Passo dello Stelvio

Passo dello Stelvio

Bormio

·

Italy

The Switchback King

The ascent

The Stelvio is the highest paved pass in Italy and the second highest in the Alps. Most photographs of it are taken from the other side — the wall of forty-eight numbered hairpins stacked above Prato. The Bormio ascent is the quieter one, and the harder one to read.

It starts in the Valdidentro at 1,281 metres and climbs for twenty-one kilometres through a series of rock tunnels cut into the gorge above the Braulio. There is no sustained wall here and no single defining ramp. Instead the gradient sits between seven and eight per cent for most of an hour, relents for three kilometres near the top where the valley opens out, and then delivers its steepest kilometre at nineteen — a ten per cent pitch at 2,500 metres, where the air has already thinned enough to matter.

That shape is why it rewards a frame built for the rider rather than for the mountain. Nothing about the Bormio side punishes weight the way the Mortirolo does. What it punishes is a frame that wastes what you put into it over ninety minutes of seated tempo.

21
Kilometres
1483
Metres gained
7
Average %
10
Maximum %
2764
Summit m
Gradient profile
Hover the profile
5,6,8,7,7,5,8,8,8,8,8,7,7,8,6,3,6,4,10,8,9
1281
21
2764
Under 4%
4–6%
6–8%
8–10%
10–12%
12% and over
Where it is
Summit
46.5286,10.4526
Credits

Photography

Mark Milburn

Rider

Michael Blann

Aequus Leve
The bike on this climb

Aequus Leve

Every SWI is laid up for one rider — their weight, their power, the way they actually ride. One uninterrupted carbon shell, formed in a single mould, built for a body rather than a size chart. It is the whole reason the same mountain feels different underneath two frames.

The photography

Mountains: Epic Cycling Climbs

Michael Blann

For the people who live beneath them the great European ranges are simply a way of life. For everyone else they are scenery. For a cyclist they are none of those things — they are an appointment with your own limits, and the reason a road that goes nowhere useful is worth riding at all.

Michael Blann has spent years photographing the climbs that made the sport: the Alps, the Dolomites, the Pyrenees, the Ardennes. The pictures are landscape photography of a very high order, but the book is really about what those places do to the people who ride them — an argument built from light, weather and altitude, with recollections from professional riders threaded through it.

If you have ever ridden one of these roads, or intend to, it is the closest thing to being back on it.

Find the book