A new book describes some of Europe's lesser known but more beautiful climbs. What's your favourite bike ascent?
• In pictures: Europe's lesser-known cycle climbs
Last year I tried out proper downhill mountain biking for the first time, on a trip to the Alps. It was great fun and I learned a lot – but there was something missing. That something was, of course, climbing.
It might mark me out as a self-punishing ascetic, but to me riding up a hill – better still a mountain – is cycling in its purest, most thrilling form. It's not just you against wind resistance, it's you against gravity. Human-powered transport at its most elemental.
Every cyclist has their own technique for tackling the high stuff. Some grit their teeth, switch into the big ring and grind their way up, treating the altitude as an opponent to be pummelled into submission. I'm more of a spinner: I go early to a low gear and try to set a steady rhythm.
That's why I'm (almost) entirely unashamed to have a triple chainset on my road bike. It's also why I prefer my climbs long and steady. I'm not a particularly quick climber, but give me a long enough ascent and I'll often find myself reeling in some of the higher-geared hares.
I've been thinking about climbing after I was sent a copy of a very glossy, brick-weight coffee table book about lesser-known climbs around Europe, called Mountain Higher (see our gallery of photos from the book here). As the title suggests, it's a follow-up to an earlier title, Mountain High, which focused on the more celebrated ascents.
I've not, to my knowledge, ridden up any of the beasts featured in the book. Nonetheless, below are three of my more memorable climbs. Let's hear yours.
*• Hardknott Pass, Cumbia*
Familiar, and recalled with a shiver, by the many cyclists who've tackled it, like me, as part of the Fred Whitton Challenge sportive. A twisty, narrow route along an old Roman road, it rises only about 300m but does so with sufficient urgency to vie for the title of England's steepest public road, reaching about 33%. For those tacking it as part of the FWC, it comes at about the 100-mile point, meaning that on both occasions I was forced to push my bike up the steepest section. My shame in doing so would be marginally greater were it not for the fact that the climb is so sheer that even hobbling up it in race shoes I overtook several people inching up on their bikes.
If Hardknott wasn't enough, the FWC takes riders immediately down the almost equally steep Wrynose Pass, also narrow and slippery but also mainly bounded by dry-stone walls. My fingers had almost fused to the brake levers at the bottom.
*• Gampa La pass, Tibet*
OK, this is a bit of a flash one, but it remains, by some distance, the most memorable climb of my life. Amid a longer trip through Asia with my girlfriend of the time we cycled the 500 miles or so along the Friendship Highway from Lhasa to Kathmandu. This was a fair number of years ago, when large sections of the road were still gravel, and it was possible to ride most of a day without seeing any other traffic, or even humans.
While the road has four passes over 5,000m, sufficient altitude to make us need regular gasp-for-breath stops near the peaks, Gampa La is a mere 4,800m, and thus only about 1,400m above Lhasa. But it's the first major pass on the route and thus, by some distance, by far the highest point on Earth I'd ever been at that point. As a wheezy asthmatic I spent the entire climb convinced I'd succumb to altitude sickness.
The ascent is long and gradual, and you can never tell if the next hairpin will bring the peak, or just a view of a further few miles of snaking ascent. After several hours of false summits we were exhausted, covered in dust and starting to wonder where we'd spend the night (even in June the temperature drops swiftly after dark).
And suddenly – there it was, the top of the pass marked with piles of rocks and long strings of sun-weathered prayer flags flapping in the breeze. Below, 400m lower in the valley floor and absurdly turquoise in the afternoon sun, was Yamdrok Yumtso, a 45-mile-long freshwater lake edged by snow-capped Himalayan mountains. It's still possibly the most beautiful sight I've ever witnessed.
*• College Road, south London*
An almost comic contrast, but proof that the joy of hills can take many forms. Just under a mile, this rises a patry 55m or so from the enforced-twee millionaire's rest home of Dulwich Village in south London past some cul de sacs of lovely (and equally posh) 70s housing to the fringes of Crystal Palace.
It's just about long and steep enough to make an out-of-the-saddle sprint to the top both obligatory and, always, slightly tougher than you expect. There's invariably another cyclist just ahead against whom you can pit yourself. Not unsurprisingly, it's a popular segment on cyclists' metaphorical willy-waving app Strava.
I've ridden up it many dozens of times, including during a brief and unhappy period commuting to and from a more distant suburb. Now I mainly climb it with friends en route to a Sunday ride into the steeper hills of Kent – and every time it's always very slightly harder than I expect. Reported by guardian.co.uk 3 hours ago.
