The centre, the heart, the pivot

It is not just somewhere on the way from the Alps to the plains: it is a place where landscape and ingenuity come together. Here, where the Dora Baltea rushes down from the mountains and the glacial moraine creates perfect slopes, humans have learnt to coexist with the power of nature and transform it into energy, architecture, and motion. A visionary industrial town, the home of Olivetti and of an innovative way of thinking about work, it is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site not just because of its history but also for its forward-thinking approach to design, culture, and landscape. Perhaps that is why cycling feels special here: the roads seem to tell stories, every bend has its own rhythm and pace, and the views stretch from the Alps to the plains of Piedmont. In three words, this is Ivrea. It is a perfect base for anybody who loves cycling: on one hand, there are the tough climbs of Canavese, both short and long; on the other, fast routes along the moraine lakes and towards the hills of Biella. Two days, two routes: one more challenging, the other easier, both immersed in land that brings together nature and history, water and stone, speed and silence. 

Sometimes, setting off can be a kind of ritual. Leaving Ivrea by bike is like that: behind you stands the Roman town, a mix of history and rational modernity; ahead lies the horizon reaching out towards the granite rocks of Gran Paradiso National Park. Your mind wanders in the early morning light reflecting off factory windows, to the noise of a train crossing a bridge in the distance, as the Friday market fills the streets with the sound of voices. At first, your body struggles to find its rhythm, your legs are not spinning smoothly yet, but it does not take much − just a bend in the road, the smell of the forest − and everything falls into place.

The river Dora Baltea runs in the background as we leave the traffic behind us: we turn off the busier roads and head into the small valleys on the other side of Ivrea, where the road runs slowly at an almost hypnotic pace. We hit climbs from the very start, with isolated farmhouses and scattered bell towers emerging from the hillsides. You can finally smell the hay and hear the flowing water. Constant ups-and-downs take us into Valle dell’Orco, the start of the day’s real climbing. The gradient gets steeper, at first almost imperceptibly, and the flatlands drop away into the distance. The climb starts to set its own pace, and then suddenly everything changes: your breath gets deeper, the thoughts in your head fade. All that is left is the road.

The landscape changes between Cuorgnè and Ceresole Reale. Larches replace poplars, the Orco stream flows alongside the road like a tireless travelling companion carving out gorges, creating countless waterfalls and turning turbines. Every switchback is a further step up the mountain, every pedal stroke a return to the simplicity of movement. Between bends in the road, you may well come across a ‘marghè’ – a livestock herder who lives in the alpine valleys, as the Piedmontese people call them – a cow grazing or a group of cyclists on the descent. They greet each other with a quick nod or wave, the kind of friendly gesture shared by people who know what hard riding means.

Then we get to the day’s real challenge: the climb to Nivolet pass. Twenty kilometres of cycling at its purest, a winding ribbon of asphalt suspended between lakes and pastures gradually replaced by rocks as the altitude rises. Marmots are on the lookout, the wind cuts through the thin air, and round every bend there is a different horizon, closer to the sky, closer to paradise. It is a climb that demands respect but gives back something even rarer: a feeling of belonging to the landscape, of riding inside the mountain itself. You glance back down at the switchbacks you have negotiated with such effort or look up towards the top of the mountain pass that never seems to get any nearer.

As you reach the peak at 2,612 metres, all that’s left is silence. The sound of your bike freewheeling blends in with the wind, and your eyes are drawn down to the lakes below and the mountains towering above them. Physically speaking, the pass is marked by nothing more than a sign, but your mind delights in the sight of it: it is the end of a big effort but not the end of the journey, after all you have only reached half way.

Down below, the plain stretches out again, and Ivrea is just a distant memory, but still alive. The idea for this ride came into our heads down there, but it was our legs that got us up here, in both cases motivated by the same desire to reach something higher. But enough talking − let’s hop back on our bikes and tackle the 2,000 metres of descent, a piece of cake compared to our previous exertions: every bend in the road is worth remembering, every metre takes us closer to reality, which now seems brighter and more intense.

In addition to being perfect from a logistical viewpoint, Ivrea gives us the chance to do something we normally don’t do after a day in the saddle: visit the city. We live in the age of digitalisation, and being right in the place where it all started thanks to Olivetti’s genius is an opportunity not to be missed. His presence still lingers, transforming the streets into an open-air museum, so much so that Ivrea is now on the prestigious list of UNESCO sites as an industrial city of the 20th century. The weather is what it is, so we decide to postpone our visit to P.A. Garda Civic Museum and opt for a tour around the Sabaudo Castle: after seeing it so many times from the highway it is now time to actually go there.

The following day we slowly set off from Ivrea, leaving behind the castle, the winding streets of the old town centre, and the silent factories. The town fades into the distance and the Serra rises up ahead of us, a long moraine ridge marking the edge of Canavese like a boundary between the land and sky. The morning light cuts through the shadows of the fields, glides over the still-damp asphalt, and ignites the red rooftops. These are moments when cycling becomes a way of seeing and not just moving.

The climb to Andrate is not brutal, but it is tough. It is the first and only real challenge on the route as the landscape changes tone: from flat plains to the first signs of alpine stones, from the background noise of the town to the steady breath of the forest. The road twists upwards, first running through the protected area around Ivrea’s lakes, then past chestnut trees and stonewalls. The view opens up, and it is time for us to stop and enjoy the scenery. Up at the top there are a few small houses, a café where time stands still as you drink your coffee, and a feeling of being faraway even though you are still close by.

The summit of Croceserra forms a natural balcony in the silence, where the only sound is the cool wind blowing up from the high Val d’Aosta. Then the road plunges down, immersed in the woods. It’s a gentle, cosy descent: light filters through the branches, and the smell of the forest accompanies us around every bend. The switchbacks follow one after the other until the Serra ridge gives way to hills, and Piverone suddenly appears, calmly inviting us to take a break. A bench, freshly baked focaccia from a bakery we could smell before we could see, and a quick chat with someone who asks us, “Where are you from?” Small things that add a touch of authenticity to our ride.

From here the road winds through the vineyards towards Lake Viverone. The water reflects the sky and time slows down. It is the most contemplative point of the ride: we pedal smoothly, our legs spinning easily, and the road follows the contours of the water. A small boat causes ripples on the smooth, almost perfect surface of the lake, and light reflects off the tiny waves. Everything blends into a subtle harmony, that only happens on certain days, when your body is in tune with its surroundings. You pedal without haste, as if every metre were an invitation to stay a bit longer. Meanwhile, the calm lake seems to want to say something to anybody who has the time and the energy to listen.

The second section begins here, a flat stretch. The loop extends across fields and through a few villages, as the landscape turns horizontal. But the horizon is not bare: Masino Castle stands ahead in perfect isolation. Reaching it is like chasing a fixed point on the landscape, a small peak on the plain. Then we head back to Ivrea with our minds racing and our hearts beating calmly. This is not an excessively hard ride, but it offers a nice mix: climbs, descents, lakes, and a little effort. The castle, the houses and the river come back into sight and the circle closes: we have come to the end of the route and the end of an experience that will stay with us. A ride that captures the essence of Canavese and Ivrea; their history, nature and landscapes.