Dolodyssey - an epic journey through the Dolomites

One year after crossing the Pyrenees, it was time for my favorite cycling companion, Nathalie, and me to set off on another journey. This time, towards the Dolomites.

There is something wonderfully simple about travelling together when nothing needs to be explained. Every day follows the same little ritual, a routine we never had to discuss: wake up, breakfast (usually the generous buffet at the B&Bs, which may have occasionally regretted welcoming two cyclists) then cycle all day. A small lunch break in a cute Italian pasticceria. Cycle again. Discover the place we have arrived at by late afternoon. Shower and laundry. Then chill for the rest of the evening. Sleep early. And then start again.

So simple. Nothing to worry about. No stress to have. Just the road ahead.

Among all those days, a few moments have stayed with me.

Near Corvara, one night, we walked a few metres away from our B&B, far from any light pollution, and lay down on the grass to look at the stars. It was the night of the Perseids. One shooting star, then another, then another.

We just stayed there, watching the sky. For a moment, time seemed to stretch into eternity. There was nothing to do, nowhere to go.

Earlier that evening, I had asked Nathalie: “When was the last time you felt truly peaceful?” For me, at that moment, the answer was obvious. It was right there, lying on the grass, watching the stars, feeling so far away from everyday life.

Another priceless memory came before Passo Giau, when we arrived at a hostel that turned out to be an old mine, with something almost monastic about it. At first, we genuinely wondered whether we had come to the right place. We had been so warmly welcomed, and the whole place was so unexpected that it felt almost surreal.

My family often asks me: how can you not get bored spending more than eight hours a day on a bicycle?

The truth is that cycling mountain passes feels a little like playing music.

At some point, you enter another dimension. Distance and time lose their meaning. You feel the effort. You feel the rhythm. Dopamine kicks in. You admire the landscape. You wander.

And your thoughts begin to behave differently.

One evening, Nathalie told me: “Thoughts on the bike are like dreams.”

I think she was right.

They flow in without making any noise, without necessarily making any sense. And the moment you try to catch one, it disappears.

Another little adventure. Another collection of memories. Another reminder that some of the best things in life don't need to make much sense.

Numbers of the journey:


900 km


22,000 m of climbing


8 days