After arriving in Airolo and seeing how close we were to the summit (in an almost impulsive fashion), we decided to go for it and start climbing the intimadtingly named, "Tremola." For some backstory on the nearly infamous road, I first heard of it and the Saint Gotthard Pass nearly two years ago, and being rather into cycling, I have wanted to traverse it ever since. I tried once before nearly a year and a half ago, but, having gone in the middle of May, the pass was still snow covered. Going from Milan to Zurich however, I tried to still make the trip memorable and took a short train through the alps (to avoid this grand disappointment) but all I got was a broken wrist as I crashed four miles outside of Zurich.
BUT NOW as Dad and I sit here at a restaurant in our hotel, the Ospizio San Gottardo, sipping a beer named "Gottardo," who cares. Two years after first seeing a picture of the pass on the computer sitting in my dorm room in New York City and I've made it.
The "minor" 8 mile trip from Airolo to San Gottardo happened mostly on the Tremola, but before that we were graced with incredible views of Airolo. We climbed the "via San Gottardo" road coming out of Airolo, seeing the beautifully peaceful town below.
As we neared the Tremola (and my excitement grew for the end of a two year goal) we passed motorcycles and convertibles, Swiss military bases, and even a horse drawn carriage.
But eventually we hit it.
The climb itself wasn't terrible, yet I attribute that to the fact that I've biked here from the sandy shores of Nice, passing not only rolling hills on the coastline but another mountain climbing out of Genova. Yet it was nothing similar to a climb in the US, or anything either of us had ever encountered. On Google Maps we saw that the Tremola was a series of (nearly too many to count) switchbacks, and as we climbed, we found that Google Maps did not lie.
Yet a few miles later, passed by the nicest cars and convertibles seen since Monaco, the road was clearly anything but a disappointment to what I thought it would be.
And after climbing the 8 miles to the top, we were graced by the simplest sign that I can only read as "mission accomplished."
And as we sit here in the restaurant in our hotel, a chilly 48 degrees Fahrenheit outside with me sipping a beer brewed here in the Ticino canton of Switzerland, and Dad enjoying a nice Pinot, all I can think is that while writing "mission accomplished indeed" would be a rather cheesy ending to this post, life is pretty good.
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