Variety weekend

Ever since, I’ve been searching for a place where these two worlds merge. Reflecting on my first Interrail trip as a young university student, I’m reminded of that perfect combination of mountain and lake, glimpsed fleetingly from a train window while crossing the Canton of Ticino. That landscape left such a lasting impression on me that it motivated me to return, by train once again, in memory of that journey. This time, my gravel bike is along for the ride. My goal is to relive the feelings of freedom and carefree joy I experienced as a young man, the same sensations that made me fall head over heels for this two-wheeled contraption, shaping my identity and my passions.

Calories are important in general, but they’re even more crucial when over 7,000 metres of elevation gain are forecasted for the next three days. Upon arriving in Bellinzona – locals teach me it’s pronounced with a ‘tz’ – I search for a characteristic local eatery on my smartphone and spot the Grottino Ticinese – the locals also educate me that these taverns are called ‘grotti’. I indulge in a hearty meal and top it off with a plate of vermicelles, a Swiss dessert made from chestnuts that’s known as ‘montebianco’ back home. It’s the perfect fuel for tackling Monte Tamaro, the main challenge of day one.

Fortunately, the first few kilometres along the Piano di Magadino allow me to ease into the day and warm up my legs. I find a network of cycle paths far from heavy traffic, used by all sorts of cyclists: roadies, gravel enthusiasts, tourists, and even postal workers on electric cargo bikes. The route I follow takes me to Quartino: reading the sign makes me chuckle, thinking about a quarter litre of wine (in Italian ‘quartino’), but perhaps it’s a bit early for that. As I pass through the village, I realise this is no laughing matter as things are about to get serious. A short stretch of cobblestones marks the start of the historic Monteceneri route, an asphalt climb that soon turns into a harsh cobble climb. It’s just 2.5 kilometres, but with an average gradient of 13% and peaks over 30, according to my bike computer. Riding this path feels like stepping back in time, and reliving the sensations of when people traveled on foot or horseback – perhaps a more suitable mode of transport for this incline.

Along the way, I encounter a cup-marked rock with ancient petroglyphs, said to be a good luck charm for travellers. For a moment, I curse the ancient artists, who seem to be wishing me a journey to the afterlife rather than a safe trip – I hear gunfire behind me. Instinctively, I accelerate. No need to worry, it’s just the Monte Ceneri army recruitment centre, a transition point between the historic route and the secondary road that will take me to the top. This climb may be technically less demanding than the previous one, but it’s not to be underestimated. It’s a patchwork of surfaces: asphalt, dirt, gravel, cobblestones, and stone blocks at irregular intervals. After 8.5 kilometres and 900 metres of elevation gain, I reach the top, above the tree line, where the breathtaking view of the mountains and Lake Maggiore makes me forget my internal monologues about why I voluntarily put myself through this time after time and what on earth the Swiss army is preparing for, given they’re a neutral country. With my rant over, I take in the surroundings with mixed emotions of enjoyment and satisfaction, as the panorama makes every effort worthwhile. I put on my gloves and gilet, and enjoy the descent, which retraces much of the ascent, minus the final asphalt stretch.

The reward for conquering the summit comes short after a gentle ascent through the vineyards above Locarno: a waterfall with a plunge pool that seems to belong to a hidden corner of the Alps. Yet it’s right there, by the roadside. Needless to say, I dived right in. I descend towards town, passing the Santuario della Madonna del Sasso – the most important pilgrimage site in Italian Switzerland, perched on a rocky outcrop. Finally, I find myself on the lakeside, ice cream in hand, pedaling at a leisurely pace and soaking up everything my senses take in: the taste of stracciatella, the cool breeze on my face, the birds chirping and the scent of freshly cut grass. All that’s left is to return to Bellinzona, where I’m compelled to stop for an aperitif in Piazza Collegiata and finally take in the beauty of the city, which had eluded me the night before, likely due to haste or fatigue. A half-hour spa session, a de-stressing massage, and a finger-licking dinner: Arbed Living Hotel is my home for this weekend, and I couldn’t have made a better choice.

With one hand I grab my English breakfast and with the other, I scroll through the Komoot route on my phone. The second day promises a significant elevation gain, so a second breakfast is in order. I head to Davide’s Velocafè to fuel up with extra calories, give my bike a quick once-over and gather more information about the route ahead. From there, I take the train to Mendrisio, and as I step off the platform, I’m greeted by a steep ramp – luckily, my legs are warm from the day before. As I enter Valle Muggio, the southernmost valley in Switzerland, the climb becomes more gentle. This area strikes me with its serenity and beauty, characterised by largely untouched nature, punctuated only by a few quaint villages.

After about 10 kilometres of idyllic road, I feel like I’m getting close to nirvana, when suddenly I’m brought back down to earth by a fork in the road. To the left, the road continues smoothly, while to the right, a gruelling climb with double-digit gradients awaits. Obviously, I have to go right. From here to Alpe Bonello the road is all uphill, starting as asphalt but soon turning into technical gravel.

