The most difficult World Cup downhill run in the world: Black Snake - the snake incantation
Dimitri Lehner
· 31.07.2025
Black Snake - the name says it all. Black and snake. Could it be scarier? Hardly. The downhill pros speak with reverent respect about the race track in Val di Sole, Trentino. Everyone. Always. Even seasoned athletes like Loïc Bruni, Danny Hart or Troy Brosnan raise their eyebrows when the name Black Snake is mentioned. The sheer numbers don't promise much: 2.3 kilometres and 550 metres in altitude, starting at 1390 metres above sea level. The terrain is more intimidating: Boulders, roots, stone fields, ledges, drop-offs.
Trail builder Pippo Marani followed in Dr Frankenstein's footsteps when he created a true monster with this World Cup track. He created a descent as he himself defined downhill racing: rough, steep, violent. Crushed sand tracks like the one in Leogang are so repugnant to the small, lively Italian that, when asked about them, he rolls his blue eyes, raises his hands theatrically to the sky and shouts "No, no, no!".
In 2008, the first UCI downhill race took place in Val di Sole - a world championship! And right from the start, the black snake was rampant - creating drama that could hardly have been more intense. One of the most legendary moments in the history of downhill racing happened right at the World Championship debut: superstar Sam Hill glowed down the Black Snake and had the run of his life. Commentator Rob Warner shouted: "Look at the time!" and "Oh, he looks fast!". Hill pulled out a lead of over six seconds (!) on the man in the hotseat - none other than Steve Peat. But then Hill crashed shortly before the finish. To this day, it remains one of the most famous crashes in downhill racing and Rob Warner's exclamations in Val di Sole became cult.
Since then, numerous World Cups have been held on the Black Snake. Over the years, the technology has improved and the sport has become faster - which is why the route has also had to change. Black Snake's father Pippo was succeeded by trail builder Cristian Vender. He renovated the track, opened up bends, ironed out corners - he recently gave the course another update for the 2025 World Cup. "At today's speed, riders would have killed themselves on the original Black Snake," says Cristian. "It would border on murder to send Bruni, Pierron & Co. down there." Murder! This word resonates in our ears for a long time. Because we (Laurin, Max and I) want to tame the Black Snake just before the 2025 World Cup and tackle the world's toughest downhill course as hobby bikers.
Catching snakes
Dimitri: The Black Snake scares me. I admit it. It's hard to imagine not getting down there, but who knows? Someone told me that they couldn't even climb it on foot because it was so steep. Wow! Maybe the track really is as tough as its reputation. At dinner the night before, I joke with Pippo, the father of the Black Snake. He wants to know if I've ridden the track before. I shake my head. "No, Pippo, that's why we came!" He asks if I've ever ridden downhill before. Me: "No - never." His eyes widen in shock. After a pause of suspense, I say: "Yes, yes, Pippo, I've ridden downhill before, don't worry!" We both laugh. But he laughs a little less loudly than I do. I wonder what Pippo is thinking? Maybe: "There's a victim for my snake!"
LaurinI've been here before, in Val di Sole. That must have been in 2010, during the World Cup. I remember the spectators getting out of the gondola and clambering down the course to watch the World Cup skiers during training. There were ropes hanging from trees so that you could hold on to particularly steep sections! I also abseiled down and spotted a blob of colour in the forest that quickly grew bigger. It was shooting down the slope twice as fast as all the other racers. I'd never seen a biker live off-road at such a speed before. It was Aaron Gwin.
Max: Before my time at BIKE, I was a photographer at World Cups - very close to the madness. The infamous Black Snake remains the most impressive memory for me. No track is more brutal. Even on foot, I barely made it down back then. I slid down the steep section after the Pippo Jump - no joke - on the seat of my trousers. At the time, I thought: Ride this entire route without getting off? Not a chance. Not for me. At the time, I was one of those "XC nuts" who preferred to torment themselves through intervals in the red zone rather than shooting over root carpets at Mach 10. I only knew gravity biking as a photo motif or from live streams on rainy weekends. Things are different today. Enduro fever has caught me. Lots of suspension travel is no longer a question, but the answer to everything. Last year, I rode a real big bike for the first time with Dimitri and Laurin. In short: today I want to conquer the Black Snake and not just stand on the sidelines with my camera.
