, brother of Andy Hampsten, of HAMPSTEN bicycles:

"Christmas/Hanukah/Kwanzaa/Solstice is right around the corner and we have the perfect stocking stuffer: signed Andy poster and a pair of our new DeFeet Wooleator socks at the low, low price of only $45!

Price includes shipping and a handsome cardboard mailing tubing artisanally packed by yours truly."

To order the "Passo Gavia - the warmth package" click here.

The story behind the 1988 image on the poster, as recounted by Andy Hampsten, is this:

"We were about 400-500 meters above sea level, in this big valley in Lombardy… and it was snowing. Most of us on the 7-Eleven team were from Colorado, and were pretty good at math, and if it’s snowing and you go up… and it’s SNOWING… it’s slushy, it’s coming down and then melting, it’s belting in… There’s no hint of anything changing, looking at the weather forecast. So the Giro organizers held an emergency meeting with all the team managers, telling them “hey, we’re doing the race, the roads open, snowplows are keeping it clear. It’s not icy on the Gavia, but it is snowing.”When we left it was just raining… kind of sleet-rain, but bucketing down. We went over the Aprica pass, a category 2 with a pretty short descent, but even on that descent I was wearing ALL the warm clothes I could possibly put on. I was shaking uncontrollably on that silly little descent. Then we were up at about 800 meters (altitude) climbing on a long false flat. A break went away and my team was chasing it but we weren’t going too hard, there wasn’t anyone really dangerous up there.And everyone was freaked out. All the racers were just… “scared”. The roads were wet, we’re just getting soaked to the skin. The cloud cover’s really low, it’s belting down on us, it’s really thick clouds, sometimes it’s foggy, sometimes we’re just below the clouds. We just kno-o-o-w it’s gonna be incredibly cold.Andy’s voice lifts for a moment when he remembers “My team was taking really good care of me bringing me hot tea every 5 km, we had a big thermos, our team was really well prepared. They’re asking “Andy – should we chase that break? Should we catch ‘em before the mountains?” But we just did tempo, I think Chiocciolli’s team with the leaders jerseys did a moderate tempo as well.

We went through the town of Ponte di Legno, across the wooden bridge, then we turned left towards the Gavia. It’s a gradual climb for about 4km, things are stringing out a little bit but there’s quite a bit of talk amongst (primarily) Italians… about ‘hey, let’s have a little strike, let’s not really race it, let’s get in the cars, let’s just go home’…And someone says: ‘hey Andy, you’re not gonna attack are you?’I just looked at him… and I didn’t say… a word....they knew damn well I was going to attack.

The road was still paved, but after a couple of km it turns to dirt. My team doctor - Dr. Massimo Testa – who’s from Como and knew the roads really well told me it would go around a left hand turn, still paved, then narrow to one lane under a grove of fir trees, and it’ll be 16%, right away, and turn to dirt.

So sure enough, I was right at the front, with my teammates doing tempo. Road turns to dirt… and it’s a long way to go. But I knew everyone was terrified… I was scared… So I attacked.Not a hundred percent, but because everyone was sooo intimidated by the whole climb… It was the climb of the race, everyone had been talking about it. Gianni Motta, who was always really friendly with Americans, super encouraging, told me the first day ‘you can win this race, and you can win it on THAT day…’ And they hadn’t used it for 30 years – the last time was 1961 & 62 when Charly Gaul won both stages into Bormio…It’s a really hard climb 18% in parts, never really gets below 10%… dirt, one lane road – a really good dirt road, with every few hundred meters there’s a little parking place carved out of the mountain, so when two cars meet, one can pull over and pass…Steady, steep grades, tons of switchbacks. The top is paved for about 3 km. Then it turns back to dirt on the way down, pretty much a one lane road, incredible number of switchbacks… turns, gradual turns, super sharp turns…

