Humor

Hiding during Ferragosto

To me, the word “Ferragosto” makes me think of ringing cellphones, family squabbles and lots of dark, tanned skin being shown off on the decks of huts. Just what is this Ferragosto and why hidding during August? For American readers it is really only a useful term for trivia board games, but if one is planning a trip to the Dolomites during the month of August, read on.

Ferragosto falls on August 15 and is the traditional day to celebrate summer, it is also, on a completely unrelated note, the day for Catholics where the Blessed Virgin Mary rises to the heavens. In German, it is known as “Maria Himmelfahrt” (German for ”Mary goes to the sky”) - my personal favorite term. At some point August 15 was spread out to include the entire month of August. Half the population goes to the sea, the other half to the Dolomites, or so it seems. Needless to say, it is busy and loud, something like Italian TV live throughout the mountains, fully entertaining. While I enjoy the Italians and all the frenetic energy that they bring, I also like to escape, in fact in the last days I have managed hidding completely from the hordes by venturing north to the Zillertal Alpen. There we have mountain biked, hiked and climbed with no one around, and all in an amazing landscape complete with glaciers, towering peaks, idyllic green hillsides and perfectly situated mountain huts.

All of this while the Dolomite’s famous landmarks resemble Disneyland.

The lesson – if you plan to travel to the Dolomites during August – book your stay well in advance, hotels and huts. Look into some alternate locations to visit rather than just the icons. There are countless areas where the tourists do not go that are equally as stunning. Yes, DolomiteSport is a resource for the Dolomites, but in this case, no we are not going to say where to go – half the fun is figuring it out. Some hints, keyword search Google with Val Aurina, Anterselva, Riva di Tures, Rio Bianco, Edelrauthutte, Tiefrastenhutte… an entire playground exists to the north.

Rating: 4.0/5 (2 votes cast)

Garmin’s Virtual Training Partner

Mar 9th, 2009

by dolomitesport.

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Garmin Forerunner 405 Review

So I got my new Garmin Forerunner 405 the other day. A watch, a GPS, a training partner and tool, a little coach in a watch.

I used it for the first time today training ski rando. All worked perfectly until this little window kept rotating through telling me I was behind my virtual Garmin training partner. It even had a little guy running along, in front of my little guy.

Huh? I was livid, I went faster but no matter what I did, the little icon man stayed off the front. Soon I had sweat dripping off my hair, as I went higher an icicle formed and dangled in front of my eyes, irritating me that much more. I was afraid to slow to deal with my icicle for fear of little icon man disappearing off the screen. Thankfully I was reaping the rewards of an all new playlist, Forza, and rather than bluegrass twanging in my earbuds I had Tool taking root in my pscyhe. I was ready to fight.

And fight I did, by the time I got to the top I had closed in on my little virtual buddy. I thought I would take him on the descent so as if in a race, I stopped, ripped off my skins, threw the downhill lever on my boots, stashed the skins inside my chest pockets and was off. Down I flew on the hard pack ice, no longer able to look at the screen, I hoped for the best in my efforts and stubbornness.

10 minutes later I was finished and like a downhiller made my last turn to stop outside the Kronplatz bar, ever thumping with techno. With my quads screaming in protest of my ridiculous descent, I pulled back my shirtsleeve and with gloved finger hit the pause button. But wait, where is he? No, I had not just paused the little battle, I had stopped it altogether, he was gone, off to the showers. Unless I really read the manual, will I ever know the outcome? Does it really matter? And just what does this say about my personality?

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Cow Adventures part II

Aug 4th, 2008

by dolomitesport.

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To stand witness to one’s demise and be able to offer absolutely no assistance is a strange feeling. One is left with the decision to either turn away, or to spectate the misfortune of others.

In my case, today, I was entertained at the highest level by three dairy cows. I opted for spectating.

While riding up one of my favorite passes, which traverses an impossibly steep hillside of forest and cow pastures, I happened to look through a gap in the trees at precisely the right moment to catch one of life’s little comedic scenes.

There, just 2 meters from the guard rail were three dairy cows, two laying down and one, staring into space, standing by. Something didn’t seem right, the look on one of the cows laying down was something other than peaceful. It was terror.

I stopped, casually propped my right foot on the guard rail, and took it all in. In less than 40 seconds, much would occur.

The problem became immediately apparent, what the two cows were laying on was not terra firma, it was a stack of small, cut branches between large pine trees, the branches provided zero support for the bulk that is a cow. I understood what was about to occur, I think even the first victim did as well. The cow’s choice of bedding for the chewing of the cud was caving in. A 60 degree, 400 meter, dirt slope through larches was all that awaited these cows. They struggled in vain.

