Reluctant driver David Whitley gets to grips with a quad bike in Oulx, northern Italy.
Italians and their cars
It is fair to say that the only thing that the Italians love more than their football and their fashion is their cars. Italy is the home of Ferrari and Lamborghini, a major Grand Prix fan base and the sort of place where walking or favouring public transport is an alien concept.
However, for a nation of car-lovers, the reputation of Italian drivers is not too far removed from that of pony tail-sporting real estate agents. And, while this may be a nasty, scurrilous stereotype, it doesn’t exactly inspire confidence when you’re plonked in charge of a vehicle for the first time in five years and given unnervingly brief instruction.
Quad biking instructions
“This is, how do you say? Acceleratissimo? And you brake with this. You see? Ah, it is hard to explain in English.”
I am perched atop a quad bike, and Luca seems unperturbed at my lack of driving experience. “You have a driving licence, yes?”
Well, yes; an underutilised one that almost certainly doesn’t cover the contraption underneath me, but who cares when the setting is this stunning?
The Milky Way
We’re in the Italian Alps, at the start of what is known as The Milky Way, largely for the luscious snowscapes. The first snows of the year arrived last night, and looming, craggy mountains have a beautiful white coating. Meanwhile, the pavements have a lining of glistening fluff, and peering down into the valley you can see rooftops, churches and cars dressed up as if in a Christmas card.
The snow is no good – yet – for the skiing industry which is the big earner in the area, but it’s fabulous to drive through it on a crisp morning with the wind whistling around your bright red ears.
Quad biking outfit
Before embarking on a little off-road adventure through the woods, we’re handed a flimsy, ridiculous-looking white jump suit. It’s made of the sort of fabric that you put in washing machines in order to add a nice fresh smell to the washload, and quite how it can have any protective qualities is beyond the comprehension of the group.
“You must trust – it is good,” says Luca, who perhaps gets a sinister kick out of making innocent tourists look utterly nonsensical.
Given that everyone is way to cowardly to take the reins, I’m volunteered by default when the rest of the group takes a step back. Carol, at least, I shall wreak my dastardly revenge upon. She’s going to be my passenger, and is in for a rather bumpy ride.
Riding through the streets of Oulx
Following the briefest of demonstration whizzes round the block, it’s time to hare through the mean streets of Oulx at a life-threatening 15km/h. It sounds pathetic, but to the uninitiated it’s seems far faster.
The scene belongs in a knockabout family comedy. Silly costumes, silly bikes and bemused locals all double-taking as we go past. Pootling through a building site, the labourers all down tools in order to wolf-whistle and grab their chests in a highly unsubtle manner. Before long, someone’s trousers are absolutely guaranteed to fall down in front of the vicar.
Predictably enough, the chaos continues as the lead two bikes go one way, and the trailing pack branch off in another direction. By the time the rogue elements have been chased down, there is pure chaos in the middle of the road.
One of the bikes has stalled, with the hapless driver not having a clue to restart it. Luca’s bike is parked in front of a driveway while he attends to the stricken vehicle, and stream of beeping cars are lining up behind the angry old chap who just wants to get into the blocked off entrance. Benny Hill would be nodding in approval.
Mud tracks in winter
Once everyone is corralled together again, it’s time to head out of the town and up a small mud track. This is what it’s really about; exploring a magical winter wonderland rather than annoying the locals.
The track heads into the woodland, full of bare trees sprinkled with icing sugar, and this is where these beasts really mean business. The ground is sticky, uneven and absolutely riddled with potholes, and the quads just bounce over everything thrown in their way.
It’s all quite exhilarating, especially when an opening appears, and it’s four bikes abreast battling for supremacy. Talk of racing lines and outrageous overtaking manoeuvres emerges, albeit only from the boys. Strange, that.
With the engines being revved so that the quads hurtle along at almost 30km/h, it’s quite clear what the daft costumes are for. It’s not for warmth, as we’re already about seven layers to the good, and they’re useless if you fall.
Avoiding the mud
No, it’s quite simple. Where you have snow, you have its melted by-product, and when that water is lying around in muddy potholes, things are going to get mucky. The sensible option would be to slow down, go round and avoid a heavy dousing, but there’s something incredibly satisfying about ploughing through with a grin on your face and a trail of destruction behind you.
As the trail climbs steadily upwards, dead ends negotiated via precision nineteen-point turns, it becomes clear that we’ve arrived at just the right time. The area is largely empty, the skiers unlikely to arrive for another month or so, and when we stop for breath it feels as though we have the whole mountain range to ourselves.
Pristine virgin snow, isolated peaks, and a valley beneath that is yet to wake up. And if that’s not worth a driving crash course and a splash or two of mud, nothing is.
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