As I later found out, making it up the Great St. Bernard Pass is something of a personal milestone for many a professional cyclist. I’d just thought of it as the most direct route over the Alps and it wasn’t quite on my bucket list. Ah well, guess it is now.
My first stop on the way up from Martigny was at Gorges de Durnand. I’d heard about the place from Francine –from what I’d understood, there was a deep gorge running through the mountains with wooden walkways along each side. According to her it was a must-see, and she even had some coupons offering a few francs off the admission price. Too good to resist.
All expectations were exceeded – the gorge really was amazing, and definitely one of the highlights of Switzerland.
As I headed further up towards Champex, the weather took a turn for the worse. Things got foggy and cold pretty quick, and I wasn’t really prepared for that. Once in Champex I saw an outdoor gear store and a small grocer side by side, and thought -perfect- stop and buy a thermal vest and some lunch. Ha, well. The first store did have thermal vests, and just about everything else too. If I was ready to set myself back by a hundred francs at the very least, that is. For something which I probably wouldn’t use again on the rest of the trip? No thanks.
The grocer wasn’t too much better. Swiss prices in general are already ridiculous, and up here, everything cost double what it would in the rest of the country. Seven francs for a packet of crisps? Uh, I’d rather stick it out till the hospice and claim my free lunch when I get there. I eventually settled for a carton of juice and packet of sweets (the sweets were on special offer – 50% off – a final price of 4 Francs). Not the most filling, but at least that’d give me the energy boost to keep going.
Champex was nice enough – a picturesque mountain village with a lake and all, but even after my quick lunch I was far too cold to hang around for long. Heading on wasn’t the most attractive option either, for I’d have to head downhill for a few kilometres to join the Route du Saint Bernard proper and freeze a bit more on the way. But at least that meant getting back to the uphill soon. And when cold, uphills are good things.
Once I was back on the Route du Saint Bernard and heading up, the cycling actually felt easy enough. I was comfortably warm, and even if the rest of the day’s route was one constant uphill, it was never too steep to need a break. So I just kept going, right up to Bourg-Saint-Pierre. I’d planned to stop here for some dinner – wishful thinking yet again. There wasn’t much on offer, unless I was ready to go for broke and splash out half a week’s budget in one evening. So I stuck with lunchtime’s leftovers and had a few more sweets.
From Bourg-Saint-Pierre I headed off the main road and turned towards my planned camping spot across the valley. It was about as beautiful as they come, but sitting around for too long wasn’t a good idea if I wanted to make it through the night. With the sun now hidden behind the mountains, things got even colder and I needed to preserve as much body heat as possible. Survival mode kicked in – change into some dry clothes, put on fleece, pitch tent, close zips, and get straight into my sleeping bag for the night. Even then, the temperature dipped below zero overnight, pushing my lightweight summer sleeping bag beyond its limits. It was, without a doubt, the longest night so far, and there wasn’t much more I could do to warm up. So I mostly just lay there, waiting for morning to come.
It eventually came, needless to say, and once it did life was good again. The sky was clear and the sun was shining right down on the tent, and things started to thaw pretty quickly. I sat there for a while enjoying the sunshine and taking in the view.
I was meanwhile down to my last half bottle of water, and with the hospice still a few hours away, I’d definitely be needing more. As I was heading up to the camping spot the night before I’d noticed a small cabin a bit further up the mountain slope behind me. It was probably my best chance of stocking up on water, so I decided to check it out. As I approached, the place turned out to be bigger than I’d initially thought, and as I got even closer I could hear the sound of water rushing through drain pipes. Always a good sign. I looked around the cabin but couldn’t find the standard Alpine water fountain outside, so I knocked on the front door. No answer. I went round the back, found a second door and tried again. This time the door opened within seconds, revealing a young man looking quite surprised to see me there. He’d been busy rinsing out some milk cans, and once I explained what I needed he led me over to the sink and filled up my water bottles right away. He seemed eager to get back to work and wasn’t too interested in having a chat, but I’d gotten what I came for.
The first part of the day’s route turned out not to be too cyclable, at least not with a bike loaded with gear. I eventually made it most of the way across the valley on foot to join the Route du Saint Bernard again, and from there on all was fine. Things had already been good in terms of road traffic the previous day, and they’d only gotten better now. The road splits around half-way up the pass, with one road leading to a tunnel which cuts right through the mountains to Aosta, and the other to the old route going right to the top of the pass. I was now just past this point, and most traffic headed straight for the tunnel. From here on, it was just me and the hardy motorists with a preference for the longer, more scenic drive.
