Solo attempt of the South Face of Taranaki

Taranaki, at 2,518m is the second highest mountain in the North Island. It’s also second in another statistic… of all the mountains in New Zealand, Taranaki rates as the second deadliest after Aoraki-Mt Cook. Its proximity to the coast brings with it rapidly changing weather, a reputation for nasty rime ice, and its picturesque conical shape belies the steepness of its upper slopes. Add to this its easy accessibility and you have a potentially dangerous mix. I have made two previous spring attempts on the South Face with neither resulting in the bagging of a summit. On both occasions, day trips from my home in at the time in Wanganui,  the cloud rolled in quickly from the sea and the spring corn snow began to quickly freeze over and with the prospect of absolutely zero view at the summit I turned tail and headed down again.

In October 2014, I headed back again.

I’ve always had a dream of trekking in the Himalayas but until recently hadn’t really thought much about whether doing any serious climbing was a possibility without the expense and time commitment of joining an expedition to one of the more well-known peaks. Earlier this year, I decided that the time had come to put dreams into reality. After a bit of research and talking about the experiences of a work colleague (who was also part of my Oxfam Trailwalker team) who climbed Island Peak / Imja Tse in April I figured out a plan, found an agency and booked myself a trip. So, in late March 2015, I head to Nepal for a three week trek of the Everest Base Camp circuit and finish it off with an attempt on the summit of 6,119m Lobuche East.

Better do some serious training then…

I pencilled in a weekend in October to return to Taranaki. My plan was to set out from Dawson Falls Visitor Centre (900m) on a Friday afternoon and ascend up to Syme Hut atop Fanthams Peak at 1,960m. That would allow plenty of time for a morning attempt on the summit via the South Face before returning to Dawson Falls.

Early in the week a late winter storm cycle blasted up the country and I didn’t commit myself until the day before. This same week, there were daily news articles online on the inquest into the deaths of two climbers caught out by a rapid change in the weather close to the summit. This gave a grim reminder that Taranaki is not a mountain to ever be taken lightly.

With such a relaxed schedule there was no rush to get up the mountain. I treated it like any other workday, getting up at my usual time. Before hitting the road there was time to hit up iconic Wellington eatery Floriditas for some of their amazing bacon and eggs. Just the ticket to fill the stomach before an uneventful four hour drive to Dawson Falls. Not surprisingly, the naming feature of my destination is a waterfall. A very pretty, 18m high drop in the midst of some beautiful native bush.  Very much worth the short walk down, and then back up again for some photos before hitting the trail proper. 

I had been half expecting to arrive to an empty carpark. But with some fairly nice weather on one of the last days of the school holidays, the carpark and visitor centre was a hive of activity. Mostly day-trippers out for picnics though, and as I kitted up my climbing gear attracted questions from curious children and adults alike. Things quickly quietened though.  Stepping into the bush away was like stepping out of civilization. I encountered one person on the track after 10 minutes, but they would be the last person I’d see until the next afternoon.

The climb up from Dawson Falls is a bit of a prick really. It is a constant climb, and some bureaucrat has had the wisdom to basically build steps all the way up to about 1,700m. An annoying feature going up… absolutely hell on the knees coming down!! But the scenery is enough to take the mind of the regulatory nature of how each step must be taken. For the first couple of hundred metres, the track ascends through moist ‘goblin’ forest of native trees shrouded in moss before transitioning to sub-alpine scrub that gets lower and lower until the steps finish and the scoria slopes begin. The best part of the next hour was basically a grovel of one step forwards and half a step backwards on the loose scoria until reaching solid snow and ice and finally the crampons could go on.

The first snow climb up to Fanthams Peak brought back some good feelings. It had been over 12 years since I’d done any serious climbing but my French technique came back to me just like riding a bike. There’d be no front points through clothing or flesh today! I had left late enough in the day that the snow was firm and crisp under foot and as I reached the top of Fanthams Peak, the sun was low in the sky, silhouetting Syme Hut off in the distance quite magically.

I was a little bit relieved that the hut was completely exposed. If visiting for the first time, it pays to know where the door is, as it is often buried under snow or a coating of heavy ice. On my last visit I had to spend a good half hour digging my way into the top half of the split barn style doors. I also had the hut to myself, the first visitor for two weeks according to the hut intention book. Settling in, I boiled up some water in my new Jetboil Flash and sat down to a dinner of delicious Back Country Cuisine roast chicken and mashed potato, washed down with a cold can of Heineken (a straggler that had fallen out of my golf bag at some point and was still rolling around the car boot. Why not I thought… what’s another 400gm to carry up if it means I can enjoy a cold beer with dinner after an afternoon hiking!). 

