"I didn't think so many crazy people would come," says the man standing on a wooden bench in front of his shop. Heiko Wild, head of a bike shop that is currently quite popular in the Munich road bike scene, is standing in front of his "Bikedress" store like a barker on a Friday in mid-July. Several dozen slightly grey and slightly thickened racing cyclists stand around the almost two-metre-tall man. Clean-shaven legs, glasses as big as windscreens, rather tight and fashionable jerseys. Cycling jerseys are, explains Peter Wippermann, founder of the Trendbüro agency and Professor of Editorial Design at the University of Essen, "the new social currency of cycling". This is how a part of the Munich cycling scene, which is said to have a certain tendency towards extroversion, wants to set itself apart from the generation that grew up with the logos of breweries and bakeries on their jerseys. We are wearing the team jerseys of the "Monaco Velo Club", which Wild founded for his disciples in 2017. Cycling is now a religion, says Pastor Heiko. Amen.
The man has several tasks ahead of him in the coming hours: counsellor, companion, guardian, kindergarten teacher. And educator. "Guys," Heiko admonishes us, looking like a giant grasshopper in his poison green jersey, "today is not a race. What we're doing is something special," he announces. His apostles listen.
Just one night: 384 kilometres, 2550 metres in altitude
The trained electronics engineer has already organised several rides for his cycling aficionados in recent months. One day, he lifted his audience from Munich over the Timmelsjoch to Merano, another time he pulled them up the Grossglockner. Today, however, we have gathered to ride to Lake Garda. A few people have done that before us. But not at night. And what does the shrewd marketing manager and business graduate Heiko do? He calls the crazy hara-kiri trip "One Night Lago". Sounds cool, but it's a real ordeal. 384 kilometres from Munich to Lake Garda. In one go. With three short breaks. And 2550 metres in altitude.
Why on earth do we drive at night? "Because you only have to fight windmills in broad daylight," he explains. "Otherwise, from Trento onwards," says the 55-year-old, who rode the route last year, "we'd have nothing but headwinds all afternoon." The young senior only had problems on his test ride in Innsbruck because he didn't know where to go at night. He had left his reading glasses at home and the sat nav on his handlebars was beeping like crazy. He made it anyway - now he wants us to do the same. 35 pairs of eyes look up at Wild expectantly, but also a little sceptically.
"For professional racing cyclists, the Tour de France is the measure of all things, for ambitious amateur cyclists it's the Tour de la Garda from Munich," says Falk Nier, co-founder of the Monaco Velo Club. The man should know. The 45-year-old marketing expert managed the former Katusha team around the German pros Marcel Kittel and Nils Politt and is now responsible for marketing for the Alpecin-Deceuninck team around superstar Mathieu van der Poel. The Dutchman won Paris-Roubaix, Milan-San Remo and the Road World Championships in Glasgow in 2023. However, none of these races are as long as our moonlight ride towards Bella Italia, the Mecca of cycling. Ten minutes to go until the start. We already feel like "il Campionissimo" Fausto Coppi, who won the Giro d'Italia five times.
All night long: Always eating, always kicking
Italy may be a predominantly Catholic nation, but there is at least one other religion in the country: the racing bike. Its riders are worshipped with a glamour that is second to none, wrote the "Süddeutsche Zeitung". The judgemental racing bike inquisition threatens to burn anyone who comes up with the idea of screwing Japanese parts onto their Italian Pinarello. Francesco Moser and Marco Pantani were therefore not just simple professional racing cyclists, they were saints, wrote Sebastian Hermann in the story "Im gelobten Land".
So there we are, with our Pinarellos and Colnagos, with our trousers full. What happens when you get tired in the middle of the night? Is it even possible to cover such a distance in one go? What are you supposed to eat all night? Questions upon questions. The best thing to do, says Patric, a former SEK officer and now a successful marketing manager in the road bike industry, is not to worry at all. Just keep eating all night, keep pedalling, he explains to the group. Right. And if not? "Anyone who doesn't make the cut can break off at any time, but is responsible for organising their own return journey or continuing on their own," Wild had written in his "One Night Lago" invitation. Translated: Bloke, if you don't have the guts for this badass night tour, just stay home. Okay?
