Cobbles to the sky: The day I conquered the mighty Gotthard Pass from both sides

October is travel month at Cycling Weekly, and in our first of four issues, we're heading skywards, seeking out the best climbs in the world, and asking why we put ourselves through the pain. In search of the answers, Tom Davidson travelled to Switzerland to take on the cobbled Gotthard Pass, a car-less haven for cyclists. Below is an excerpt from an eight-page feature in the magazine, out today. 

It’s a scene worthy of the front of a chocolate box. The mountains open up ahead of me, the white snow glaring in spite of my sunglasses. Speckled in the grassy hills, a smattering of boxy, wooden houses, each with different-coloured shutters, stare back at me. 

I can hear water cascading down the rocks. It’s mid-June and I’m in the Swiss Alps, scaling one of the world’s most iconic climbs: the Gotthard Pass. I have never seen natural beauty like it. And yet, knowing what’s to come, this sublime scene is making me uneasy.

You’ll be excused if you’re not familiar with the Gotthard. In reality, few cycling fans have heard of it. It has never featured in the Tour de France, was used only once in the Giro d’Italia, back in 1965, but has become a staple of the Tour de Suisse, climbed seven times in the last decade. It’s not particularly steep, nor arduously long. However, it does have one thing that others don’t: cobblestone sections.

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The first part of the climb is steady past the gorge from Andermatt. A giddy anxiety builds within me as I dance up through the foothills, to the soundtrack of clanging bells tied around the necks of goats and cows. I turn the pedals for almost an hour, staring ahead as the vivid greenery gives way to snow, poured like icing sugar over the peaks. The tarmac below me is a smooth carpet, but I crave something more rugged. I swing right, off the main road, and there they are, the hallowed cobbles. 

There’s a stillness to the Gotthard. It’s a pass that, without necessarily intending to, has become a cyclist’s haven. In 1980, the Swiss authorities built a 17km-long motorway tunnel through the mountain, taking traffic away from its slopes. For motorists who choose the road uphill, there’s a faster, more direct carriageway, leaving the old, cobbled track to cyclists, motorbike posses, and unhurried day trippers in vintage cars, content to go slowly and take in the views.

The Gotthard is no Paris-Roubaix, though. The cobbles of the pass, laid in 1830, are Swiss engineering at its finest: granite cubes, chosen for their durability, neatly arranged in a fan-like pattern. The path itself dates back beyond the 13th century, when it was used by traders on horse and cart to shift goods between the north and south of Europe. Today, the road is much the same, but the scene has taken a modern twist. A family of wind turbines tower above the approach to the summit. As I roll over the crest of the climb, completing my first ascent, I pedal through a cloud of barbecued meat, courtesy of a sizzling bratwurst stand at the roadside.

My second ascent starts in Airolo, and already everything feels different. Here, the locals speak Italian, the Gotthard bridging Switzerland’s German-speaking territory with its Italian-fused south. The climb from this southern side is known as the Tremola, and it’s a feast for the eyes. Its 24 hairpins weave tightly up through the craggy stone, like ribbons plaited into the mountainside.

I feel a sense of déjà vu as I cruise over the Gotthard for a second time. The road cuts between two small lakes, both dark blue in tone and topped with sludges of ice. Again, I look up at the wind turbines, still as statues, and smell the bratwurst cooking. cooking. A question enters my mind: what is it that we cyclists like so much about the riding-through-sand exhaustion of climbing mountains? 

While I mull over the idea, I stretch my hand behind my back and into my jersey pocket to search for sweets, and feel a pang of pain, my arms numb from the cobbled road. The sugar stings my sunburnt lips. And yet, I’m in an unshakeably good mood. That, I figure, is the essence of it. Despite all the suffering, the mountains bring a sense of accomplishment unparalleled on any other terrain. There’s pleasure in the pain, and a feeling of being deservedly on top of the world, both figuratively and literally, when you reach the summit. The only thing that feels sweeter is the sight of the road.

October is travel month in Cycling Weekly. In our October 3 issue, we're exploring the cyclist's fascination with going uphill. A week later we're heading off to new countries. Will Slovenia and Albania be your next riding destination? It might be. Then we're going exploring on our gravel bikes with adventurer Julian Sayer, while gravel racer Joe Laverick tells us why he's never had so much fun. In our fourth and final issue, we'll be exploring the UK's coastline. 

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