After dinner it was out with the camera gear to capture the sunset… one of the other reasons I’d planned to spend the night up here instead of making a rushed day visit.

As I turned in for the night I set my alarm for 4:30am reasoning that if I make a nice early alpine start, I should be treated to a spectacular sunrise up on the high slopes too. It does take a bit of effort to extract oneself from a nice warm sleeping bag, especially when the condensation has frozen on the inside of the huts windows. I got myself moving though and set off under headlamp to just the sound of a light wind and crunching of boots on snow.

From Syme Hut, the route descends 60m to Rangitoto Flat before the climb proper begins. I had a choice here to tackle the South Face directly or to sidle a bit to the west to Skeets Ridge. Given that the going was already quite icy I decided that the best option was to stick to the South Face. 

After an hour of climbing the sun began to crack the eastern horizon and I paused for a moment to take in the beautiful pink glow of the mountain below me. This was pretty much the highlight of the morning. From about 2,200m I entered Taranaki’s notorious rime ice garden.

As I ascended higher and higher, the ice beneath my feet became increasing more brittle. With rime ice forming in thin layers, it reached the point where every second or third foot placement would result in the top layer breaking away and my foot slipping an inch or two before the crampon teeth would bite. At around 2,400m, just 100m or so below the crater rim (from which the summit would be easily attainable) I found myself again in a situation of questioning just how badly I wanted to reach the summit. Here I was on a slope of between 45 and 50 degrees steep with exposure that meant a fall would have very serious consequences. Serious injury was a certainty… death a very likely possibility. If I could place protection, the risks would be manageable, but I was climbing solo and light, so I made the decision to bail and head down. It was a shame on such a beautiful morning to be turning around but the mountain will always be here and I will just have to keep returning until the conditions all fall in my favour.

The downclimb was frustratingly slow. With the slope too steep and icy to comfortably walk down  it was face in to the slope and three points of contact at all times back down through the rime garden. At this point I regretted only bringing a single ice axe. Having two tools would have made this section so much quicker. The first 150m of descent took nearly an hour and a half, through which I focused on reaching a small depression in the slope where I could take off my pack and rest for a bit. Below this point I could walk normally again and the next 200m of descent took only 20mins. The last 50m or so back to Rangitoto Flat offered up a safe run-out area so it was down on the bum for a fun and fast little glissade. 

Safely reaching Syme Hut again, I brewed up a coffee and sat in the sun to reflect on the choices that I’d made. I’m happy that they were the right choices for the conditions though.

After packing up all my surplus gear that I’d left in the hut whilst climbing, I set back off for the long descent back to Dawson Falls. No more than 15 minutes after leaving I came across two groups heading up. I’d picked my days right. Friday night I’d had the hut to myself… Saturday night was looking like it was going to be a little crowded.

I encountered another group at the Hooker Shelter just above the bushline. Three middle aged women all laden down with packs that looked like they contained enough provisions for a month. We got to talking and they were headed into Lake Dive Hut for the night. They seemed a little incredulous when they asked where I’d come from and I said Syme Hut after attempting the summit this morning. They were only just sitting down for lunch and I was pretty much done for the day!

I was pretty shattered by the time I made it back down to Dawson Falls. Not much sleep followed by seven hours of good honest physical exertion meant I wasn’t exactly looking forward to another four hours in the car driving back to Wellington. I did feel that I’d earned myself a sneaky feed of McDonalds in Wanganui on the way!

Edit: A short video from the climb...

Mt. Taranaki - October 2014 from Adrian Rumney on Vimeo.

