At some point, you realise that the day is coming to an end. That soon there will be the final bend, the final straight, the last time you will be able to look in the rear-view mirror and see a group of cars following you along a mountain road. The Tour delle Alpi is a rollercoaster of a day, but also a moment of introspection, when you often find yourself wondering when you will ever experience emotions like these again.

Words Alessandro Marrone / Photos Alessio Bergadano

The relentless passing of days on the calendar has finally swept away the absurd heat of a summer that truly put our ability to stay away from air conditioning for more than a few minutes to the test. Heading for the mountains in mid-September is always a good idea. We are at the end of the season, the days are beginning to shorten and the sun, now lower on the horizon, brings back to the air that freshness we have forgotten for months. Even our perception of time changes. You know that time of year which for many means holidays, slowing down, days without schedules, is now slipping towards its conclusion. And yet it is still too early to put away the short sleeves and wait for the first snow to fall. September has always held a special meaning for us. It is the final alpine tour of the season.

Every time you tell yourself you will not wait for anything else. That by now you are used to it. Then weeks become days, days become hours, and that Sunday that seemed so far away is suddenly right there in front of you. The tension comes back, as punctual as ever. You tell yourself – or rather, I tell myself – that by now I should be used to it. After all, it is a celebration, a moment of sharing among enthusiasts, a day to experience together. And yet, nothing. Your legs feel light, your mind races faster than expected and you may even spend the night wide awake, staring at the ceiling of whichever hotel you happen to be staying in.

The alarm comes early. Always too early, especially in these circumstances. Everything is already methodically prepared. All that is left is to wait for the sky to begin to brighten, for the sun to peek out from behind the mountains and for the first crews to arrive, the ones who will soon warm the asphalt of another edition of the Tour delle Alpi. An appointment that takes place every three years and that this time reaches its third finish line. The length of the route and the extensive renovation works affecting some of the passes we will cross force us to limit the number of participants. It is one of the few decisions we would never want to have to make: saying no to those who would like to be there. We nevertheless added more than a dozen places beyond the number initially planned, but requests continue to come in.

Meanwhile, the clock keeps moving. The car park at Bar da Giò in Chianale begins to fill up. It is time to start playing Tetris, except that instead of coloured blocks there are sports cars, grand tourers and supercars. A second parking area, just a short distance from the venue, becomes essential. Then the sun arrives. It slowly climbs above our heads and lights up an almost pastel-blue sky. As people step out of their cars, we recognise familiar faces and discover new ones. And right here, before we have even set off, one thing becomes clear once again: Auto Class Magazine events are not simply an excuse for a day trip. They are an excuse to live your passion to the fullest.

The line-up tells a piece of automotive history: traditional sports cars, grand tourers, supercars and pocket rockets that, for those of us with a few grey hair on their head, once covered the walls of our bedrooms. Different cars, different eras, different philosophies. One common denominator. The desire to turn the key, press a button, hear the engine come to life and set off towards something you have yet to discover. An adventure that, somehow, you already know will eventually occupy a special place in your memory.

Right on time, as almost never happens, we leave Chianale. The first kilometers take us towards the exhilarating climb of the Colle dell’Agnello. Our strategic timing works in our favour: oncoming traffic is still limited and the crews can stop independently along the panoramic viewpoints that accompany us across the border, from Italy into France, at 2,748 meters. The convoy stretches out, becoming more fragmented. And that is exactly what we wanted. Everyone can find their own pace, the one that allows them to enjoy the road without turning a day in the mountains into a race against the clock. The roadbooks do the rest, alongside the new digital maps, especially valuable for those travelling without a co-driver.

The road continues. After Arvieux and La Chalp, we begin to climb towards the Col d’Izoard. Then, almost without warning, something happens. It feels as though we are passing through a portal. The vegetation disappears and with it the feeling that we are still within the alpine landscape we have just left behind. A different, almost alien world opens up before us: jagged rocks, bare mountains, stones that seem to rise directly from the earth. It feels like being on Mars. All while the sky continues to give us conditions we would never have dared ask for.

We cross the Casse Déserte, reach the summit and take a break at the Refuge Napoléon. But the road is already calling. The longest transfer of the day awaits us – and also the fastest: the one towards the Col de Vars. Perfect asphalt and an avalanche of horsepower provide the ingredients for a frenetic climb and a descent that takes us all the way to Jausiers, where we arrive right on schedule. Then the climb begins again. The Col de Restefond welcomes us with vegetation that changes meter by meter. At first, everything is green. Then the first shades of orange appear. Finally, the trees almost cormpletely disappear and the mountain once again becomes bare, severe. Ahead of us lies the Cime de la Bonette. And its monolith. The paved road reaches 2,802 meters here, the highest point of our itinerary and one of the landmark locations in this corner of the Alps. There are plenty of tourists, but we still manage to line up the cars along the loop built specifically to reach the record and take the inevitable photographs touching the stone that celebrates it.

We should stop. Our stomachs are rumbling and lunch has by now become a rather tangible thought. And yet the truth is that we still do not want to stop driving. It is as if the mountain has taken hold of us. As if every corner had made the next one even more necessary. As if every pass had ignited the desire to discover whether, behind the next one, there would be a road capable of doing even better.

We set off again. We descend towards Isola, then turn for Isola 2000 and once again begin to gain altitude. The road is fast, traffic is virtually non-existent and the weather, even when we reach the Colle della Lombarda, continues to be incredibly kind to us. Once again, the mountain changes its face. A landscape opens up before us that seems to belong to another planet: small ponds of water wedged between piles of rock, imposing walls and a mountain range that seems to close in around the road. Then you look at the roadbook. There are 45, perhaps 50 kilometers left. It is a small number. Too small. Because at that moment you realise that the day is coming to an end. That soon there will be the final bend, the final straight, the last time you will be able to look in the rear-view mirror and see a group of cars following you along a mountain road.

The satisfaction of what we have just experienced gives way, almost without asking permission, to a subtle melancholy. It is the inevitable part of every journey. That question that arrives when everything is about to end: when will we be able to do it again? The engine starts once again. The last time for this Tour. And the descent towards Vinadio begins. This time everything is slower. And not only because the Italian side is narrower than the French one, but because slowing down is the only way we have to postpone the end of this day. Every turn takes on an even greater meaning, every hairpin becomes a chapter in a story that can never simply be lost among so many others. Our eyes continue to chase the landscape.

I was there only a few weeks ago, and yet I cannot help but find myself open-mouthed once again. The window is down. Air flows into the cabin and the exhaust of the Stelvio Quadrifoglio provided by the Alfa Romeo team, after proving itself a lethal weapon for devouring the 268 kilometers of the Tour delle Alpi, now seems almost willing to quietly accompany the final meters of the day.

Now I am more focused on what the five senses cannot perceive. I am talking about that feeling of emptiness that appears at the end of a journey. That lump in your throat that makes your lips tremble as you search for the words for a farewell that, deep down, you would rather not have to say. The stress that seemed unbearable only a few hours earlier disappears in a fraction of a second. In its place remains gratitude. That difficult-to-explain awareness that days like this should never have an ending. Only a finish line. A finish line from which to resume the journey along the endless, indefinable road of our love for cars, roads and adventure.