Eddy Merckx (Belgium)

Tour de France Eddy Merckx

Age: 59
Tour Wins: 1969, 1970, 1971, 1972, 1974
Wore Yellow: 96 days
Nobody devoured more foes than Eddy Merckx. Perhaps the greatest cyclist ever, “the Cannibal”—a six-foot, 165-pound powerhouse—was uniquely lethal in all disciplines, from time trials to mountain stages. In 13 years, Merckx won an astonishing 476 pro races (402 more than Lance Armstrong), taking not just five Tours de France but also five Giros d’Italia and seven Milan–San Remos. Since 1980 he’s headed the Belgium-based Eddy Merckx company, which builds racing bikes favored by pros like his 31-year-old son Axel. Why didn’t you win six? “My career was about winning as many races as possible—not about winning as many Tours de France as possible.” Is that a dig at Lance’s near-total focus on the Tour? “Not at all! We’re from different cycling generations. I was the best of mine, and he is the best of his.” Will Lance win again? “Of course. And it will be sweet revenge. When he fell sick, Cofidis [Armstrong’s former team] cut his contract and pushed him out the door. It was scandalous.”

Tour de France Bernard Hinault

Bernard Hinault (France)

Age: 49
Tour Wins: 1978, 1979, 1981, 1982, 1985
Wore Yellow: 78 days
Bernard Hinault wasn’t quite as flamboyant as France’s other five-time winner, the late Jacques Anquetil—who reportedly swigged champagne from his water bottle during one Tour—but he always got the job done. Nicknamed “the Badger” for his tenacity, the five-eight, 149-pound Hinault scored 28 stage wins in eight Tours de France, a figure second only to Eddy Merckx’s 34. He retired in 1986 and became a farmer in his native Brittany. What’s replaced cycling in your life? “Chickens! I hung my bike on the wall, and that’s where it’s stayed.” Will Lance prevail in 2004? “I give him a one-in-two chance. My advice: Think of it as the Tour—not your sixth Tour. If you race for a record, you’ll have problems.” What about critics who say cancer medicines boosted Armstrong’s endurance? “To those assholes I say, I wish you just one thing: that you have the same sickness, that you have one foot in the grave. Then you’ll see how much you’ll want to do what you love, and do it to its maximum.”

Tour de France Miguel Indurain

Miguel Indurain (Spain)

Age: 39
Tour Wins: 1991, 1992, 1993, 1994, 1995
Wore Yellow: 60 days
Miguel Indurain reigned so completely over the Tour that he won five in a row, becoming the first (and, until Lance, only) rider to accomplish the feat. In the process, “Big Mig” established himself as Spain’s greatest sportsman—a star whose determination was exceeded only by his shyness. (Teammates said he spoke mostly with his shoulders.) Renowned for his imposing size (six-two, 176 pounds), Indurain possessed an extraordinary lung capacity, a resting heart rate—28 beats per minute—that would qualify most humans as dead, and monster talent, especially in time trials. The farmer’s son from the Spanish village of Villava retired in 1997 and now lives in nearby Pamplona. You lost the Tour at age 32. Is 32-year-old Lance Armstrong over the hill? “He’s at an age where there’s a limit to your athletic performance—but he can still have good years. And he’s very motivated.” You’ve said you like to keep things in perspective—that the Tour is only a bicycle race. Still, do you ever wish you’d tried to snag it one last time? “I did try to win a sixth, but it was not to be.” Do you want Lance to win? “I want the best rider to win.”

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The U.S. Postal Service team leader, however, isn’t taking anything for granted. “Alpe d’Huez has nothing to do with Chamrousse,” Armstrong said. He’s right. Chamrousse’s ascent is taxing but gradual, while Alpe d’Huez is a wall, a psychotic procession of cruel switchbacks that Armstrong will nonetheless gobble in about 38 minutes (meaning he’ll average more than 13 miles per hour), according to Chris Carmichael, the rider’s longtime personal coach.

Ready to ride? First take Carmichael’s advice (see ), and then drive east 33 miles from Grenoble on the N91 road to Bourg d’Oisans. The N91 is a rideable highway, but it’s traffic-congested. Better to rent a car in Grenoble and make Alpe d’Huez a day trip.

To begin the climb, pedal N91 about half a mile east from Bourg d’Oisans and hang a left onto the D211. Within 50 feet a crosswalk plays the part of start ribbon; to its right, a broad white sign marks the ascent’s opening salvo. The finish of the climb, also marked, is at the end of Avenue du Rif Nel in Alpe d’Huez, the bustling village near the mountain’s top. Mortal riders should allow at least two hours to cycle up and down.

The road is open year-round, but wait till mid-April, when winter weather risks recede. Each of the 21 switchbacks is marked with a signpost (emblazoned with the name of an Alpe d’Huez stage winner), counting down from 21 at the bottom to switchback 1 up top. One bit of caution for your morale: After signpost 16, the road levels onto a short plateau, granting a first glance at the distant summit; the wicked scar zigzagging skyward taunts that the worst is yet to come.

Catch your breath at the summit, but don’t leave without visiting the tourist office, which issues diplomas to all who survive the climb (and fork out $1.25). Mine says I did it in 15 minutes and 26 seconds—but that’s because the staff will write in whatever time you tell them. Even if it’s obvious air guitar.

TRAINING PLAN
Maybe Alpe d’Huez doesn’t have to be that tough. Chris Carmichael, coach to Lance Armstrong and head honcho at Carmichael Training Systems (), shares three secrets. For his entire eight-weeks-to-Alpe-d’Huez plan, visit .