Usually in a race I’d go 100% up a climb and be able to hold it together in good weather, even rainy weather, on the descent. But, when my head’s spinning a little due to the effort on the uphill. I’m risking losing time due to a crash on the downhill. So in these conditions, I decided to go up the hill at 90-95%. Physically, but psychologically the uphill there I was producing some heat, while for the downhill, I just kneeew… because the storm was coming from the north, which was the direction we were traveling – I knew the descent would be colder and snowier than the climb.When I attacked it was still pretty much raining, but within a few kms, it turned into big, heavy snowflakes, plummeting down – like in the Christmas movies…So I dropped everyone right away, and it was in the switchbacks so I could really see my main rivals – Breukink, Zimmerman, Chiocciolli, stretched out behind me, it’s too steep for anyone to organize anything… I like dirt – I really like riding on dirt roads, I was kind of having fun (he chuckles). It wasn’t gravelly or chunky, it was a good dirt road, no potholes. A perfectly fine dirt road to ride your bike on, soft enough that I could see my tires were leaving imprints, so quite a bit of resistance, but technically nothing challenging. Which was wonderful, because over the top I was testing to see if it was icy, and it wasn’t. It was just slush on top of a very wet dirt road, so it wasn’t ever very dangerous…When we had a meeting in the morning, we were more worried about the descent, due to the weather, than the climb. So I certainly kept that in mind. Even when I attacked with 18km still go… I was thinking ‘okay you’re going to go really hard, but it’s a really long climb – obviously don’t blow it – ‘So on the way up it turned to snow, I could see I was opening gaps up, checking the time splits, catching a bunch of riders who had been away. Johan Vandevelde had jumped away earlier, and he was a bit up the road, and I was slowwwly closing on him, but I was trying to be first over the mountain…A few kms from the top I got a bottle of hot tea from one of my soigneurs we’d planted there. 2 kms from the top I got a musette bag filled with clothes that each one of us prepared and gave to Jim Ochiwizc (our team manager), and we were the only team to prepare warm clothes for this whole thing…On the way up I got rid of all of my warm clothes, my legs were bare, no shoe covers. I did have a pair of neoprene diving gloves that I kept on for the entire climb. Along the way my team car gave me a neck-gator and a wool hat.I wanted to dry my hair before I put it on – maybe 4-5 ks before the top, so I brushed through my hair, thinking I was going to wipe some water out, and a big snowball rolled off my head, and down my back.I thought – ‘Oh my gosh – I’m really not producing much heat, even though I’ve been going up a really hard grade.’ So then I had my raincoat, a super thin polypro undershirt on , so my arms were covered, but I was NOT warm at the top of the mountain. We could spend a few hours while I figure out how to describe how cold I was…

But I was thinking ‘it’s still a race, I’ve still got to get down the other side, as fast as I can. I kept pedaling on the downhill, but no one was there – no team car. Breukink – I followed him for a few hundred meters and figured out he had no clue how to ride in the snow and I’d rather make my own mistakes. Visibility was okay, but it was probably 20 or 30 yards. I kept one gear moving because all my other gears were frozen up with ice. It was –4 celsius (25F) at the top.There was slushy snow on the road, they’d been plowing the road beforehand, but stopped probably an hour before we came over. I think I was riding in a 53x 14 or 15, and I pedaled the whole way down. I’ve been back twice, in the summer, so I know now what the road actually looks like – it’s a fantastic road. But you can’t go very fast on it anyway, because it’s soo narrow, and soo many turns, there’s really no place you can open it up and go too fast…

I told myself “neevvvver look down at my legs”…so I looked down at my legs and the were bright red with a sheet of ice on my shins… I thought ‘man I’m in biiiigg trouble…’ I know there’s nothing on the mountain, if I stop, there’s no team car behind me because it’s too snowy – they can’t go, the Giro directeur was already down in the next village just hoping the race came by, there’s no lead motorcycle, nothing out there.There was one Carrera team mechanic with a spare pair of wheels on the dirt downhill, just walking down the middle of the road, sweaarrring and ranting because he’s been left alone, thinking they cancelled the race and no one told him about it… he freaked and shouted when I went past him.Meanwhile Vandevelde - I didn’t see it but he stopped. This road goes back to Napoleon, and there’s 2 refuges, he stopped at the second one, his team gave him a cotton hat and a plastic raincoat … and he just freaked out – he finished 48 minutes later. He was sooo cold, and so unprepared for the descent…

So I’m on my way down, I don’t care about the race I don’t care about anything, I’m pissing and moaning and grumbling, done asking God to come help me and I’ll make a deal with the devil if he shows up! (laughing) But there’s just me and my silly bike and there is a village after 15km of descending and I’m just telling myself to go go go. I knew if I put a foot down I was just going to freeze up. I can’t tell you how cold I was, but I was calculating “can I make it to that town?’ The only choice was to just keep going, try to create some heat – braking and pedaling at the same time.But I think I was going at a fairly good pace for the conditions because it was snow until about 3kms before the village of Santa Catarina and by that time I’m trying to do little tricks with myself – ‘oh joy! now it’s just sleet – it’s warmed up to just freezing!’ And I really don’t know if I’m going to make, it but I’m committed to going as hard as I can. Breukink caught me with about 8ks to go, and I tried to jump on his wheel… he must not have nee far behind me on the descent. I could not hold his wheel, but then I thought I could use him as a bit of a rabbit playing the silly game in my head… ’is it warmer to put on the brakes and go down this hill at 10 mph, or is it better to go 40-50 mph on this straight 8% slope?’ I’m going to get there quicker, but am I going to get hypothermia? But I figured if it’s so cold that I’m in danger of freezing, I’m just going to fall off my bike anyway… So I kept going down, kept him within 7 seconds at the end. I didn’t even want to stop at the finish line, but I didn’t even know where the hotel was anyway! (laughing) So I just sort of collapsed at the finish line, got warmed up, putting on the pink jersey, which was really really fantastic. At that point I ‘kind of’ cared about the race more than a hot bath… but not by a long shot… As a postscript, I asked Andy if he ever gets tired of talking about his racing days – he must have told the Gavia story a million times!Says Andy: “No, no. Talking about the Gavia… I get… pretty emotional each time. I’ve been back a couple of times to ride it with journalists and recount the day, and man, I’m waaasted by the end of the day…!”

