It was in January of 2023 when my good friend, LeRoy, shot me an email regarding a group trip that he was organizing to the Dolomites—six days of hut-to-hut trekking and climbing in the Italian Alps. He had ten more spots to fill. Was I interested?
That was a no-brainer. “I’m in,” I replied directly.
Terry and I had spent an unforgettable week climbing in the Dolomites back in 2018 and enjoyed every single day of it. The majestic peaks resonated in our hearts. We even vowed to return someday. However, regrettably, LeRoy’s trip was scheduled for September, which meant Terry would be back at school and unable to go. So, I would be going solo.
To make the most of my venture, I arrived several days before the hut-to-hut trip began. I flew into Venice and hopped on the Cortina Express which carried me into the mountains to Cortina d'Ampezzo. Once there, I rented a car and drove another thirty-five winding miles into the mountains, crossing over two 7,000-foot passes, every twist and turn revealing another postcard-perfect vista. My plan? A deep dive into the local Ladin culture. Oh, and riding some incredible mountain bike trails that the region is famous for. This is where the story begins…
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Campitello di Fassa
My home base for the next four nights would be Campitello di Fassa, a quaint village with just 700 residents nestled at the upper end of the narrow but verdant Fassa Valley, creating a scenic milieu of steep, forested slopes and majestic crags that soared up to a cobalt sky. Campitello is a popular ski resort during the winter months, and as summer unfolds, this outdoor paradise transforms into a haven for hiking, climbing, mountain biking, and paragliding. In my wanderings, I was struck by the warmth of the community. The people are extremely friendly and gracious—it felt as though everybody knew everybody in this tight-knit hamlet. Each encounter was filled with genuine smiles and good vibes that made me feel right at home amidst the stunning natural beauty. It made me think: “I could live here.”
Actually, I already knew someone who lived here: Marika. She had been our mountain guide when Terry and I climbed the Sella Towers back in 2018. It was a memorable adventure, and we all got along quite well. Marika had promised that if we ever came to Campitello, the drinks would be on her. So, here I was, five years later, to fulfill that pledge.
We met at Pub Evita, a cozy spot where locals gather. True to her word, Marika bought the drinks with a warmhearted grin. As we reminisced, it became clear just how remarkable she truly is. Raised in Campitello, her father introduced her to skiing when she was just three years old. By age six, she was competing in races. A natural daredevil with a passion for giant slalom and super G events, Marika earned a spot on the Italian Ski Team. After retiring from racing, she then followed her father's footsteps and became a certified professional alpine guide—an endeavor that keeps her incredibly busy during both summer and winter as she leads climbers and backcountry skiers alike. Yet amidst this whirlwind of activity, Marika finds time for what matters most: spending quality moments with her teenage daughter, Anja, who has inherited her mother’s competitive spirit and is now racing herself.
Our time together at Pub Evita was fleeting; we only had that night to catch up before she had to re-pack and guide another trip. But in those few hours filled with mirth and banter, it felt like no time had passed at all since our climb on the Sella Towers. As we parted, I told her that I would bring Terry next time—and that we would buy the drinks.
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| Downtown Campitello |
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| Duron River flows through Campitello. Large umbrella on the right is Pub Evita. |
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| Photo taken from my hotel window. |
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Campitello neighborhood.
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Saint Phillip Catholic Church
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According to Marika, the house on the left is the oldest building in town.
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| Vintage building with Austro-Tyrolean features. |
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| Me and Marika at Pub Evita. |
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Marika (center) with her father Renzo, cir.1980s. Renzo
was a professional alpine guide and oversaw the Fassa SAR team. |
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| Sunset in Campitello |
Ladin Culture
Another fascinating aspect of Campitello and the other villages in the Fassa Valley is that the prominent language spoken here is Ladin (not to be confused with Latin). This ancient Romance language, dating back to Roman times, was once prevalent throughout the Alps. It is centuries older than Italian. Today, however, it survives as a precious remnant of history in just five valleys in the Dolomites: Fassa, Gardena, Badia, Livinallongo, and Ampezzo.
In Campitello, 85% of residents consider Ladin their native tongue. This includes Marika, who can trace her ancestral roots back to the 19th century. The streets are adorned with signs in both Ladin and Italian. Community business is conducted in Ladin. And schools provide instruction in both languages to ensure this culture continues to thrive.
