September 2024: After ten years of bicycling, I was finally fulfilling a dream of mine. Bicycling in Italy.

Months prior, I found a reputable tour company operating in Lake Como. Countless emails had been exchanged about our plans, our bicycle sizing, and the type of riding which my wife and I planned to do.

The day started around 6:30 am. My wife and I caught one of the earliest passenger ferries which crossed from Varenna to Menaggio. Low grey clouds loomed ominously overheard with the occasional drizzle. It was clearly raining over some mountaintops in the distance.

We hoped that the day would not become a downpour. However, a light drizzle was actually a nice change of pace. For months, we had been enduring one of the hottest summers in Phoenix history, with temperatures routinely over 110 degrees Fahrenheit.

I wasn’t going to complain about being a little chilly.

As we docked, we observed an interaction between drivers that would not have transpired the same way in the United States. A Lancia hatchback was disembarking from the ferry. As with many cars we saw in Italy, it was clearly a manual transmission.

The driver slowly rolled forward in neutral and tapped the back bumper of the car in front of it. Watching intently, we expected the drivers to get out and exchange information. One of the ferry attendants poked his head into the window of both cars. He sort of laughed and shrugged. Then, we watched both cars disembark and travel in their separate ways. It was an interesting insight into the lifestyle around the lake.

A few minutes later, we were off the boat and walking around the town of Menaggio. Almost everything was closed except for a laundromat and a restaurant on the ground floor of a hotel. We poked our heads into the restaurant and decided to stop in for breakfast.

Sitting and enjoying my cappuccino with a croissant, I watched as the occasional Vespa puttered by the plaza. Our tour started at eight AM and, as the time approached, the sky began to lighten. Clouds would remain in the distance for most of the day, but, fortunately, it would not become the washout that we feared.

Departing Menaggio

Admittedly, as we walked the few blocks to meet our guide, I was both excited and nervous. My Shimano cycling cleats felt heavy in my hands and I excessively studied the condition of the road. My brain went into overdrive.

Was I ready to ride here? Phoenix is so flat and there were hills everywhere here!

What if I crashed my bike?  I had broken my thumb while cycling one year prior and didn’t want to repeat that chapter.

As my brain contemplated worst case scenarios, our tour guide’s parked van came into distance. We met in a parking lot where we would become acquainted with our bicycles.

My ride for the day would be a Colnago, a carbon fiber road bicycle with an electronic drivetrain. The opportunity to ride a Colnago was a dream for me. While the one I was riding was one of Colnago’s more “entry level” bicycles, it was still vastly more expensive than anything I have owned.

The fact that it was a Colnago made the experience that much better. Colnago is a renowned Italian bike manufacturer that was founded in 1954. The brand was recently sold to an investment firm but remains headquartered near Milan (just 80 kilometers from where we were bicycling).

I exchanged my tennis shoes for the cycling cleats which I brought. After receiving a quick rundown of the bike, I climbed aboard to get comfortable with it. I nervously pedaled around the parking lot as I got a feel for its’ steering.

At that point, I encountered my first obstacle. Electronic shifting.

My bikes have only had mechanical shifting, so this was an entirely new experience. SRAM’s system is a bit…. strange.

The levers contain switches which control the derailleurs. The right shifter drops the bike into a harder gear while the left shifter moves it to an easier gear. The concept seems simple enough.

However, I struggled with the front derailleur. It involved pressing both levers at the same time. It would probably be easy to learn at home, but, wobbling through an Italian parking lot on the most expensive bicycle I’d ever ridden, it was daunting.

My wife, who was riding an electric bike, had much less to figure out. They confirmed that the saddle height was comfortable for her and then waited for me to figure it out.

Eventually, my shifting was good enough for us to begin our ride. 

Conquering the Climb

We set off out of the parking lot and casually pedaled through town. The road began to pitch upwards. The conversation turned to our route.

“We have two options today. There’s a flatter route which is okay. Or, if you’re up to it, there’s another route that I’d love to show you with a little more climbing,” our guide said.

I hesitated.

“How much climbing?” I asked, as I thought about Phoenix’s flat terrain.

“One climb and then the rest is not so bad,” she replied.

“Okay. Let’s do it,” I replied.

She grinned and said, “I think you’ll love this route.”

We pedaled onwards as the road pitched further upwards. My heart rate began to climb, and my breathing became heavier.