Gear:

Rough gear list for this climb:

Scarpa Mont Blanc GTX boots;

Black Diamond Epic 45 pack

CAMP Ice Rider Fast crampons

Grivel Jorasses ice axe

Black Diamond Couloir harness

Black Diamond Vector Helmet

Mammut Masao shell jacket

Black Diamond Stance Belay Hoody jacket

Marmot Tamarack shell pants

Macpac Solstice sleeping bag

First Aid Kit

Icebreaker merino beanie

Rab Latok Alpine gaiters

Rab Latok gloves

Macpac Stretch gloves

Garmin Etrex 20 gps

Kathmandu headlamp

Black Diamond Orbit lantern

Jetboil Flash (with coffee press!!) cooker

Macpac and Icebreaker thermal underwear (top and bottom)

Black Diamond Deploy 3 snow shovel

Julbo Pipeline L sunglasses

Black Diamond Ultra Distance trekking poles

2 x Macpac 1L water bottle

Jetboil fuel,

Coffee mug

Food – 3 days worth of Back Country cuisine freeze dried, a couple of pork pies, coffee, 1 bar of chocolate and snacks (dried fruit and jetplanes)

Canon 40D camera

Benro carbon tripod

Various filters, spare batteries.

Rimutaka Super Loop

I had never even heard of the Whakanui Track until this year’s Wellington Xterra trail running series headed in there for round two. After suffering myself through the 12km run in some spectacular bush I decided that I must head back here at a more leisurely pace to do some further exploring.

Over the next couple of weeks I pored over maps, websites and online trip reports and pieced together what looked to be a challenging but achievable loop that would take in the Whakanui Track, the Big Bend Track and then the McKerrow Track. According to DOC’s recommended times, this was an undertaking of between 13 and 14 hours but in the back of my mind I was thinking, at a good pace, should be able to be knocked out in 7 to 9 hours of slog.

Picking a weekend day that would offer up some favourable weather seemed to be the biggest problem given that winter was fast approaching. I got lucky though, and set out from the trailhead in Sunny Grove, Wainuiomata in a frosty -1degC, rising quickly above the mist that was hanging low in the valley. 

Looking back over a frosty Wainuiomata from the Whakanui Track.

A big consideration when prepping was the nagging thought of what if the DOC time indications were a closer of the time this hike would actually take? Just in case I’d added in an extra warm layer, some spare food and a headlamp. My concerns were quickly allayed though. Setting out, the first sign indicated that I would reach the Whakanui track in 30 mins… I got there in under 11 mins at just a steady walking pace. 

The grind up to the highest point of the Whakanui was made easier by the fact that it was such a beautiful morning, and not having to (attempt to) run it meant I could pause repeatedly to take in the sounds of the native forest and to snap off a few photos.  There are numerous signs reminding you that you are in Kiwi country and it was a little saddening to recall that despite all the reminders, only a few weeks earlier a dead kiwi, the victim of an unleashed dog, was found in this very area (http://www.gw.govt.nz/protect-kiwis-from-your-dog-in-wainuiomata/). 

Just one of many reminders that you are in the heart of a Kiwi recovery project.

The other signs that were very evident was that of deer. Every few metres there seemed to be clumps of fur on tree trunks and branches and hoof prints in the mud. This made me just a tad nervous! It was still the ‘roar’… prime hunting season and as I had pulled up to the trailhead, a hunter was just setting out. Knowing that he was just 10 minutes or so ahead of me and that no doubt his eye was much more attuned to seeing such animal activity, I just had to hope that he, and any other hunters in the area, were responsible enough to not be looking to bag an easy kill.

Whakanui Track

The only other time I’ve seen a wild deer has been at quite some distance on the lower slopes of Ruapehu, above Horopito. So easily the highlight of this walk was coming around a bend on the steep descent down to the Orongorongo River and coming face to face with a young stag no more than 20 metres away. We both stopped and stared straight at each other. Me thinking WOW! and him letting off a steamy snort. After just a second or two, but what seemed much longer, he vanished… crashing off into the bush. Instantly my nervousness about gun-toting cowboys looking for that easy kill returned and I half expected to feel the searing impact of a high calibre bullet rip through my body at any moment. Nope… all good and after another 15 minutes I was down beside the river, having successfully tackled the first of today’s two big hills.

Amazing native bush on the descent to the Orongorongo River valley.

The second ‘third’ of this walk was a gentle sidle for 40 minutes or so along the Big Bend track which follows the Orongorongo River until linking up at Hump Bridge with the popular Orongorongo track, that connects the river with the main Catchpool Valley entrance to the park. 

Big Bend Track

Swing bridge on the Big Bend Track

After the wilderness experience of the Whakanui where I had seen no-one and the only human engineered sounds were the occasional plane overhead, the river valley was positively urban. Dozens of four wheel drive owners were using the stony riverbed to either access the numerous huts or just for a day out burning fossil fuels and someone else was doing something on the other side of the river involving an incredibly loud chainsaw. I just put my head down, stuffed some marshmallows in my mouth and did my best to admire the views across to Mt Matthews, the park’s high point.