• In pictures: Europe's lesser-known cycle climbs
Last year I tried out proper downhill mountain biking for the first time, on a trip to the Alps. It was great fun and I learned a lot – but there was something missing. That something was, of course, climbing.
It might mark me out as a self-punishing ascetic, but to me riding up a hill – better still a mountain – is cycling in its purest, most thrilling form. It's not just you against wind resistance, it's you against gravity. Human-powered transport at its most elemental.
Every cyclist has their own technique for tackling the high stuff. Some grit their teeth, switch into the big ring and grind their way up, treating the altitude as an opponent to be pummelled into submission. I'm more of a spinner: I go early to a low gear and try to set a steady rhythm.
That's why I'm (almost) entirely unashamed to have a triple chainset on my road bike. It's also why I prefer my climbs long and steady. I'm not a particularly quick climber, but give me a long enough ascent and I'll often find myself reeling in some of the higher-geared hares.
I've been thinking about climbing after I was sent a copy of a very glossy, brick-weight coffee table book about lesser-known climbs around Europe, called Mountain Higher (see our gallery of photos from the book here). As the title suggests, it's a follow-up to an earlier title, Mountain High, which focused on the more celebrated ascents.
I've not, to my knowledge, ridden up any of the beasts featured in the book. Nonetheless, below are three of my more memorable climbs. Let's hear yours.
*• Hardknott Pass, Cumbia*
Familiar, and recalled with a shiver, by the many cyclists who've tackled it, like me, as part of the Fred Whitton Challenge sportive. A twisty, narrow route along an old Roman road, it rises only about 300m but does so with sufficient urgency to vie for the title of England's steepest public road, reaching about 33%. For those tacking it as part of the FWC, it comes at about the 100-mile point, meaning that on both occasions I was forced to push my bike up the steepest section. My shame in doing so would be marginally greater were it not for the fact that the climb is so sheer that even hobbling up it in race shoes I overtook several people inching up on their bikes.
If Hardknott wasn't enough, the FWC takes riders immediately down the almost equally steep Wrynose Pass, also narrow and slippery but also mainly bounded by dry-stone walls. My fingers had almost fused to the brake levers at the bottom.
*• Gampa La pass, Tibet*
OK, this is a bit of a flash one, but it remains, by some distance, the most memorable climb of my life. Amid a longer trip through Asia with my girlfriend of the time we cycled the 500 miles or so along the Friendship Highway from Lhasa to Kathmandu. This was a fair number of years ago, when large sections of the road were still gravel, and it was possible to ride most of a day without seeing any other traffic, or even humans.
While the road has four passes over 5,000m, sufficient altitude to make us need regular gasp-for-breath stops near the peaks, Gampa La is a mere 4,800m, and thus only about 1,400m above Lhasa. But it's the first major pass on the route and thus, by some distance, by far the highest point on Earth I'd ever been at that point. As a wheezy asthmatic I spent the entire climb convinced I'd succumb to altitude sickness.
The ascent is long and gradual, and you can never tell if the next hairpin will bring the peak, or just a view of a further few miles of snaking ascent. After several hours of false summits we were exhausted, covered in dust and starting to wonder where we'd spend the night (even in June the temperature drops swiftly after dark).
And suddenly – there it was, the top of the pass marked with piles of rocks and long strings of sun-weathered prayer flags flapping in the breeze. Below, 400m lower in the valley floor and absurdly turquoise in the afternoon sun, was Yamdrok Yumtso, a 45-mile-long freshwater lake edged by snow-capped Himalayan mountains. It's still possibly the most beautiful sight I've ever witnessed.
*• College Road, south London*
An almost comic contrast, but proof that the joy of hills can take many forms. Just under a mile, this rises a patry 55m or so from the enforced-twee millionaire's rest home of Dulwich Village in south London past some cul de sacs of lovely (and equally posh) 70s housing to the fringes of Crystal Palace.
It's just about long and steep enough to make an out-of-the-saddle sprint to the top both obligatory and, always, slightly tougher than you expect. There's invariably another cyclist just ahead against whom you can pit yourself. Not unsurprisingly, it's a popular segment on cyclists' metaphorical willy-waving app Strava.
I've ridden up it many dozens of times, including during a brief and unhappy period commuting to and from a more distant suburb. Now I mainly climb it with friends en route to a Sunday ride into the steeper hills of Kent – and every time it's always very slightly harder than I expect. Reported by guardian.co.uk 3 hours ago.