1. Pedal Quickly.
Maintaining momentum is the secret to climbing fast. A gear that keeps you spinning at a cadence of 90-95 rpm will prevent you from bogging down if the road pitch suddenly changes.
2. Choose Your Line.
Hugging the inside line through corners looks like a shortcut, but that’s where the pitch is steepest. Stick to the middle or outside of each switchback, where the rise is shallower. True, it’s added distance, but you’ll preserve a steady climbing rhythm, which will save you at the finish.
3. Ease In. Starting fast is the biggest mistake racers make in uphill time trials. There’s no place to let up, so if you go anaerobic from the get-go, you’ll be cooked well before the finish.

GO WITH AN OUTFITTER
Many tour operators hit Alpe d’Huez during the race, affording you a ringside seat. An eight-day trip with VéloSport Vacations ($4,695–$5,995; 800-988-9833, ) lets you ride Alpe d’Huez the day before the Tour, then watch the race at the finish. Warning: Everybody wants to see Lance chase win number six, and VéloSport stockpiles reservations 18 months in advance. Call now for possible cancellations or to book for 2005—according to Armstrong, likely his last go at the Tour de France.

ACCESS + RESOURCES
TGV bullet trains travel daily from Paris to Grenoble. Carrying on a bike is awkward, so send it ahead. For $61, the SNCF (France’s Amtrak) will pick up your bike at your hotel and deliver it to Grenoble. Call baggage service at 011-33-825-845-845. In Grenoble, stay at Tulip Inn Hotel d’Angleterre (doubles, $109–$186; 011-33-476-87-37-21, ). The regal rooms have views of the mountains and the manicured Place Victor Hugo. Reserve a spot for your bike in the storage room. Just outside Grenoble, in Gières, Cycles Routens (011-33-476-89-43-15, ) sells road-racing bikes, and the service department has a solid reputation.

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Beyond the museums and Brie, Europe is a wild continent packed with adventure hot spots, where you can follow a day of hard play with a vintage Chateau Margaux. From Chamonix, France’s alpine-sports hub, to Girona, Spain’s cycling-mad town, we uncover five hamlets with unstoppable spirit and Old World Class.


High Times in the High Alps


Where the Nors Gods Play


Gnocchi by the Lake


Lance’s Spanish Retreat


Austrian Allure
PLUS: Europbash!
and

The Mountain Magnet

Fast times in Chamonix, France, the once and future epicenter of high-alpine daredevilry

SOME PRONOUNCE THE X. Others don’t. But Chamonix was extreme long before there were X Games. The highest mountain in Western Europe, 15,771-foot Mont Blanc, sits like a brooding Buddha next to one of the deepest valleys in the Alps, creating an almost Himalayan altitude difference between village and summit. Jagged, needlelike peaks called aiguilles line the valley, shadowy and menacing in the morning but inviting when they glow in the afternoon sun. This irresistible dichotomy has drawn Europe’s most serious mountaineers to the Haute-Savoie region since 1786, when Jacques Balmat and Dr. Michel-Gabriel Paccard became the first to summit Mont Blanc. But this burgeoning alpine town of 10,000 (which swells to upwards of 100,000 in the summer) is no mountaineering museum; it’s still the jumping-off point for hardcore climbing in the Alps—if you can penetrate the inner circle of the Chamonix climbing elite, that is. But don’t let the cliques intimidate you. At Chamonix, ±ô¾±²ú±ð°ù³Ùé remains the dominant spirit.
WHERE TO PLAY Unless you’re comfortable with multipitch alpine routes, stay away from the Dru, perhaps the signature climbing peak in Chamonix. Instead, head north up the opposite side of the valley for the non-technical hike up to Le Lac Blanc, a high-alpine lake at 7,717 feet, halfway up the Aiguilles Rogues, and soak in the spectacular views of the Mont Blanc massif. The Chamonix tourist office (011-33-450-53-23-33, ) can connect you with mountaineering schools. Coquoz Sports (011-33-450-53-15-12, ) is a good place to rent or buy mountaineering equipment.

APRÉS–ADVENTURE For a fine French filet mignon, head to Le Panier des Quatre Saisons (011-33-450-53-98-77). Microbreweries have been slow in arriving, but the Micro Brasserie de Chamonix (011-33-450-53-61-59) sets a good precedent. The burgers are anything but micro, and if you’re lucky, local band the Crevassholes will be playing.
WHERE TO STAY At the Hameau Albert Premier (doubles, $208 to $286 per night; 011-33-450-53-05-09, ), an 11-acre estate tucked away in the center of Chamonix, you can choose from one of 27 sleekly furnished hotel rooms, a chalet that sleeps six, or a restored farmhouse with 12 rooms, cavernous baths, and rustically elegant furnishings. There’s also an indoor-outdoor pool and a climbing wall, and spa treatments can be arranged.
HOW TO GET THERE Chamonix is a little more than an hour’s drive from the Geneva airport, which is served from the U.S. by Air France (800-237-2747, ). Rent a car at the airport or catch an ATS shuttle (011-33-450-53-63-97, ), which runs vans to Chamonix for $50 one-way.