The Ladins are mountain people—resilient and indomitable—who take immense pride in their heritage. Marika suggested I visit the Ladin Cultural Museum, which was a treat. Additionally, attending a folk music and dance demonstration one evening allowed me to witness firsthand the joy and pride these communities have for their roots. It’s clear that preserving this language is not just about communication; it’s about maintaining a rich cultural identity that continues to resonate through generations.
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Early Ladino hunter.
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Ladin attire, 18th century.
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Tita Piaz of Val Fassa. A legendary Ladin climber
who put up dozens of "impossible" first ascents in
his younger days (1902-1912). |
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Family photo, early 20th century
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Many Ladinos were master wood craftsmen. The furniture and toys they made were in high demand in Austria and Germany. |
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| Wooden high chair. |
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| Rocking horse. |
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Ladin barn, called a tobie. They were built in high-country
pastures and used to store livestock supplies and provide
shelter if needed. |
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| What does the fox say? |
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| Hand-carved wooden masks used for Carnival festivities. |
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| Folklore character costume for Carnival events. |
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The legendary Cianacei Flag Society.
It's only rock 'n roll. |
Ladin folk dance table-launching.
His head came within inches of the roof!
Synchronized wood-chopping.
Not to be confused with synchronized swimming.
Seiser Alm
Just north of Campitello lies a breathtaking expanse of alpine meadows called Seiser Alm. It’s the largest alpine meadow in Europe (20 sq.mi.): a grassy plateau of rolling hills, surrounded by jagged peaks that soar up to 10,000 feet in postcard-perfect fashion. A skiing paradise in winter, it attracts people from near and far. After the snow melts and summer arrives, there are trails galore for hiking and mountain-biking. I came for the mountain-biking—it is beyond outstanding.
To be honest, I hadn’t done any serious mountain biking in six years, so I promised myself to take it easy. No difficult “black diamond” trails. Keep the speed down and the wheels on the ground. The last thing I wanted was to get injured and ruin the rest of my trip. The bike rental shop was just a block from my hotel, and as soon as I walked in, shopkeepers Bats and Jek greeted me with friendly nods. They both had that laid-back Ladin mountain-biker vibe going for them. After discussing where I wanted to ride, Jek set me up with a burly, full suspension e-bike. I was loaded for bear. I had also just turned seventy, so there was that, too.
I caught the nearby Rodello cable car, which lifted me 3,000 feet up the mountainside to the Rodello Col, known as the “Balcony of the Dolomites” (and when you see the view, you understand). The Seiser Alm lay before me, and I dropped into it via Icarus, a challenging singletrack with banked, hairpin turns that demanded precision and speed (centrifugal force is your friend). Clearly my riding skills were a bit rusty—okay, very rusty.
After Icarus, a scenic traverse along an easy double-track brought me to Paravis—which was even quicker and more technical than Icarus. I managed it for a while. But then I choked entering a fast, banked hairpin, and instead of carving through it, I shot straight into the weeds—and landed on an old trail and kept going. (How cool is that?) The derelict path eventually morphed into a dirt road. I never saw Paravis again.
Determined not to let detours dampen the mood, I continued down lonely dirt roads until I came across Family Line, the third downhill trail that I had planned to tackle. From here, everything clicked. Family Line offered a pleasant flow that allowed me to ride without constant worry of crashing (I renamed it Grandpa’s Line). The final three miles unfolded like poetry in motion as they wound down an enchanted forest trail. By the time I reached the hamlet of Selva di Val Gardena for a late lunch, I had logged nine miles and descended 2,700 feet.
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| Nirvana |
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| The Sella Towers. (Terry and I climbed here with Marika in 2018) |
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| The never-ending Seiser Alm. |
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| Working out a game plan. |
I mapped out the afternoon ride over a light meal at an outdoor cafe. Afterwards, a cable car lifted me 2,000 feet to a rocky knoll, where I found myself, once again, in the heart of the Seiser Alm. Eager to get rolling, I took the obvious singletrack down, traversing across a grassy slope at a steep, 15% grade. There was little room for error. The trail was narrow, loose, and—worst of all—littered with baby heads.
