Europe's most overrated cycling climbs, ranked honestly

There's a peculiar tradition in European cycling where the same handful of climbs get name-checked in every bar, every training group WhatsApp chat, and every half-decent cycling documentary. The famous ascents have become a brand, and like all brands, they've outgrown the actual experience of riding them. The names roll off the tongue with the same reverence that cricket commentators reserve for Bradman, and the disappointment sets in with the same inevitability. Every cycling podcaster has the same hot take about the same five climbs, and every cycling magazine runs the same feature on the same mountains every summer.

Australian riders tend to view these climbs with a mixture of reverence and suspicion. We grew up watching the Tour de France at 4am while waiting for the kettle, then dragging ourselves out for a loop near Willunga before work. Our local climbs don't have the same marketing budget, but they're honest in a way that the continental legends sometimes aren't. The local cafe at the top of Mount Lofty does a proper flat white, and the price is still sane. When you ride up Willunga during the Tour Down Under, you're riding the same hill the pros do, without the helicopters and with better coffee at the bottom.

The point of this piece isn't to diss anyone who loves riding up a famous hill. If you want to pin a number to your Alpe d'Huez Strava and feel something, knock yourself out. After two decades of pedalling through Europe and watching the hype machine churn, it's time to call out a few climbs that get more credit than they deserve. Some of them deserve a demotion, and a few deserve to be quietly forgotten. There's nothing wrong with chasing a famous hill, but there's something wrong with assuming famous means best.

The criteria are simple. A climb is overrated when the photo, the prose, and the podium talk have created a version of it that bears little resemblance to the actual road under your tyres. When the Instagram story outshines the gradient, when the souvenir shop is more iconic than the switchback, something has gone slightly wrong. When the Strava segment is more famous for its comments than for its leaderboard, the climb has been claimed by the crowd. When the only way to enjoy it is to pretend you're in the Tour, the climb has stopped being a climb and started being a set.

The Alpe d'Huez effect

The 21 switchbacks of Alpe d'Huez are famous for good reasons, but mostly for reasons that have nothing to do with the climb itself. The hairpins have become a visual fixture, a kind of kinetic gallery that owes something to the neon art evolution of how Western culture frames spectacle. People queue at the corner of bends to cheer strangers, and the Dutch corner has its own merchandise line. The actual road is a series of long, slightly dulling ramps connected by tourist-trap hairpins. The whole mountain has been themed, branded, and monetised to the point where the gradient feels secondary to the experience.

When you ride it on a quiet Tuesday in May, with the road open and the publicity caravans gone, you discover it's a reasonable climb but not a transcendental one. The gradient hovers around 8 percent, the corners are tight but not technical, and the views, while pleasant, don't compare to half a dozen passes you could ride the same week without a photo permit. The famous names painted on the road are a nice touch, but they make the climb feel like a museum rather than a mountain. The professional cyclists who actually race up it would probably tell you it's a climb you forget ten minutes after the finish line, but the cycling press treats it like the second coming.

Stelvio Pass and the Instagram lens

The Stelvio has been photographed into oblivion. Every cycling Instagram account worth its filter has a Stelvio shot from the Prato side, usually with a road bike pointed heroically uphill and a tagline about suffering. The reality is a series of tunnels, exhaust fumes from camper vans, and a road surface that feels like it was last resurfaced during the Berlusconi era. The famous 48 switchbacks are real, but they're also barely wide enough for a Bianchi and a bus. The shoulders are non-existent, the drainage is questionable, and the locals drive like they've never seen a cyclist before.

The pass itself is genuinely steep, with views that, on a clear day, are spectacular. The problem is that clear days are rare, and when they do arrive, half of European cycling tourism arrives with them. You're more likely to spend your ascent drafting a Fiat Panda than drafting another cyclist. The cafe at the top charges Italian tourist prices for a coffee that wouldn't pass muster in a Brunswick backstreet. The descent on the other side is fast and technically interesting, but the climb up has been diluted by the marketing machine that surrounds it. It's a pass that has become more famous for the photos than for the pedalling.