Go Berserker

Nothing is too wild for the adventure pilgrims who converge on Voss, Norway, for summer thrills

SIXTY MILES INLAND FROM BERGEN, in western Norway, the rustic ski village of Voss (pop. 14,000) sits quietly at the base of 3,825-foot Groseda Mountain on the shores of Lake Vangsvatnet. Until, that is, the annual Ekstremsportveko (“Extreme Sports Week”) comes to town. From June 22 through 27, boaters and mountain bikers will swarm the festival tent to see if their killer moves made the daily highlight DVD, and Norway’s best pop bands, like Surferosa, will take the stage. The annual expo features national competitions in downhill mountain biking and bouldering, but there are clinics for newbies, too. The truly intrepid should inquire about the local delicacy—smalahove, a sheep’s head served eyes and all. Clearly, the berserker spirit is alive and well.
WHERE TO PLAY Voss offers up every variation of extreme you can imagine: Class III and IV rivers for rafting, Class IV and V rapids and waterfalls for steepcreeking, fjords for sea kayaking, scenic launchpads for sick air sports, and plenty of trails for trekking and mountain biking. Notch a first descent on a roadside creek, or huck off 30-foot Nosebreaker Falls. Kit up at the Voss Rafting Senter (011-47-56-51-05-25, ). For a full-day mountain-bike ride, jump the train to Finse, rent a rig at Finse 1222 (two-day rental, $56– $70; 011-47-56-52-71-00, ), and pedal 55 miles home via the Rallarvegen, an abandoned dirt road with plenty of hills.

APRÉS–ADVENTURE The town’s best nightclub is Pentagon, at the Park Hotel Vossevangen (011-47-56-51-13-22, www.parkvoss.no/english), but the best midsummer nights are reserved for a bonfire with friends on the beach, where you can watch the sun…stay up. Skinny-dipping is strongly advised.
WHERE TO STAY Fleischer’s Hotel (011-47-56-52-05-00, www.fleischers.no) looks like it did when it opened in 1864, but its 90 rooms are bright with antique furniture and paintings by local artists. Better still, bring a small posse of two to four people and rent one of Fleischer’s 30 kitchenette apartments right on Lake Vangsvatnet. Doubles run $217; apartments cost $145 to $235 per night.
HOW TO GET THERE To make the most of your stay in Voss, fly to Bergen on SAS (800-221-2350, ) or Iceland Air (800-223-5500, ), then rent a car so you can launch your kayak into inviting whitewater or take classic walks—like one along the rim of Sognefjord, Norway’s Grand Canyon. Visitnorway.com is an excellent site for planning your trip.

Espresso Yourself

Arco, an Italian lakeside paradise, has steady breezes, a clifftop castle, and classic climbing crags

arco italy

Kingdom come: The 12th-century Castello Di Arco

SINCE THE TOWERING LIMESTONE WALLS of north-central Italy’s Basso Sarca valley were discovered by climbers in the early 1980s, the ancient Roman village of Arco, 50 miles north of Verona, has been a hot spot for European adventurers. Situated where the Dolomites meet the palm trees and oleander of northern Italy’s lakes region, Arco and the 9,000-foot peaks of the Pre-Alpi not only offer some of the continent’s best sport climbing, but the steady breezes on nearby Lago di Garda (Italy’s largest) draw windsurfers from around the world. Trails like the 19-mile Tremalzo (etched into solid rock by Italian and Austrian soldiers during World War I) provide world-class mountain biking, while the valley’s roads frequently host the Giro d’Italia cycling race. With a crenellated castle overlooking its cobblestone streets and ancient piazza, Arco looks downright medieval—until you discover its well-equipped outfitting shops, its outdoor cafés, and the 82-foot Rock Master wall, Europe’s tallest artificial climbing structure and home to an international free-climbing competition that draws the likes of Lynn Hill and Japan’s Yuji Hirayama each September.
WHERE TO PLAY Start by heading to the Climber’s Lounge, two blocks north of the city center at the base of Monte Colodri, where you can visit the Friends of Arco Mountain Guide Service for beta on the best local climbing (011-39-333-1661401, ). You’ll find some 135 bolted routes at Massone, a 90-foot limestone crag two miles northeast of town; advanced rock rats can consider 5.10 to 5.14 multipitch routes up nearly-1,000-foot Monte Colodri. Rent a mountain bike at Bike Shop Giuliani (011-39-0464-518305, ) and pedal up to 5,463-foot Tremalzo Pass, which overlooks shimmering Lago di Garda. Or tackle the 25-mile Arco Bike Nature route, which winds above the olive orchards of Massone to 4,000-foot Monte Velo. For windsurfing gear and lake access, visit the Conca d’Oro Windsurfing Center, in nearby Torbole (011-39-0464-506251, ).

APRÉS–ADVENTURE Enjoy strangolapreti, or spinach gnocchi, beneath the frescoes at Alla Lega (011-39-0464-516205, ). Afterwards, hang out with the windsurfers in Torbole, where Discoteca Conca d’Oro (011-39-0464-505045) cranks Latin dance tunes till 4 a.m.
WHERE TO STAY If pitching a tent in one of Arco’s campgrounds—Campground Citta di Arco has a pool—isn’t your style, do what Lynn Hill does and rent a one- or two-bedroom apartment in the Arco Guesthouse ($119–$150; 011-39-3355-241312, ). Each newly renovated suite has a kitchen, wood floors, and DSL access, and on the lower level there’s a sauna and a bouldering wall.
HOW TO GET THERE Arco is an hour and a half’s drive from Verona and a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Milan. Both cities are served by British Airways (800-247-9297, ) from the U.S. Or take a bus from Verona’s Porta Nuova train station to Riva (two and a half hours) and then on to Arco (20 minutes).