The head of the snake
Dimitri: The World Cup is taking place next weekend. There is an embargo on the route, but PR agent Daniele Carlie has managed to convince the organisers: we are allowed to ride the Black Snake exclusively for one day. On board for the first runs: trail builder Cristian Vender. Val-di-Sole local Cristian has made the course World Cup-ready by tipping nine lorry loads of earth into the mountainside. How long will the earth cling to the rocks and roots? Not for long. By the time of the World Cup final, the earth will have turned to dust and waft through the forest in clouds. We shuttle up the mountain in the van (the cable car only runs for the World Cup). Nobody says anything, everyone is lost in thought. Like the GIs in the landing craft on D-Day, I think. And: If it's too extreme for me, I won't go. That's it! Let the young lads have a go!
Laurin: We push our bikes to the start house. I've seen the wooden stall many times on the livestream with Danny Hart, Aaron Gwin and Greg Minnaar at the start gate. It's June - the best time of the year is ahead of me: summer! So I decide to minimise the risk - the main thing is to get home unharmed. I've been using an Ortema neckbrace for a long time. Better safe than sorry!
Max: Normally, nothing on the bike can upset me so quickly. Tricky trails? Bring it on. When it gets really technical and others get off, I'm "on fire". But now it's in front of me, the route that the Downhill World Cup fears the most. It winds down into the valley right in front of us - and suddenly I'm as jittery as I was before my first date. Strange. Is it the reputation of the Black Snake? Perhaps. Or maybe it's because Cristian casually showed me the Insta clips of his 15-year-old son in the shuttle - how he sails over the road gap 200 metres below us with 100 style points - as if it were a bunny hop. Then he proudly says: "Riccardo rides the Black Snake in under four minutes." I know what that means. With that time, he's riding at world-class level. At fifteen. That puts me under pressure. What if - unlike Riccardo - I only squeeze out a tired dead sailor at the road gap? Or if my arms are already burning up on the first run and I have to take three arm pump breaks? I wonder what Cristian will say then? Better not to think about it. Or even better: just get going.
Now it's getting serious!
Dimitri: At the starting gate, Cristian wants to know: "Straight through?" For God's sake: NO! Are you crazy, Cristian! Look at everything, slowly, it's the first run! Nevertheless, we set off straight away. Max is on Cristian's rear wheel. There's a gap immediately after the start. We pull over it. The jump hangs, I "case". In other words: I jump too short. But the factory suspension of my Canyon Sender only seems to laugh wearily. The impact is a joke for the bike. I mess up the drop over a large boulder so badly that my head whips forwards when I land. Max sees me and laughs his head off. "Headbanger! Yeah, old man!" roars the youngster.
Max: Like the lemmings in Disney's "White Wilderness", we plunge down the launch ramp behind Cristian. For those who haven't seen the film: The rodents are falsely portrayed as suicidal voles that throw themselves off cliffs in rows. Bike park turn left, bike park turn right - my rear wheel drifts and I cling to the handlebars in "death grip". Road gap. And as if I'd suspected it, I fly stiffly over the board structure. "Luckily Cristian didn't see the old manoeuvre," I think as I get the crushed sand under my studs again. But hey - at least the speed was right and the landing was perfect. Not like Dimi's.
Laurin: Dimi takes twice as long as me to do everything, and I often have to wait for Max too. But now the two of them are sitting on their bikes and looking at me expectantly through their goggles: "Ready to roll?" I fiddle with the Velcro fastening on my gloves and hurry, because the boys are rolling off. Left turn, right turn, straight ahead. I see my colleagues in the train sailing over the road gap - and brake instead of just letting it go. Jumping blind stunts? Better not. Nevertheless, it's always humiliating to have to steer your bike over the chicken line while your colleagues have sent and are now watching me from below.
Serpentine lines
Dimitri: We wind our way down through wide root fields, snaking through boulders. If I lose sight of the others, I don't know where to go next - despite the red iron poles to the left and right. A day later, neon-coloured foam poles will be stuck in the ground here, marking the narrowed World Cup runway like an aeroplane landing strip. I could have done with those!
Max: Even when the local drives the line in front of me, boulders the size of a child's head and roots as thick as Laurin's upper arms send my front wheel wildly left and right off the racing line like a pinball. How do the pros do it? For the life of me, I can't imagine how they internalise this chaos in just two days of training. Laurin says: "You need talent to be able to memorise the track so quickly. Otherwise, it's the wrong sport for you." I gulp - and have already forgotten what I had for breakfast.
