Kindness of Strangers

The Kindness of Strangers

By Tara Miller, Staff Writer

October 2007

I guess we should have known when Steve said "I have no idea where we are g The town of Garda seemed extremely far away at the beginning of the ride. oing and I cannot read this map" that the bike trip to Lake Garda would be an adventure. Or perhaps when our first trail led us simply in a circle instead of down the hill, we should have heeded the warning. And then when the German bikers sent us 500 meters back up the hill to the dirt path on the left with a smirk on their faces, we really should have know what was in store…but we put our faith in Steve and continued to follow along.

It was a gorgeous day up in the Italian Alps or the Dolomites as the area is referred to and today was the second day of my sister Kim's "Progressive Italian Wedding Adventure". Our hotel, Club Lago de Tenno had kindly rented mountain bikes for all of the guests of her wedding and we had resolved to ride the bikes down to Lake Garda below and return them to the bike shop for our kind host. We had only one rule—arrive by 6 PM before the bike shop closed. Now instead of simply following the main road down to the lake, which would have been the easiest way down, a group of 12 of us decided to scout out a trail to the bottom…mistake.

Steve (my soon to be brother-in-law) spoke honestly with the group from the start. He admitted he could not read the map (it was in Italian) but the group decided to try anyway and off we went. The directions seemed easy enough: follow the road into the Town of Tenno, take a left off the main road onto the dirt trail and continue down the mountain…not so much. We followed the road into Tenno, we found the dirt trail and we followed the trail around a beautiful vineyard. The views were amazing. Rolling hills, grape vines, Lake Garda in the distance, but the trail did not seem to be going down, just around and before we knew it, we had arrived back at the main road only a few meters down from where we started. We had already ridden for over an hour.

A little flustered, our group decided to take a break and explore the castle in Tenno and leader Steve took the opportunity to question some German bikers as to the best route down. I have to adm The Italian Alps crash into the frigid waters of Lake Garda. it, they looked like professionals, and they had all the right gear and maps in their native language. They kindly explained that if we went back up the mountain 500 meters and turned left onto the first path it would lead us to the Adrenaline Bike Trail, a single track mountain bike trail all the way to the bottom. Sounds fun, right? Well maybe for some, but I had my doubts. First of all, the trail was named Adrenaline. I'm not that great of a downhill biker and although we had decent mountain bikes, we did not have helmets. Secondly, we could see the entrance to this so called path they referred to and according to two members of our group, Lane and Melissa, who had walked it the day before, it simply led into someone's private farmland. Finally, when the lovely German couple sent us on our way they did so with a little laugh. Was it a laugh of these crazy Americans will never make it down such a tough, steep trail or perhaps a laugh of there is no trail after all, we will never know. Maybe they were just being friendly.

The trail proved to be exactly what Lane and Melissa claimed it was, a private path into someone's farm. The group had begun to tire and instead of all twelve of us trying to figure things out, we sent four scouts ahead while the rest of us plucked plums from a near by tree and dipped them in some honey that Melanie had the foresight to bring. Fortunately we also had walkie-talkies which allowed us to communicate with our faithful scouts.

I was part of the plum eating group, so I cannot completely describe what happened on the trail but I believe it had something to do with a large dog barking and charging the trail followed by two lovely farmers appearing from the crops granting our motley crew passage through their land. In their best English and our scouts’ best Italian; the farmers conveyed that this path would lead us to another that would in fact take us down to Lake Garda. So the scouts called back and the group move forward.

The trail did eventually turn downhill, and then became very steep. Our once semi-dirt trail became a winding labyrinth of twisted branches. The broken sticks tangled and twisted in our bike spokes which made it almost impossible to pedal. At one fateful moment poor Melanie flew head first over her handle bars into a pool of mud, and almost tumbled down a steep cliffside edge. With the 'near death close call' we disembarked the bikes and continued down the steep, single track, hairpin turn trail carrying our bikes. After 30 minutes of negotiating a very steep, slippery and muddy path the trail opened up to a small grassy patch and a trickling stream at the top of a 50 foot waterfall. The scene was breathtaking and heartbreaking at the same time, for our trail had ended.

With the group's patients worn thin, Steve desperately set out in hopes of saving the day... and even more importantly the upcoming wedding vows. We all realized the only two possible options: go back up the way we came, or scale the grassy side of a steep foothill up to the unknown. We all agreed…we had come way too far to give up now, and up Steve went while the rest of us enjoyed a quick dip in the little stream.

Again, not having been in part of the rescue scouting mission I cannot claim to know what transpired, but I can rejoice in the result of Steve's finding. Upon his return, Steve joyfully announced that just up the short, but extremely steep trek was a house and the lovely Italian family who lived there had invited our entire group in for some wine and cookies.

We had been hiking/trekking for many hours on limited provisions and we all needed a drink, so up the hill we went. The men of the group offered to carry all the bikes, but the ladies feeling determined at this point, would not let any man steal her glory.

Once at the house, the family opened three or four bottles of different wines which we enjoyed with cookies and more plums. They cheerfully gave us a tour of their lovely home which was used as a blacksmith back in the 1400's and the mother even helped Steve scrub the mud and bloody wounds off his legs and feet. The sour moods dissipated into celebratory cheers for our pathfinder Steve and his helpful scouts!

With our deadline of 6 PM fast approaching we bid our new friends farewell. They guided us to a paved road that led us directly to Lake Garda. We did have one final uphill trek that led us to our "road of glory"- what we still call the ultimate "Adrenaline Downhill Race". And the yes, the fast track unbelievably enabled us to arrive at the bike shop just shy of 6 o'clock.

To this day Steve will not tell us exactly what conversation he had with that wonderful Italian family who saved the day. Had he planned it all along? Had he begged for mercy knowing his wedding was sure to be canceled if we didn't find our way? Or was it simply the kindness of strangers helping a group in need? I like to think it was the latter.

**All Photos by Donald Miller