And so for a moment we locked eyes. The look in hers was something I can only imagine would be similar to the Titanic, had it had eyes, as it rolled into the ocean and began it’s descent toward the depths and darkness. The look in my own was probably closer to those of a viewer of Reality TV, and the irony of the song playing at high volume from my iPod did not escape me, Rihanna’s “Good Girl Gone Bad”.

Grace is not a word often associated with cows and in this case it was no different, she began to roll. Her large, gangly legs paddled for all they were worth, but when 450kg of latte and bistecca get rolling, get out of the way. I only had to rise a bit out of my saddle to follow her as she cartwheeled down the hillside, I was able to track her for quite some time, but soon the distance grew too much and even the thundering, explosive sounds of her descent faded.

It was perfect timing as cow #2 now had a clear path to follow for her own trajectory down the hillside. Off she went.

All that remained was the third cow and myself. She had a bizarre, human like curiosity about what had just occured and much like myself, she was inching closer and closer to the drop to see what sort of devastation was below. It was almost as if she wanted to go get help for her friends, but sick curiosity had her sticking around at the scene.

I decided it was time to go tell the farmer, and so I clicked back into my pedals and rolled on, practicing in my head how to say in Italian that two of his cows just rolled down the mountain.

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“Adventure” Photography

Jul 19th, 2008

by dolomitesport.

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It may not appear like an adventure, but read on…

Being mountain sports photographers, we are often placed in somewhat dangerous situations; avalanche

conditions, bad weather climbing, etc… But never did we think real injury would come in the manner it did a few nights ago.

What so often begins as good fun can quickly turn ugly, at this point luck can play a role, followed by either a helicopter flight/foreign country emergency room visit, or in this case, a funny story. We prefer the “Funny Later” variety of close calls, of which we have many.

There is a small lake in the Austrian Alps we had been wanting to visit for some photos. Perfect weather arrived and we were in the area, so off we went up the 1000 meter, 2 hour approach. Arriving early, we laid out in the sun before the good evening light. Soon we were surrounded by dairy cows curious as to the taste of our salty backpacks. They hung around a bit then wandered off to complete the utopia-like Austrian Alp scene. It was both a perfect evening for our shoot and to just be in the mountains.

Cute…? okay, yes – but, sinister plans were being formulated

As the light began to improve we began shooting, Janine walked the shoreline of the lake and I shot what would surely be beautiful photos in this perfect landscape.

This is when things changed, our friendly cows moved into the scene, surrounded Janine, and jockeyed for position to be included in our photos. “Fine, they make a lovely addition”, I thought. Snapping a few more images with the cows accesorizing the stock seemed a great idea. Soon, we tired of having them about and Janine tried to lead them away. Where she went, they went and this is where things went terribly wrong.

Suddenly, the energy was turning from playful fun to bovine aggression. But these are cows! Furry eared, innocent eyes, gentle expression cows no less. Not this group. Like a feeding frenzy they moved in, I could hear Janine telling them to go away. As she was engulfed in their mass, she disappeared, then I saw she was on the ground, beneath them, getting drug about. Just as quickly her body flung up into the air above them all, and like a rag doll she dropped back into the herd.

Dropping everything, I ran towards the mob scene like a Samurai warrior, swinging my ultralight carbon fiber trekking poles for all I was worth. I entered the group at full speed, they rotated their giant heads a few centimeters in anticipation of battle, their fuzzy ears twitching to keep the flies away seemed anything but fearful of my wrath. I vaguely remember one’s tongue darting into her nostrils. Janine was screaming, again on the ground. I beat the cow atop her with my poles but it was like trying to stop a freight train with a baseball bat. Mooing, cow bells, and our screams could probably be heard for many kilometers. Had a shepherd been watching the whole scene it would have made a five star YouTube video.

The lead cow turned, left Janine behind, and charged me. It is amazing how fast such a gangly animal can move. All 132 lbs of me took her massive skull and 900 lb bulk square in the chest. To say I was knocked down is an understatement, I was driven into the earth like meteor, but like Janine was thankfully not stepped on. She continued to ram me, I was able to get away, rise and then back she came. Suddenly I was gaining elevation, floating in the air, and the thought, “When will I come down?” actually had time to enter my mind. OOomph, into the grass I fell.

I had had it. Janine was safely out of the scene now and yelling for me to just run. But this kid doesn’t run from a dairy cow, maybe a grizzly, or a wolf, but a cow? I decided the only option left was to go insane. And so I tapped into some deep rooted lunacy and became a madman, swinging my arms and swatting their asses – this seemed to do the trick, the cows began to think better of the situation. I may be small, but I am very, very loud. Their raisin sized brains responded to the mayhem by running, fortunately in the opposite direction.

Soon we were sitting in the grass in perfect evening light, shaking from the fight, but also laughing at the absurdity. An eery silence, splintered carbon fiber, lots of hoof marks, and more than a few cowpies were all that remained in the battlefied. From today on Adventure photography had a new meaning for us.