The bumpier the drive, the lovelier the scenery

A recent “Her World” column about the perils of driving abroad drew quite a bit of reader comment. In it, I revealed that I had hit a cow in Mexico, which elicited such remarks as, “At least you write better than you drive.”

I take umbrage at that because I’m a cautious driver. I’ve had my share of accidents, of course. But the problem isn’t me. It’s the rough roads I drive. The worse they are, the better the scenery, it seems.

When I set off on a driving tour, I take good maps that show indirect, local routes. A soupcon of danger is always present. It’s part of the exhilaration of car touring.

I first got a taste for that exhilaration on a family vacation in the Rocky Mountains. My dad was behind the wheel of our red Chevy stationwagon when the transmission went out halfway up the Trail Ridge Road in Colorado’s Rocky Mountain National Park, which connects Estes Park to Grand Lake in 48 hair-raising miles, eight of which are at elevations of more than 11,000 feet. A park ranger led the way as my dad backed down from the Continental Divide, in neutral. I was in the way-back with my Barbie, my nose glued to the window.

Later, another scenic drive gone awry on a family vacation in Mexico gave my clan a name for crises of any kind. We call them El Tibors because we were on a dirt road headed for a village of that name in the rugged countryside east of Ixtapa when we realized the rental car’s gas tank had a hole. My brother John was driving, trying to get us back to the coast before the tank exploded, while my sister, Martha, my mom and I pitched a fit.

Since then, I’ve had plenty of my own private El Tibors.

Last month, I got stuck in a dinky economy-class rental car at night during a snowstorm on El Teide, the 12,198-foot volcano that rises over the Canary Island of Tenerife. By the time I finally gave up and pulled over, I was a bundle of nerves. The experience made me doubt my judgment. Had I pushed it too far, risking my life to get over the mountain?

Maybe so, but I’ve decided to keep rounding hairpin curves in strange and beautiful places. Some of the best are clearly marked on maps, but you stumble on others. Here are a few of my less frequently traveled favorites:

* The B5289 in the Lake District of England goes from Keswick at the northern end of Derwent Water to the hamlet of Rosthwaite. Then it turns west to cut magnificently through the slate-covered highlands of Cumbria -- classic Wordsworth country. Honister Pass at the top is only 1,167 feet above sea level, but the dramatic pitch of the road makes it seem much higher and the countryside is far wilder than anything you would expect to find in cozy old England. End the drive with a walk around lovely Lake Buttermere, followed by a tot of port in front of the fire at the Fish Hotel.

* With Highway 1 through Big Sur and the Tioga Pass Road in the Yosemite high country, California just might be the scenic-drive capital of the world. I would put U.S. 395 right up there next to those. It heads due north from the Mojave Desert through Inyo and Mono counties toward Lake Tahoe, sidling by the arid flank of the High Sierra, with Death Valley to the east.

There are stops at the volcanic cinder cone Red Hill, Fossil Falls, the trailhead to 14,495-foot Mt. Whitney, the Mammoth ski area, the ghost town of Bodie, and Mono Lake with its limestone pinnacles. Get Ginny Clark’s “Guide to Highway 395 Los Angeles to Reno” and you’re on your way.

* Maybe only the brave drive Italy’s high-speed autostradas, especially in the south. But those who take the A3 around the show-stopping Gulf of Naples toward the Amalfi Coast are richly rewarded. Along the way are such renowned archeological sites as Herculaneum, Pompeii and the Roman seaside resort of Oplontis. I also like this wheel-clutching route because it goes through the densely packed suburbs of Naples, where underwear dries on lines above the road. It’s a vibrant place where they make a thick red sauce. Then too, there’s monumental, unforgettable Mt. Vesuvius on the horizon, ever threatening to erupt.

* The well-known Saddle Road crosses the Big Island of Hawaii from Hilo to the Kona Coast, Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea volcanoes on either shoulder. It’s a great drive, but even better is untrammeled Hawaii 11. It rounds the southern side of the island on the skirts of Mauna Loa, passing through moldering sugar-cane towns and recent lava flows before turning toward Hawaii Volcanoes National Park. About halfway there, a turnoff leads through splendid, sweeping ranch country to South Point. Farther on, near the town of Pahala, you’ll find Wood Valley, a blissfully peaceful Buddhist temple and lodge that welcomes overnight guests.

* U.S. 7 winds along the Housatonic River in the Berkshire Mountains in Massachusetts and Connecticut, roughly paralleling the Appalachian Trail. If you catch the road around the town of West Cornwall, Conn., and head north, you’ll see as fine a swatch of New England as any autumn leaf-peeper could ask for. The white-steepled churches, orchards and tumbledown rock walls are right out of Robert Frost. But I favor this route in the spring, when every tree and shrub seems to flower in papery pink and white.

This is the way to Tanglewood, summer home of the Boston Pops; the thriving old mill town of Great Barrington; lovely Hancock Shaker Village in Pittsfield; and the Clark Art Institute in Williamstown, Mass.

All these routes offer deep gratification to lovers of landscape. Just buckle up, drive safely and enjoy.

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Susan Spano also writes “Postcards From Paris,” which can be read at latimes.com/susanspano.