Dolomites
It’s October, and my two friends and I are heading to the Dolomite region in northern Italy. We have a single plan: to hike as many mountains as possible in four days.
Sara provides the car, the plans, and the drive behind this trip. Maria goes with the flow, making sandwiches in the back seat as we drive the six hours into Italy. I bring the music, some dad-like advice, random facts, and serve as the trip photographer.
So there we are, full of excitement as our adventure in the Dolomites begins. We first arrive at Lake Landro, where clouds obscure the views, and a thin layer of snow covers the mountains and the lake’s surroundings. I take a few photos, and we meet a Spanish couple traveling in a van. They tell us they’re waiting to hike Tre Cime—the area’s most popular trail—because, as it turns out, the forecast predicts heavy snow. But we start this journey feeling quite confident (perhaps overconfident) and assure them we don’t think there’ll be that much snow at the top, so we plan to hike Tre Cime anyway.
Little did we know what was in store for us, but let's take it one step at a time…
The next day, we arrive at the base of Tre Cime, and, surprise, surprise—there’s already a lot of snow. We can’t drive any further up to the "refugio" (where we planned to start our hike) because of the weather conditions.
Still, we’re undeterred by this "little" inconvenience and decide to walk up the road to the refugio and continue from there. It’s about an hour’s walk, maybe more, and as we climb higher, we encounter more snow. Eventually, it starts snowing heavily on us, but we’re still cheerful and energized.
When we reach the refugio, we go inside to shake the snow off our (not-so-snowproof) clothes. We enjoy a warm lunch and reluctantly decide to head back to the starting point, saving our hike for another day.
And this is where things start to go increasingly wrong, hour by hour.
The road back to the starting point is already covered in a thick layer of snow. With no snowplow in sight, we start to worry about how it might look back at the hotel parking lot where we began. I assure them it’s likely that the snowplow is regularly clearing the road for tourists. Oh… naive me…
We arrive at the hotel to find the road blanketed in snow, and several people are waiting inside the hotel bar. I decide it’s best to ask when the snowplow will be coming to clear the road. The staff member says he has no idea—maybe in an hour or two. Anything is possible. So, we join the crowd by the fireplace, sipping tea and talking about the most apocalyptic possibilities, half-wishing for a bit of excitement. At least we’re cozy, and our belongings are in the car.
After an hour, we realize the snowplow isn’t coming anytime soon. Outside, we notice an Italian man with an old van modified into a kind of 4x4 truck. He’s giving people rides down to the village so they can buy snow chains. It’s beginning to feel a bit orchestrated, but he insists he’s just helping tourists for free.
After some hesitation, we hop into the strange van with other tourists, sitting on the floor due to limited seating. The man drives confidently through the snow like it’s nothing. Sara, who thankfully speaks Italian, asks him for advice on reaching our next destination.
Ten minutes later, we’re in the village, directed to a store that seems to sell every tourist essential—except chains. But they do offer “the best chains on the market,” at a hefty price of 140 euros. We begrudgingly succumb to what feels like a well-crafted scam and buy the chains. The shop attendants are “kind” enough to show us how to install them.
Now, for the chains. I won’t get into the devilishly complex process of attaching metal chains to tires, but let’s just say it took seven people to get them in place. One of them was a friendly guy from Seattle who dubbed himself a chain expert—though he struggled like the rest of us, he at least had some idea. He took a photo with us to commemorate his “heroic” effort before continuing on his way.
We don’t feel too foolish, as plenty of others are also in the same boat: no winter tires, no chains, and little clue about how to install them.
At this point, a group of young men starts chatting with us, offering help, and asking if one of them can catch a ride to the village to buy chains. We agree since everyone’s in full-on helping mode. I couldn’t quite place their nationality—just somewhere with tall, athletic men and lots of harsh sounds in the language.
Back in the village, we say goodbye to our new friends. As we head out, the road starts to clear up, and I convince my friends to remove the chains since they’re slowing us down. Spoiler alert: bad decision.
We remove the chains easily and continue our now-perilous journey. As we climb again and encounter snow, we decide to push a bit further, not wanting to put the chains back on just yet. But soon, we see cars lining up on a steep hill, and firefighters towing some vehicles up with a pickup. Then, two things happen: we spot the “Polizia” lights at the top of the hill, and we remember we’re driving illegally without chains or winter tires. And our car begins to slip, refusing to go any further.
At least it’s still daylight, so we step out to put the chains back on. First one, easy. Second one… I don’t know how to make this sound better, but three women ended up needing men’s help to put a single chain on our car.
After attempts, adjustments, and near-freezing, we call the policemen at the top of the hill to help us.
Let me tell you, these two guys could have been models just as easily as they were police officers. They’re incredibly nice too, clearly enjoying the chance to help three helpless ladies with car trouble. They get down on the ground, flexing their muscles and using all their expertise to show us how capable they are—and we let them, because they’re handsome as hell and we’re desperate to get off this freezing road.
They tell us we should remove the snow from the top of the car, so the five of us start clearing it off. In the process, we end up tossing snowballs at each other—an almost surreal moment, just us playing in the snow with Italian policemen.
We hop back in, with the chains more or less in place, and continue the journey. Only five minutes later, there’s no snow left on the road. This time, we check the altitude of the rest of our route to avoid making the same mistake again, and Sara decides it’s safe to take the chains off. As we do, the two policemen drive up in their car and notice us. They ask if we’re okay, and we sheepishly reply that we are, a bit embarrassed by our “little” miscalculation. They believe us and continue on, likely heading somewhere warm after spending all that time on the cold, wet ground for us.
Finally, we make it to the hotel without further incidents. We take well-deserved hot showers and laugh about the day’s events. It was a real challenge, and we agree that we all passed with flying colors—at least in terms of keeping a good sense of humor.
We’ve learned a valuable lesson today: next time, bring winter tires.