My Girona

Downshift into a Mediterranean pace and spin like Lance in Spain’s Catalonian hideaway

TEMPERATE, TRANQUIL, AND EQUIDISSTANT from mountains and sea, the Catalonian city of Girona (pop. 80,000) is the nesting ground of an elusive migratory species: the professional cyclist. Every winter, 10 to 15 of them—including five-time Tour de France winner Lance Armstrong—descend on Girona, establishing seasonal headquarters and stretching their shaved legs on forest roads in the Pyrenean foothills or along the sunny Mediterranean coast.
Girona proper is steeped in the history of its medieval old city, a cobbled labyrinth of narrow alleys and watchtowers separated from the city’s modern business district by the smooth-flowing Onyar River. But that’s not to say it’s a backwater. Girona is to Barcelona what Boulder is to Denver: an adventure-sports utopia just an hour’s drive from a major metropolis. Girona’s foothills, like Boulder’s, quickly ascend to high-altitude skiing and climbing. But what puts Girona in a league of its own is the Costa Brava, a white-sand stretch of Catalonian coast less than an hour’s drive east, overcrowded by sun worshipers in summer but serrated by a procession of deep coves perfect for secluded diving, kayaking, or romancing.
WHERE TO PLAY Start with the Vías Verdes (“Green Paths”), part of a countrywide network of more than 500 miles of dirt and gravel railroad tracks turned biking trails. Sixty-five miles of Vías Verdes radiate from Girona, highlighted by the 50-mile out-and-back route to the coastal port of Sant Feliu de Guíxols. Refuel on tapas and then power the short climb to the hermitage of Sant Elm, a lookout point with a grand view of the Mediterranean. Bike rentals are available in Girona at the Centre BTT de Catalunya (011-34-972-468-242, ). Visit for Vías Verdes information. If lactic acid has your quads in knots, give your upper body a workout in the sea. Kayaking Costa Brava (011-34-972-773-806), headquartered in L’Escala, 25 miles northeast of Girona, rents gear and offers a full menu of guided trips, including a demanding six-hour tour of the Cap de Creus, a 54-square-mile reserve, the marine portion of which teems with fish ($60, including all gear and guide fees).

APRÉS–ADVENTURE In Girona, grab a beer in your bike shorts along the Rambla de la Libertat, a river walk lined with casual restaurants, bars, and cafés. For serious dining, change into your evening finery, then cross the pedestrian Sant Agusti bridge to the Plaza de la Independencia, where you’ll find Boira, a river-view restaurant serving specialties like arroz de lobregant, spiced rice and seafood (about $63 per person for three courses; 011-34-972-203-096). Nights go off at nearby Platea (011-34-972-22-72-88, ), a sprawling 1929 theater transformed into a thumping dance club.
WHERE TO STAY With medieval stone walls, antique wood furniture, and bougainvillea cascading from every balcony, Pension Bellmirall (doubles, $70, including breakfast; 011-34-972-20-40-09) is a seven-room boutique hotel glowing with old-city charm.
HOW TO GET THERE Girona is 60 miles northeast of Barcelona. Delta (800-221-1212, ), among other airlines, offers direct flights. Frequent and speedy trains ($16 round-trip, as many as three per hour) make the Barcelona–Girona run in less than 90 minutes. Added bonus: You can haul your bike at no extra cost.

The Gemütlichkeit Glow

Pull on your lederhosen and go looking for kicks in Mayrhofen, Austria’s Tyrolean treasure

FORTY MILES SOUTHEAST OF INNSBRUCK, in southwestern Austria, Mayrhofen is what so many American mountain towns aspire to be. The authentic Tyrolean chalets (dating back 400 years), 3,600 year-round working-class residents (including cowherds in honest-to-god lederhosen), and absurdly picturesque location—in the nook of the spiny Ziller and Tuxer mountain ranges—exude what locals proudly call ²µ±ð³¾Ã¼³Ù±ô¾±³¦³ó°ì±ð¾±³Ù: a warm, friendly, welcoming vibe. But once you leave Mayrhofen’s quaint cobblestone streets—and the German tourists drinking Zillertal Bier on sunny café patios—the atmosphere changes dramatically. Atop the 10,000-foot mountains, storms move in and out quickly, adding a touch of excitement even to hiking. In the Zimmer Valley, the buzz comes from outings on the wild, glacier-fed Ziller and Zemm rivers. What you find in Mayrhofen is every Euro traveler’s dream: a charming Alpine village where ²µ±ð³¾Ã¼³Ù±ô¾±³¦³ó°ì±ð¾±³Ù meets adrenaline rush.
WHERE TO PLAY Mayrhofen’s most popular activities are whitewater rafting and peak-to-peak hiking; local guides can also take you paragliding, horseback riding, mountain biking, climbing, and glacier skiing. Pick up a trekking map at Tourismusverband Mayrhofen (011-43-5285-67600, www.mayrhofen.com), the tourism office in the Europahaus on Dursterstrasse, then choose from hundreds of miles of trails, many of which eventually return to bus stops in the valley. For a warm-up outing (and awesome views of the glaciated spires in the heart of the Alps), hike the Steinerkogl trail, a steep two-mile climb gaining 3,500 feet from downtown to the shoulder of Brandberg Mountain. Serious thrill seekers can sign on for a guided canyoneering tour and spend an afternoon climbing waterfalls and rappelling into gorges. One-stop shopping for all activities starts with Action Club Zillertal (011-43-5285-62977, ).

APRÉS–ADVENTURE You can always slug flaming schnapps with young Austrians, Swedes, Aussies, and the odd Canadian at the downtown Scotland Yard Pub (011-43-5285-62339, ), but the best summer nightlife is found in restaurants, not bars. At Brugger Stube (011-43-5285-63793), you’re likely to share chateaubriand and a beer with a 70-year-old farmer from nearby Hollenzen. Don’t miss the Wirtshaus zum Griena (011-43-5285-62778, ), a 440-year-old tavern with soot-stained timbers and fewer than 20 tables, where local specialties like wilderer sandel (braised venison served with bread dumplings) are perfect for end-of-the-day refueling.
WHERE TO STAY The English-speaking Hubers—third-generation residents of Mayrhofen who also lead tandem paragliding flights—built Apparthotel Veronika (doubles, $135; 011-43-5285-633470, ) as a traditional chalet in 1985, and they’ve recently added a lavish, modern spa. Of the ten apartments, all with kitchens, 700-square-foot Suite Zillertal has the best views, overlooking the Zillertal Valley.
HOW TO GET THERE Fly to Innsbruck on Austrian Airlines (800-843-0002, ) or Lufthansa (800-645-3880, ), then catch one of the hourly trains east to Jenbach ($5, 30 minutes), where you’ll transfer to a southbound Mayrhofen train ($6, one hour). Train seats can easily be booked at the station; contact Austrian Federal Railways () for more information.