The Orongorongo River and heart of the Rimutaka Forest Park.

Hump Bridge across the picturesque Turere Stream, represented a rough half-way point, and a good spot for a sit down and more substantial bite to eat. Lunch was the guilty pleasure of a pork pie and can of Dr Pepper… fat, salt and sugar. Not very nutritional but pretty satisfying on a walk like this. This was also the popular point for accessing the river with a number of large groups of hikers crossing the bridge above me as I rested.

Hump Bridge over the Turere Stream.

After 10 minutes up the well graded and metalled Orongorongo Track I saw the sign that marked the final ‘third’ of this outing, indicating the start of the McKerrow Track. This was a blink and you could miss it moment. There was no track junction to speak of, just a an orange track marker nailed on a tree up a bank that required a bit of grabbing tree roots and hauling oneself up to access. This was pretty much the going for the next hour and a half… a steep and gnarly climb up to the ridge that would lead to the Mt McKerrow ridge. 

This was tough but somewhat enjoyable stuff. It was pretty clear that not too many people put themselves through this level of suffering. The quality of the track didn’t really improve until the junction with Clay Ridge track which leads back down to the Catchpool Valley park entrance and campground. After a few more minutes and only a bit more vertical climb the summit of Mt McKerrow was attained at 706m above sea level. 

This was another blink and you miss it moment. The summit itself is enclosed in bush and offers no views, and it is marked by a rusty pipe sticking out of the ground. If you didn’t know that this was a “mountain”, then it would be pretty easy to pass by and merely wonder what on earth possessed someone to poke a pipe in the ground in such an odd location! Five minutes or so either side of the summit though, there are windfall clearings in the bush that offer an incredible vista across Wellington Harbour and to the city off in the distance. 

Summit marker on Mt Mckerrow

Descending off McKerrow was like negotiating a minefield with lots of boot sucking mud now being the main characteristic of the track. Here my trekking poles came in handy for sussing out potentially solid ground ahead of each step. This slowed the pace a bit, but any thoughts of being out here after dark were now well and truly behind me. For me anyway… at about 3:30pm I did come across a chap who was heading up and who didn’t seem too perturbed to be told that the summit was still about an hour away. With only an hour and maybe a bit more of good light available I hope he was prepared! There were no news reports of anyone missing… so all good.

After the McKerrow track linked back up with the Whakanui I was back on familiar ground. In fact I was still feeling good enough to break into a bit of a jog to liven up the relentless descent. Things were getting pretty dark in the trees and the winter shadows long when I made it back to the car around 4pm.

All up from start to finish: 7hrs 46min (5hr 12min moving time)

Distance: 25.1km 

Vertical Ascent: 1,606m

http://www.strava.com/activities/147512001
 

A shout out must go to the tireless volunteers of the Rimutaka Forest Park Trust. Their vision for protecting and restoring the unique flora and fauna of the park and their  efforts in supporting DOC to trap mustelids and rats, are a massive contributor to why Kiwi can be re-introduced to the area. 

Check them out… http://www.rimutakatrust.org.nz/  and support them! 

I think $25 to sponsor a trap is a small price to pay for being able to enjoy such an incredible day out on the doorstep of our capital city.

Time to catch up

Shit. It's been almost a year since I've written anything.

This blog was only ever intended to be a self-motivational tool as part of a bigger strategy to lose weight and get active again ahead of a planned trip to Europe to watch 2013 UCI Road Cycling World Championships in Florence. That trip went ahead as planned and I had a ball. But a lack of words doesn't mean I haven't kept active.

When I last wrote, I was sitting in the airport here in Wellington about to head for Dubai on my way to Europe for a month of cycling and exploring. I'll keep the words to a minimum and tell the story of this adventure through photos.

Dubai was just a short stopover for a couple of days. Enough time to be amazed by the excess of wealth and the sharp contrast between the old and new, and the haves and have nots.

To be perfectly honest though, I didn't really find Dubai my cup of tea. The place was insufferably hot. At 51 degrees outside, at least there was the refuge of Ski Dubai for a couple of hours of indoor skiing. But I'd have to be pretty flush to sustain my liking of gin and tonics at $33 a pop at the bar beside the hotel pool. I did the touristy thing and took a 4WD trip out in the desert... together with about 50 other Land Cruisers and a good couple of hundred other tourists. It culminated in an 'authentic' Bedoin camp dinner. Tacky tourist experience at its most cringeworthy.

