Day 4 was a slow start, soaking up the comforts of our Wes Anderson hotel…and because we knew we were straight into a climb. This one was a struggle. Tim had to keep stopping for me as I had dizzy spells and getting wobbly on my bike. I’m not normally one to moan, or even have a reason to moan, so it took me by surprise and knocked my confidence in my ability for a bit.

When we reached the top we had a choice to make. Were we going to take the road descent, the ‘Death Road’ descent or the fully off-road option. Initially I had reservations given my dizzy spells but after a few fistfuls of Pringles, I was feeling a bit better and knew the tarmac choice was never the right one for us. Our mountain bikes had been so much fun on every bit of off-road descent, we’d be mad to pass one up.

And honestly, you would be mad to pass up the Strada Dei Cannoni. It was 20km of insane views across the top of the Alps, it felt like we were riding above a forest made of mountains. We caught the Three Amigos on a section to enjoy the view, talk about who’s bikes were better for this section (ours won obviously). The Death Road sounded fun (an old mountain road that has been left for nature to reclaim) but even after seeing videos of it, I can’t imagine it is even a patch on Strada Dei Cannoni.

If you do the Torino Nice Rally, when you are deciding which route to take, don’t miss out this bit.

We descended into the small town of San Damiano Macra for a pavement picnic - in true Italian fashion everything was shut apart from one bar that wasn’t serving food. After a pavement picnic which depleted all our food, we pressed on. Our day was due to end at the Refugio Gardetta.

We rode for a stretch with the Three Amigos on a beautiful valley road. I was so grateful for a slipstream to ride in, and for some additional company. Tim and I are good at riding together, and we are pretty aware of each others moods and needs (at least I think so ha), but it was probably good for both of us to mix up our conversation a bit.

We’d opted for the slightly more adventurous route option to get us to the refuge, so we peeled off in search of a shop before we got started. Luckily we found a strange souvenir/magazine/grocery/bric-a-brac shop run by an old woman who gifted me two postcards after I mimed what the word vinyl (record) meant to her. It was an odd experience, but we would have been completely screwed if we hadn’t found it because the next climb was hard going.

This was the point of the trip where I cried. Just for a few moments, but I needed to let out how tough it was.

Tim was patient as I came to terms with the fact that I had to finish the next 3km of brutal hike-a-bike. Once again we were slogging against a steep incline of small loose rocks and big immoveable rocks that you had to lift your bike onto.

As the sun started to dip in the sky, we made it. The refuge could be seen just a few hundred meters from the top. We excitedly rode down, got into the warm and were welcomed by other riders, including the Three Amigos! The sunset was incredible (as we’d been promised) and our room for the night was literally a pigsty.

The magic of bike packing is in the juxtaposition for me. If there are no lows, no moments when you have to dig deep, then the highs don’t have the same sparkle. That’s why day 4 was the best day for me, because it was hard, I suffered, I had to dig deep…and I was gifted amazing views, fun terrain, great company and memories that I will hold close forever. The day I cried is the day I will hold dear.