The Col d’Izoard (2,360 m) is a legendary mountain pass located in the Hautes-Alpes department of France. In the summer, it is fully accessible via a road that connects the historic fortress town of Briançon to the north with the stunning Queyras Valley, which ends to the south in Guillestre. Just below the summit on the southern side lies one of the most photogenic and dramatic areas in the entire Alps: the iconic Casse Déserte.
The legendary Col d’Izoard is a kingdom of weathered rocks and barren moonscapes. In addition to creating a uniquely dramatic backdrop for the Tour de France, its jagged stone monoliths are often featured in historic black-and-white photographs of early French cycling pioneers.
(Please note: the pass is closed due to heavy snow from October to early June).
🟡 Tour de France Showcase
Where Legends Are Carved in Stone
Col d’Izoard (2,360 m) is far more than just another long climb on the Tour de France map. It is a natural amphitheater where the yellow jersey has been won and lost since the 1920s. The climb is world-famous for the Casse Déserte—a desolate scree slope dotted with sharp rock needles that looks like it belongs on Mars.
- Tour de France Appearances: The peloton has tackled this legendary giant 36 times in total (debuting in 1922, with the most recent crossing in 2019).
- The Monument of Immortals: Standing directly in the Casse Déserte is a stone monument featuring bronze plaques of two cycling legends who dominated this pass: Italy’s Fausto Coppi and France’s Louison Bobet.
- The Ultimate Tour Anecdote (Bahamontes’ Ice Cream Break): During the 1954 Tour, the legendary Spanish climber Federico Bahamontes, nicknamed the “Eagle of Toledo,” flew up the Izoard. He built such a massive gap over his rivals that upon reaching the summit, he simply stopped at a local vendor’s cart, bought a scoop of ice cream, and calmly waited for his team car to catch up. He was a notoriously poor descender and wanted company for the high-speed downhill run.
Climbing from the North: The Briançon Route
For our first-ever ascent, we started all the way from Bardonecchia in Italy. By the time we reached the foot of the Izoard in Briançon, our legs had already devoured hundreds of vertical meters over the Col de l’Échelle. We swallowed that first pass like a sweet little raspberry.
The climb up Col d’Izoard from Briançon is long, but overall it is a very steady and comfortable ride. There are no sudden, nasty spikes in the gradient to ruin your rhythm. The road leads you through a beautiful alpine valley dotted with charming French chalets. However, when it comes to raw, untamed nature, this “civilized” northern side doesn’t quite compare to the dramatic wildness of the southern approach.
But everything changes the moment you approach the ridge. It becomes an absolute feast for the eyes.
It was also the source of some hilarious banter. After we descended, we stopped at a local bistro for a massive sandwich. As we sat down at the table, Vilko suddenly froze. He realized he had left his brand-new, expensive Bianchi cycling glasses sitting right on the stone wall at the summit.
“Where are the glasses?”
“Well, they’re up at the top.”
The ensuing brainstorm of excuses and creative finger-pointing about who would ride all the way back up to retrieve them provided plenty of laughter. Fortunately, as Homo Sapiens—rational humans equipped with smartphones—we made a quick call to the slower photographers in our group who were still climbing. The glasses were saved! They were sitting exactly where Vilko had left them—something that probably wouldn’t have happened back home. The cold beer and fresh French baguettes tasted twice as good after that. To finish off the day, we climbed back over the Col de l’Échelle and headed straight for a warm hotel shower.
Climbing South: The Torture of Guillestre, the Witch’s Canyon and Casse Déserte
“I entered this prison innocent, I was tortured innocent, and I must die innocent. For whoever enters the witch’s prison must become a sorcerer, or they will torture him until he invents something in his mind and—God have mercy—remembers something. (…) Now, my dearest child, I present to you all my actions and the confession for which I must die. And they are all pure lies and inventions. So help me God, for I was forced to say all this under threat of further torture…”
The infamous Bamberg witch trials shook the medieval world. And for me, the grueling climb up Col d’Izoard from Guillestre—via the Queyras gorge and the Casse Déserte—delivered its own share of life experiences and physical torture.
The day before our ride, I read up on local history and discovered that Château-Queyras was notorious for its secret Inquisition trials and the brutal torture of suspected witches. It was the local equivalent of Elizabeth Báthory’s castle. My imagination immediately kicked into overdrive as we entered one of the most spectacular road canyons in the world.
I was riding completely alone. To my right was a massive, towering rock wall; to my left, a sheer abyss lined with low stone blocks. Tunnels, narrow bridges, dark overhangs, and not a single living soul in sight. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to find myself trapped here in the Middle Ages. In this deep, claustrophobic gorge, no victim could ever cry loud enough for help.
The Relentless Straight to Arvieux
Up until the turnoff toward Casse Déserte, it was all about enjoying the jaw-dropping views and letting my imagination run wild. Even climbing through the village of Arvieux went smoothly. But right after the village, the harsh reality set in. I looked up and realized I was staring at a kilometers-long, dead-straight line of asphalt with a relentless, unchanging gradient of around 10%.
High up in the distance, I could see the cliff face lined with steep but merciful switchbacks that finally lead you up into the Casse Déserte and the summit at 2,360 m.
Casse Déserte
This is where mountain cycling becomes entirely mental—and that’s when my brain started fighting back. “Why on earth am I doing this?” The moment you start asking yourself those kinds of existential questions, your morale, your power, and your cadence instantly tank.
To make matters worse, a team car from Sky Europe suddenly flew past me. Inside, a coach was barking orders through a megaphone at a dozen smiling junior riders who were hammering up the climb like a single, well-oiled machine. They were pure climbers. It was painfully obvious that their combined body weight was less than the weight of my belly. They flew past me like I was standing still. I was stuck in the lowest gear—34/27—and had nowhere else to shift. All I could do was grit my teeth and slowly climb uphill.
I suffered immensely through that entire straight section leading to the hairpins. I think the inquisitors who burned witches in Queyras should have forced their victims to do this climb instead of using the rack.
Finding Salvation in the Hairpins
Most rookie cyclists panic when they look up and see a massive stack of switchbacks towering above them. But experienced riders know the opposite is true: the hairpins mean you have won. You can finally catch your breath and ease the tension in the apex of each turn.
There is nothing worse than staring at a dead-straight, endless ramp of asphalt fading into the horizon next to a sign reading: “CAUTION: 12%+” Since my ride through Queyras, that is my definition of cycling hell.
But the moment you finally roll into the Casse Déserte, everything changes in an instant. The otherworldly scenery rewards you ten times over for all your suffering. Suddenly, you have the perfect excuse to stop: “Look at those stunning panoramas! I absolutely have to stop and take a photo.” 😉
The climb from Guillestre is definitely more demanding, but it offers far more dramatic and rewarding scenery. The lunar landscapes of Casse Déserte are the ultimate sweet reward for your hard work on the pedals.