Near the summit, occasional stretches of asphalt provide brief respite, as if the gods had granted to the poor cyclists a few moments of peace. Having conquered this hellish climb, the gates of paradise swing open – and I’m not being metaphorical: it’s a literal gate that leads onto an immaculate gravel road, winding its way towards a lush emerald-green hill; it’s like riding straight into a Windows XP screensaver. The panorama opens up to the valley below, with mountains rising in the distance, and the sense of accomplishment is pure bliss.

From here, I spot my second objective, Roncapiano, the highest settlement in the valley and a key spot for smuggling between Italy and Switzerland in the 1950s, thanks to its strategic location near the border with Erbonne. I descend and close the loop, arriving from the easier side of the previously mentioned fork. This time, I take the steep descent to the right, all the way to Casima, where I make a pit stop at the Cà Nani Small Boutique Hotel, a charming place where I enjoy a great coffee with a view. Here I meet a real local legend, an elderly man with a long, white beard that frames his smile. He tells me about the region’s cheese-making tradition, passed down through generations and how he used to help his grandfather make cheese in their old family dairy as a child.

Once I reach the valley floor, I pedal along the shores of Lake Ceresio, cross it, and arrive above Lugano, in the Pazzallo district. I pass by the Grotto Morchino and spot a sign saying: “today’s special risotto with zucchini, zucchini flowers, and Büscion cheese from the Valle di Muggio.” Needless to say, I stop – it was delicious. A nice tiramisù keeps my caffeine and sugar levels up, and I continue pedaling along the shores of Lake Ceresio (or Lake Lugano). A green panettone-shaped mountain on the other shore catches my eye and reminds me of my rides in Cape Town: maybe I’m the first person in the world to whom this country resembles South Africa, but it's all good. It’s the Monte San Salvatore, also known as the ‘Sugarloaf of Switzerland’ due to its distinctive shape. I pedal along the slope, admiring the rooftops of Lugano, before starting another ascent.

After a few hairpin turns on asphalt, I encounter a gravel section with cemented segments on the steeper parts, which makes me feel like I’m riding on flat tyres. I stop to check, but everything’s fine. After a steep descent, I finally get to enjoy some flat sections and bike paths along the river Vedeggio. All’s well until I hit the final climb of the day, which takes me to Isone. At this point, I’m completely exhausted and start hallucinating: I see e-MTBs parked under some houses, calling out to me like sirens. I resist. A little later, I swear I see a herd of chamois on the road, which seems unlikely given the low altitude. Is it just my tired mind playing tricks on me? We’ll never know. From here on, my memories are a bit fuzzy – my goal is to survive and reach the Rivera train station. I snap back to reality when I down a good ‘ol pint while gazing at the Monte Tamaro conquered the day before.

I wake up with my legs feeling the strain of the previous two days, so I decide to gain some altitude by taking the train up the Leventina Valley: from Bellinzona’s 230 metres, I arrive at Airolo’s 1,175 metres. A couple of pedal strokes and I’m at the departure point for the Pesciüm cable car, where the temptation to gain more elevation for free is high, but I stick to my original plan. Thus begins the climb up the forest road, which takes me to 1,800 metres. Near the top, I stop to collect a handful of blueberries, which work way better than gels. Refreshed and revitalised, I dive into the most enjoyable part of the entire three-day ride: a traverse that winds its way through dark conifer forests and green, untamed pastures, where my gaze gets lost in the majesty of the surrounding peaks, complete with mighty waterfalls.

I mustn’t get too distracted, though – the route is technical in places, and I’ve still got one more challenge to conquer: the Nufenenpass. The dirt road emerges right at the base of the climb, which takes me up to 2,478 metres. Armed with strength and courage, I tackle this snaking series of hairpins, knowing that once I’ve reached the pass, I’ve got almost 60 kilometres of descent ahead of me. I power through the final 800 metres, sprinting as if it were the stage finish of a grand tour. Once I reach the top, I sit back on my bike and take a deep breath, savouring the moment as I gaze at the snow on the Nufenenstock.

The descent sweeps me away, but my mind remains there, suspended between memories of my first rides and the emotions of these three days. I think back to the mountains and lakes of my region, and how these places made me fall in love with cycling. After climbing the peaks of Ticino, skirting lakes and discovering hidden corners of Switzerland, I realise that my enthusiasm for cycling remains unchanged: nothing can match the joy of discovering new places and the thrill of pushing past my limits on the bike. This experience has brought me back to the genuine love, the taste for adventure that made me get on my bike all those years ago. And now, as I descend towards the valley, I know I’ll carry the memory of these days with me, and that these two wheels will continue to be my travel companions, a tool for discovery and a source of pure passion.