The Road to

MONACO 04

Part II

by Cannonball Bob

Neil's car in THAT tunnel !

Day two started perfectly.

Not a cloud in the sky, it was brilliantly sunny and we were away from the hotel before 9am.

We headed further East through lush greenery towards Chamonix, and this is where we left the swift multi-lane peage for single track mountain roads.  From here, we were climbing pretty much constantly, almost unnoticeably at times but climbing none the less in to the kind of scenery Where Eagles once Dared.  The soft agriculturally-swamped foothills slowly morphed in to cold aggressive cliffs between which the tarmac got narrower and narrower.

Whacking along the motorways with other cars and a multitude of trucks, I’d felt perfectly safe, even if we were clocking three-figure speeds at times. But now, with jagged rocks rising hundreds of feet above the road and the last ski village now an hour or so behind us along with any other sign of habitation, I was beginning to feel like a very small person in a very little car, trespassing in a vast landscape.  The temperature was diminishing all the time too, adding to the sense of supernatural spectacle as we climbed to the Grand St Bernhard Pass, which straddles the Italian Swiss border.  Most of the Pass is housed in massive open-sided tunnels which offer solid shelter in times of severe weather but still allow the stunning scenery to seep in, like a huge automotive conservatory.  It seems odd at first, but civil engineering that in the UK would have to be over-used and grid-locked on a daily basis in order to be justified, is largely vacant in the Alps.  Tunnels measured in miles and lofty, elegantly arched bridges stand mostly unused for hours, even days at a time, waiting for curious tourists to come along and admire the stunning architecture.

Several uninterrupted miles in to the Grand St Bernard Tunnel we were faced with a choice. Off to the right a slightly ragged and unmarked road veered off through an unspectacular exit hacked through the side of the tunnel, whilst the main route bored deeper in to Mont Blanc. We took the outdoor option and once completely in the open stopped to take a look around.  We were well above the tree line by now, the only vegetation being tough alpine grass strewn between cold rocky outcrops and ice-cream dollops of snow, even in July.  Our altitude was also apparent by the expanse of landscape laid out beneath us. It vastly outweighed the short rise to the numerous summits of the surrounding peaks, and the air was noticeably thinner, with an icy edge to it.  From here it was only a short drive to the absolute top of the Grand St Bernard Pass which at a 8249 feet is the highest surface route over Mont Blanc.  On the upward side of the pass, the road hides between boulders, it’s difficult to pick out the route up the hill and all in all, it makes for some pretty taxing driving.  As the gradient shallowed a few buildings appeared, a couple of chalet-style hotels and a café, and in amongst it all, four policemen - two Swiss, two Italian - manning one of the most photogenic border crossings in Europe.  Forget the grey concrete of Folkestone or the bland toll booth check points on the autobahns out of Germany…over the Italian side of the pass, the ground just dropped away and the sky opened up, creating a view that flooded away in to the oblivion of a misty horizon.  At a rough guess I’d say we could probably see thirty miles or more from the top.  In contrast to the climb, large sections of the road below were visible and for a moment I wondered how long it’d be before we’d cover those bits we could see.  Dropping in to Italy, the road offered more in the way of sweeping mountain passes, and as we re-entered the tree line my previous question was answered; I noted it had taken us over an hour to rejoin the main route as it emerged from the mountain.

Mont Blanc is so high, the weather on one side can be totally different to the other, and this was the case as we descended in to Italy. Light drizzle and murky grey skies matched the dreary autoroutes around Aosta. Even the onset of more acoustic tunnels didn’t make for an enjoyable drive, and disorganised damp roadwork's delayed our discovery of the aptly named Little St Bernard Pass. This next mountain road would carry us back in to France and down towards Gap, then Nice and Monaco beyond.  But it was far from easy and being the lesser of the two passes it was narrow, badly corroded and evidently under funded.  Logging trucks, caravans and by this time local afternoon commuters all clogged the little road and I had serious doubts that we’d make Nice that night. The rain was now hammering down, we were traveling at barely more than walking pace up the hill and, despite having been on the road five hours and through some epic scenery, we were, as the proverbial crow flies, not much more than fifty miles from where we had started that morning. Once above the tree line though, the forested claustrophobia and tense traffic seemed to disperse and Nice was looking possible after all. We stopped at a classic cuckoo-clock lodge for lunch, leaving the MGs outside to bask in the curiosity of passing locals and a brief sunny break in the rain.

After what was maybe just a little too leisurely a lunch break we pushed further South and dropped down from the high Alps aiming for Grenoble. From here, we’d have to decide whether to stay with the mountains or veer East a tad to pick up the main peages that carry holiday traffic from Lyon down to the Med. Neil was concerned about the late afternoon timing but I was keen to keep the route interesting and alive and we started climbing again this time towards Gap.  It was early evening by now, but with the earlier rain now long gone, dusk seemed to last forever.  Street lights were starting to glow and by the time the town of Gap appeared it was an array of twinkling lights laid out in a black landscape.  Passing through the quiet town with it’s dusty beige streets and with the car roof down reminded me were now quite a way south and in to a warmer climate. Even in the darkness, it was mild and balmy, perfect nocturnal driving weather. But it was getting late, very late, and although the charming rural French countryside matched the Alps for it’s appeal, I could tell Nice would be asleep by the time we arrived.

From Gap we elected to go for the quickest route and followed the peage towards Marseille from where we planned to then take the coast road to Nice - Two sides of a triangle but quicker overall. The peage proved perfect for blasting along in the inky night, and for most of the time we had the smooth, faultless road to ourselves, so much so in fact that at times, in order to save dazzling Neil’s mirrors, I was able to switch to just sidelights and follow Neil’s tail lights, driving by the light of his main beam which did for us both.

I’d had visions of arriving in Nice just as an orange sun disappeared over the horizon, allowing us to enjoy cool bottled beer outside an open-fronted bar on the bricked pavement overlooking the long beach, whilst debriefing the day’s excellent mountaineering.

But it was 1am, and everything was shut. The hotel we booked was near the airport, but the airport was shut too making the hotel difficult to find. After some frustrating night-time touring of Nice, we found it, parked up and over a quick beer in the bland hotel bar we planned the next day…our quick breeze along the coast to Monaco itself.