Crossing the Alps

The journey began in Freiburg, rolling south along quiet paths through vineyards and villages. A gentle wind at our backs and sunshine overhead made for a smooth start. We followed the Rhine River, the route mostly flat with occasional views of the Vosges and Black Forest. Basel welcomed us after 70 relaxed kilometers, its mix of Swiss order and French flair setting the tone for what lay ahead. Spirits were high, legs fresh, and the sense of adventure unmistakable. The perfect prologue before the real climbs began.

Leaving Basel, the terrain shifted quickly—rolling hills replaced flat riverside paths. We climbed steadily through forests and farmlands, past tidy Swiss villages and grazing cows. The Jura foothills offered the first real test, with long, gentle gradients that teased what was to come. A lakeside lunch provided a brief moment of calm before the final push to Murten, a medieval town perched above its namesake lake. Tired but satisfied, we arrived after 109 kilometers and nearly 1,500 meters of climbing. The Alps now loomed closer on the horizon. The warm welcome in Murten made every pedal stroke worth it.

This was a monster of a day—140 kilometers and over 2,500 meters of climbing. We set off early, tracing quiet roads past Lake Murten before heading into the Bernese Oberland. The mountains grew steeper with each turn of the crank. Narrow climbs, chilly descents, and stunning views defined the day. We passed through Gruyères and Saanen, fueled by cheese, chocolate, and determination. The final descent into the Rhône Valley was long and fast, with vineyards flanking our arrival in Chamoson. Exhausted but elated, we ended the day in a sun-drenched alpine village surrounded by silence and peaks.

Today we crossed the spine of the Alps. Leaving Chamoson, we climbed steadily up the Rhône Valley before tackling the Col du Grand-Saint-Bernard. The legendary pass was relentless—winding, steep, and cold at the top, with patches of snow still clinging to the slopes. But the reward was immense: sweeping views and a thrilling descent into Italy. The landscape changed dramatically—sharper peaks, warmer air, and Italian villages clinging to the valley sides. We rolled into Aosta after 102 demanding kilometers, legs heavy but spirits soaring. Tonight, pasta and red wine. We’d crossed the Alps, and the Mediterranean felt closer now.

We left Aosta on a cool morning, descending through a dramatic valley flanked by towering alpine walls. The ride was fast and flowing—less climbing today, more time to spin easily and soak in the changing landscape. The Alps slowly gave way to rolling hills and vineyards as we approached the Piedmont region. Small villages offered espresso and pastries, fueling our steady progress toward Turin. After 122 kilometers, the bustle of the city greeted us with cobbled streets and grand piazzas. It felt surreal to be here—having started in Freiburg just five days ago. Tomorrow, the mountains return.

NOT RIDDEN: We took a train!

After the train ride, we left Cuneo, the road gently climbed through the Stura Valley, the surrounding peaks growing more imposing with every kilometer. The traffic thinned, the air cooled, and we found ourselves in alpine territory once again. At just under 36 kilometers, this stage was brief—but every pedal stroke felt purposeful as we approached the base of the Col de la Lombarde. Vinadio greeted us with ancient fortresses, quiet charm, and the sense that the toughest part still lay ahead. Tomorrow: one last brutal ascent, and then the sea.

The last stage—our grand finale—was also the hardest. We left Vinadio early to tackle the Col de la Lombarde, a brutal 21-kilometer climb rising above 2,300 meters. Hairpin after hairpin, the road twisted through larch forests and past grazing sheep. At the summit, we crossed back into France, windswept and exhilarated. Then came an unforgettable descent through Isola and the Tinée Valley—fast, technical, and endless. After nearly 3,000 meters of descending and 120 kilometers in the saddle, we reached Nice. The blue shimmer of the Mediterranean was our finish line. Seven days, eight stages, one unforgettable ride. We had made it.