“Can I ask you something?”
“Why are you here?”
Stood at the Superga Basilica overlooking the expansive panorama stretching as far as the snow capped Alps, it seemed almost a rhetorical question, triumphs of natural and human making abounding in all directions.
This was our first day in Turin, and as a ‘warm up’ ride, we had chosen to aim for the imposing basilica perched on its city-overlooking prominence, visible from far away along dead straight avenues.
Between us lay 20km of hustle and bustle, and HUSTLE and BUSTLE; an urban battle that put trams, haberdash cycle paths, taxis, pedestrians, scooters, horns, and much much more noise along our path.
That experience survived, a short steep climb brought us to the historic site and viewpoint, the heatwave meaning our ‘gentle’ warm up wasn’t long becoming crudely literal.
We had only just snapped a few photos, sending some to our friend Katharina who had recommended us to check out this climb, when we were approached by a young man on a bright blue road bike, who with genuine curiosity laid those questions before us.
“Well,” we bemusedly replied “we are here for those!”, drawing a finger along the endless chain of snowcapped Alps forming the sawtoothed horizon in the distance.
“We don’t get many tourists cycling here…!” Riccardo, the young friendly chap, showed us a different way off the hill and back into the city, as we chatted tales of cycling and life adventures, but no, he didn’t have enough time to join us for a coffee, only just enough to point out a few sights on our way- grazie mille ! 🙂
Well for me the reason to be here was crystal clear, lazer focused, goal orientated in a way that only mountains can really get me excited.
The Colle del Nivolet.
Deep in the excitingly named Gran Paradiso national park, a mountain road that held the promise of truly having it all: hairpins, mountain lakes, feats of architecture and ingenuity wrought against the power of nature, the grandeur and wilderness of those high Alpine places, reservoirs dotted along a route that promised a journey guaranteed to ooze adventure, hell even a sprinkling of cinematic mystique in the form of perhaps the archetype cliffhanger: here was the stage for the iconic bus-teetering-on-a-precipice that concludes with yearning ambiguity the cult classic film The Italian Job.
So make no mistake; even though this area is perhaps less known than other parts of the Alps, all of those above was more than enough to have us well and truly hooked: we were going to make it here one way or another sooner or later.. !
Our warm up complete, the weather forecast looking good, there was nothing for it – lets go !
We drove as far as Locana, meaning we could skip about 70km of flat road riding from Turin and get straight in to the climb: all 40 kilometres of it! A few rolling kilometres got us past the few villages low down in the valley, and soon we reached the first set of ‘tornanti’; four tightly stacked zig-zags accelerating our rate of ascent.
We were already above 1000m of elevation by now, never too far from the river Orco that cascades down the ever-deepening gorge along the route, which is at its most dramatic in the narrow meander of the old road that lets cyclists skip the newer, more direct (and STEEP!) tunnel. Passing the barrier on the old road, in parts the asphalt was quite damaged and lifted by ruts in places, but the challenging gradients and breathtaking views of the spectacular gorge took all of our attention, the absent noise of motor-traffic replaced by the thunder of furious water, save for the occasional deceptively still rock pool which quieted the turbulence temporarily!
We were already having a tremendous time, yet we knew we’d seen nothing yet.. ! Snow-capped mountains hoved into view as we passed the barrier at the other end of the old road, and the gradients eased off considerably for a few kilometres, as we made our way towards the first reservoir- the Lago di Ceresole.
Ewa – rightly – couldn’t resist riding out to the dam wall, casting a glimpse over the magnificent turquoise waters and refilling our bottles at the fountain there. Back on the road, a quick coffee in Ceresole Reale was in order too, just over 20km of mainly climbing behind us already!
Coffee-fortified, we headed off along the short stretch of flat respite along lago di Ceresole, the water relatively low, with even a small sandstorm whipped up in the dry upper part of the lake bed.
By the end of the lake we were greeted by the first climb milestone sign; 16km to go; well, this is it!
A forested section gave us some shelter from the sun in these initial kilometres of climb proper, before completely giving way to wide open alpine scenery, jagged rocks and flowers competing amidst thick grasses.
The snowy peaks were getting ever so slightly closer, as new meadows and possibilities of roads and trails started to appear on the higher slopes- yes, we could see a dam wall up there, and hairpins there, oh look, and there .. ! Oh wow.. are we really going up there?!
Little by little, pedal stroke by pedal stroke, our incredulity was being turned to wonder, the magic carrying us far from our bicycles as we danced through landscapes fairytales couldn’t paint more fantastical. Crossing riders of purest water in mountain bowls filled with flowers, colours and smells, our senses bathed in rich saturation. A hairpin this way, another that way, some tighter ones, some wider longer ones.. we reached a viewpoint that stopped us in our tracks, standing by the precipice, following the course man had made through this playground of delight- wow wow wow !!
As we approached the next imposing dam wall with its ‘Citta di Torino’ inscription, little had we known a cherry had been placed on top: with 6km still to go to the summit, a barrier blocked off car access, meaning it would be just bikes and hikers from here to the top!
Now in blissful quiet, we reached the next dam wall height with its turquoise gift contained behind it, reached our first snow banks, and, there, listen! The marmots! Emboldened by the tranquility of the mountain, the cute mountain rodents were climbing over the rocks all over the place, as easy to spot as the unfathomable overflow of flower colours decorating every inch of the picture perfect meadows.
Many a masterpiece builds to a crescendo, and we had already enjoyed this tantalising build up immensely, but, somehow, there was even more to come.
Cresting a small ridge, meadow and flower gave way as turquoise once again took centre stage, the glittering waters of lago Agnel sitting as the jewel at the base of a panorama that took what little remained of our altitude-starved breaths completely and utterly away.
A road laid by a dreamer, an artists flourish of asphalt laid over the retaining wall of the dam.. holy holy wow.
A waterfall blasted out from a deep cleft in the rocks that border the far side of the lake, and a glance down from the dam wall hinted at an equal precipice beyond our gaze. But still yet our journey had not ended! We were to be afforded even more vantage over this area of already bombastic glory, more sinuous lacings of road taking us to the now truly wildest parts of this mountain oasis.
Weaving through snow melts and rocks, the flowers thinner now, each hairpin offering a new gaze on the wholly IN-Credible lake landscape beneath us, we climbed in awe and blissful wonder, savouring every moment and every panoramic second, our lofty perch now revealing yet another lake, and views of the lower dams too!
We were in no rush whatsoever to reach the ‘finish’: the 2625m high point of the road, but we knew the asphalt continued a little further down the far side, so after some time we were able to pull our gazes away !
Winter is a season we give the ‘cold shoulder’ by spending those months on the Canary Islands, so being amongst towering piles of snow on either side of the road, massive lumps of it on the road, throwing snow balls at each other and then having our minds melted (or should that be frozen?) by terrific captivatingly beautiful ice lakes, was just an experience we will remember for the rest of our lives: thousands of meters up high, now completely alone – save for the tussling marmots – a winter magic landscape all around us, yet in full blown glorious summer sun and pristine azure skies, spring chiming in with limitless life in all the flower colours, and with the distant mountains that reminded Ewa of the rainbow mountains of Vinicunca, Peru, perhaps a shade of autumn in their layered ochre hues, as the peak of the Gran Paradiso hoved into view, it didn’t take much to make us see, that yes, this, this is Paradiso.
