My first sunrise in the Alps

Like all good things, it happened by accident. There had been no planning, no alarm set for an oh-my-Lord-o-clock start and no intention of driving into the mountains as the sun peered over the horizon. Instead, my first and most memorable sunrise drive in the Alps happened entirely by accident.

It was one March, just before I was due to travel to stay with friends, ahead of the Geneva motor show. The magazine I worked with at the time, Top Gear, was closing for press, and as usual the production process slipped like a penguin on an icy slope.

I’d hoped to walk out of the door at about lunchtime, fire up my first generation Ford Focus RS and duck and dodge through London traffic, man and machine jettisoning onto the motorway well ahead of the rush hour. From there, it would be a short drive to the Channel Tunnel, followed by a sensible run to Morzine. Heck, there’d even be time for a spot of dinner along the way.

Of course, we all know how these things play out. After a series of ‘Could you just…’ requests from colleagues, I emerged from the office at about 8pm, thrashed my way down to the shuttle and closed my eyes briefly for the 30 minute rumble beneath the English Channel.

There then followed a fairly committed blat and some cheeky speeds, punctuated by frequent stops for super unleaded, until, at around five in the morning, I rolled past Geneva, peeled of the A40 and set to tackling the D902 to Morzine.

As it climbed, the road became much more interesting. The Focus RS’s limited-slip differential was kept busy and the turbocharger was probably glowing white hot somewhere in the depths of the engine bay. By the time Morzine loomed into sight, the sun was starting to rise, adrenalin was coarsing and, frankly, breakfast at my pal’s could wait. So I sauntered through town and headed for higher ground; Avoriaz.

This being France, the road was magically kept clear of snow. The light of the headlamps bounced off the dirty snow banks. The Brembo brakes never flinched. And every now and then the road would change direction, giving more spellbinding views of the sun breathing life into the Alps.

At Avoriaz, coffee and croissant called. But I reasoned I could turn around and continue to have fun while everyone else slept. So I did. For someone who’d missed a night’s sleep, I’d never felt so alive.

That’s the thing about a roadtrip. You never know what’s down the road, so to speak. Going with the flow and letting your impulses feed the inner sense of adventure we all have deep down is something special. If you haven’t had the pleasure of driving a great stretch of road as the sun rises over the land, find an excuse and see where the road takes you.

Words James Mills Twitter | Instagram
Photography Stephen Bedase / Unsplash