After a couple of days it was back on a plane and Italy. I hadn't really been that excited about Rome and only scheduled myself a couple of nights there before heading to the Cinque Terre. What a city though. The history, the people, the gelato... all amazing. I loved just wandering for hours, taking turns down interesting little lanes and enjoying the surprises that many rewarded me with.

From Rome it was a train ride up the coast to Liguria and the stunning Cinque Terre. I had booked myself a room right in the heart of the gorgeous village of Vernazza. Whilst being the most basic of lodgings, and up what seemed like a million steep, narrow stairs, being right in the village was fantastic. In the evening when the bulk of the tourists had left for the day, the place became magical. Affittacamere da Nicolina where I was staying also had a wonderful restaurant down in the piazza, right beside the water, which served delicious fresh local seafood. Ahhhh... both scenic and culinary heaven.

For a couple of days I explored the Cinque Terre. First by foot through the famous trails of the national park, walking from village to village through forests and vineyards as far as Manarola, then by boat the next day to the southern most village of Riomaggiore.

Best travel find ever, and a place I can't recommend highly enough is the B&B La Martellina. Home to owner Claudio and his big softie of a dog Emilio, this gorgeous bed and breakfast is a restored medieval defensive tower and mill on the banks of the river Arno, just 7km from the centre of Florence.

What a joy it was cycling back along the river at the end of each day. The little village had an amazing little pizzeria, where I did my best to order in Italian, much to the staffs' amusement! And Emilio became a good friend once I'd slipped him a slice of prosciutto from my pizza on the first night there.

Speaking of cycling, the whole reason I'd come to Europe was the road world championships. First up was the time trials. For the team time trials, I set myself up right beside Florence's iconic Duomo, a spectacular spot for a bike race!!

After watching Kiwi Linda Villumsen take silver in the women's race, I set myself up for the men's individual time trial down from the Basilica di Santa Croce and was treated to a wonderful display of time trialling from winner Tony Martin and medalists Bradley Wiggins and Fabian Cancellara.

The fantastic early autumn Tuscan weather continued for the first day of road races. Slovenian wunderkid Matej Mohoric went solo on the final lap to take out the U23 race.

The women's race was taken out by the great Marianne Vos for the Netherlands. The Kiwis rode a brave race, but it was great to see Reta Trotman give me a little wave on one of the laps. Reta's brother deserved a gold medal for his enthusiastic support on the side of the road too!! Cycling fans in general are pretty fantastic with their patriotic fanaticism always tempered with good humour and a willingness to enter into a bit of banter.

After two weeks of stunning weather things took a spectacular turn for the championship showpiece, the elite men's race. The temperature plummeted and I got to experience an eight hour long thunderstorm on the hillside above Florence. At the end of the day it was Portugal's Rui Costa who got to don the rainbow jersey and who broke the heart of the tifosi favourite Vincenzo Nibali who eventually finished fourth behind Costa, Joaquim Rodriguez and Alejandro Valverde. The real story though was the abysmal weather. I'll let the pictures do the talking...

Casualties of the day included my iPhone, my passport, cash and a Canon 1D MkIII. Thankfully with the help of a hair dryer all made a recovery... except the iPhone.

In between the racing days I of course explored beautiful Florence, and also made a couple of road trips to Assisi in Umbria and the medieval hill town of San Gimigniano in Tuscany.

And after two weeks in Florence, having completely fallen for the place, it was with a twinge of sadness that I moved on. It was nearly a week until I had to be up at Lake Como for the last of cycling's monuments the Giro di Lombardia so I had time for a decent road trip. I'd done a bit of planning on Google maps before leaving home and my plan was to drive to Nimes in France, via Monaco, a journey that Google suggested should take about 7.5 hours.

No urgency then. I had a long and leisurely final breakfast at La Martellina and talked at length with Claudio as to how much I had enjoyed my stay. Most of the morning had gone before I finally packed the car and turned on the GPS to put in my destination for the day. It was then that my plans got thrown out the window. My Garmin GPS was predicting 14.5 hours of driving if I stuck to my original plans of avoiding toll roads!! I trusted Garmin a lot more than Google so it was the toll autostrada all the way to the French border and my plan for a lunch stop in Monaco turned into a juicy peach eaten whilst doing my best to navigate a reverse lap of the Monaco formula one circuit.