With the unplanned hike to get some water and the distance I had to cover on foot, I realised that there was no way I’d be making it to the hospice in time for lunch. Not too big a deal – I still had the last few sweets to keep me going, and I’d now have more time to enjoy the views on the way up.
It was maybe 1330 by the time I’d made it up to the top of the pass. It wasn’t exactly the place I’d imagined – sure, it was totally isolated, and up at 2469m the landscape was definitely barren. But there was practically an entire village up there, complete with deckchairs and lakeside cafes.
I made my way into the hospice and started to look forward to my warm shower and something substantial to eat. That wasn’t quite the way things turned out though. Apparently, there’d been a power cut and no one at the hospice really knew what was going on. Without any electricity there wasn’t any running water – so no showers. And they’d had to shut down the kitchen – so nothing to eat either. I probably could have gotten some bread if I’d asked for it, but didn’t want to overstep their hospitality. In any case, all the monks and other members of staff were busy running around trying to get things working again, so I thought I’d better stay out of the way.
As it turned out, it wasn’t just the hospice which had no power. The surrounding cafes were in the dark and had closed their doors too. I asked around and was eventually offered one suggestion – if I wanted to get something to eat, I could head over to Italy (i.e. walk a few metres to the other side of the lake). Sure enough, over in Italy they had power and everything seemed to be running smoothly, while the Swiss side had practically shut down for the day. Who would’ve thought?
By the evening, a generator had been hauled up the pass and Switzerland had power again. I got my warm shower, and eventually got something to eat, too (even if dinner was just bread and ham – apparently they hadn’t had enough time or power to cook a full meal). Still, my stomach was finally full, and for that I was more than thankful.
As we were having the communal dinner, I got to meet a few of the hospice’s staff and other guests. A place like that always attracts an interesting crowd – there was a scout group, an Italian scriptwriter seeking inspiration (hey Stefano!), and several pilgrims on the Via Francigena (hey Elena, Ria and Roy!). Elena was on an incredible solo journey of her own, walking from Belgium to Rome and knocking on doors to find places to spend each night along the way. Ria, her mum, had joined for the Alpine section of the expedition.
Ria must have seen that I wanted more to eat that evening, and without me saying anything she took it upon herself to collect all the bread and ham she possibly could from the other table’s leftovers and pile it up in front of me. She did a great job, as the several bread baskets in the photo below testify! We’d all only just met that same day but got on well right away, and by the end of the meal Ria had welcomed me as part of the family. I guess that now leaves me with an adoptive Belgian mother and sister.
I slept better than I had in a long time that night – with my stomach full and a warm bed to sleep in, I dozed right off. So well did I sleep, in fact, that by 0400 my body had apparently had enough for the night. I woke up feeling wide awake and going back to sleep wasn’t going to be an option, so I decided to head out for a walk. The last few stars were slowly fading away as the first traces of the sun’s rays started to appear behind the mountains. Everything was about as perfect as it gets – it was of course damn cold outside, but after a night in a warm bed I didn’t mind. Best of all, everyone was fast asleep and I had the whole mountain pass to myself.
Well, almost. Myself and the dogs.
Now that I’d eaten, showered and slept, I was feeling alive again. As I stood there looking down at the hospice and the valleys descending on either side of the lake, it started to sink in what an achievement it really was having reached the St. Bernard Pass. I’d come so far, both in terms of distance and elevation. This really felt like the top of the world. And at 2473m, it was, at least as far as I was concerned. After a challenging week of cycling I’d made it over the Alps, and it was all downhill from here for the next few days.
I got back to the hospice in time for breakfast, which consisted of more bread (and jam, this time). The hikers were all rushing to head out and get an early start. For me, though, time wasn’t an issue. Not that day. I only had 35 kilometres to cover to Aosta by the evening, all of which were downhill. So after saying goodbye to my newfound family as they set out, I sat down in the hospice’s lounge for a few hours to catch up on blog posts and sort through photos.
It was around 1500 by the time I got back on my bike, and an hour later I was right down in Aosta. Easiest 35 kilometres of my life, without a doubt.
Switzerland, till next time! You may have pushed my legs and my budget to their limits, but I’ve made it to the other side.
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Andrew
Loving it, good luck mate!