I’m stood in the hotel lobby just outside of our bedroom door, and beside a dirty mountainbike. I’m tired, I probably don’t smell great, and I look somewhat akin to a child stood outside of their principles office, awaiting a good telling off.

I hear another door open, and breifly lock eyes with a member of hotel staff. She says nothing, but she doesn’t need to. I’m well aware that four of us carrying dirty bikes up three narrow flights of stairs late last night was not a good move. Unfortunately at the time we didn’t have much choice. I glance back into our room where Ayoob sees me, he can tell from the look on my face that we’ll have some grovelling to do.

Fortunately for the rest of us Andrew has taken the bold move of being the first to walk past reception. I creep down the stairs, careful not to let the bike leave as much as a strand of carpet out of place, and can already hear Andrew at work.

He’s pleading like only the most desperate of embaressed Enlishmen can. I peer around the corner. His hands are clasped together in a prayer pose, his back slightly arched, diminishing himself, bowing down and submitting to the wrath of the stoney faced Swiss hotelier. He apologises profusely, and then apologises again for good measure. He mumbles something about leaving a good Tripadvisor reveiw, and then apologises a third time just to be sure. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ we make our exit.

This days riding began with a huge climb out of Scuol with the aim of reaching a cheese deli hut high up in the mountains for a spot of lunch. The gravel road to the hut was long but not too steep, and we rode easily as a group, chatting and soaking up the environment and trees of the God Tamangur, the highest pine forest in Europe.

A few snack breaks broke up this section including one in which Andrew did his best impression of an agressive marmot, and we cracked open our Swiss Military Biscuits. These were easily the cheapest item in the supermarket and we expected them to be a bit bland, but were pleasantly suprised. If you’re going to Switzerland try the army biscuit.

The climb to the cheese hut took nearly three hours, but boy was it worth it. The hut was small and cosy, and staffed by a freindly and talkative young woman who prepared us the classic spread of cheese, cured meats, and pickles. I think we all fell a little bit in love with her, and I breifly whisked myself off to a fantasy land where I married a Swiss dairy farmer and lived in the mountains. It’s amazing what a serving of cheese can do for you after three hours on the bike. Ayoob bravely ordered a glass of buttermilk too, just to really send his stomach into dairy based oblibvion. She asked about our journey and in return told us a little about her life, and we were on our way. I’m not sure I’d be cut out for farming.

Moments after filling your stomach with cheese is obviously the perfect time to approach an almost unridably steep climb up a hiking trail with rediculously tight switchbacks. Sam naturally made it up unscathed and was fast cementing his position as the unsurmountable big hitter of the trip. I followed suit, but messed up a few of the turns. Andrew and Ayoob weren’t having such a great time, and I think Ayoob strongly regretted his glass of milk curdling away inside his stomach. Fortunately for us all this steep tech challenge didnt last long before the ground flattened off and we had our final gentle uphill stretch before hitting the first big decent of the day.

At this point we got up close and personal with a nice big herd of cattle, one of whom made a beeline right for me and proceeded to give her nose a good scratch on my front tyre. She also gave the bars a lick, and looked tempted to have a taste of my Garmin. I love animal interactions like this, and have found myself increasingly leaning towards becoming a vegitarian. I’ve always cared about animals but somehow managed to dissasociate that from eating them. I think that is beginning to change.

On saying goodbye to the cows we began to decend off the mountain on trails of which the memory will stay with me for a lifetime. Exposed at first, rocky and loose, the sort you have to take seriously, this is not the place to take a tumble or try and be Nino Schurter. We decended further and the trail became more manageable, with less exposed drops and more dirt rather than rock, we sped up and sped up, whooping and hollering, trading places at the front of the group. We took a breif coffee stop on hitting the road and then carried on to the next section of descent. Skirting alongside the main road we raced against a bus which we saw each time the trail came close to one of the roads hairpins. This was fast and open ground with good visibility, I let the brakes go, and it felt like flying.

I’ve spoken in the past about contrast being what makes things special, and using this contrast as a motivator to not get disheartened in the winter. The contrast between summer and winter, long days and short, dry weather and rain. We have to embrace the tough bits because the good bits would be nothing without themThis trail was similar, and the contrast between the beautiful but exposed and frightening top section with the full gas bottom section made it all the better.

If you’re reading this as somebody who isn’t a mountain biker It’s tough to put the feeling into words, but I couldn’t imagine a better way to pass the time. This was living at its best, and it’s not just about being some sort of adrenaline junkie. Excitement does play a part, but It’s also about camaraderie, appreciating the natural environment, and the reward for the work put into reaching that point. The hours of climbing, and to an extent the years of accumulated bike riding experience allowing you to feel comfortable doing this sort of thing. All of these things are factors in an unforgettable experience.

What’s even better is that this was only the first decent of the day. We had another mountain to climb and descent to look forward to before the day was done. This second climb would take us up through the beautiful landscape of Val Mora, from where we would descend alongside the river, crossing the Italian border, and flowing right the way down to our stop for the night at Lago di San Giacomo, a short distance from the famous Stelvio Pass.

The final descent was smoother and easier than the first, less steep, winding and flowing down the valley for about 15km. At this point in the day, it was exactly what we needed. We’d been out for eight hours and were all starting to tire.

Part of the way down we came across a melting ice flow across the trail and had to hike down and alongside the river to avoid it. On the other side, we met an Italian rider and told him of our plans for the following day. We mentioned the Chaschuana trail, he smiled a mischievous smile, laughed a little, and told us ‘You’ll remember the climb for 50 years’. More on that later, but he was right.

Not long later we reached our refugio beside the lake. We had a friendly welcome but were hurried a little due to being late for dinner. This was to become a theme of the trip. With our bags unloaded they sat us down and served a huge dinner. The starter alone was a massive carbonara, bigger than I’d normally eat for a main course.

I’ve mostly got a good relationship with food but can struggle to eat after exercise and when I’m in an enclosed space. I’m not sure where it comes from but it’s always been ‘a thing’. I think It’s knowing how much I need to fuel my body, not feeling very hungry, and then feeling anxious about the fact that I need to eat but don’t want to. The sight of this monstrous carbonara made me feel quite sick at the thought of finishing it, but I nibbled through, nudged the others to help me with a spoonful or two, and eventually calmed down and found an appetite by the time the main course came along. Veal with chips and salad. Andrew was about to start a conversation about the unethical farming of veal but we decided that was one best saved for later.

I touched earlier on the idea of vegetarianism, but In practice, I don’t think I’ll ever fully commit to strict dietary rules. In some places, such as a fairly remote Italian refugio, you get what you’re given. and I enjoy being comfortable with the knowledge that if push comes to shove I can and will eat anything. With that in mind I think all I’d gain from vegetarianism is a label when I could take what I consider to be a pragmatic approach of trying to be someone who eats a mainly veg based diet but doesn’t need to label it. I’m not sure what I’d gain from the label.

After dinner, we retreated to our room well-fed, completely wiped out, and desperate for some shut-eye. Andrew and I thought about doing some stretching. but instead led on the floor chatting for 10 minutes and then gave up. The others washed their kit, but I decided to hang mine in the cupboard and not worry about it. I really hate putting damp kit on in the morning and would rather smell a bit funky. Unfortunately for him, Ayoob has a keener sense of smell than I do and was unimpressed by this approach, which only made me want to continue it further and push the boundaries of unwashed lycra stench.

I promise I’m not normally this gross, and I don’t know what came over me.

Part three to follow.