Magical Moments

Sunrise at an altitude of 2,800 metres – experiencing the beginning of a new day on the Stelvio is always unique. And it remains unique, even if you experience it together. This time I was accompanied by Julia from www.maedchenmotorrad.de – she has captured the magic of this morning trip on her blog, too.

6:30. With the lid of your thermos in your hand, you are sitting in the cold gravel at 2,800 metres above sea level. The scent of coffee paints a small cloud in front of your face, your glasses fog up, you are speechless, stagnate at the sunrise.

Not far from you, the crackling of hot engines breaks the silence of the early morning one last time before the cold wind defeats the metal. The stone on which you placed the side stand of your motorcycle crunches and squeezes lightly into the softened ground.

Less than an hour ago, your Ducati pushed the darkness out of one of the many hairpin bends, broke the silence of the mountain with the rattle of its dry clutch and the pounding out of the two exhaust pipes. Humpbacks cast sharp contrasts over the old asphalt in the light of the headlight, sand and oil traces hiding under pale stains. In the many sloping positions you fought with your track knowledge against the dull contours of the unlit road.

Your warm breath in the cold helmet forced you to drive with your visor open. Now your eyes are burning salty, your nose is running, not very flattering. Your legs are stretched out on the sloping rock, recovering from being folded up on your sports bike. Small stones fall, detached from your boots, into the depth.

In the distance, mountain ridges and clouds give a colour concert with the dark sky and the rising sun. The red glow that you could admire up here during the ride turns into a bright, yellow glow, the pink of the clouds, which you can only see now, into a shining white. The boundary stones opposite the road swap their grey for a warm orange, casting shorter shadows every minute.

Thousands of meters below you, in the valley, there is nothing to recognize from this game – dense cloud fields block the view upwards. Like blown cotton wool they waft through the Trafoi valley, small shreds detach from the big whole and reunite with it again.

The view into the sun is to be endured only by the camera display. Their powerful rays throw themselves into the valley at your feet, awaken the green of the slopes, lighten the grey of the rocks, intensify the yellow of the glacier buttercup blossoms.

Alpine jackdaws settle down on the illuminated rocks and begin their loud concert. Shining planes draw their lines over you, the first gondola of the chair lift moves up to the glacier.

A last sip of coffee, a last photo of the shining ice flank on the mighty Ortler, a last selfie, then you start the cooled Ducati, keep her alive in the thin air with short gas bursts, drive over sharp stones and colorless meltwater, before you leave your lonely, quiet Stelvio under the whistles of the first marmots again to the hustle and bustle of a new day.