Laurin: It's crazy how wide the track is. After a short break, I decide to stay close to Max's rear wheel. He has decided to do the same with our guide Cristian. We set off - bump, bump, bump. Front stroke, back stroke - just don't lose sight of Max's rear wheel! And then it happens: I get stuck in a root section, my front riders scurry away and Dimi comes charging up behind.
Hard blows
Dimitri: Max dances over a step in the terrain and lets his big bike fly. There is no landing here. Max bombs into the flat, but roars on hooting and hollering. "Super Max", I think, "You'd have to be 24 again!" I want to take the jump at full throttle, but I'm afraid of the hard hit. I know that the impact will make my spinal discs dance like the plastic balls when the lottery numbers are drawn. So I'd better say no!
Max: "You have to land there, otherwise you'll lose all your momentum." Cristian points to a large spruce a good 20 metres in front of us, wrapped in a thick blue gym mat - just like the ones you see in PE lessons. It's probably there to prevent the worst from happening if you miss your jump and smash into the tree. I get a running start, pull off and smash into the flat with full force. The rear tyre and saddle screech as they collide on impact. I can still hear legendary commentator Rob Warner shouting in my head: "Ohh! And he hits the deck like an old woman on a cruise ship!" That's our BIKE test chief Peter's favourite comparison. How apt!
The snake is tamed
Dimitri: I'm at the bottom and fly over the step-down, which carries you far into the slope like a ski jump. The World Cup skiers sail 25 metres and further here. I speed through an open bend, similar to the one where Sam Hill crashed in 2008 and gave away the world championship title. I can hardly believe it: the run was downright fun. Can that be? Can it be? Will the Black Snake turn out to be a slow worm in the end? Five more runs follow and each one is more fun. Fear? Not a thing. Okay, okay, I know: only World Cup speed turns the course into a horror event, so that even super racers like Loïc Bruni will say after the final: "I felt like I was 85 years old and on the verge of a heart attack after the descent!"
Laurin: Home stretch! We've completed the first run. Was there any flow? Definitely not! It was a bit of a stumble on my part. Nevertheless, the old German army adage applies: nothing is eaten as hot as it is cooked. The Black Snake is perfectly rideable for hobby bikers. I've skipped two main stunts so far, but I'm planning a doable double drop for the next round. I'm happy to skip the intervertebral disc shock that Max enjoyed.
Max: I plummet down the stepdown for the fifth time, just before the Black Snake spits me into the finish area. Last run - all in one piece! Line choice? Lousy - my memory is still a sieve. Flow? Oh well. Style points? Zero. But I showed my former XC self - no foot drops, no arm pump pause. Nevertheless, I had hoped that the meanest track in the World Cup would push me out of my comfort zone more. Like "Vali's Hell" in Leogang, where the step-downs are so deep that I had to carry myself. To save the snake's honour: we caught it on a great day - freshly shaped and unridden. It wasn't until the World Cup a week later that she showed her true colours, or rather her teeth! For three days, men, women, juniors and juniors shred the track - and suddenly rims break in rows and pros fly through the air. I'm glad that Pippo only unleashed the tamed snake on us.
Laurin: Same procedure: Start house - pedal stroke! Left turn, right turn, gap jump. Easy! I'm annoyed that I skipped it on the first run. We ride on. I take on the rock drop - nothing special, but challenging because the landing is short and you only see it after the jump. Bingo! Our guide Cristian leads the way. Once he's gone, we often look at each other and ask: "Which way is it?" It takes two more descents before I feel the true fascination of downhill. I get into the flow: braaap here, wave there, drop - keep your hands off the brakes! In some sections, the speed is just right and the tyres make noises like the pros: brip, brap, brup. I love it. But the stakes are high. It takes so much time, effort and risk to experience this feeling for a few metres. And then there's another section where I stumble, the bike rocks in a staccato of roots and I grab the brakes in fear. And then I ask myself: is this sport even right for me?
Final story: It really happened!
On the journey home from Val di Sole to Munich, I need a pee break. We stop at the Brenner Pass and I jump out. I'm a self-confessed outdoor piddler and jump to the edge of the forest. There I see a black snake. Pitch black. It's a hellish viper. That's what they call the very rare, black alpine adder. What kind of a coincidence is that? I've just been on the Black Snake and then spotted a black snake having a pee. The world is a strange place.
Dimitri Lehner
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