“Don’t burn yourself out at the start!” she warned.

I quickly slowed my cadence and mentally prepared for the ascent.

Along the way, she pointed out landmarks and diligently watched for the occasional car. Lake Como shimmered below us as we gained elevation. Warm gusts of air coming through the air contrasted with the cooler temperatures.

The buzz of bees could be heard. As we passed houses with alpine green pastures, cows calmy grazed with their cowbells thunking as they munched.

I had never physically suffered so much while feeling simultaneously calm. The scenery was breathtaking.

After about 900 feet of elevation gain, we reached the summit.

“You did it! Now, let’s get some water and a picture,” our guide said.

We had arrived in a small town named Naggio. Under a little covered patio beneath a building, water freely flowed from a faucet. I clomped over with my cleats, began to catch my breath, and unscrewed the top of my water bottle.

Church bells rang from the town square as my heart rate recovered. I took a minute to appreciate the experience.

Descending to Lake Lugano

After a few minutes, we gathered our bikes and departed for our next town. The road began to descend as I accelerated on the sleek Colnago. The bike was clearly in its’ element.  Another lake appeared in the distance beneath the cloudy grey sky.

The faster I went, the bigger my smile became.

There were also a few risky moments along the way down. At one point, the road narrowed through a small grove of trees. A large Mercedes work truck was headed in the opposite direction and took up most of the road. It flew past us at speed.

While it wasn’t a close call, it wasn’t a comfortable pass. Our guide’s facial expression revealed she wasn’t happy about the incident either.

The scarier moment arrived a moments later.  

We were still carrying our speed as we entered the town of Carlazzo. I was midway through a hairpin turn when I heard the distinct sound of a tire briefly skidding behind me. It was my wife on her eBike.  Fortunately, we did not hear a crash.

Our guide and I immediately slowed down to investigate what happened.

My wife, still grinning from the descent, said, “I’m fine! There was a little bit of gravel on the road and the rear tire skidded for a second. These brakes are powerful.”

We continued along the road, albeit more carefully, as we passed through small villages. The skies darkened further as we reached the bottom of the descent. The occasional drizzle became light rain as we arrived at Lake Lugano.

A Dream Fulfilled

Bicycling along the edge of the lake, the infrequent passing car gave us space. We adopted a casual pace as we pedaled along two-lane SP14. It was clear that rain was heavier at the far side of the lake, but our precipitation was still refreshing.

As I write this, I can’t explain the ethereal feeling. I knew that this trip was a bucket list item for me. I had never left the United States before this trip. Now, here I was, bicycling in Italy near a famous lake on a high-performance bicycle with my wife as we were led by a professional guide. It’s easy for me to take things for granted, but this was not one of those times. I knew I had to take in every minute of the experience.

We soon arrived in Osteno, which would be our furthest point along the route. Most things were still closed when we entered the town, but the town square was beautiful. The cobblestone streets required a bit of caution but showed the history of the village. Old Italian buildings of various colors and paint conditions faced the lake with closed shutters. A fountain gently splashed water.

The sun had come out as we took pictures of the town, but our guide was clearly concerned about the dark clouds across the lake.

“Rain might be coming. We’ll go to Porlezza for an espresso and a treat before we head back,” she said.

After a short bike ride back to Porlezza, we stopped at a café, where I enjoyed an espresso and a chocolate croissant. I also embarrassed myself.

As I finished the decadent croissant, I was left with residual chocolate on my fingertips. The paper napkins on the table seemed to do nothing, so I had to wash my hands in the restroom before leaving.

Months after our trip, I learned through a social media post that I could have held the croissant with the napkin as I ate it. It makes sense now, but I still feel bad about this possible faux pas as an American in another country.

Our return ride to Menaggio was, of course, beautiful, but less eventful. We rode along a well-maintained multi-use path that meandered through more modern neighborhoods. The route was utilitarian, but there were a few interesting opportunities to bike through tunnels.

It seemed like we arrived back in Menaggio in no time. The path’s gentle hills allowed us to cover ground quickly. Back at the car, we thanked our guide for the excellent trip, paid her for the one-in-a-lifetime adventure, and walked back to the ferry dock.

As I walked, I knew this trip could never be repeated.

We might get the opportunity to go to Italy again someday, but the grandeur of a trip like this can only happen once.