Transalp Diaries: Day 1 — From Uncertainty to Starry Skies
A dream I didn’t know I wanted to have dreamt.
For the first part of my life, cycling wasn't just a hobby for me — it was my identity. I had the honor of racing with the Greek national team and winning national titles. Yet, despite these accomplishments, and my passion for cycling, I never considered riding a multi-stage Transalp. Although my zeal for cycling has experienced ebbs and flows, mountaineering has stepped in to fill the void. In the past, I entertained the idea of a long-distance hike, but the constraints of daily life, which left me mostly with weekends to spare, rendered that option impractical, at least for now. Driven by a strong desire for an extended adventure, I decided to dream big while starting small. I planned a week off from work, determined to make every moment count.
I first heard of the Transalp at 16 when my then-girlfriend’s father, who had just completed the race, gave me a cycling jersey from the event. I wore it with pride, though it no longer fits. Back then, the race, spanning several days in the Alps, seemed prohibitively expensive. But now, the jersey folded in my drawer symbolizes the origins of an adventure within my reach.
After fifteen years of holding onto the jersey, a nudge from a colleague who shared his own cycling adventures brought this dream to the forefront. My route criteria were simple: start in the nearby Bavarian Alps and ride through the mountains. I found a fitting route online, one that would take me from Garmisch to Riva del Garda in Italy. Covering 500 km,14000 meters of elevation in seven stages and crossing three countries seemed like an appropriate challenge for me.
The style of the adventure was minimalistic and deeply meaningful to me: ride to my heart's content and be in the mountains. No reservations, no destinations, no deadlines, just the liberating experience of being fully present, here and now. This included the ability to bivouac; sleep under the stars with minimal gear. Usually, this comprises a sleeping bag for warmth — which I chose to forgo — and a layer of protection against the elements. Of course, the ethics of the outdoors dictate that one must leave no trace, disturb no one, and respect the natural rhythms of the day, settling down at sunset and embarking anew at sunrise.
In preparation for the journey, I seized every opportunity to consult fellow bikepackers about their setups. Eager to explore what would work best for me, I ordered a selection of bags online and settled for the reliable handlebar/saddle bag combination which suited my full-suspension bike well. Undertaking the necessary maintenance, I replenished the long-neglected sealant in my tires and bled the rear brake. In Munich spontaneity often falls short — be it restaurants, cafés, or bike shops, reservations are almost always necessary. Thus, my hands-on experience proved invaluable once more. I’ve found it more efficient and rewarding to handle things myself, rather than spending time seeking someone else to do them for me.
When finally a window of favorable weather appeared, during August’s storms, I grabbed the opportunity as if it were a golden ticket. The moment I set a start date, everything became real and a wave of excitement washed over me. To ensure I would reach the starting point of the route well before the sun set, I left work early on a Friday. This was to account for known train disruptions as I needed to ride between two train stations. I always preferred to start my adventures as early as possible — even a few additional hours can significantly add to the experience.
As I set out from Weilheim, a surge of joy flooded through me, harmonizing with the sun's golden beams that signaled the unfolding multi-day adventure ahead. Although eager, I exercised caution, testing my setup to ensure that my bike bags remained securely in place and that my bike functioned flawlessly. After all, it was just the previous day that I had done work on it.
Upon reaching Murnau, I found myself time-trialing the final kilometers to catch my train. But, I arrived thirty seconds too late and watched the train pull away. Carrying the day’s stress, I realized there was no real need to push. The next available connection was only half an hour later and it marked the end of my reliance on public transport. From then on, I knew I could depend solely on my bike for the adventures that lay ahead. Eventually, I arrived at Garmisch and started off on my planned route. As I gazed at the Zugspitze massif, I felt a newfound sense of awe and wonder. “For the next few days, the mountains are my habitat,” I mused. The thought filled me with a surge of optimism and euphoria.
Soon, the mountain pass to Ehrwald in Austria began in earnest, and I quickly realized that the challenge was greater than I had anticipated. My aim was to keep my exertion levels modest, targeting the lower end of my heart rate spectrum, specifically Zone 1. My main concerns were the inefficient use of my energy stores and the risk of injury from overuse. The added weight of the bags was almost eight kilos, bringing the total weight of my bike to just under twenty. This extra weight, along with the steep inclines, pushed me into Zone 3. In this higher exertion zone, my body burned through its easily accessible glycogen stores faster, reducing my fat-burning ratio and increasing my hunger. Apart from the trip itself, I had a training goal in mind: I wanted to improve my endurance and metabolic efficiency. In other words, ride slow, ride long, and eat little. I consider every activity as training towards my mountaineering goals.
As the sun began its descent, uncertainty clouded my thoughts. My minimalistic planning had me questioning my choices, particularly my sleeping system. Would it be enough to get me through the night comfortably? Even with the excitement of the journey fueling me, as I stepped away from the urban rush into the tranquility of nature, I found it hard to shake off the mental fatigue that seemed to set in unusually fast today.
In the city, I often played recordings of bird songs and forest sounds in my apartment to mask the urban uproar. Now, far from the pollution, I could hear their authentic melodies harmonizing with my breath. The avian chorus had always been a warm, vibrant hue in my soundscape. Here, in the heart of nature, the auditory and visual vibrancy aligned perfectly.
The birds along with the beauty of the sunset over the Alps brought ease. Growing up in Greece, I would take every opportunity to marvel at the shades of pink, red and orange painting the Thermaic Gulf and Mt. Olympus rising in the distance. The hills of Thessaloniki and the region's pleasant climate made these natural spectacles a regular part of my life. However, since moving away in 2018 to start my career, the frequency of these experiences dwindled to just a few per year. But this evening was different; as I watched the sun set over the mountains, I felt a sense of contentment wash over me, the familiar views eased my earlier worries — “this is home” I thought.
The awe that sunsets inspire in me is only surpassed by the rare beauty of a starry sky, an experience I had the privilege of enjoying tonight. It was a magical moment that took me back to my first year of university. With cycling taking a backseat, I had the time to delve into various interests. I found myself engrossed in "The Scale of the Universe" by Salman Khan and Carl Sagan's "Cosmos." Every time I look up at the night sky, a sense of awe surrounds me, reminding me of a profound truth I once heard:
The soul becomes as beautiful as what it sees.
⭐ Wow! What a beautiful, meaningful, memorable, significant experience so eloquently expressed and communicated. I feel like I am there with you experiencing it. Thank you for making this a priority. For taking the road less travelled. And for sharing the experience with the world. The world is richer for it. Thank you for existing and for being authentically you. I am proud to know you. Thank you brother. Looking forward to the next posts!
Wish you the best !!!!