By the time the steaming bowl of ravioli arrived, smugness had settled over me like the pasta’s thick blanket of marinara. Despite worries that I’d flail on our mountain bike traverse of northern Italy’s stunningly beautiful Dolomite Mountains, the early miles had rolled easily beneath my tires. My legs felt strong and the pack with all my possessions had settled nicely on my back, even with the steep terrain and big days. Plus, after years of coughing up a lung in pursuit of my ultra-fit riding companion Joe Sagona, I was actually in front setting the pace. Comeuppance was just around the corner.