In case you don’t know by now, I travel for work. A lot. Last year, for example, I logged more than 100,000 miles on Delta Airlines and am on pace to do it again this year. As a result I a) have lots of time and experience in every mode of travel used in the western world, and b) have lots of miles accumulated for family vacations, college orientation trips (although I’m glad I’ve completed half of the two I’ll need to experience in my life), and possible cycling vacations. So when Andrew from Ciclismo Classico told me that all I needed to do was get myself to the starting point of one of their tours, I figured it would be una pace di torta.

My day began this morning at 6:00 AM Mountain Daylight Time with my alarm going off and my dogs hungry for breakfast. I tried to ignore both, but each can be quite persistent in its own way. I snoozed the dogs and provided two healthy bowls of kibble to the clock (or at least that’s how it seemed in my sleep-deprived stupor) before tramping off to the trusty Keurig for a cup of my new favorite, Island Coconut.

Standard operating procedure for me on a travel day is to grab my iPhone and check my FlightTrack app to ensure that my outbound flight is on time. This morning, it was delayed 45 minutes. That gave me extra time to go over what I’d packed to ensure that I’d brought everything I might need — not necessary really, as I brought my famous Kitchen Sink 9000 rolling duffel bag and stuffed it to the gills with all manner of lycra, chamois cream, saddle sore medication, and at least one of everything from the Hammer Nutrition catalog. I’ve also got a messenger bag with (I am not making this up) two iPhones, an iPad, a MacBook Pro, a GoPro video camera, a Flip MinoHD video camera, and a Canon compact digital camera. And of course I have shoes, pedals, saddle, helmet and wheels (shipped separately, of course. I am no overhead bin hog thank you very much). Uh, I brought some clothes too. Cycling clothes, casual clothes, going out to dinner clothes, sleepy time clothes . . . you get the picture. Boy Scout? Yep!

Once the Sherpas loaded up the yaks, we headed down the canyon from Park City to Salt Lake City International Airport where Mrs. FredCast and I did our usual goodbye ritual (which usually elicits all manner of disgusted sounds from our kids, but it was before Noon on a weekend so they were still sound asleep) and I then headed inside for check-in. Although I’m traveling on a free ticket purchased with miles, I mercifully still get the benefit of checking in at the Medallion, er Sky Priority, counter and using the special Sky Priority security lane to fly (sorry) through TSA and head to the gate. Delta also allows Medallions to request domestic upgrades on tickets purchased with miles and my upgrade for the SLC-JFK leg came through last week.

Once airborne, the flight to JFK was uneventful, and my experience at JFK was as per usual — it remains my least favorite domestic airport. Sorry, New Yorkers.

I boarded my JFK-Milan flight on time and was initially upset when the boarding pass scanner at the gate beeped, seemingly indicating that Delta’s computers wanted a fifth check of my passport.

Imagine my surprise, however, when a Red Coat walked up, thanked me for my loyalty to Delta, and handed me an upgrade. Wait. I thought you couldn’t get an upgrade on an international mileage-purchased ticket (said the angelic voice in my head)? Shut up and say thank you to the nice lady (said the devilish voice in my head)! I followed the advice of the devilish voice.

Needless to say, my flight to Milan was very comfortable, with plentiful and tasty food, free-flowing champagne and wine, and a lay-flat seat that has now ruined me forever when it comes to sleeping on planes.

We arrived in Milan at a little after 8:00 AM, and by 9:00 AM I was on the Malpensa Shuttle bus headed for Milano Centrale train station. Unfortunately, I neglected to make my train travel reservations prior to leave the States so although I arrived at the station before 10:00 AM, the first available train to Bolzano wasn’t until 12:05 PM. This gave me a chance to have my first espresso of the trip, along with a bottled water and a croissant.

The train from Milan to Verona was good, except for the Chinese tourists who insisted upon blocking the exits with their huge suitcases. Several Italian passengers got quite upset. After much yelling, arm flailing, and the intervention of a train conductor, the tourists moved their bags and serenity returned to the carriage.

Ninety minutes later we arrived in Verona where I was momentarily unable to figure out why there was no train to Bolzano listed on the departures board. The nice lady in the Info booth explained that I had just missed the train to Modena (it left two minutes before our conversation), but that if I waited until 3:09, I could take the ‘regular’ train to Bolzano. I soon learned that regular means local, as the usual ninety minute train ride to Bolzano took in excess of 120 minutes, stopping in every hamlet (pun intended, for the benefit of the thespians and Shakespeare scholars in my household) in Northern Italy.

At long last we reached Bolzano.

Apparently the Sherpas are on strike here today because I had to lug the Kitchen Sink 9000 off the train myself and wheel it the two blocks or so to my hotel, the Stadt Hotel Citta, which is the same hotel we’ll stay at on Wednesday night during our tour. The hotel is located right on the main square in Bolzano, a beautiful spot that overlooks the town’s main church and is framed by some of the nearby mountains.

For the final hour or so of trip from Verona to Bolzano, the train moved through valleys flanked by some of the tallest, steepest mountains I have ever seen. They are at once stunningly beautiful and intimidating. My legs hurt just looking at them, and even now I get a twinge of pain in my hamstrings just thinking about them. I don’t recall this level of fear and trepidation when I went to the French Alps.

I walked around town a bit this evening and found that this region is mired in a bit of schizophrenia. Placed as it is in Italy, squeezed between Austria and Switzerland, it seems that the region is a bit undecided about its identity. Signs and menus are in both Italian and German, the official desserts here include both gelato and strüdel, and the architecture is decidedly GermaniRomanSwiss.

I had a wonderful Italian meal at the hotel’s streetside cafe, including prosciutto, risotto, and a fine after-dinner espresso. Since the tour doesn’t officially begin until our meeting back at the Bolzano train station in the morning, I gave every tourist I saw the once-over (Are they wearing a LiveStrong bracelet? Do they have an athletic build? Check for muscular, sinewy legs and/or arms. Etc.) trying to determine which of them will be on the tour with me and whether they are in better shape than I am. I am fairly certain I picked out the guys from Florida and Caracas (who look fitter than I), but wasn’t able to make an ID on the others. I’ll meet them soon enough.

Tomorrow’s plans are to meet at Noon, take a shuttle bus to our first official hotel in Glorenza, build and/or fit bikes, then go for a quick 10 mile shakedown cruise in preparation for The King (the Stelvio Pass) on Tuesday. For now (34 hours after feeding the clock and snoozing the dogs), I think I’ll finally get some rest. Meanwhile, I hope the Sherpas end their strike soon. I’m gonna need them to pull me up those climbs later this week.