The long road to Valle Stura

It actually takes quite a while to reach Cuneo by public transport. First, the journey starts with a regional train to Lake Constance. There, I had a lunch break with a view of the lake on Lindau Island. After several transfers to Zurich, I enjoyed my first spritz at a trendy beach bar by the Limmat. Then, I quickly traveled south through the Gotthard Tunnel on an EC train. Overnight stay in Turin and a short bike ride through the city in the morning sun before the last short ride on the regional express to Cuneo. Actually, a quite relaxed start to the big adventure.

From Cuneo, it was time to pedal. In front of me was a two-day window of dream weather. And a height difference of almost 2000 meters to reach the Gardetta Plateau. At the start in the Po Valley, the relief of the mountains seemed infinitely far away on the horizon. The idea of spending a night in an alpine campsite up there felt somehow grotesque.

Beautiful bike paths led away from the main roads through orchards and small, sleepy villages to the first gentle hills around Valle Stura. From Demonte, thanks to a delicious pastry shop, the seemingly last outpost of civilization, a continuously paved road led through the side valley Vallone dell'Arma to the pass height at Colle Valcavera at 2416 m. As pleasant as the ascent on asphalt was, it did have the downside of a whole lot of other motorized road users being on the way too. One of them, in a fat expedition jeep probably heading for the military roads on the high plateau, left a huge cloud of soot over me while overtaking. So much for the topic of unspoiled nature experience. It was somehow embarrassing to still pollute the environment and one’s fellow human beings with such exhaust dinosaurs in 2025; it was just cringeworthy.

Apart from that, I left the last small hamlets behind me while the first jagged peaks rose above me. After a short break in a rifugio, I was faced with a familiar dilemma. I wanted to spend the night at the pass, and the question arose - is there water up there? Or rather, where is the last chance to replenish my water supply to have enough for dinner and breakfast? At the rifugio, there was a well. The rivers marked on the map above looked quite dry, though. So, it was no help - just in case, better fill up. So, an additional 4 liters or kilograms should sweeten the last 500 meters of altitude. One treats oneself, after all.

Once at the top, the Gardetta Plateau shone in all its glory before me. I had been here before, but in the softly glowing evening light, the rocky giants around me took on an extra special magic. I was not the only admirer wanting to pitch a tent. But my advantage was that without a vehicle tagging along, I could follow a hiking path on a grassy ridge towering high above the pass. A magnificent spot for a campsite that I had all to myself. The view extended over half the Alpine arc down to the Po Valley, where I had just started a few hours ago.

The starry night at 2500 meters was indeed a bit frosty. My thin summer sleeping bag excels in weight and pack size, but at altitude, it reaches its limits. But who needs a comfortable temperature when the alternative is an overwhelmingly grand sunrise? After yesterday's pure ascent, the trails were meant to be the focus today. First, a lap around the plateau, followed by an epic ride down to Sambuco in Valle Stura.

Past the remains of military installations from days long gone, I sought a luggage depot to enjoy the loop carefree. A first fluid but far too short S2 trail whetted my appetite for more. But first came a detour to the Rifugio Gardetta, which lay in the middle of the plateau. Like a post station in the Wild West, this place got lost in the vast plain, dominated by the iconic rock tower Rocca la Meja. A horse would have been more fitting right now, but in a pinch, my trusty iron horse did the trick.

A bold military road carved into the rock led further to Passo di Rocca Brancia. And here began the mega trail towards Valle Stura. Past a few high alpine lakes, I surfed towards the valley. Unfortunately, only halfway, because I still had my luggage waiting on top. So, off to the next ascent, passing some juicy meadows with sheep, shepherds, and herding dogs back to the starting point. With my luggage saddled up, there was one last steep push to conquer on Monte Besaio. But from now on, it was all downhill. And how. A section of the legendary Stone King Rally awaited, and that was a true work of art. Just next to the steep cliffs of a gorge, the path wound down in countless serpentines. Despite the relative exposure, the trail was wide enough to ride without falling into acute breathlessness. Eventually, I arrived euphorically in the small mountain village of Sambuco. Valle Stura was reached.