For the uninitiated, “baby heads” is mountain-biking jargon for loose, ball-shaped rocks in the trail that are four to five inches in diameter (the size of a baby’s head). When your front tire rolls over one, the rock skitters away in a sudden, unreliable fashion and throws you off balance. Baby heads are more treacherous than a trail full of live crocodiles.
As I gained speed, a mix of adrenaline and apprehension coursed through my veins. I braked to slow down, and that’s when my rear tire suddenly locked up; skidded to the down-slope side of the trail as my front tire careened off one of those baby heads… In what felt like slow motion yet happened in an instant, I was knocked off balance and tumbled down the slope. I came to a stop after a short distance with my bike piled on top of me and, miraculously, sustained not so much as a scratch (just call me Saint Rinaldo). I lugged my bike back up the slope to the trail, and that’s when I realized nobody had witnessed my clumsy mishap—except for a few cows grazing close by. But they seemed indifferent and did not judge.
The rest of the ride was almost anti-climactic. I continued down trails under the towering massif of Sassolungo (10,400 ft), soaking up the alpine splendor. But it was getting late; afternoon shadows were growing longer. And since I was meeting up with Marika later in town, I turned around and pedaled back to the Rodello Col, a mostly uphill endeavor. Seven miles I logged that afternoon, bringing my total to sixteen miles for the day—oh, and one crash. Not bad for an old man acclimating in the Dolomites.
That night, I met Marika at Pub Evita. And who did I find sitting at the bar? My bike handlers, Bats and Jek!
“How was the bike?” Bats asked me.
I told him it was great. But the rider needed some work.
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| The only witnesses to my crash. |
You could say that I rode until the cows came home. 😎
Val Duron
The following day, I set out to pedal up the Duron Valley for lunch, a ride Marika had recommended. This side canyon, which feeds directly into Campitello, contrasts starkly with the vastness of the Seiser Alm. Val Duron feels more intimate and secluded.
I chose a hardtail e-bike for this ride because I wouldn’t be romping down any technical terrain—double-track and narrow dirt roads would be today’s agenda. The first two miles ascended a dirt road at a steady 10% grade or more. A couple of short sections were at least 20%, to which I switched to “turbo power” and cranked on through. At the top of the second super-steep section, I emerged from the forest into sunlit meadows and the gentle sound of a stream. It was like stepping into another world. Rifugio Micheluzzi sat at the edge of a green pasture, its restaurant buzzing with life. But I decided to keep pedaling onward.
Another mile up the road brought me to Baita Lino Brach—a charming restaurant with outdoor seating beneath shady trees and bounded by meadowlands. Here, I parked my bike and ordered lunch; shared a table with an Italian family from Trieste. They were on holiday as well, and our conversations flowed through Google Translate as we exchanged stories and insights. The entire family held a deep and heartfelt belief in La Vita è Bella—Life is Beautiful—finding comfort in a lifestyle that brought them closer together.
After an enjoyable 90-minute lunch break, I hopped back on my bike for the remaining climb to Duron Pass (either that, or take a nap). The double-track wound past grazing cows as breathtaking views unfolded before me. The final mile was rocky, double-track climbing at a sustained 12% grade—but with an e-bike, it was: Nessun problema! La vita è bella! In total, it was seven miles of riding and an elevation gain of 2,500 feet to reach Duron Pass. And now came the really fun part: streaking back down to Campitello!
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| Rental house with a view. |
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| Rifugio Micheluzzi is about 2 miles up a steep grade from Campitello. |
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| The enchanted Val Duron. |
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Lunch break at Baita Lino Brach
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An Italian Golden Retriever on vacation.
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| Duron Pass, my turn-around point, is just below the towers on the skyline. |
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| My only trail hazard. |
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A mile back down from Duron Pass, I stopped here to water a bush (no
bushes at Duron Pass). Then, it was a fun romp back down to Campitello. |
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Alas, it was time to pack up and check out. Before leaving, however, I made one last stop at the bike shop to say arrivederci to Bats and Jek. They had been more than just mechanics; they were friends and had shared stories and camaraderie at Pub Evita. Now the open road was calling me back to Cortina d’Ampezzo, where another chapter of my adventure awaited with the SCMA crew. We had plans. And as I drove away from the town that had welcomed me so warmly, I couldn’t help but smile at what lay ahead.
To be continued...