Images from that day:

And, some stories of the mere mortals that have ridden the Gavia:
Pietro on the Gavia
Andy Hampsten and the Gavia

Note: Andy's story appeared in www.pezcycling.com

Stories for the Italian Cycling Journal about rides, granfondos, having a good time cycling in Italy, Italian cycling history, etc. are very welcome. Contact me at veronaman@gmail.com. There are more than 1,600 stories in this blog. The search feature to the right works best for finding subjects in the blog. There is also an Italian weather widget along the right side and a translate button at the bottom so you can translate each page. What I'm riding.

Andy Hampsten's 1988 7-Eleven Huffy Giro d'Italia

The following article was written by James Huang and appeared in www.cyclingnews.com.

Andy Hampsten's 1988 7-Eleven Huffy Giro d'Italia

The bike that conquered the Passo di Gavia and the 1988 Giro d'Italia

Saturday's torturous run into Montalcino will undoubtedly go down as one of the most memorable moments of the Giro d'Italia with shattered riders crossing the line looking more as if they had just finished Paris-Roubaix, not a stage of a grand tour: minutes were gained and lost, spirits were broken, heroes were made.

But for many Giro d'Italia watchers, stage 7 also harkened back to another brutally unforgiving day 22 years ago – when Andy Hampsten left behind all but one of his competitors ascending a snowy and freezing-cold Passo di Gavia, bravely descended the other side, and then went on to become the first and only American to win Italy's greatest bicycle race.

Hampsten's steed back then was a prototypical road racer of the late '80s with a lugged steel frame and fork, a 1" threaded steerer, and shifters that were mounted on the down tube, not conveniently integrated into the brake levers. But the characteristics he sought from his machine back then aren't far off from what racers still demand today.

Though it wore the red, green and white livery and labels of official team sponsor Huffy, Hampsten's bike was actually a custom made rig crafted to his specifications by famed US builder John Slawta of Land Shark after a team-issued frame broke beneath him earlier that spring at Fleche-Wallone. That failure was eventually sourced back to an errant shipment by the builder's tubing supplier but still, Hampsten says his confidence was shaken and he wanted to go with something tried and true.

"I felt bad about not using a Serotta [the company that actually built the team 'Huffys'] and sticking with the team supplier," Hampsten told us. "It wasn't Serotta's fault. But I was in a period of my life when I didn't like crashing due to mystery bike failures, so I went with the sure ride I knew Land Shark would build for me.

"John gave me a deal on it and the 7-Eleven team was nice enough to let me buy a frame for myself," Hampsten continued. "He made bikes earlier for my Levi's Raleigh team and I knew he would do a great job."

Hampsten's racing experience at that point taught him to seek out a frame that was light – but not too light – and handled with the stability and predictability needed to not only ascend the highest peaks but also get down them safely and quickly as well, too.

"I asked John to build it light for the mountains but it needed to put up with some bad roads," Hampsten said. "It was light but I know John was fairly conservative about going too light. His geometry is perfect; I never felt it would not get me out of the way when I was going around or through a crash, yet on the bad road conditions we experienced it was never unstable.

"The year after '88 we had Eddy Merckx as our bike supplier," he continued. "He is the master at fitting bikes to riders and taught us not to get hung up on light bikes. Why save seconds on a climb and lose minutes on a descent? Slawta certainly has an old world style of making bikes that go up and downhill properly."

Hampsten's build kit back then featured box-section Wolber aluminum tubular rims and tires; a deep-drop aluminum handlebar, XA forged alloy stem, Volare saddle and cork tape from Cinelli; and a Shimano Dura-Ace group complete with down tube shifters and forged alloy seatpost.

Some of the original parts have unfortunately gone in separate directions from the rest of the bike, however, including the Look-style Dura-Ace clipless pedals and the then-prototype eight-speed cassette and rear wheel (all of which, "went to a junior racer with another bike in '89. Who knew bike parts would keep changing?").

Hampsten says his local shop, University Bicycles in Boulder, Colorado (where the bike is now on display amongst the shop's impressive collection of vintage gear) has otherwise done an excellent job of restoring and caring for the bike and aside from a non-spec chain, is just as he raced it in Italy in '88, fit and all.

