This article was first published in Rouleur Issue 142 and was produced in collaboration with Langhe Monferrato Roero Tourist Board and Atl del Cuneese
A rural saying goes: “You don’t grow old at the table.” Not because time stops passing, but because its pace slows down. In the past, meals marked a necessary break from work in the fields; today, they remain – at least in part – a moment that resists the rush of everyday life. I find similarities with cycling: on a bike, there is more time to observe, to reflect at a calmer pace, to move through the landscape, which then reappears at the table, through the products of the land. I’m in the Cuneo area, starting from Alba, between the Tanaro River and the Langhe, among hills where celebrated wines are born. Four routes await me: for the last two I’ll move to Saluzzo, and on the final one I’ll ride toward Mount Monviso, climbing to the source of the Po, Italy’s longest river. At the outset, I’ll explore part of Langhe Monferrato Roero, a group of hilly territories in southern Piedmont recognised as a UNESCO World Heritage Site for their cultural landscape shaped by centuries of winemaking tradition. I’ll explore the area around Alba and the province of Cuneo, for centuries a crossroads of exchange between Italy and France, marked by the circulation of agricultural goods, the salt trade, and the passage of pilgrims and shepherds.
The first route is called Le Colline del Conte di Cavour and starts and finishes in Grinzane Cavour. In front of me, rows of vines fill the horizon, shaping orderly, hard-worked hills where the Nebbiolo grape is grown, giving rise to some of the world’s most renowned wines, including Barolo and Barbaresco. Along the way, I pass small groups of cycle tourists: we greet each other with a smile, a wave of the hand. I ride along roads that follow the gentle contours of the hills and, once I reach the top, the horizon keeps shifting. The landscape is never monotonous: the green is broken up by farmhouses, hilltop villages, towers and bell towers. When I reach Monforte d’Alba, I make my way into the medieval village, a maze of narrow, cobbled streets that climb toward the main square. Here, a natural amphitheatre opens up – the auditorium dedicated to pianist Artur Horszowski and inaugurated in 1976 – which at certain times of year becomes an open air venue for concerts and cultural events. This year marks the 50th edition of Monfort in Jazz. Broad, grass-covered steps follow the slope of the land, softening the clicking of my cycling shoes as I walk back toward where I left my bike, my gaze drifting past a small yellow church and on to the houses beyond, which seem to tell the story of the patient labour of generations of farmers. The most demanding section comes as I take the turn that marks the transition from the Lower to the Upper Langa. Vineyards give way to a less human-shaped landscape, dominated by forests and hazelnut groves, as the road climbs beyond 600 metres in elevation. I arrive in Bossolasco, known as the village of painters after a collective of artists who stayed here in the 1930s, painting and working in the area. Bossolasco is also nicknamed the Village of Roses, thanks to the houses in the historic centre decorated with climbing rose bushes that, when in bloom between spring and summer, bring colour to the façades. The arrival is theatrical: the main street is paved, and I ride alongside an exposed stone wall with unframed paintings hanging from it. It feels like stepping into an open air museum, where nature and human creativity coexist in balance. I complete the loop back in Grinzane Cavour, unclipping in the square below the castle associated with Camillo Benso di Cavour, one of the key figures of the Italian Risorgimento. More than a residence, Grinzane was for Cavour a place of work and experimentation, where he developed a modern vision of Italy, intertwined with an innovative approach to agriculture. Here, he initiated productive experiments such as fermentation in sealed vats and the controlled use of sulphur for wine preservation.
Today’s route, titled The Importance of Being DOCG, centres on the Barbaresco Langa, a wine-growing area to the north-east of Alba that includes four municipalities and covers around 650 hectares. The route unfolds through the Lower Langa and starts and finishes in Neive. As soon as I arrive, I notice the cobblestones replacing the asphalt, and a handwritten chalkboard outside the tourist office invites visitors to climb up to the Clock Tower and step into the Casa della Donna Selvatica, the museum dedicated to Romano Levi, grappa producer and artist. The story of the distillery grows out of that of itinerant grappa makers: his father, Serafino, would arrive in Neive every winter, eventually founding a distillery here in 1925 – still operating today in Neive Borgo Nuovo and using direct fire, without any technological assistance. Romano Levi took over at a very young age and became known not only for his grappa, but also for his labels, each one individually handwritten and illustrated. Inside the museum, vintage photographs and bottles displayed in glass cabinets reveal how every label is a unique work. But who was the Donna Selvatica portrayed on them? Levi used to recount that as a child he walked to school every day along a road that cut through vineyard-covered hills dotted with ciabòt, small agricultural huts. From these shelters, dishevelled female figures would sometimes appear, filling him with fear. They were farm women, whom he called servaie – a term from the Piedmontese dialect used to describe women with a wild appearance, bound to a harsh and isolated rural life. In his labels, Levi transformed those presences into iconic figures, adding flowers to their hair and a touch of lipstick, restoring dignity and humanity to a rural world shaped by toil. After climbing the clock tower and looking down as the roads trace lines across the hills, I get back on the bike. The roads echo with the voices of cycle tourists I meet along the way. I exchange a few words with a group of Swiss riders, stopped like me at a viewpoint to take photos on their phones, and the conversation inevitably turns to food and wine. Between one chat and another, a cheese they tasted the day before comes up: Toma di Bossolasco, delicately flavoured and served with honey or cugnà, a traditional sauce made from grape must, pears and dried fruit.