Italian passo clichés

The Italian passo system is the gift that keeps on giving for anyone who loves a cycling cliché. Passo Gavia, Passo Mortirolo, Passo dello Stelvio - they're all on the same list, and they're all sold as the essence of Italian climbing. They are also, broadly, the same climb. Long valley roads, long ramps, a cafe at the top that serves overpriced panini and an elderly man who has seen every cyclist who ever mattered. The passo is less a climb than a logistical exercise in finding the right cafe at the right altitude. Italian cycling culture is genuinely welcoming, but the climbs themselves have been homogenised into a brand.

The Gavia is genuinely dramatic in bad weather, but in good weather it's a long, photogenic slog with hairpins that look great from a drone. The Mortirolo, despite its fearsome averages, has a series of false summits that leave you mentally cooked before the actual top. After your third Italian pass in a week, you'll start wondering whether you've been on three different climbs or the same one three times. There's a sameness to the experience that no amount of prose can hide. The Gavia, the Mortirolo, and the Stelvio are all part of the same tired narrative, sold to the same audience by the same marketing people.

Tour de France stage worship

A huge amount of European climb worship comes from the Tour de France broadcast. Every July, ASO packages a climb into a two-minute highlight reel, complete with suffering faces and helicopter shots. By August, every cyclist in the world has added that climb to a bucket list. By September, half of them are booking flights to ride something they watched on television without quite understanding why. The Col du Galibier, the Col de la Bonette, the Col de l'Iseran, and the rest of the high Alps are pedalled every year by tens of thousands of people who couldn't tell you the average gradient.

The problem is that Tour climbs are chosen for television, not for riding. The Col du Galibier, the Col de la Bonette, the Col de l'Iseran - these are massive climbs, but their appeal in the race context is largely about suffering and geography. On a bike, they're just long, cold, and lonely. There are dozens of climbs in the Pyrenees and Alps that offer the same elevation with a tenth of the tourist traffic and a fraction of the souvenir stalls. The Tour doesn't pick the best climbs, it picks the most photogenic ones, and the difference matters when you're two hours into a freezing ascent with nothing but your own thoughts for company.

How to spot an overrated climb before you fly

You can usually tell a climb has been overcooked long before you reach the summit. The clues are in the Strava comments, the souvenir shops, and the price of a coffee at the top. If you spot more than a couple of these signs, you're probably better off chasing a quieter alternative.

• The Strava segment has more comments than actual KOM attempts, and most of the comments are about coffee stops.
• You need to book a time slot to ride it, or share the road with more campers than cyclists.
• The summit has a permanent photo installation, a brass plate, or a T-shirt you can buy in three sizes.
• The cafe at the top charges more than your local barista in Adelaide does for a single origin.
• Your mates have ridden it, but none of them can describe the actual gradient, only the photo they took.
• The climb is mentioned in every cycling documentary, but the cycling itself takes a back seat to the helicopter shots.

Underrated climbs worth chasing instead

If you're happy to dodge the hype and find a climb that still feels like a discovery, there are plenty of options across Europe. Some are quieter cousins of the famous climbs, others are entirely off the beaten track, and all of them offer more room to breathe and ride at your own pace.

• Col du Vars in the southern Alps, a quieter alternative to the Galibier with proper switchbacks and minimal traffic.
• Passo di Giau near Cortina, dramatic, steep, and far less crowded than its Dolomitic cousins.
• The Mallorca Tramuntana climbs in winter, when the rest of Europe is freezing and the roads are clear and dry.
• The Asturian climbs of northern Spain, where the locals still wave at cyclists and the cafes serve real food.
• Col de la Cayolle, a hidden gem between the Vars and the Bonette, with a summit that feels like the end of the world.
• The Apennine passes in late autumn, when the tour buses have gone home and the roads belong to the cyclists again.

If this list has stirred something, the good news is that finding a climb to test yourself on doesn't require a flight to Geneva. LetsRide.co lets you search for local group rides and cycling events in your area, so you can find other riders keen to suffer up the closest thing to a Col du Galibier that your region has to offer. Whether you're chasing your mate up Willunga or just want to find a peloton that doesn't mind a hill, the platform makes it easy to get out the door and onto something with a gradient. The European super-climbs will still be there when you're ready, but the climbs in your own backyard probably deserve a go first. There's a climb in almost every Australian range that will hurt you in the right way, and you won't have to share it with a tour bus.