Total weight as pictured here without pedals is 8.93kg (19.69lb) – heavy by today's standards but typical for its time.

Hampsten tells us he hasn't ridden the bike in years but by his account its handling characteristics and overall feel aren't far off from what he prefers now – though the fit has shortened by nearly two centimeters in both reach and saddle height on account of his now more relaxed demeanor on the bike.

"I haven't ridden one of my old race bikes for a long time, but I don't think they handle any different than what I enjoyed when I was racing," he said. "Now that I am a dedicated café 'tourerererer' my demands are less on the speed of the bike than they are feeling good on my ride. So I want a bike that is light and handles extremely well on descents and switchbacks, especially if I am trying to race rain showers. I want to finish my rides without my body hurting and have the energy to ride more if my (imagined) schedule would allow it.

"As it happens what I demand from my bike now is exactly how Eddy designed bikes," he went on to say. "Make a comfortable ride that lets a racer feel great and full of energy at the end of the race."

Despite offers from collectors, Hampsten says he'll never sell the bike to anyone as it holds too dear a place in his heart and too many fond memories.

"[That bike] is what carried me through the defining moment of my career as a bike racer," he said. "I never thought I would face crazy weather on the crucial stage of what is the biggest race I ever won, so I never prepared for that mentally. I dreamed of being a bike racer for most of my life, and I dealt with winter six months of the year when I was young. So when my moment was met with snow on the Gavia pass I got far enough past my fears to accept that I was in for a hard time, but it was going to be my hard time. I might have been better at being a bike racer than winning bike races, and on this bike I went farther past the "can't dos" in my mind than I have ever imagined possible.

"On the Gavia I was never, never, never going to give up."

Stories for the Italian Cycling Journal about rides, granfondos, racing, having a good time cycling in Italy, Italian cycling history, etc. are very welcome. Contact me at veronaman@gmail.com. There are more than 1,400 stories in this blog. The search feature to the right works best for finding subjects in the blog and there is also a translate button at the bottom so you can translate each page.

Update: Gavia Pass for Saturday

Above: the Gavia Pass yesterday

As the peloton's focuses its attention on the Mortirolo today the Giro organizers are constantly monitoring the Gavia Pass (m. 2618) which is in tomorrow's stage. The situation is raising concerns, especially for the forecast of heavy snowfall.

At the moment there has not been any official announcement of a possible change of course. However, plans to change the course are already drawn up. The alternative route, in case of worsening weather, keeps the start in Bormio and then ascends Trivigno Tirano (the descent today); the route then continues to Aprica, then down again on Tirano to reach Grosio in order to arrive at Mortirolo from the north - west (first time in the Giro). At 3 km from the summit the route rejoins the "Classic Mortirolo". Then down to Monno and the final climb that leads to Ponte di Legno / Tonale.

It was on the Gavia Pass ascent in 1988 in which Andy Hampsten won pink jersey after he devastated a field of near-frozen Giro d'Italia riders over the snow covered pass.

Hampsten is the only American to ever have won the Giro d'Italia. Here, Hampsten recounts that events of that day in 1988:

"We were about 400-500 meters above sea level, in this big valley in Lombardy… and it was snowing. Most of us on the 7-Eleven team were from Colorado, and were pretty good at math, and if it’s snowing and you go up… and it’s SNOWING… it’s slushy, it’s coming down and then melting, it’s belting in… There’s no hint of anything changing, looking at the weather forecast. So the Giro organizers held an emergency meeting with all the team managers, telling them “hey, we’re doing the race, the roads open, snowplows are keeping it clear. It’s not icy on the Gavia, but it is snowing.”When we left it was just raining… kind of sleet-rain, but bucketing down. We went over the Aprica pass, a category 2 with a pretty short descent, but even on that descent I was wearing ALL the warm clothes I could possibly put on. I was shaking uncontrollably on that silly little descent. Then we were up at about 800 meters (altitude) climbing on a long false flat. A break went away and my team was chasing it but we weren’t going too hard, there wasn’t anyone really dangerous up there.And everyone was freaked out. All the racers were just… “scared”. The roads were wet, we’re just getting soaked to the skin. The cloud cover’s really low, it’s belting down on us, it’s really thick clouds, sometimes it’s foggy, sometimes we’re just below the clouds. We just kno-o-o-w it’s gonna be incredibly cold.Andy’s voice lifts for a moment when he remembers “My team was taking really good care of me bringing me hot tea every 5 km, we had a big thermos, our team was really well prepared. They’re asking “Andy – should we chase that break? Should we catch ‘em before the mountains?” But we just did tempo, I think Chiocciolli’s team with the leaders jerseys did a moderate tempo as well.

