Why are difficult things better? Not always, but sometimes. Maybe it’s the challenge, or the satisfaction, or just to see if we can. By trying to accomplish something that is unorthodox, or new, or nonsensical, we can learn things. We can even learn things we did not know we could learn. President John F. Kennedy’s notorious “We choose to go to the Moon” speech comes to mind. Mountaineer George Mallory’s response to why he wanted to summit Mount Everest, “Because it’s there”, is perfectly simple. But that’s the Moon or Everest. Let’s turn it down a notch. What benefit is there for you and me: running one more mile, studying for a particularly hard exam, or asking out an especially attractive girl? There is risk, but also potential reward, if done right, and perhaps with luck. Luck is by nature a limited commodity, as all Alfa Romeo owners are keenly aware, which made this road trip that much more daring.
My dad and I have been keen on driving up the Mount Washington Auto Road for a while now. A toll road to the summit of the tallest peak in the northeastern United States, this destination in northern New Hampshire has a foot in history. Host to one of the oldest car races in the country, Climb to the Clouds is a hillclimb held since 1904 that has seen the likes of Carroll Shelby and Travis Pastrana race to the 6,288 foot summit. For the military, Mount Washington served as a training ground for the 10th Mountain Division, an elite alpine division that fought in the Aleutian Islands and Italian Alps in World War II. Our mission would not be nearly as dangerous, but driving an Alfa Romeo 4C Spyder over three hours into New England wilderness may test our endurance.
Against the backdrop of a stunningly clear May day, the air and Earth was saturated with birds and flowers, and potential. We set off from our house in southern Massachusetts and cruise onto 95 North to circumnavigate Boston. By leaving early afternoon we planned to leave any rush hour traffic in our wake, which was working. Our original plan was to arrive at our bed & breakfast sometime this evening, drive up the road Friday, then head back home Saturday. All perfectly well, if the weather held. Despite the excellent conditions right now we opted to keep the top on for the haul up, which is one of the few comforts this car provides.
Which is one of the reasons it is so polarizing. The carbon-fiber monocoque and exposed interior lead to a rawer driving experience than almost any other car currently on sale. Combined with an exceptionally stiff suspension and no power steering, the 4C has been criticized by some automotive journalists as just too unrefined. The 1.7-liter inline four-cylinder engine is coarse, and when coupled with a 22-psi turbo provides power with lag comparable to the tiller of the Titanic when the cry was first heard “Iceberg right ahead!” And you know how that turned out. But when my dad was looking to replace his 2000 Toyota MR2 after eight years of ownership he wanted something Different. Special, rare, and not the “safe” option. The Porsche Boxster, for all its quality control and butter smooth PDK, was immediately disqualified. Having formerly owned a 1977 Lotus Esprit, my dad wanted some of that edge back, and it’s fair to say he got it. And having driven his 4C countless times myself, I worried what my generation will miss as automation and assistance eliminate directness and difficulty.
I also worried about the weather. Checking the weather forecast on my phone while bumping around in the passenger seat near the New Hampshire border, I could see the forecast for Mount Washington tonight was bad. A thunderstorm appeared to have changed from Friday night to Thursday night, and suddenly our drive was in jeopardy. The Auto Road is closed in poor conditions, and cognizant that one mile of the road is unpaved, our chances of a summit on Friday looked squandered. Could we drive up in muddy conditions? In the 4C, ridiculous. What if we wait until Saturday? Still might be closed, not to mention packed with tourists. Suddenly I think of another option. I look at the current ETA on Google Maps: 5:14 pm. Last entrance to the road is at five. “Dad, what if we instead did the Auto Road today?” Interested by the solution, he replies, “We wouldn’t make it in time.” For a minute the implication simmers. Unless. “So Ross how good is that Waze app?” I reply that it’s pretty reliable, as long as there’s some traffic on the road so other drivers can report speed traps. As are the conditions now, and the decision is made. Sempre Avanti.
We are distinctly away from the Boston sprawl as we leave Massachusetts behind, turn onto NH-16 in Portsmouth and kiss the border with Maine. The six-lane highway becomes four lanes, then occasionally thins to three. Suburbia changes places with forest as the rolling hills follow one another and the road dips like a roller coaster. Actively monitoring the app and scanning the roads, my normally conservative driving dad gradually realizes a rapid pace. Taking notice of overpasses and hills, along with sharp bends and brake lights of other vehicles, the coast is clear as the ETA drops. Shadows grow longer and shades turn richer as the sun dips lower in the sky as we zoom past the lake cottages that dot the White Mountains, blissfully uncrowded as schools are still in session. When we pass the Cranmore ski area it’s clear we have made up time and then some. The weather still holding, we opt to pullover just past Conway to take the top off, and immediately the world comes into focus. Also, immediately, my lower back and rear protest from exiting the nearly totally unpadded seat. But now gone are the muffled and dark confines and presented is the glistening world in vivid and audible clarity.
At quarter to five we pay the toll to get onto the Auto Road. Surprisingly narrow at first, the road is empty and the 4C can dash through the trees without worry of coming up behind any tourists. Rocks become boulders and tall pines become stunted spruces and firs as we enter the sub-alpine ecological zone and approach the tree line at 4,400 feet. Soon the field of view expands completely and the line of sight grows exponentially. And the drop-offs becomes deeper. Starring at the trails of Wildcat and Attitash and down into the valleys I briefly consider the rollover rating of this carbon fiber tub.
The air is decidedly crisp and patches of snow appear on the side of the road. Sweeping ess’s take us through the thinning vegetation, the effect of the blasting wind at this altitude eliminating almost any plant growth. Soon we get to the unpaved section, a relatively smooth and packed down path of dirt that my dad exercises caution on. The off-road capability of Pirelli P-Zero tires is limited, we figure. Before any more worrying the unpaved portion is gone without incident and the final drive is continued to the summit. The most life we see now are patches of yellow-brown grass, we haven’t even seen any other cars. One more switchback then and finally the top presents itself: a large U-shaped complex lined with tall shimmering windows, flanked by antennae used for communication and meteorology, the setting sun blazing golden around the peak of the colossus. A crown atop a king.
The grey gravel parking lot sits ahead and we pull into a spot well separated by others, my dad ever conscious of door dings. He turns the key, the subtle rumbling stops, and the only sound is the whirl of wind into the cabin. Through the windshield the connected mountains are displayed through a creamy haze as the air catches the rays of light many miles ahead. The crisscross of trails at Wildcat Mountain is immediately to the left while Mount Eisenhower and the other peaks of the Presidential Range are exposed on a descending slope along the right. For the rattles, and noise, and lack of refinement, this was worth it. The car made the trip without incident, and is surprisingly ready for three hours more. But we made it. This is the end of The Road.
