What a disappointment: the sausage vendor at the Stelvio Pass must have turned round and hid under his eiderdown. A little refreshment would have been just what we needed, even though we only climbed the pass by shuttle. As we heave the bikes out of the car at the Tibet hut, our breath condenses. The prayer flags at the hut are frozen stiff and a fresh layer of powder snow blurs the contours of the scree desert through which our trail is to lead. It is the end of September. During the shuttle up to the pass at an altitude of 2757 metres, the thermometer feels like it has dropped by half a degree at each of the 48 hairpin bends. At least the sun is now peeking over the summit ridge of the Ortler, giving us hope for humane conditions later on. An espresso in the hut is still possible.
"Ah, yooo?" says the landlady when we let her in on our plan to descend directly via the 13er trail. Only an undertone reveals that she doesn't think we're in our right minds. We really can't blame her. The bare rocky ridge above the pass road gives no indication that there is a rideable trail hidden here. And the Google Earth flight over this flank hadn't fuelled much hope of downhill fun with flow. But if you believe the signposts, our trail does exist. Unfortunately, its course is not even vaguely recognisable today under the layer of snow. Roughly following the string of pearls on the GPS track, we fight our way up to the next hill. And there, finally, the desired picture: a dry stone wall stands out from the snow - a typical military track from the First World War, which crosses over in wide bends through the field of limestone blocks.
So, let the fun begin! The snow cover doesn't hold, the start becomes a game of chance. Is that a boulder? Is loose rubble about to pull my front wheel off? But from the snow line onwards, the trail runs wonderfully smoothly towards a rocky spur. While the Séracs over on the Ortler glow freshly sugared in the morning light, the first steep section makes it clear that coolness and technical finesse are now required. Our Tibet Trail winds its way down like a marble run. With the handlebars fully turned, the first curve radii are just wide enough. But then they suddenly tighten their loops. No more rolling: Skilful shifting of the rear wheel is now required.
Matze Gruber, our guide, is seized by ambition. He takes most of the hairpin bends with flying colours. I try to do the same, but after a short time my nerves no longer play ball. If you descend over the handlebars here, you take the direct route into the valley. So I use the "outrigger technique": I approach the hairpin tightly, stop, put my inside leg out and lift the bike statically round the corner. It works. Even if it's quite tough at first. But with practice - and you have plenty of opportunity to do this here, as there are countless hairpin bends - the flow slowly builds up even when changing direction.
After 500 metres in altitude, the marble run comes to an end. Now we fly towards the Franzenshöhe in wide hairpin bends, over steps, some of which are still exposed. And as we high-five each other with broad grins at this traditional inn, Gruber puts it in a nutshell: "It's a shame that the Goldseeweg over there is still closed. But let's be honest: the Tibet Trail actually leads much more directly to Nirvana."