We went through the town of Ponte di Legno, across the wooden bridge, then we turned left towards the Gavia. It’s a gradual climb for about 4km, things are stringing out a little bit but there’s quite a bit of talk amongst (primarily) Italians… about ‘hey, let’s have a little strike, let’s not really race it, let’s get in the cars, let’s just go home’…And someone says: ‘hey Andy, you’re not gonna attack are you?’I just looked at him… and I didn’t say… a word....they knew damn well I was going to attack. The road was still paved, but after a couple of km it turns to dirt. My team doctor - Dr. Massimo Testa – who’s from Como and knew the roads really well told me it would go around a left hand turn, still paved, then narrow to one lane under a grove of fir trees, and it’ll be 16%, right away, and turn to dirt.

So sure enough, I was right at the front, with my teammates doing tempo. Road turns to dirt… and it’s a long way to go. But I knew everyone was terrified… I was scared… So I attacked.Not a hundred percent, but because everyone was sooo intimidated by the whole climb… It was the climb of the race, everyone had been talking about it. Gianni Motta, who was always really friendly with Americans, super encouraging, told me the first day ‘you can win this race, and you can win it on THAT day…’ And they hadn’t used it for 30 years – the last time was 1961 & 62 when Charly Gaul won both stages into Bormio…It’s a really hard climb 18% in parts, never really gets below 10%… dirt, one lane road – a really good dirt road, with every few hundred meters there’s a little parking place carved out of the mountain, so when two cars meet, one can pull over and pass…Steady, steep grades, tons of switchbacks. The top is paved for about 3 km. Then it turns back to dirt on the way down, pretty much a one lane road, incredible number of switchbacks… turns, gradual turns, super sharp turns…

Usually in a race I’d go 100% up a climb and be able to hold it together in good weather, even rainy weather, on the descent. But, when my head’s spinning a little due to the effort on the uphill. I’m risking losing time due to a crash on the downhill. So in these conditions, I decided to go up the hill at 90-95%. Physically, but psychologically the uphill there I was producing some heat, while for the downhill, I just kneeew… because the storm was coming from the north, which was the direction we were traveling – I knew the descent would be colder and snowier than the climb.When I attacked it was still pretty much raining, but within a few kms, it turned into big, heavy snowflakes, plummeting down – like in the Christmas movies…So I dropped everyone right away, and it was in the switchbacks so I could really see my main rivals – Breukink, Zimmerman, Chiocciolli, stretched out behind me, it’s too steep for anyone to organize anything… I like dirt – I really like riding on dirt roads, I was kind of having fun (he chuckles). It wasn’t gravelly or chunky, it was a good dirt road, no potholes. A perfectly fine dirt road to ride your bike on, soft enough that I could see my tires were leaving imprints, so quite a bit of resistance, but technically nothing challenging. Which was wonderful, because over the top I was testing to see if it was icy, and it wasn’t. It was just slush on top of a very wet dirt road, so it wasn’t ever very dangerous…When we had a meeting in the morning, we were more worried about the descent, due to the weather, than the climb. So I certainly kept that in mind. Even when I attacked with 18km still go… I was thinking ‘okay you’re going to go really hard, but it’s a really long climb – obviously don’t blow it – ‘So on the way up it turned to snow, I could see I was opening gaps up, checking the time splits, catching a bunch of riders who had been away. Johan Vandevelde had jumped away earlier, and he was a bit up the road, and I was slowwwly closing on him, but I was trying to be first over the mountain…A few kms from the top I got a bottle of hot tea from one of my soigneurs we’d planted there. 2 kms from the top I got a musette bag filled with clothes that each one of us prepared and gave to Jim Ochiwizc (our team manager), and we were the only team to prepare warm clothes for this whole thing…On the way up I got rid of all of my warm clothes, my legs were bare, no shoe covers. I did have a pair of neoprene diving gloves that I kept on for the entire climb. Along the way my team car gave me a neck-gator and a wool hat.I wanted to dry my hair before I put it on – maybe 4-5 ks before the top, so I brushed through my hair, thinking I was going to wipe some water out, and a big snowball rolled off my head, and down my back.I thought – ‘Oh my gosh – I’m really not producing much heat, even though I’ve been going up a really hard grade.’ So then I had my raincoat, a super thin polypro undershirt on , so my arms were covered, but I was NOT warm at the top of the mountain. We could spend a few hours while I figure out how to describe how cold I was…

But I was thinking ‘it’s still a race, I’ve still got to get down the other side, as fast as I can. I kept pedaling on the downhill, but no one was there – no team car. Breukink – I followed him for a few hundred meters and figured out he had no clue how to ride in the snow and I’d rather make my own mistakes. Visibility was okay, but it was probably 20 or 30 yards. I kept one gear moving because all my other gears were frozen up with ice. It was –4 celsius (25F) at the top.There was slushy snow on the road, they’d been plowing the road beforehand, but stopped probably an hour before we came over. I think I was riding in a 53x 14 or 15, and I pedaled the whole way down. I’ve been back twice, in the summer, so I know now what the road actually looks like – it’s a fantastic road. But you can’t go very fast on it anyway, because it’s soo narrow, and soo many turns, there’s really no place you can open it up and go too fast…