When I reach the municipality of Treiso, the scenery changes abruptly. I find myself at the Rocche dei Sette Fratelli, a vast chasm carved by water erosion into marly clay-and-limestone soil, formed when the area was once submerged by the sea. The steep walls look as though they have been cut by a blade. Legend has it that seven brothers were swallowed by the earth here as divine punishment. I take the time to stop at a winery in Treiso and taste a glass of Barbaresco DOCG, the Italian designation that protects the wine’s origin and quality. The flavour is full and lingering, with notes of rose and red fruit. The wine gives shape and scent to the landscapes I’ve just ridden through, turning them into taste and memory. It’s time to put something in my stomach, so I stop in Mango. A steep climb takes me from smooth asphalt to cobblestones, up to the medieval castle that dominates the village from above. Just below, a public garden offers benches to sit on and a terrace from which to relax and take in the view; here I eat the meal I brought with me. I notice a sign that reads ‘time is art’, recalling that the village has created routes dedicated to time, starting with sundials and solar clocks – some deliberately incomplete or placed in shaded areas – to suggest that time does not flow in the same way for everyone, but is perceived differently depending on age and circumstance. I’m tempted to add that, in the saddle, time ceases to be a measurement and becomes a sensation, marked by breathing and pace.
There is a particular quality of light in Saluzzo, perhaps because the town lies at the foot of the mountains – a natural crown that filters the sun and shifts its colours throughout the day. To reach the upper town, I follow a road that forks into a narrow, cobbled passage leading into the pedestrian historic centre. Arcaded porticoes, elegant residences, sloping alleyways and shop signs: everything feels harmonious in this small city, which for centuries was the capital of a powerful marquisate, in close contact with the great European courts. Saluzzo is the starting point of a route that will bring me back here after several hours in the saddle, factoring in the breaks I’ll take to wander through the main streets of the towns I pass through. The first is Cuneo, built on a plateau between the Alpine rivers Gesso and Stura. Along their riverbeds, the city opens into a wide green corridor, easily explored by bike within the Gesso and Stura River Park. I begin my ride at the tourist office, which has something unusual about it: it’s not common to find a bike room inside an info point, let alone one so well equipped. Here, bikes are available for hire, alongside a workshop for basic maintenance, accessories, and folded maps with detailed cycling routes and information. Mountain, city and gravel bikes are all available, all with pedal assistance. For those looking for non-electric bikes, Elisa Bertaina of Conitours – also a certified bike guide – explains that there is a rental point at the River Park info point. The tourist office is just a short walk from Piazza Galimberti, the heart of the city, with its historic cafés and access to the pedestrian Via Roma. From here, I reach the panoramic lift that connects the historic centre to the valley floor, making the transition from the urban space to the riverside paths quick and easy. The next stop is Mondovì: one of those places that makes you want to return, to spend more time with its elegant architecture, the Belvedere overlooking the Alps, lingering in cafés and strolling beneath the arcades – or perhaps to watch the balloons take flight during the annual International Hot Air Balloon Festival, held on January 6. Fossano and Savigliano also offer scenes that linger in the memory: in Fossano, the imposing Castello degli Acaja, dating back to the first half of the fourteenth century, whose towers offer sweeping views over the plain and the Alpine arc; in Savigliano, Piazza Santa Rosa, with its 16th century triumphal arch and the monument to Santorre di Santa Rosa. The town is elegant and home to cultural institutions of great interest, such as MÚSES - European Academy of Essences, and the Railway Museum. I continue along the road that leads me back to Saluzzo at an unhurried pace, with tomorrow’s ascent toward Mount Monviso in mind.
Mount Monviso is one of those climbs to tick off at least once in a lifetime: a kind of pyramid rising to 3,841 metres, known in antiquity as ‘the clearly visible mountain’, and one that cyclists can reach up to an altitude of 2,020 metres. There are, so to speak, two destinations: Pian della Regina, home to a restaurant serving traditional dishes such as polenta, and Pian del Re, where the waters of the Po, the longest river in Italy, spring from the ground. I set off for Monviso from Saluzzo, riding for around 30 kilometres to Calcinere, where the real climb begins. Once past the village, the road has initially moderate gradients, which gradually increase after the junction for Oncino, heading toward Crissolo. Here the ascent becomes more demanding: the route winds through forested stretches, there are sections where I rise out of the saddle, and at around 1,500 metres the vegetation thins, opening up to wide views over the Cottian Alps. The final hairpins leading to Pian del Re are the toughest, heightening the sense of achievement felt when I finally put a foot down. The asphalt ends right at the source of the Po – a point of origin that also marks the end of the climb. On the descent I pass cyclists short of breath, and once back at Pian della Regina I stop to exchange a few words with the owner of the inn, founded in 1955 from a small family alpine pasture. In front of me, a line of trees runs alongside the gravel road descending across the meadow, before giving way to the bare rock of the peaks. Vertical rock faces on the horizon frame a war memorial dedicated to those fallen in the two world wars, topped by an eagle with outstretched wings; nearby, a fountain offers fresh water to refill my bottle – clear and cold, like the air that invites you to breathe deeply. A panoramic information board marks the altitude at 1,800 metres and helps orient you among peaks, mountain huts and lakes, if you’re lucky enough to linger a while longer instead of heading straight back home.
