Ultrabiker Omar Di Felice tells us about his adventure in Antarctica on two wheels

A few weeks ago, Roman ultra biker Omar Di Felice, testimonial for Ferrino, returned from the last of his incredible adventures on two wheels that took him across the desolate expanses of the Ice Continent.

For 50 days and over 700 kilometers he cycled in total solitude, battling extreme temperatures, terrible katabatic winds and the most treacherous snow conditions. Although in the end the South Pole, the final goal of the journey, remained a distant point on the map, this was certainly one of the most powerful and exciting experiences of his career as an athlete.

This is how he recounts it to us.

Omar, you went to Antarctica with the aim of reaching the South Pole on your bike, which didn't happen. Does this missed goal put the adventure in the 'failure' category, or did you still bring something positive home from this experience?

Such long and extreme adventures cannot be judged by an out-out. Reaching the South Pole on a bicycle is not a race, and in fact it is not even a goal that can be defined a priori. It involves crossing the largest ice cap on the planet, something that has never before been achieved by anyone fully on a bike without skis and against which there is no history of other experiences with which to compare. Even at the start this was a big unknown for me and it would be reductive to call it victory or defeat just on the basis of reaching the Pole. My main goal was to be able to do as well as I could under the conditions I would find; to have spent all 50 days of the permits I had been granted cycling and to have endured, lived and survived in those conditions on a bicycle is already the definition of personal success for me.

In your accounts of the expedition, you explained that you quickly realised that you would not be able to make it to the Pole. Nevertheless, you continued without losing heart. What gave you the motivation to go on? What goal replaced the initial one in your mind?

The change in perspective that allowed me to keep going was to replace in my mind what the ideal roadmap to the Pole was with a roadmap that was defined day by day, based on whatever conditions I was facing. Having to pedal a bike with an almost 90-kilo sledge in tow, you have to accept that you must move according to the snow conditions. There were days when I could go as far as 30 or 35 kilometers and others where the snow and wind did not allow me to do more than 700 meters per hour. Definitely the biggest lesson of this experience was the sense of limit: there is a limit dictated by nature that is related to our personal limits and those of our technological equipment. From the intersection of these three factors came that final number: 716, which is the total number of kilometers I covered and which, as far as I am concerned, makes me totally satisfied with what I managed to do.

How difficult is it for someone used to never giving up to accept that the time has come to say 'stop!' and turn back?

If I had been thinking in the 'traditional' way during the crossing, I probably would have given up much earlier, got depressed and called this adventure a defeat, a failure. In reality when you move in these conditions you take the good that comes of it, you learn what the environment is giving you and you accept the fact that you are doing the best you can. If I went back to Antarctica next year I might be able to do a few more kilometers or perhaps even less distance than I did this time. But these are outcomes that would not depend solely on me. As I already said: there I found the limit and gave 100 % to get as close to it as possible, the rest is up to the astonishing power of the Antarctic nature, over which one can have no control.

You have repeatedly stated that Antarctica turned out to be something totally 'other' than anything you had faced so far, even compared to the Arctic environment that you had already tackled in your adventure between Canada, Alaska and Northern Europe. What makes it such an extreme and special place?

Antarctica is an alien place compared to the rest of the planet. I have been to the north of Canada and Alaska. I have been to Greenland, to remote areas where for 100 or 150 kilometers there is not even the shadow of an animal. But nothing compares to Antarctica, not so much in terms of weather conditions, but in terms of living conditions and isolation. Over there you are completely alone for hundreds of kilometers and if something were to happen to you, you would not have the certainty of being rescued within a few hours. This idea is instilled in your mind from the first step you take and makes everything different. Whatever you do you know that it could be fatal. Even the most trivial accident can have catastrophic consequences. While on an expedition, for example, I was in contact by satellite phone with a young man who was attempting a ski crossing. At a certain point he started to feel sick: he couldn't urinate. It was a very silly kidney stone problem, something that in normal situations is resolved with a few days' hospitalization. But getting him out of there to take him to base camp and then to a hospital in Chile was really an extreme feat!

You have spent dozens of days alone in boundless landscapes, on an almost totally uninhabited continent. What happens when you experience such immense solitude, which is even difficult to fathom?

Living in this condition makes you change your perspective on things. It is one of the reasons why I say that I cannot look at this experience in terms of defeat or victory. In an environment that is so big and so dominant compared to what your possibilities are, you really understand how nature really is bigger than us and how it is also a case of reviewing a little bit what our possibilities are. It is an experience that teaches you to respect nature and also yourself. After all, in everyday life, we spend very little time alone with ourselves; very few times do we stop to reflect, without any external conditioning. When you spend 50 days in Antarctica, completely alone and only talking to yourself, then this intimate and vital exchange is maximized.

You have said that for you Antarctica is a closed chapter and that you experienced there that there are limits that it is not right to cross. It is a very interesting statement, especially since it is made by an ultra-athlete, that is, by someone who of exploring and overcoming the limit has somehow made it their reason for living. Perhaps, however, it is not a consideration that only concerns your athletic philosophy, but has an even broader and deeper meaning. Do you want to tell us about it?

We've all kind of grown up with this rhetoric of the ultra, meaning to go beyond any limit, at any cost. And that at any cost, in my opinion, is what is jarring. It's okay to explore your limits, it's okay to get off the couch and go a step beyond what we think we're capable of doing. That's definitely what moves and motivates me every day, that's my constant quest: to always try to figure out what my limits are and always push them a little bit further. In doing so, however, one must not experience this pushing beyond as an obsession. The limit should not be exceeded at any cost and, most importantly, the limit exists! To say "if you want you can," always and at any cost, is a warped idea. In Antarctica, which is the most remote and extreme place where anyone can think of going on a cycling adventure, I knew that I would find a limit somewhere, and I also learned to accept it, returning home satisfied that I had given all I could give, respecting the limit itself and my life.

Probably on this expedition even more than on previous ones you had the opportunity to put Ferrino's technical equipment to the test. What equipment did you have with you and how did it perform during such extreme and prolonged use?

If I have to be honest in preparing for the expedition we did not work too much on customizing the equipment, trying to come up with something special, designed specifically for the expedition. I relied on the technical products that Ferrino has in its catalog, which have already been extensively tested for use in extreme conditions in the outdoor environment. With me I had the Blizzard tent, already a trusted companion on many expeditions, to which we made only a few minor modifications to make it easier to set up and take down in the terrible Antarctic winds. Then the Revolution 1200 feather sleeping bag, the best of the series as a thermal insulation power, and a series of paired inflatable and non-inflatable mattresses. What made the difference for me, confirming the reputation Ferrino has earned over the years, was the total reliability. When you have to spend 50 days alone in Antarctica, you have to have the peace of mind that the tent won't rip, the pole won't break, the sleeping pad won't literally leave you on the floor... On this, once again, I have to give full points to Ferrino: from the first to the last day the equipment ensured that I did what I was doing safely and never really left me exposed. In fact, all the equipment came back home completely intact and without any kind of damage.

Do you want to meet Omar and ask him some questions live? Come to the Ferrino Store Torino (Corso Matteotti 2L, Torino) to meet him on Tuesday, February 13th at 6:00 PM.

Discover all the behind-the-scenes of Antarctica Unlimited, the 700 km expedition, for two months on a bike, at -30 degrees Celsius, with a tent as the only point of support. Free entry