Small Is Beautiful

Want remote, tiny, and far off the beaten track? Search out these cozy pockets of Old World tradition and scenic soul.

INVERIE, SCOTLAND This northwestern burg, on the edge of Loch Nevis, is so far off the road network that the only way to get here is by boat. If there’s any action in town, you’ll find it at the Old Forge, which The Guinness Book of World Records says is the most remote pub in mainland Britain. Surrounding Inverie is some of the most Wordsworth-worthy hiking in the world. The craggy 2,612-foot knoll Sgurr Coire Choinnichean overlooks the village; close by are the taller peaks of the Munro Range, including 3,412-foot Sgurr na Ciche. The Pier House (011-44-1687-462347, ), a 19th-century stone lodge—its motto is “We have no TV, no shops, and mobiles don’t work here”—sleeps eight; doubles cost $170 and up per night, including breakfast and dinner.
CALA GONONE, ITALY As one of Italy’s prime vacation spots, Sardinia is hopelessly overrun in the summer. But one quiet corner on the east side is Cala Gonone (cala means cove), which has some of the best beach-based climbing in the world. The limestone routes range from 5.8 to 5.13, and an hour’s walk inland you’ll find Tiscali, a mysterious 3,000-year-old Nuragic village, surrounded by more climbable cliffs. Cala Gonone’s Hotel Nettuno (011-39-0784-93310, ) rents doubles from $69.

STARY SMOKOVEC, SLOVAKIA The High Tatras boast some of the best hiking in Eastern Europe, and the diminutive ski town of Stary Smokovec is your gateway. In the summer, the hills offer a full range of mountain-biking opportunities, from serious alpine to cross-country routes. Tatrasport Adam and Andreas (011-421-52-442-52-41, ) is a gear shop right in town that rents skis and bikes. Kick back at the luxurious, Bavarian-style Grand Hotel (doubles, $64–$126; 011-421-52-44-22-15456, ) with a little tokay wine while listening to Carpathian folk music.
Ã…LAND, FINLAND Some 6,500 islands and rocks off the southwestern coast of Finland make up the semiautonomous Ã…land Islands. (Swedish, not Finnish, is spoken here.) Known as one of Northern Europe’s most stunning rural retreats, the archipelago offers plenty of walking and canoeing. Anglers can make a pilgrimage to Kokar, a tiny islet about 50 miles off the mainland, hire a boat and guide, and pull a 25-pound Baltic pike from the shallows. Afterwards, retreat to the Brudhäll Hotell (doubles, $80–$108; 011-358-18-55955, ) for a glass of mead and some Karelian hot pot, a pork-beef-and-lamb stew.
MONSTER, HOLLAND Who knew that windsurfing rocks in the Netherlands? The North Sea roils just off the former hippie village of Monster, 40 miles southwest of Amsterdam. You can find hotels up and down the coast, but the best place to stay is in very cool Rotterdam, 20 miles east. The Stammeshaus Bed and Breakfast (doubles, $57; 011-31-10-425-4500, ) is a homey cottage with a garden in a quiet neighborhood, just a short walk from the Netherlands Architecture Institute.

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CYCLING THE AEGEAN

The whitewash wonders of Greece

ISLAND HOPPING IN GREECE AND TURKEY—ON TWO WHEELS
After 30 miles of biking along the jagged shores of the Aegean Sea, my seven companions and I rolled into Güllük, a sleepy port on the southwest coast of Turkey, about 600 road miles south of Istanbul. We walked into a bar, where a grizzly fisherman put down his glass of raki, an aniseed-flavored Turkish alcohol, and swaggered up to us, laughing. “Good!” he roared, gold teeth flashing, while plucking at my spandex tights. “°Õ±ð²õ±ð°ì°ìü°ù!“—thank you—I yelled back, striking my best superhero pose. The bar erupted, raki spilling everywhere.
Güllük was our second stop on a trip that began at an ancient mausoleum in the Turkish town of Bodrum and ended ten days and 350 miles later at a nude beach on the Greek island of Naxos. A bike route that begins with crypts and ends with public nudity might seem odd, but in Greece and Turkey the ghosts of the past and the pleasures of the present happily coexist. Combining small portions allowed us to explore two cultures, and our criteria were simple: ocean views and ancient ruins.
After an olive-and-tomato breakfast in Güllük, we continued north and soon hit the Laba Dagi Mountains. We’d creep uphill, negotiating a steady slalom of sheep dung, and then race down the other side at 40 mph before hitting the next hill. At the end of our second 40-mile day we turned off the main road at a rotting wooden sign that indicated the village of Kapikiri. Instantly, trucks gave way to donkey carts, tinkling cowbells replaced blaring horns, and pantaloon-wearing women harvested vegetables in boulder-strewn fields. Dead tired, we checked into the Pelikan Pansiyon, a rustic inn just beyond the village’s medieval walls, and slept until we had to pedal off early the next morning. Over the next two days we worked our way 50 miles north through mountains and along ragged coast to the port town of Kusadasi, our launching point for Greece.

