The Julier Pass concert
hall; rumoured to be
where John Farnham
will play his final, final -
final - farewell showAlpine store owner Godfried
Wvss reminisces about cars
tackling the Julier back when men
were men and roads were dirt@wheelsaustralia 67
the front uprights and solidly mounting the rear subframe, yet initially
it feels aloof. In fact, even on Michelin Pilot Alpine winter tyres
(235/40R18), it’s so tied down that it’s almost impervious to the Julier’s
degree of difficulty. There’s no denying its pace, or the tremendous
amount of grip on offer – it corners with almost the same tenacity as the
old A45 – but what’s lacking is that good old intangible: engagement.
Activating ESP Sport and cycling through the driving modes to
Sport+ loosens things up a little, and you do get an intuitive sense of
where the limits are, but the sense is that this is a car that doesn’t really
understeer or oversteer. It just grips and goes. And as commendable as
that is, I finish the first section of the Julier wondering if the A35 might
be a little one-dimensional.
It’s an idea to ponder as photographer Steffen and I tuck into some
steaming soup at the summit, 2284m above sea level. With the pass’s
main restaurant still closed for the winter, our only option is a tiny
wooden store run by 89-year-old Godfried Wvss. With swollen knuckles, a
stooped stance and a wind-beaten face, Godfried appears to be the kind
of bloke who has spent more than his fair share of time exposed to the
elements, yet he’s whipcrack sharp. In his broken English, Godfried tells
us how he ran a ski school from this shack for 27 years – still skis every
day, in fact – and how he has taught countless wealthy Arabs to master
the alpine art, including “the Shah of Persia”.
Godfried points out an ancient Roman column right at the summit
and explains how the Roman army marched through the Julier in
ancient times. Oddly, this seems to still be something of a sore point
with Godfried, and as we part he draws our attention to a section of
the cliff face looming over his shack. It looks identical to the rest of
the surrounding rock, except that its top has buckled slightly under the
weight of the snow. Rock doesn’t buckle like that.
“It’s a bunker,” says Godfried as he points out four other hidden
artillery gun posts. “To stop the Italians coming through again.” I’d
heard rumours that ever-ready Switzerland is littered with secret
weapon strongholds (see sidebar), but to see evidence of the country’s
preparedness for invasion is strangely off-putting.
With the day disappearing we head towards St. Moritz and the
promise of our second mountain pass, nestled some 20km away. Dubbed
the Maloja Pass, it appears from nowhere, a plunging concrete chute
that twists and turns so tightly that it doubles back underneath itself in
sections. It’s an extraordinary piece of engineering, and you can’t help
but admire the time and effort that went into creating this melange
of acute hairpins, bridges and stone walls. It seems purpose built for
driving nirvana, but sadly, it doesn’t quite turn out that way.
We’ve arrived at 5:30pm and commuters clog the Maloja’s hairpins,
yet it’s the buses that are the real issue. The lumbering beasts take up
both lanes as they swing through the many turns and the whole pass
is so choked and clogged that we almost give up. Mercifully, after 30
minutes of waiting, I steal a clean run.
Because the Maloja is so much tighter than the Julier, the trick here
isn’t only how quickly you can apply lock, but how fast you can get it off
again. The A35 acquits itself well. The steering (2.5 turns lock-to-lock)
is quick-witted and accurate and has a tight-enough turning circle to
make it around without needing to swing wide to open up the corners.
Again, the A35’s purchase is immense and its ability to pivot at the apex
and slingshot out the other side is impressive. I find myself getting on
the throttle earlier and earlier, but what I really want it to do is slide
a little. To show some character and to dance around the edges of grip.
Instead, all I get is steadfast surefootedness. It’s enough to have me
wondering what an Alpine A110 or a BMW M2 would be like on this
road. Epic, probably.
With the Maloja behind us we dive briefly into Italy for the
circuitous route back to our final driving challenge of the day – the
Splugen Pass. This is the one I’ve been looking forward to most, and
also the one that Godfried had suggested might be closed. It isn’t,
but despite some truly epic Game of Thrones-esque scenery, the