With Patric's self-confidence in mind, we first thunder through the Perlacher Forst, then towards the foothills of the Alps to Bad Tölz. The mood couldn't be better. The temperatures of almost 30 degrees: perfect. The mood in the old men's peloton: exuberant. To make sure it stays that way, we keep on cycling and practise the "Belgian roundabout": one rider always takes turns at the front (as long as he can) and then drops back (anyone can do this). World champion Mike Kluge once explained to me that the roundabout is the most effective of all slipstream formations. But how much do you really save? Bert Blocken, professor at Eindhoven University, once calculated this in his study "Aerodynamic drag in cycling pelotons". Those on the outside of the peloton save up to 40 per cent of the wind resistance. In the centre, it's even an incredible 65 percent! Wow.
The first snack bar: snacks with class
With this knowledge as a tailwind, we cross the Austrian border to Lake Achensee. There, the last bathers are packing up their pink flamingos in the sunset, and the delicious smell of grilled sausages wafts over to us hungry pedallers from a campsite. However, we have to wait a little longer before we can feast on our delicious mobile buffet after 110 kilometres, which is included in the participant price of 149 euros, as well as three more food stops and the return transport from Lake Garda to Munich by bus.
Eva, Heiko Wild's wife, is responsible for the first snack. Together with her children Mia and Luca, she cooked, baked and sizzled. So good that even Michael Käfer from the Munich delicatessen empire would be envious of the top chef from Oberhaching. Following the example of professional cycling chef Henrik Orre, Eva serves up rice cakes with peanut butter and jam, oatcakes with oat flakes, pumpkin seeds, banana, cranberries and cinnamon. Of course, banana bread is also a must. But that's not all: there are also Italian sandwiches with Parma ham, mozzarella, pesto and tomatoes. And of course the classic cyclist snacks: trail mix, peanuts, bananas.
I stuff everything into me. Because that's the beauty of such rides. You burn so many calories, you can't take in that many. "If you don't feed your body anything in the first hour, you don't have enough and you're mercilessly fuelled. I need 90 to 120 grams of carbohydrates per hour during the race. That's about two bars and a water bottle with carbohydrate supplements," professional cyclist John Degenkolb once explained to me in an interview. But he also told me that the nutrition chain should never be interrupted. I quickly grab a banana bread and a rice cake and stuff them into the back of my cycling jersey. Degenkolb
has already won the Paris-Roubaix cobbled race, just like Mathieu van der Poel. But that's only 250 kilometres. Ridiculous, I think. Will he manage 380?
Strengthened, we get back on our high-tech planes. We continue towards Innsbruck. When we get there, we start to notice the first signs of the brutal effort. One of us hits Steffi, our triathlete in the peloton, in the back of the bike. Steffi, the energy manager from Oldenburg and one of three women in the group, just about manages to hold on. The Swiss rider, on the other hand, falls over like a railway barrier. Not our Ironwoman. Steffi remains stable.
A few minutes later, Marijan, the ride leader of the second group, is caught out when he hops over the railway tracks on his bike like a pro, but then lands on a patch of oil. The front wheel slips off and the Bavarian skids along on the seat of his trousers like a toboggan. Only without the toboggan. But Marijan, the machine, is tough, just like a typical racing cyclist. He wipes off the blood on his elbow and fixes his torn trousers: On we go. The example of Tyler Hamilton, the former US professional cyclist, comes to mind. He broke his collarbone in the 2003 Tour de France, but carried on, won a stage and finished fourth. Legend has it that he gritted his teeth for days to endure the pain, so much so that he subsequently had to have eleven teeth crowned.
Brenner Pass uphill: pop party with hormone cocktail
We continue towards Brenner, another five kilometres to the 36-kilometre ascent over the old Brenner Pass road with more than 800 metres of ascent. It is pitch dark. There are almost no houses here, no light. We pedal upwards like little fireflies. I enjoy it even more than during the day. Because compared to broad daylight, I can't see how much further up we have to go. And: I have no idea how steep it really is. Because my eyes can't find any points to orientate themselves in the deep black night. To make sure we don't get bored, I switch on my Bluetooth speaker. We listen to the classics, sing along to "Felicita" by Al Bano & Romina Power, bawl along to Adriano Celentano's "Azzurro" and shake our hips to "Sarà perché ti amo".
The only question I ask myself: Why don't we get tired at all?