Greek ferries were made for bike touring. On a bike, you’re always the first on and the first off, blowing past waiting cars. On deck, you’re treated to an intimate view of Greek life: grandmothers unwrap tin foiled family feasts while teenage lovers neck behind the snack bar. After two hours, we stepped onto the sultry island of Samos, famous for its orchids and sweet wine. We ditched our panniers at the Hotel Samos, near the ferry terminal in the main town of Vathí, and set off to explore.
Ten miles over the island’s hilly spine we arrived in Pythagorio, where Pythagoras, the man who tormented generations of students with a2+b2=c2, was born 2,500 years ago. From Pythagorio we headed west, winding through olive groves and hill towns on one of the best 20-mile rides of our lives.
After sampling Samos, we jumped a ferry west to the Cyclades Islands and disembarked five hours later on Naxos, a windswept island that supplied the ancient world with marble. Checking into the Hotel Adriani was like dropping in on friends. The cheerful owners, father and son, welcomed us with a toast of kitron, a lemony elixir distilled only on the island.
The next morning, four of us biked 20 grueling mountain miles to Apollonas, on the island’s lonely northern tip, only to find that all the residents had left to attend a funeral. We headed back, parched and slightly delirious, stopping at a nude beach. With the cove to ourselves, we stretched out on the hot pebbles and soaked up the fading warmth of dusk. In that sublime moment I felt—like the bohemian writer Lawrence Durrell before me—”rocked and cherished by the present and past alike.”

Hiking the Dingle Peninsula

Getting lost—and found—on Ireland’s ancient tangle of trails

Rock on: a coastal vista along the trail

The path cut through undulating hillsides of green gorse and purple heather. Sheep danced away as we neared. We had walked alone for hours—lost—when two hikers appeared ahead. We prayed that they were shepherds who could guide us back to civilization, but instead we met two schoolteachers from New Hampshire, also lost. Our lyrical guidebook, The Dingle Way Companion, read, “Cross the field diagonally, clear a stile set in a stone wall and drop down through boughs of fuchsia, entwined as if in prayer. . . .”
Recreational hiking is still an emerging sport in Ireland, where working the fields once left little time for constitutionals. Nobody knows that better than Joss Lynam, the 78-year-old author and patriarch of Irish hiking, who led the push to expand the National Waymarked Ways (just Ways, for short), which link about 1,910 miles of ancient bog paths, goat spoors, and fisherman’s trails. “If you’re chasing sheep over the hills five days a week, you don’t want to do it on the weekend,” said Lynam. That’s changing. In 1991 there were only 12 Ways. Today there are 33. But Lyman was no help to us now, and in a late-afternoon routine that we repeated daily, we hitchhiked, wet, hungry, and happy back to our hotel.
There are no huts along the Ways, but farmers allow camping, and trails often pass through or near towns with hotels, hostels, and B&Bs. On this trip last fall, my wife and I fell for the village of Dingle and its cobblestone streets; blue, green, and orange row houses; and dark pubs. So instead of hiking the entire 95-mile Dingle Way, which hugs the perimeter of southwest Ireland’s Dingle Peninsula, we stayed for three days on the outskirts of town at spacious, modern Greenmount House, an inn with ocean views. We took daily hikes averaging 14 miles, crossing green fields and stark beaches. Mornings began with a buffet of smoked salmon and homemade breads and jams before we headed west from the inn through intermittent rain. We would survey Dingle’s harbor, looking for the wild but fish-begging dolphin named Fungi, then pick a direction and go.
On the flanks of 1,693-foot Mount Eagle, about five miles west of Dingle, we stood among the cattle and wildflowers, watching the morning mist rise to reveal craggy islands to the west and 3,000-foot Brandon Mountain to the north. We stopped to pluck blackberries. We stopped at the medieval ruins of Menard Castle and Celtic stone huts called clochain. We stopped to watch gannets dive from their cliffs into the water below, and we stopped to check the “guidebook.” Eventually we found a road and stuck out our thumbs.
On our final day, we walked through spongy, shoe-sucking peat bogs to the tip of Dingle Peninsula. Atop sandstone cliffs we looked down 500 feet to islets and caves. Later, when we were lost—again—we stumbled onto Kruger’s pub. After an hour of listening to the Gaelic tongue of farmers, we forged on, content to let the landscape lead the way. Finding our inn was a bit less important after the pub’s cool Guinness and hot whiskey.

Mountain Biking in Provence

Meet the Moab of France—sweet singletrack enhanced by olive groves and better wine

C’Est magnifique: the vineyards of Provence

At some point along a meandering ridge trail called the Grande Randonnée 9, the thought took hold: The region around Apt, in southern France, is a kissing cousin to that mountain-biking mother lode, Moab. Both areas are sun-drenched convergences of startling geology, sudden inclines, and long vistas, crisscrossed with technical trails. Apt even shares Moab’s Mars-colored riding surfaces—the powdery, ocher-infused dirt of Provence glows as lustrous as Utah’s sandstone. It just hurts a lot less when you biff on it.
But I had to set my revelation aside when the GR 9 turned abruptly to the right, sauntered among the stone ruins of a castle, plunged down an ivy-laced ravine, and skirted olive groves. When the ride finished in a town with cobblestone streets so narrow my bike could barely pull a U-turn, Moab’s fast-food franchises and prefab motels seemed, well, an ocean and a continent away.
Like the Impressionist painters who moved to Provence for the astonishing intensity of its light, mountain bikers also find much to their liking here. With more than 300 days of sunshine a year and frost-free winters, Provence’s riding season is long and hassle-free. The widely spaced trees—cedar, oak, juniper, and eucalyptus—keep trail duff and deadfall clutter to a minimum.
I first rode Provence three years ago. Near Nostradamus’s hometown of Salon-de-Provence, I snuffled down singletrack brimming with rosemary and thyme. On my second trip, I ventured farther inland to the Parc Naturel Régional du Lubôron, 637 square miles encompassing the 11,500-person village of Apt, as well as winemaking estates, lavender fields, rugged slopes as high as 3,690 feet, and startlingly phallic ocher formations.
A stop at Gassou Shop, on the west side of town, got me pointed to Apt’s trademark playground, Le Colorado Provençal, a canyon six miles to the northeast. The Colorado Provençal ride is one of many possibilities; hundreds of miles of riding trails surround Apt. Ridable chemins (roads) and sentiers (trails) spider up, down, and over the 31-mile-wide Lubéron range.