I told myself “neevvvver look down at my legs”…so I looked down at my legs and the were bright red with a sheet of ice on my shins… I thought ‘man I’m in biiiigg trouble…’ I know there’s nothing on the mountain, if I stop, there’s no team car behind me because it’s too snowy – they can’t go, the Giro directeur was already down in the next village just hoping the race came by, there’s no lead motorcycle, nothing out there.There was one Carrera team mechanic with a spare pair of wheels on the dirt downhill, just walking down the middle of the road, sweaarrring and ranting because he’s been left alone, thinking they cancelled the race and no one told him about it… he freaked and shouted when I went past him.Meanwhile Vandevelde - I didn’t see it but he stopped. This road goes back to Napoleon, and there’s 2 refuges, he stopped at the second one, his team gave him a cotton hat and a plastic raincoat … and he just freaked out – he finished 48 minutes later. He was sooo cold, and so unprepared for the descent…

So I’m on my way down, I don’t care about the race I don’t care about anything, I’m pissing and moaning and grumbling, done asking God to come help me and I’ll make a deal with the devil if he shows up! (laughing) But there’s just me and my silly bike and there is a village after 15km of descending and I’m just telling myself to go go go. I knew if I put a foot down I was just going to freeze up. I can’t tell you how cold I was, but I was calculating “can I make it to that town?’ The only choice was to just keep going, try to create some heat – braking and pedaling at the same time.But I think I was going at a fairly good pace for the conditions because it was snow until about 3kms before the village of Santa Catarina and by that time I’m trying to do little tricks with myself – ‘oh joy! now it’s just sleet – it’s warmed up to just freezing!’ And I really don’t know if I’m going to make, it but I’m committed to going as hard as I can. Breukink caught me with about 8ks to go, and I tried to jump on his wheel… he must not have nee far behind me on the descent. I could not hold his wheel, but then I thought I could use him as a bit of a rabbit playing the silly game in my head… ’is it warmer to put on the brakes and go down this hill at 10 mph, or is it better to go 40-50 mph on this straight 8% slope?’ I’m going to get there quicker, but am I going to get hypothermia? But I figured if it’s so cold that I’m in danger of freezing, I’m just going to fall off my bike anyway… So I kept going down, kept him within 7 seconds at the end. I didn’t even want to stop at the finish line, but I didn’t even know where the hotel was anyway! (laughing) So I just sort of collapsed at the finish line, got warmed up, putting on the pink jersey, which was really really fantastic. At that point I ‘kind of’ cared about the race more than a hot bath… but not by a long shot… As a postscript, I asked Andy if he ever gets tired of talking about his racing days – he must have told the Gavia story a million times!Says Andy: “No, no. Talking about the Gavia… I get… pretty emotional each time. I’ve been back a couple of times to ride it with journalists and recount the day, and man, I’m waaasted by the end of the day…!”

Notes: Andy's story appeared in http://www.pezcycling.com/

Stories for the Italian Cycling Journal about rides, granfondos, having a good time cycling in Italy, Italian cycling history, etc. are very welcome. Contact me at veronaman@gmail.com. There are more than 1,400 stories in this blog. The search feature to the right works best for finding subjects in the blog and there is also a translate button at the bottom so you can translate each page.

Andy Hampsten's Favorite Road On The Planet

Andy Hampstgen on his favorite ride:

"My favorite ride is a 12 kilometer section of road between Sassetta (Livorno), my home village, and Suvereto. It drops three hundred meters and there’s not one straight-away, it’s all turns but no hairpins. One day I counted 287 turns, the locals hate it because it’s so twisty and turny. It’s my favorite road on the planet. I’ve lived on that road for 29 years or so and I like it more every time I ride it."

Google map link here.

Quote excerpt is from www.rapha.cc

Photo: Sassetta

Stories for the Italian Cycling Journal about rides, granfondo, having a good time cycling in Italy, Italian cycling history, etc. are very welcome. Contact me at veronaman@gmail.com. There are more than 1,200 stories in this blog. The search feature to the right works best for finding subjects in the blog and there is also a translate button at the bottom so you can translate each page.

Hand Printed Andy Hampsten Gavia Pass Print

In the 1988 Giro d’Italia Andy Hampsten mounted a daring attack on the sleet and snow slicked slopes of the Gavia Pass, a gamble that paid off as he became the first non-European and only American cyclist to win Italy’s grand tour.

