The Stelvio Pass

Vai! Vai! (Go! Go!) yelled Tonino, my navigator, in his native Italian. I snatched third gear as the car climbed towards the next hairpin. Backing off late, I touched the brakes and dropped the car back into second, a little worried the engine might bog down on the tight turn. I needn’t have been concerned: the hairpin complete, the road straightened briefly, and the engine began to rev out again as the next tight turn approached. Up and up snaked the narrow road, with our torquey motor spinning gamely between each gear change.

Driving the Stelvio Pass had sat high on my bucket list for two decades before I found myself, in superb autumn weather, pushing hard on what some people say is the best driving road in the world.

We had started the morning in Bormio, Tonino’s home town at the base of the pass. The sun was shining and the temperature a very pleasant 20 degrees on the valley floor. Having worked for many years as a customs guard at the border post near the top of the pass, my Italian girlfriend’s cousin, Tonino, was a perfect driving companion for the Stelvio. For decades, he had driven this famous road each day. Often snowed in – with the road closed and people simply unable to cross the border post – the guards would shut up the customs post near the top of the pass and play cards, fortified by the local drop, Braulio. Of course, like so many Italian alcoholic beverages, Braulio is consumed in order only to take advantage of its many purported medicinal qualities. When supplies ran low, the unfortunate customs officers would be forced to drink their supply of excellent Italian wines.

The road from Bormio up to the west side of the Stelvio tracks a steep valley floor before a series of very tight hairpins on the south side of the valley wall. There is then a run of more hairpins on the west face immediately below the old coach house and customs checkpoint near the Swiss border. The photo opportunities from here are spectacular. From the customs house, the road rises comparatively gently (by Stelvio standards) to the top of the pass where there is a church, some souvenir shops and very limited parking. On the way, within walking distance of the top of the pass, there is a large restaurant with some of the world’s most spectacular mountain views. It was here that we had lunch. Suitably fortified, we looked down over the eastern side of the pass at the ribbon of bitumen that curls back and forth down the other side of the Stelvio. Nearby, a pristine, current model black Porsche 911 Turbo coupe sat nearby while its owners savoured the view. A German-registered, blue-coloured E-Type roadster purred by, elegantly topping, in pose value at least, the much more powerful Porsche. At 8 degrees, the temperature at the top of the pass was just warm enough for the E-Type’s cloth roof to stay folded.

As I looked down the other side of the pass, I could see that the road is even more tightly wound on the eastern slope. The road glistened in the clear mountain air. We were at much too high an altitude for trees to grow, so the road could easily be seen beneath us like a discarded ribbon strewn down the mountain. It started surrounded by dark rocks cut and deposited by ancient glaciers but I could see that, further below, the grass started, hesitantly at first, clinging to the steep mountain side. As my gaze followed the road, on its twisty way down, I could see that, as the altitude fell, the plants gained confidence until they surrounded the road in a riot of green taking advantage of the clear sunlight that bathed the whole scene.

I was very much looking forward to getting back in the car and heading down the eastern side of the mountains and so we returned to the vehicle and began the descent. Back and forth the road went as hairpin after hairpin led us down the mountain side. I was careful to use engine braking when I could – in order to spare the brakes, but the cool mountain air kept the anchors available when needed. Of course, this was every few seconds as the tight turns were tackled in rapid succession.

All too quickly the hairpins ran out and the road began to open out for some long, comparatively straight runs down the valley floor. By any normal standards, this was still a great road but, as we levelled out, it was clear that the best of the Stelvio was now behind us. A twenty-year dream had been realised and I began to accept that I would probably never drive such a good road again.

At that stage, I had no idea that the best driving of the day was yet to come and that the Stelvio, while undoubtedly spectacular, was only a warm-up.

The western climb of the Stelvio Pass skirts the border between Italy and Switzerland. However, the eastern side of pass is like a trip to Austria. Although the people speak Italian, the Austrian influence on the architecture, for example, is marked. One of the benefits of this influence is that the Forst Brewery, and its adjacent beer garden, is available in the valley at the eastern side of the Stelvio road. Stopping and being suitably refreshed, we returned to the car and set off on our long “grand circle” route back to Bormio via Ponte di Legno.

The roads were superb as we drove for miles up the valley of the Torrente Noce passing through little towns and climbing back westwards into the mountains.

As dusk fell, we started to encounter the real mountain roads again. The Passo del Tonale was a delight. With a fraction of the traffic of the Stelvio, it was much safer to push along with real enthusiasm, even in the fading light. The Tonale is a better driving road than the Stelvio because it strings together everything from sweepers to hairpins and the occasional straight. I was in motoring heaven.

By the time we reached the turn off for the road that led us back north towards Bormio, through the Stelvio National Park, I was tired, but feeling well atuned to the car and the Italian alpine roads.

We turned right at Ponte di Legno and headed north towards Sant’Apollonia and Santa Caterina over the Passo di Gavia. It was here that  the mountains began to reveal their secret. The road, in addition to being empty, was superb. With the lights on high beam, the moonlight shining and Tonino encouraging me to push things to the limit, we began the climb. This glorious, remote and narrow road has everything: curves, drops, straights, climbs and wonderful views. Just after Sant’Apollonia I hit the brakes as half a dozen deer leapt down on the road from the hill above and disappeared off down the other side leaving only an added sense of the road’s wildness. The thread of bitumen then wound its way between Lago Nero and Lago Bianco, with the moonlight reflecting off these remote little lakes down below and reminding us of just how far we would fall if I misjudged a corner. It seemed that, if we went over the edge, there would be enough time to text loved ones before we hit the bottom. Helping things along, satellite navigation gave an excellent indication of the unseen road ahead. This was useful, not just because of the darkness, but because one of the great benefits of this glorious Italian road is that it is not blighted by the countless advisory signs that litter beautiful roads in other countries.

For most of its length this wonderful road was too narrow for cars to pass each other. However, driving in the dark meant that there was some hope of seeing the glow of the headlights of an oncoming car before it was too late. I was, at least by Tonino’s standards, a little tentative at times – having nearly collided with a fast charging Italian army short-wheelbase Land Rover on a hairpin on the nearby Passo di Foppa the evening before. However, on the great journey back to Bormio, we did not see a single car for the whole trip over the Gavia Pass.

My conclusion from this glorious day of motoring is that the Stelvio Pass is well worth travelling to see and, especially, to drive. It is spectacular. The tight run of hairpins is a motoring challenge and the photo opportunities are first class. However, the real driving treasures of Northern Italy are much less well-known. I have never heard anyone speak of the Passo di Gavia, for example. Maybe people do talk about this wonderful road but it is too hard to hear them because of their hushed tones.