Once at the canyon, I followed the yellow markings that denote mountain-bike-friendly trails, spinning up a gentle grade to the rim. Birdsong and golden light made the preserve’s wind-eroded dirt pillars appear celestial, but still damn weird. As in Arches National Park, cyclists are banned from pedaling sensitive formations; unlike in Utah, the sights loom yards, not miles, away. The seven-mile loop concludes with a rollicking descent.
Each evening, I returned to the affordable (about $40 per night) Hôtel L’Aptois, on Apt’s eastern edge, to prepare for French post-ride refueling. Among several unpretentiously good restaurants, Au Petit Saint Martin stands out: a romantic room inside the chef’s house, tucked into a labyrinth of backstreets that a certain automobile-obsessed nation would have bulldozed long ago. On Saturdays, Apt hosts a bustling outdoor market where your euros buy fresh cherries and criminally good $4 bottles of Côtes du Lubéron wine.
Eight days in Apt coated my bike with grit the same hue that Provence native Paul Cézanne used in his palette. Too bad that when I flew home, U.S. customs officials washed the bike to keep our shores free of hoof-and-mouth disease—I wanted to spread ocher dust all over home.

Paddling the Tromsø Archipelago

The search for an Arctic Eden beneath Norway’s midnight sun

The arctic landscape of Norway

Catch a break from the North Wind, paddle 24 miles, and trust the advice of a modern-day Viking named Bent, and we just might make it to Eden. That’s the plan as Tim Conlan, the leader of our sea-kayaking expedition, spreads his nautical charts out on the dune grass inside our lavvu, an indigenous Scandinavian tepee. Twig in hand, he sketches the route to a long, sandy beach on the island of Rebbenesøya. There, in a crescent-shaped bay, awaits Eden, or at least that’s what Conlan’s sailing buddy Bent indicated on the chart. And as we were besieged at our first campsite by voracious sheep, thwarted the next day by a headwind so fierce it took us an hour to paddle a mile, and kept off the water by heavy gusts on our third day, this idyllic campsite—beachfront property, with freshwater streams and majestic ridges—sounds like Valhalla. We agree to an early start (4:30 a.m.) and pray that the wind abates.

We’re four days into a ten-day kayak tour through the thousands of mountainous islands west of Tromsø, well above the Arctic Circle and about 1,100 miles north of Oslo. The Tromsø archipelago covers about 450 square miles, and the rugged coast reminds me of the High Sierra, only with the valleys flooded by the sea. The region’s wide fetches and channels leave us exposed to the wind, and our progress has been slow. In fact, by the end of the trip we’ll have managed only 64 miles of a planned 100. Fortunately, the hilarity of tackling language barriers and debates about everything from polar bears to taxes to Zimbabwe strongman Robert Mugabe will have gelled our international team during the wind-enforced downtime.
Ten of us—four Americans, three Swedes, a German, a Brit, and an Afrikaner-Canadian—signed on for this Nordic ramble with Crossing Latitudes, Conlan’s Bozeman, Montana-based guide service. For seven years, Tim and his Swedish business partner and wife, Lena, have led kayak trips south of Tromsø, threading the granite towers of Lofoten and island-hopping the skerries of Vester&3229;len. The Conlans wanted to know what’s around the next fjord, so they arranged this exploratory, as outfitters call trips they have yet to complete themselves and run with experienced clients to gauge feasibility.
Aside from paddling, we’ve played spirited matches of the Viking game kubb (think horseshoes with rocks) and hiked to the top of Haaja, a 1,600-foot peak with a dead-drop to the breakers below. Aside from the sheep incident, our campsites have been untracked, snug in the curve of dunes or perched on low bluffs, and we’ve taken full advantage of the midnight sun. Last night, sensing a lull after dinner, we hit the water and covered 18 miles between 9 p.m. and 1 a.m., all the while reveling in the strange, affecting glow. It may cause insomnia, but the midnight sun sustains you, too, as if you were a plant in bloom. The one thing you don’t want to do here is flip your kayak: The water is a frigid 50 degrees Fahrenheit.
It takes about seven hours of paddling over two days to get there, and then, finally, we surf a two-foot break into the deserted beach on Rebbenesøya, and Bent’s Eden is, well . . . fallen, but beautiful. Several detonated mines from World War II lie half buried in the dunes. We beachcomb and scramble up the ravines behind camp and drink from snowmelt streams that trickle through mountain birch. Scores of bright forget-me-nots, carnivorous sundews, and budding multe (cloudberries) crowd our feet. Above us, a sea eagle soars.
Conlan concedes he won’t rush to add Tromsø to his outfitted trips. Nevertheless, he’s considering a second Troms” exploratory trip for 2003, farther north, where the archipelago hides more-secluded coves of glacier-smoothed rock and sun.
Access and Resources:
Crossing Latitudes (800-572-8747, ). Offers guided kayak trips in Sweden and Norway. Wilderness Center (011-47-77-69-60-02, ) and the VesterÃ¥len Padleklubb (011-47-776-12-40-73) in Troms” rent kayaks and/or provide transport for put-in and take-out. For relatively inexpensive lodging in Troms”, try Ami Hotel bed and Breakfast (doubles, $81-$93 per night; 011-47-77-68-22-08, ). For information, contact the Norwegian Tourist Bureau (212-885-9700, ). For backcountry planning, contact the Oslo offices of Den Norske Turistforening, the Norwegian equivalent of the Sierra Club (011-47-22-82-28-00, ).

