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Next morning, as we headed out of Brig, every sign seemed to point to the Simplon Pass. Several junctions had signs pointing to the pass in opposite directions. Meandering our way through this maze, we eventually ended up on what we assumed was the old road to the pass, before the elevated and less steep viaduct was built for the trucks. This meant a steep ascent through a pine forest around the huge rocky outcrop at the valley head. We zig-zagged our way up through the forest in peace and were occasionally treated with great views back over Brig and the surrounding mountains. The steeper ascent was just about on the limit of what I could cope with with a fully laden bike and a double chainset, so I was relieved when we met the higher truck road as we swung into the next valley. The gradient here was much less steep and we span our way up in at the bottom end of the gears. We climbed all morning around several valleys and across the middle of one over a huge bridge spanning valley walls - wheres the Col des Aravis a couple of days earlier had been a meagre thread of a road working its way through the mountains, the Simplon pass bulldozed its way across valleys and over bridges. The road was frequented by struggling lorries that inched there way past us in clouds of diesel smoke.
Legs span, bikes creaked and inches passed. We slowly made our way upwards with sweat running down our faces and a steady pounding in our chests. As we climbed higher the air temperature dropped and steam rose from our overheating bodies. Concentration was solely on turning the pedals over just one more time, and again, and again.
We rounded another valley head and passed the 18km marker on the road - meaning we were just 3km short of the top. As our eyes followed the black line of the road skirting the mountainside we spotted a cafe that looked suspiciously like a summit-top break and ever-so-slightly, we picked up the pace with a grin. Neither of us dare tempt fate by suggesting that we might finally nearly be there. Andy was the first brave enough to venture that we might be within sight of the top and we sped up towards the top with face-wide grins! The road snaked through tunnels in the upper reaches, with torrents of meltwater gushing over the roofs so that it felt like riding behind a waterfall.
We made it! Dropping the bike with a cheer we stretched our aching backs and reflected on a hard mornings toil. At the top of the Simplon pass is a military base, presumably to keep the Italians on the right side of the pass. Army jeeps bounced past and an eagle statue perched above the road keeping a close eye on the border. Looking downhill from the top we anticipated the descent and the next stage of our journey... into Italy. First though, some food! With shaking hands we pushed open the door of the cafe and stepped into another time. An old wooden bar stood in front of us behind which an old woman in a floral dressed sat polishing glasses. Her one customer sat by the bar wearing a contemplative look and billowing clouds of pipe smoke. Around the bar, years of military memorabilia decorated the walls and hinted at raucous nights enjoyed here by generations of bored soldiers. We collapsed by a window (the air was thinner there!) and with a little trouble, ordered toasties. Two other cyclists poked their heads around the door and decided against joining us. We wondered whether this was due to our smell or what sat in front of us on our plates. Over lunch we studied the map and contemplated our afternoon of cycling whilst gazing out at the now grey and miserable looking sky.
Refuelled, we wrapped up and wheeled off on the bikes. We rounded the first swooping corner to stumble across a modern looking cafe with several bikes lined up outside. In the window, with a triumphant look on their faces, were the two who had looked in at us in our cafe. Sat in front of them were tasty looking pizzas.
The gradient steadily increased and we whizzed past a neat army parade ground, looking completely out of place, and past snow capped peaks. Icy cold air rushed past our bodies as we sped through tunnels at getting on for 50mph. Our bodies shook and we clung to the handlebars with blue fingers. We raced past struggling trucks with steaming brakes. Grey and white icy mountains reached towards a grey sky.
Twenty minutes of quick milage raced by and we started to see greenary again and dropped out of the cloud. We entered the top end of a beautiful gorge alongside a rushing steam of clear, icy water. On all sections of the cliffs that were not vertical, trees with young green leaves clung, their leaves glittering in the sun that was now beaming down. The Simplonstrausse was one of the unexpected treats of the trip. Mile after mile we raced between tall sandstone cliffs to the echoing sound of the torrent of water alongside us. The road swooped with fast curves and tight bends and we rocketed through tunnels, the sunlight flashing like a strobe light as we passed the open support pillars.
As we neared the bottom of the gorge, traffic ahead of us began to build up. We cycled past a good half mile of stationary trucks before finally being waved past by a policeman and on to the Italian border. Stopping only for some quick photos, we rode through the gateway to Italy and into out third country of the tour. The gorge widened out and became a plain and we soon needed to stop to pile on the suncream; a stark contrast to an hour earlier when we had been frozen on the upper stages of the col. As we stood near the lower end of the climb, we looked back up at the mountains around us, shrouded in cloud high above us. The Alps had been everything we had hoped for - amazing scenery, long winding climbs and breath-taking descents. We would definitely be back. Now though, more new places lay ahead of us. A wide plain sat in the bottom of a very wide valley, along which our road headed out into the shimmering heat haze. Out of sight, at the end of the valley, were the Italian Lakes, our next stop.
An afternoon of slogging along a long flat road was rewarded when as we approached the end of the valley. Tall, dome shaped mountains surrounded the road, still in excess of 2000 and 3000m although small compared to those earlier in the day. These mountains were completely covered in forest and glittered in the sun and the slight breeze. The afternoon had developed into a perfect summers day and sleepy dogs lay basking in the warm sun. We meandered along tree lined roads and along the shore of Lake Maggiore into the lakeside holiday town of Verbania. Relaxed and mellowed after a long days riding we enjoyed fantastic italian icecream whilst the sun warmed out tired limbs; no it felt like we were on holiday! Checking the map earlier we had decided on a ferry crossing of the lake and after licking the melted ice cream from our fingers we rolled around to the ferry terminal and rode up the ramp. As the old ro-ro ferry chugged its way across the lake we looked on in wonder at the stunning scenery and enjoyed the warm evening air rushing past. I took in the view with a great feeling of contentment as I thought of three unforgettable days through great landscapes.
We wearily pushed the bikes off the ferry and set about looking for somewhere to stay for the night in the small picturesque town of Laveno. A fair amount of unsuccessful wnadering was topped when Andy unceremoniously fell off his stationary bike in front a gang of Italian teenagers who disappeared hooting with laughter. We were knackered! Finally, having ended up back on the lake shore, we asked an old couple if they knew of a hotel nearby. They gave us directions to the only place in town and set about asking about our trip: "Mom-a-mia!" he exclaimed when we told him we were heading to Venice, looking remarkably similar to Mario from Nintendo's Mario brothers games. We're definitely in Italy now, we thought!
After a mountain of pasta, pizza and garlic bread we sat by the lake as the sun set, silohuetting the mountains, and sparkled on the water.