Hand printed by David Dodde
Individually numbered
130# Acid-Free Cover Weight Paper
20 x 26 (508 mm x 660 mm)
Shipped in custom tubes with special wrap

$75.00 from House

Stories for the Italian Cycling Journal welcome; contact me at veronaman@gmail.com. There are more than 1,100 stories in this blog. The search feature to the right works best for finding subjects in the blog and there is also a translate button at the bottom so you can translate each page.

Pietro: Passo Falzarego

Peter, aka "Pietro", files his tenth and last report from the Andy Hampsten tour.

"Friday, September 4, 2009: Day 8 Passo Falzarego; Summit Elevation 2105 meters.

Weather forecast is chance of showers. Andy decides to keep the ride short, 60 km, Passo’s Falzarego and Giau. This sounds good as we get back early and I can email and relax.

Off we go. The climb starts easy, gradual grades. We climb for quite a while. Andy comes by and we chat. He thinks my saddle may be a little low but also says if it works stay with it. We get to the intersection where we turn to the Passo Falzarego. Now the gradients start to increase. I soon pass a sign that says P. Falzarego is 9 km (Ugh). I know I have well over an hour more to go to the summit. On the way up, I pass two people on roller blades (with ski poles) roller blading up to the summit. I wonder how they get return? Turns out that there was a whole group of roller bladders and I passed to two slow women. They have a van at the top to take them down. How disappointing as I wanted to see them roller blade down the mountain with no brakes. Ha, Ha.

And then you start to see the elevation signs like 1600 meters. I know I have to go to something over 2000 meters so there is a lot of climbing to tick off. Slowly, the distance to the summit grows smaller and the elevation gets higher.

I pass a little town off to the left with an abandoned castle. I can look up the mountain and see these houses way up there. Amazing!!!

I finally come around a turn and look up into the distance and see the road leading up to a tunnel. Boy, it’s a long way off but I keep grinding and grinding. It’s nice when things start to get closer. I pass the last little town (OK, only a few houses) and start up the last incline. The tunnels are actually a hairpin turn within the mountain as they didn’t have any other place to make this turn.

I’m within 1 km and I see this road going way up. It’s actually the road to Passo di Valparola at 2477 meters but I’m thinking I have to go up there. It’s getting cold so I stop and put on my rain jacket for warmth. I go a short distance past the last hair pin and I see the other riders and out van. I have reached Passo Falzarego.

Well it’s cold and I have decided that this is an out and back day. I put on my winter vest and jacket, take my big camera and head back down to Alleghe with a few others. Not only is it cold, but the chance of rain is great. I stop a few places on the way down to take pictures. At one point, we are in the sun but feel rain drops.

Well, it was a nice descent. We get back and are dry. I shower and work the computer in the lobby. Gradually, the others that went on to Passo Giau come in. Passo Giau is a steep ascent. They all have gotten caught in the rain and cold. When Bruce Hildenbrand comes in and congratulates me on a fine decision to return after the first pass. Passo Giau was no fun.

We have lunch. Now, I relax, write and email. It’s raining again.

After lunch, we have some beers. There is a car rally going on so we see all these old nifty cars (Farrari’s, Mercedes, Fiats, MG’s, etc and even one big old beautiful Buick) coming into the check point. Some are two seater convertibles and the drivers have helmets and goggles (just like the old fighter pilots). Many interesting old cars probably worth mucho dinero.

Prior to dinner, we have a wine tasting with Andy. He has seven wines that we sample and he tells us some of the intricacies of wine making. When he first lived in Italy, he had grape vines and made wine himself.

Well, it’s been a great vacation. Lot’s of hills, much pain but very enjoyable. Italy is a beautiful country. The Dolomites are inspiring.

Sunday, heading home.

Thanks to Gruppo 1 of Verona, and Eros Poli for the rides before I began the Andy Hamsten tour.

Photos: the road up Falzarego, valley views, Peter, dinner in Verona with Gruppo 1 club officers and Eros Poli & family.

Thank You Peter-Pietro for your fine storytelling! Stories, including cycling trip stories, for the Italian Cycling Journal welcome; contact veronaman@gmail.com

Pietro: No Ride Photos, Just Pain But a Happy Ending

Peter, aka "Pietro", files his ninth report, now riding with the Andy Hampsten tour.


"Thursday, September 3, 2009: Day 7 Big Four Loop Ride over Four Passes including final ascent to the Marmolada; 100 km Ride, 8400 feet elevation, Passo’s Campolongo/Gardena/ Sella/Fedaia.


Weather forecast is chance of showers. The night before Andy changes start time from 8 to 9 AM so we get better idea of weather. Day is cloudy and cool. I pack my rain bag for the van with all warm stuff. I put on shoe covers, knee warmers, arm warmers along with under layer and vest. I down my last pre-race energy drink (recommended by Paolo at Chesini bike shop in Verona).