The Power to Move You

More self-propelled adventures

(SKATING)
THE ELFSTEDENTOCHT // THE NETHERLANDS
The Elfstedentocht (meaning “11 cities tour” and pronounced however you see fit) ice-skating race covers a stupefying 124 miles over the frozen canals, lakes, and streams of the northern Dutch province of Friesland. Of course, to have a 124-mile race, you need 124 miles of ice—a winter-weather miracle that has happened only 15 times since 1906 (the last time in 1997). To guarantee your go at the course, forget the ice skates and try in-line instead. The race route is a clockwise loop from Leeuwarden, Friesland’s capital, past flower-filled meadows, pristine lakes, and quaint villages—particularly Hindeloopen, a conglomeration of windmills and clock towers. You’ll skate mainly on perfectly paved, wide-berth bike paths, and when you do have to mix with traffic, Dutch drivers will always brake for you. Nonetheless, if your plan is to tick off all 124 miles, sign up with Amsterdam-based Skate-A-Round (011-31-20-4-681-682, ), which offers self-guided tours of four or five days for about $123 and $237 respectively, including hotels and some meals (the five-day tour stops at more-expensive hotels and includes more meals per day). You roll solo but get the convenience of luggage transport, maps, and an information guide on what to see en route.

(TREKKING)
THE GR 20 // CORSICA
One look at Corsica’s coastline, its time-forgotten villages, and its mountainous middle and you just might join the local separatist movement to boot French rule so you can keep the Mediterranean isle for yourself. Yes, politicos do get shot here, but the 26-year-old insurgence involves mainly nuisance attacks: wee-hour, low-power bombings that target government outposts—never tourism, the island’s bread and butter. The best spot for your tour of duty is the GR 20, a 125-mile Grande Randonnée (really big walk) that cuts a diagonal path from Calenzana, in the northwest, to Conca, in the southeast. This is one of the most stunning—and challenging—mountain hikes in Europe. It’s segmented into 15 stages of six to seven hours each, loaded with dense pine forests, moonscape plateaus, glacial lakes, and flowery valleys. The route is meticulously marked and well traveled, especially in July and August, but beware: By trail’s end, your total altitude gain will be nearly 35,000 feet, much of it over rocky and exposed terrain. There are bare-bones hostels and campgrounds at the end of each stage, but no provisions—and very little water—in between. For help planning your route, visit the tourism office of the Parc Naturel Régional de Corse (011-33-4-95-51-79-00, () in Ajaccio, the island’s capital. French travel agency Nouvelles Frontières () offers eight- or 15-day guided trips for $700-$1,250.

The Power to Move You

More self-propelled adventures

(CANOEING)
THE GAUJA RIVER // LATVIA
Sandwiched between Estonia and Lithuania on the Baltic coast, Latvia is a growing blip on the ecotourism radar. And for good reason: More than half the country, which is slightly larger than West Virginia, is unadulterated nature. Much of the terrain is languid and low-lying—sprawling pastures, wooded groves, marshlands crowded with cranes and peregrines—but things turn dramatic at the town of Sigulda, 31 miles northeast of Riga, Latvia’s vibrant capital. This is your gateway to 227,000-acre Gauya National Park, and particularly to the Gauja River, which cuts a choice 56-mile path through dolomite cliffs and sandstone ravines. Makars Tourist Agency in Sigulda (011-371-924-4948, ) arranges three-day self-guided canoe trips for $62 per boat, including transportation to and from the river, gear, and camping fees. The trip starts in the northern bounds of the park, at the village of Valmiera, and you float back to Sigulda along the Gauja’s broad, rapids-free waters. Certain sections practically boil with trout and salmon, and the banks are thick with beavers, otters, and the occasional lynx. You’ll stop at riverside campsites, some of which have hiking trails that meander into the park’s deep forests and valleys.

(CAVING)
THE TATRAS MOUNTAINS // POLAND
Straddling Poland and Slovakia, the Tatras Mountains are an irresistible draw for European tourists. They come for the alpine summits (the highest is Mount Rysy, 8,198 feet) and world-class skiing. But if you want to get off the beaten path, go under it—into one of the range’s stalactite-studded caves, the patient result of carbonic acid eating away at the mountains’ limestone base over the millennia. Try the handful of easy-access caverns open to the public on the Polish side, notably the Mrozna cave, a horizontal jut 1,676 feet long. A one-hour underground tour follows a high-ceilinged path amid startling stalactites and trickling streams. The tourist office at the gateway town of Zakopane (011-48-18-201-22-11, ) is central intelligence for cave information and tour outfits. Tatras Mountain Rescue Team (011-48-18-206-34-44) is your ticket to serious spelunking if you have a modicum of fitness and don’t mind a tight squeeze. In addition to conducting searches, these mountaineers lead trips into hard-to-access or otherwise off-limits areas, particularly the Wielka Sniezna cave, the biggest specimen in the Tatras at 2,670 feet deep and 11 miles long. Guide services cost $100-$200 per day, by reservation only.

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