I'm always overcome with anxiety when a mountain panorama spreads out before me. My eyes immediately scan the mountain ranges for gorges and plateaus that might be suitable for biking. Preferably, of course, on adventurous trails that lead to the most remote corners possible. It's impractical when this feeling comes over you high up in an Austrian ski resort where everything is available: Climbing gardens, summer toboggan runs, signposted forest trail tours - just no authorised trails. In these moments, only locals can help: mountain bikers who know escape routes, trail treasures far away from the tourist world. During a
photo shoot in Nassfeld, we were lucky enough to have such a local with us as a guide.
Ricky takes us on the Malurch Trail. The tour starts on the 1554 metre high Nassfeld Pass, in the middle of the Italian-Austrian border. From there, we initially head along well-maintained hiking trails. The grippy crushed sand track leads us along a small stream down to the Winkelalm. Directly behind it, the rugged massif of the Malurch towers up in front of us, forcing us to descend. With our bikes on our shoulders, it doesn't take long for us to immerse ourselves in another world and leave the tourist hustle and bustle behind us. The path that now zigzags steeply up the side of the mountain dates back to the First World War, when the Italians and Austrians fought bloody battles. Ricky promises: "This old supply route will take us over the Malurch saddle to Pontebba in Italy and push us to our technical limits.
There are still 300 metres of ascent to the saddle. The loose scree on the path requires surefootedness, the gradient stamina. The reward is waiting at the saddle, which you reach after a short, final climb. The tourist hustle and bustle of the Nassfeld Pass is only a faint memory up here. There are no signposts and no people here - just the start of a trail that winds invitingly down the Italian mountain flank. A real treasure!
This path in particular deserves to be celebrated as a sensation in the entire region. It balances on a kind of ledge in the middle of an almost vertical rock face. The handlebars don't have much room between the rock face and the abyss. But it is enough for adrenalin-free cranking, thanks to the gentle gradient. Nevertheless, you must not lose sight of the loose scree in front of the tyres. At some point, it feels like you're floating along the mountain face. But there are also places where the trail is almost torn away. Small wooden footbridges bridge the abyss. I refuse, because the planks look old and rotten. Only when Ricky has safely crossed the first footbridge do I shakily feel my way across. Further down, the path even dives into tunnels. They are only ten to twenty metres long, but as cold as refrigerators. Then a short breather on a plateau before the path descends extremely steeply into the forest below. The forest floor is a welcome change, but the hairpin bends can only be conquered with a courageous rear wheel offset. However, it soon becomes more flowy with every metre of descent. The path now leads through dense trees. A nature trail straight out of a picture book. At some point, the only thing left to do is brake! The carpet of spruce needles is free of obstacles. But the best thing is that the trail ends at a marvellous mountain stream. We plunge in immediately.
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