The day before, I bought bananas and cokes (no bananas at breakfast). Now I can have my coke during the rest stops.


At the start, I think I am over dressed but it is cool as we climb. Most of the passes are at 2000+ meters (OK, over 6000 feet). Alleghe (our hotel town) is at 1000 meters and the valley. Only way out is to climb.


All I can do is grind away on the climbs. The climbs are long. You pedal and at some point you can see in the distance the pass. I don’t have a computer on the bike, so I look for the signs that tell you the distance to the summit. Most of the climbs are 10-15 km. The grades vary. When I’m on the steeper grades, I always look ahead for the change to an easier grade. Occasionally, I stop for a few minutes to recover. I have to keep heart rate below 120.


It’s cold on the summits, well into the 50’s. We stop to put on our warm weather clothes at the summits. It’s cold on the descents. When we reach the bottom, we un-layer.


The picnic is at the second summit, Passo Gardena. When I reach this, I put on my winter vest and everything else to stay warm. I shove food down as best I can. Thank goodness I have coke and a banana, then some meat with apple. It’s cold so finish up, no sight seeing, no camera.


All I can say is the scenery is amazing. You look up the mountains and see these houses and towns all the way up. How do they get there? At one point, I see a gondola ride to the top of the mountain except it’s shrouded in clouds so the gondolas are going up into the clouds. It’s pretty amazing.


I know the Marmolada is our last climb but I am climbing up to Passo Fedaia so I’m thinking I have one more climb after Passo Fedaia. At the bottom, we shed some clothes and prepare to climb. It’s long with some steeper sections. As I climb, I keep thinking that we have to climb the Marmolada after Passo Fedaia. While the legs keep churning, I wonder whether I have enough left in the tank to do the Marmolada.


As I approach the summit, it starts to drizzle and I go through a series of tunnels and there is the van with Gerardo. Andy Hampsten happens to be there getting ready to move on. I tell Andy I don’t think I have the legs to do the Marmolada. Andy replies “Your on the Marmolada and it’s 30 km downhill to Alleghe”. Wow, what a surprise. Now, it’s raining harder and I suit up for the descent. That is, put all the clothes I have on and use the long fingered gloves. I’m too tired to take the shoes off to put on my water proof socks figuring my shoe covers should provide some protection. I grab a coke and sugar wafers (Ah, energy for the ride home).


Once ready, I take off in the rain and it’s a 1-2 km flat next to the lake. Then the descent starts. Actually, it’s not that bad riding in the rain. I take the turns slowly and gingerly. It’s all down hill so not much effort required. I grab views of the scenery as I descend. The water eventually gets my socks wet but it’s not that bad (water proof socks not required). I arrived back at hotel at 4:30 PM. It was a long hard day.


Once back at the hotel, everything was soaked. The warm shower felt good.


So, with astute planning, Andy has given us a taste of when he took the 1988 Giro lead in rain/sleet/snow/cold on the descent from the Gavia (OK, it was a little bit colder for Andy on that day than for us).


Pietro"


Stories, including cycling trip stories, for the Italian Cycling Journal welcome; contact veronaman@gmail

Pietro: Rest Day in Alleghe, Cable Car and Andy Stories

Peter, aka "Pietro", files his eighth report, now riding with the Andy Hampsten tour.

"Wednesday, September 2, 2009: Day 6 Rest Day, Cable Car Ride, Andy Stories

Well, today is a rest day. No bike riding. Tomorrow: Marmolada

After breakfast, a few of us took the cable car and ski lift to the top of the mountain. What a view!!!

While I was up there, who comes rolling in on their bikes? Andy, Elaine, Bruce and Marcello out for leisurely day off ride up the mountain.

Later that day, we have a sit down to hear the Andy stories. We ask a question and he starts telling the story. Of course, I can’t remember the stories but you missed some good ones. So, if you want to hear Andy stories, sign up for his tour.

One item of note is that he was very much impressed with Bernard Hinault (“The Badger”) as a rider and also teacher. He related that during one Vuelta, the badger took off and built a lead. Three Spanish teams went to the front to try to shut it down but the “Badger” kept increasing it until it was 8-10 minutes. All the non-Spanish riders were sitting back in the peloton, listening to the Spanish team managers berating the riders that they couldn’t pull back Hinault. They Americans really enjoyed that ride. At the end, Hinault finished two minutes ahead and when Andy saw him Hinault indicated that was the hardest race he rode.

Andy is a good story teller and you’ll enjoy his stories.

Pietro"

Photos:Alleghe, our hotel in Alleghe, views from the cable car trip

Stories, including cycling trip stories, for the Italian Cycling Journal welcome; contact veronaman@gmail