Austrian Arrivals

Chugging along through Switzerland, past Innsbruck and up into the Zillertal feels like one hell of an adventure into the unknown. For myself, Jamie Teasdale and Paul Aston an adventure this certainly is, as we finally creep up along the flat bottom of the valley deep into the middle of yet another night on the road. Parking up at a coach stop we are all changed and ready for bed and within minutes are drifting off to a much needed sleep; we have little idea of just what we are in for come the morning.

With the rising sun, so too is the temperature in the van and beads of sweat are the last straw, I’m tired still from the long drive yet unable to sleep. I swing the door open and say ‘hallo’ to the discerning bus driver opposite, who bows his newspaper and approves with a glance up and a slight grunt. I guess bike bums are starting to become something of a normality around Europe these days.

Having no idea where I am, or even where I am supposed to be, I decide the only option is a little adventure along the nearby footpath; it looks well used, so what the hell. 45 minutes later and my (non) German speaking capabilities are being pushed to their limit. Eventually I find my feet and more importantly a coffee shop, it’d be rude not to relay the news so I make my way back to the van. We’re in Mayrhofen.

With some caffeine in the system, we are in a much better state to appreciate our surroundings, and how incredible they sure are. Towering peaks, green pastures, classic alpine meadows and crashing cascades of water are all to be spied on our drive deep into the valley. We also spot many side valleys extending away from the ‘bustle’ of the resorts in the base of the Zillertal, and find out at a later date that these are all closed access for half the year, deemed too dangerous for winter activities and therefore left as they would always have been. It’s nice to see some near un–touched mountain sides in the Alps: no pistes, no restaurants and no chairlifts. This place is already starting to capture my imagination.

Meetings

There are some big old mountains around the Alps, as we all know, but who’d have thought that so many of those biggies could be grouped into one almost entirely un–tapped riding area? 55 peaks above 3,000 metres make up the Zillertal valley – a breathtaking statistic and even more so when stood facing them.

Any old mountain can be dangerous, no matter how big or small, sunshine or ice, meadows or crags, a mountain isn’t to be messed with. We all know that of course. 3,000 metre mountains then, well it goes without saying that there is a fair potential for danger there. I like mountains a lot, the burly beasts are there to keep us lot in shape and remind us of our mortality, but staring up near vertically at the forested steeps, I breathe a sigh of relief at the arrival of Alex Ganster, our guide for the week and a man that knows his mountains.

I’m going to state now that a guide is pretty much essential in this area, and although our friend and photographer Chris Jackson thinks he can work out a ‘mean route’ down the hill, I’m not too sure (previous experiences with Chris cement my mistrust of his orienteering). I’m all ears as we climb the impressive Penken cable car out of Mayrhofen with Alex in our cabin. The Penken lift climbs steeply up the mountainside, passing over forests, rivers and roads as it goes. We’re on a big old mountain, but Alex’s incredible understanding of his surroundings, his perfectly kept bike and his knowledge of the local weather systems relieves me. We are in safe hands.

We take a ride down the Almdudler ‘freeride’ trail that meanders its way back down to the base of the valley; incorporating jumps, soft turns and wall rides, linked by sweet singletracks and some precarious river crossings. Not a revolutionary trail, but fun nevertheless and in true Zillertal style far more of an adventure than any marked trail you would find in a French resort. This is only a warm up though; Alex has one HELL of an adventure in store for us, but first we’d better empty our van somewhere.

The Search

This valley has several notable traits, recurring themes present in every town, every valley and across every mountain. Aside from the traditional sights of lederhosen, families cultivating their land and large glasses of milk being swigged on every street corner, the evidence of a roaring tourist trade is there, so it’d be untrue to say that the area is entirely traditional. There are ‘Wellness Centres’ (nice hotels), English speaking pubs and ski shops left, right and centre, but break away into the hills and you are soon leaving it all behind.

At 4.20pm Alex rolls up to the hotel that we have barely had time to check in to, claps his hands and gets us moving again. We’ve just about had enough time to pack the items that Alex listed: Waterproofs, sleeping bag, food, tools and oxygen (perhaps an exaggeration). An hour later I am wishing that the latter was in my backpack as we fall out of the Mountain Taxi (a minibus complete with places for around 15 bikes) at nearly 2,500 metres and start our evening ascent.

Climbing out into the far reaches of this vast area of mountains is when you will start to really breathe and thank yourself for taking my advice and ordering a guide. Without Alex’s knowledge there is no way we would be ascending this mountain up to the refuge in the distance, especially as it is now darkening and we have no idea where we are.

Eventually the bike is slung on the ground and a smiling Alex hands us a beer each, a nice touch considering we are now somewhere around 3,000 metres. I realise that we have struck gold as we enter this classic bunkhouse in the hill tops, a large crowd of friendly German hikers say hi and shake our hands and we recline, or rather slump into our positions at the ancient dining table. We get a warm welcome from the hostess and tuck into some traditional mountain grub. The hotel swimming pool was worth giving a miss after all then.