COUNTACH VS THE STELVIO
“YOU DON’T CLICK YOUR FINGERS AND THE PASS IS OPEN.”
The voice is weary, but also full of wonder. “But look at this place, the mountains, the road. It is hard work, but a privilege to have this as my offce.” We’re standing, somewhat incongruously, on an old tennis court halfway up the Stelvio Pass. It’s the biggest bit of level ground I’ve seen in the past two days. The conversation lulls, as it inevitably does in the face of such scenic magnificence, and our eyes are drawn up again. Up and up the bare cliff face and the impossible strand of engineering tacked on to it.
Then down, to linger on an exotic wedge of supercar. The wind has picked up again, the cloud is closing in. The weather changes 20 times a day up here. Earlier, when the rain lashed down and there was no shelter, we took refuge in the Berghotel Franzenshöhe behind us. We were lucky someone was in. A chubby marmot (maybe it’s just the fur rippling) scampers across the rocks just above us, breaking our reverie. “I must get back,” Stephan Bauer, director of the Stelvio Pass, says. “Remember we are doing some resurfacing between 32 and 31.” I tell him that’s fine, we’re mainly going to be working upwards, into the lower numbers. He heads to his Jeep Renegade, I wander over to the wedge.
Lamborghini’s new Countach. I swing the door up, slide down into the tiny blood red cabin and just sit there, looking out, taking in the same view of
