Luzern – Andermatt – Bellinzona: 156 km

Some people have told me there’s more beautiful, and definitely more quiet places to cross the Alps. But the Gotthard Pass is a staple, a classic, almost a narrative in itself. “I’ve cycled over the Gotthard”, is the story. No other words needed. Hence, I’ve set myself the goal to conquer it.

I decide to skip a day or two from the Nationally coordinated North-South route as planned out by the Swiss Tourist Board for a couple of reasons; the prescribed routes are somewhat short, and more importantly, it’s supposed to start snowing in The Alps. Not to mention there’s a girl waiting for me at Lake Como in Italy. We’ll come back to her later in another story. Those skipping of days means the ferry ride is a bit longer than initially planned. I ride about 20 km from Luzern towards the ferry in Beckenried and almost miss it. The boat drops me off in Fleülen, where I start my 50 km ride towards Andermatt.

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The first half of those 50 km take me through a valley and are therefore flat, yet the Alps stick out like an icy green and grey wall before me, at the top covered in clouds. The sight both motivates and frightens me. Apparently, it also tingles my appetite, so I look on my phone for a supermarket. I’ve eaten my reserves for second breakfast on the ferry. One gets hungry while on the bike. The nearest supermarket I’ve just passed, and since the villages here are modest, the next one is about 10 kilometres away. “No problem”, I think, and at that moment the road starts to pick up a gradient that seems more vertical than horizontal. I hadn’t realised that the ride towards the actual Gotthard Pass is possibly more challenging than the Gotthard Pass itself. It takes me about two hours to get to that local supermarket. I arrive with a sugar deficiency and buy what I think is way too much, but eat it all; two sandwiches, three bananas, a filled croissant and a deck of chocolate cookies. I check my apps and see that I’m not even halfway through the climb. The next 15 km feel endless as the gradients increase as much as the power in my legs decreases.

As my legs suffer, my mind and heart race. The views are magnificent. The clouds play games with the trees and every minute they form a new alliance in what seems like a powerplay for the best combination of water and wood. I have to stop and rest every 3 kilometres or so, once the lactate in my legs passes, I admire the views. These last 15 km take me about 3 hours. My limbs shake as I arrive in Andermatt, at 1400 meters high, at a campsite surrounded by clouds.

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My sleeping bag, matt, and tent have kept me very warm in their first night of frost. I unzip my tent and wake up to a completely different world. I fell asleep in the clouds, but I wake up in a stark blue sky, the sun eagerly climbing to emerge over the mountain tops to warm the still frozen grass next to my tent. Today’s menu: The Gotthard. Or as they call it here more lovingly: The Passo san Gottardo. Yesterday was tough but rewarding, and with that attitude I start the immediate climb.

The climb is busy until I get to a cobblestone cycling path. That makes it both better and worse; less traffic, more effort. I pass the tree-line and merely grass remains. The two shirts I’m wearing are completely soaked in sweat, so I change them out for two new ones that are bestowed the same faith at the top. I take breaks, whenever I feel like, and that’s the only thing to keep me sane. My legs are still full of lactate from the day before, and every paddle stroke feels like a victory. I love it. I love the feeling of overcoming, of reaching for a goal, and eventually making it. 

The top of The Passo san Gottardo is cold, it must be around 0 degrees. I dip my head in one of the many little lakes in an environment that otherwise looks like a moonscape, as a victory dance. I change my shirt again, have a victory coffee, take a couple of pictures and prepare for the way down.

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Maybe you’re not a cyclist, but if you are, you know that descents are cold. The altitude makes for a colder atmosphere, the speed whirls the air around you, and you’re not paddling. I wear about every warm piece of clothing I have. I take the scenic route, over cobblestones and with a hairpin turn every couple of 100 meters. It’s so pretty I stop at almost every corner. The 15 km descent takes me to the Italian side of Switzerland, that I always forget exists. Down in Airolo the smell of pizza and pasta greets me, as if Italian Switzerland seems to not really be Switzerland at all. I’m burning, a mere 15 kilometres has taken me from 0 degrees Celsius to about 30.

In my new summer attire, I descent even further and seek refuge on a random campsite near Bellinzona. As I walk out of the little building with the counter, I hear somebody saying my name. I look around but recognise nobody. I hear my name again, turn around and stare into a familiar face. It takes me a second or so, and then I realise it’s Rens! A long-lost friend who I used to play basketball with. We must’ve not seen each other for 10 years. A coincidence that doesn’t feel like one. I meet his girlfriend, we talk a little and agree to have a drink after we’ve set up our tents. Rens, a true mountaineer who’s writing his Ph. D. on earthquakes in The Alps, has the same tent as I have. I’m happy to be confirmed in my gear choices. We memorise our time playing basketball, remember the teammates and how close we used to be. Rens tells me about how he ended up in Berlin, I tell him about the main points of my last 10 years. Our bottle of wine gets empty and the evening turns into night. The next morning we drink a coffee together and say our goodbyes. I’d like to stay in touch, but it might take another 10 years to meet again. At a random place in a country far away.