 I had made pretty good time to this point so decided to take the coastal road from Monaco, through Nice and Antibes and Cannes. This took a further 3 hours! So it was back on to the motorways until I eventually made it to Nimes 11 hours after leaving Florence.

Nimes is a small city of 150,000 but its history is incredible. Built on a site that has been populated due to its natural springs since 4,000BC, it was a key city in the Roman Empire and contains some incredibly well preserved monuments of this time such as the Arena, Maison Carree, Tour Magne and nearby aqueduct the Pont du Gard.

 

 My second stop in France was Chamonix, another long drive away but with enough time to take in an icon of the Tour de France, the giant of Provence, Mt Ventoux. Even though I was cheating by driving up, my little Fiat 500 rental struggled and I got the full sense and scale of this mountain as I drove from Bedoin up to the summit and then down to Malaucene.

Chamonix-Mt Blanc had been a dream destination of mine since I saw the 1988 Greg Stump ski movie The Blizzard of Aahhhs. This featured a segment of legendary extreme skiing pioneers Glen Plake, Scot Schmidt and Mike Hattrup ripping it up all around the Chamonix area including some incredibly steep couloirs off the 3,842m high, gondola accessed Aiguille du Midi. Whilst it wasn't ski season, the Midi was still a hub of activity from the tourists like myself taking in the incredible views of the roof of Europe to the alpinists venturing far outside the safety of the terminus. 

 

 

I had another great hotel find in Chamonix, or nearby Les Houches to be exact. I thought I was in the wrong place when I walked into the plush luxury lodge like lobby of the  Hotel Les Campanules.  Officially this place is a two star hotel and I'd picked it purely on price. Believe me though, it offers up lots of 5 star level comfort and friendly hospitality. Another place I'd jump at the chance to go back to. 

My whirlwind exploration of this small slice of France had come to an end too soon and it was now time to head back into Italy. Next destination was Lake Como a half day's drive away.  My hotel here was high up above the lakeside tourist town of Bellagio on the famous Ghisallo climb of the Giro di Lombardia, the last of the 5 one-day monuments of cycling. Unfortunately the gorgeous sunny warm days of the first half of my trip hadn't returned and at the altitude that I was, the hotel was largely shrouded in cloud. On the days I had around the cycling, I took a short road trip to Milan for the day and explored nearby Bellagio.

The great feature of the hotel that I'd picked at Como was its proximity to the cyclists' shrine, the church of the Madonna del Ghisallo which sits at the summit of the iconic Ghisallo climb. I got quite a surprise as to just how close, as it was only 400m up the road from the hotel. A short walk early on race day then and I spent my time checking out the church, local market and interesting cycling museum.

The Madonna del Ghisallo is just as fascinating a museum as its neighbour the Museo di Ciclismo. Every wall of the small church is crammed with memorabilia of the great "campiones" and of those riders who are no longer with us. Even though I'm in no way a religious person, there was something special about being at this place on such a special day. 

The crowds built throughout the day and I found myself a good spot on the barriers at the top of the climb and had a couple of entertaining attempts at conversation with a few of the people around me, including giving a photography lesson to a Russian (I think) who spoke only about four words of English. He gave me a big wave and a thumbs up from across the road after the race had gone by so I think we must have communicated okay!! 

The atmosphere built as team cars arrived to drop off soigneurs at the top of the climb and then the far off sound of the TV helicopters signalled that the race was on the Ghisallo. Excitement peaked as plucky Frenchman Thomas Voeckler came past in one of his trademark adventures off the front of the peloton. Just half a minute or so came the peloton containing all the favourites including new world champion Rui Costa in his first outing of the rainbow jersey. And the crowds cheered and supported every rider as they came through right down to the very last battered and bloodied MTN-Qhubeka rider.

 

 

And then the crowds on via Gino Bartali quickly dispersed, heading for their homes or the nearest bar to watch the finale on TV and see Joaquim Rodriquez take a victory. It was clear from the considered nods and expressions of the many more elderly locals who had packed out the bar of my hotel that Rodriguez's was a fine victory too.

This pretty much drew my holiday to an end. The next day I drove back to Florence to drop off my rental car and to catch the high speed train back to Rome for a final day of sightseeing before flying home.

I don't know when I'll be back in Europe. I hope I don't have to wait too long.