The only question I ask myself now is: Why don't we get tired at all? "Our hormones are great persuaders," explains Ingo Froböse, the university professor for prevention and rehabilitation at the German Sport University Cologne, to me days later. But what does he mean by that? Hormones persuade our body to do things that it would never do voluntarily. According to Froböse, this includes, for example, pedalling almost 400 kilometres to Lake Garda at night. The happiness hormones, however, would sprout from every pore because it is so much fun. As a result, the endorphins would call up a performance that you would otherwise not be able to call up. Froböse speaks of a "hormonal cocktail party". Only without a dinner jacket and evening dress.
Downhill burner: red alert
However, the stress hormones would also join the happiness hormones at the same time. "If you thunder down the Brenner at 80 kilometres per hour at night, the body naturally switches to red alert," explains Froböse. The body knows that every little rabbit that runs onto the road or even every little branch could throw you off your bike. With fatal consequences. "It's a bit like throwing yourself out of a car at 100 kilometres an hour wearing only a pair of swimming trunks," Jonathan Vaughters, head of the professional racing team EF Education EasyPost, once described it. Then it "pulls the wallpaper off". Your skin just sticks to the tarmac. According to Froböse, this combination of happiness and stress leads the body into a state of alertness that is unrivalled. Now I know why I feel like a squirrel on coke. I really can't remember yawning even once, I was so awake for the whole 17 hours.
The swarm is shrinking
But it's still not completely safe. "If we drive down the Brenner now, please keep enough distance," Heiko warns us. It didn't help (once again). Humans are herd animals, I think after just 300 metres of shooting. We all shoot down the burner. But not at a distance behind each other, but close together. As if we, the swarm, only feel safe when we are all close together. At that moment, I was reminded of a programme on the Südwestrundfunk knowledge podcast. It said that fish manage to merge their brains into one large organism. Why do they do this? Because they wouldn't stand a chance against the shark or whale on their own. They also join forces because they are more intelligent together than individually.
It remains to be seen whether swarm intelligence also applies to us. What is certain, however, is that we warn each other: of tight bends, of drunken teenagers staggering around the streets of Sterzing at two in the morning. When we arrive at the next refreshment stop, we realise that two fish are missing. Patric had dropped his glasses, so he and fellow cyclist Walter rode a few more metres uphill. However, the shoal didn't feel like waiting. Although Patric and Walter pedalled like mad afterwards, they didn't stand a chance against the shoal. They didn't arrive until ten minutes later.
20 minutes later, the reunited swarm drives on. The next section is only 70 kilometres long, then Conny is waiting for us. She is the wife of Matthias, a former Lamborghini manager who has a flat on Lake Garda. Together with her daughter, she got up in the middle of the night and the two of them have 60 cornetti with crema and just as many Croissants purchased. We have coffee from the espresso machine we brought with us from Munich. A few crumbs and a mountain of empty cups remain, then we set off in the direction of Lago di Garda.
After 17 hours, we finally see it. Below us lies Torbole, a place of pilgrimage for German surfers and climbers.
After 17 hours, we finally see it. Below us lies Torbole, a place of pilgrimage for German surfers and climbers. And the educated. Falk Nier, the manager of Alpecin, knows after what feels like 300 training camps there that the lake was also a refuge for German-speaking poets and thinkers: Rainer Maria Rilke, Franz Kafka, Friedrich Nietzsche - they all found inspiration for their works here. First and foremost Johann Wolfgang Goethe, who revised his drama "Iphigenia in Tauris" here in 1786.
I couldn't care less about Tauris right now. We need taurine. And in liquid form. That's why some of us order a vodka Red Bull as a welcome drink, others reach for the Tegernsee beer, which is already waiting for us chilled on ice. It takes just one sip before the alcohol hits the top of our heads. Wow, that's nice ... If we had the rhythm of pedalling/eating during the night, we now switch to drinking/bathing. We drink an Aperol Spritz, then jump into the lake to order the next one full of motivation.
Until a 78-year-old Upper Bavarian with crooked legs comes along. He asks us if we can take a photo of him. Sure, we'd love to do that. The sprightly retired cyclist explains to us in passing that he comes from Starnberg and has travelled the same route as us. What? He cycled 400 kilometres alone in the night at just under 80? And it only took him five hours longer than us. Silence at the Aperol table. We can't possibly let that sit on us. At the same moment, we are feverishly thinking about how we can top that. "I have an idea," says Heiko. And grins. But he would need a bunch of crazy racing cyclists for that. 32 arms shoot up. He didn't expect so many crazy people to want to join us on our ride from Munich to Jesolo by the sea. What's just under 500 kilometres?
