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My vacation would mark the tenth anniversary since the inception of team orson. Befuddled and confused, I packed maps for both France north or Italy south. A late start meant that it was 4 P. I stopped for the night in Portovenere, exhausted after a little over km. I usually sleep 6 hours a night, but that first night I slept 10 hours! Holy kwap! Wuz I becoming a lightweight in my old age? Watching the TV news, the decision on which direction to go was made by the weather report. Rain in France while southern Italy basked under sunny skies. As I had ridden thru the Apuan Alps in northern Tuscany on previous trips, I headed south along the coast towards the Marrema region of southern Tuscany, off the beaten tourist trail, but gradually becoming discovered. After only 6 hours, I was already toast, and decided to stop at a very chi-chi resort on the Monte Argentario peninsula. This place was so quiet and relaxing that team orson made an uncharacteristic decision to stay another night. The next day, we sallied forth and rode around the peninsula on a blazingly hot spring day. The road was scenic, but a bit too congested for serious shredding. I circumnavigated the peninsula in about two hours and was back at my hotel just after lunch. The high temperatures and the lure of a refreshing swim was too hard to resist, and I parked the bike for the day. Swinging my leg on and off the bike was accompanied by excruciating pain. Once I was under way, there was no pain, but stopping for photos now was an ordeal. A view of the cement pond that lured team orson off the roads. Wheeee dawgie! After three days of whiling away the hours with the glitterati under crystal blue skies, team orson felt refreshed enough to finally hit the road. I continued south along the coast until turning inland at Civitavecchia. The following day, I reached the scenic Amalfi Coast, and found another, all too comfortable hotel. Team orson was rapidly becoming spoiled. I think most of the reputation comes from tourists being driven by locals. A good definition of Hell might be having to drive a bus on that road on a daily basis. Southern Italy is known for limoncello, and this time of year, lemons are bursting off the trees. Two glasses of this stuff will put you down for the count. That might explain the crooked horizon in the picture. After leaving the Amalfi coast, I continued south into the region of Campania. I stopped briefly to view the impressive Greek ruins in Paestum. Venturing deeper into Campania, the terrain began to resemble the California coast. I had no idea of what lie ahead of me. In all my travels and all my reading, I had never heard of this stretch of road. Discovering a hidden gem of a road is worth massive bonus points. The spectacular stretch of road ended all too quickly after only 30 kilometers, much the same as the Pacific Coast Highway does as it approaches L. It marked a fine ending to my longest day in the saddle, a good eight hours. The next day, I travel inland across a small mountain pass. I had the road blissfully to myself, seeing only a couple of other cars before lunch time. After crossing the mountains, I reach the southern coast of Italy, the sole on the boot if you will. From Taranto, I turn around and start heading north. The terrain of the Basilicata region is a pleasant vista of rolling hills which provide mostly straight, but throwing in enough high speed sweepers to keep things entertaining. Stopping for lunch in Italy is a bit of a conundrum. Most Italians eat lunch at about before going home for a mid-afternoon break. By late afternoon I enter Puglia and reconnect with the coastline at the Manfredonia. The Parco Nazionale del Gargano takes up the bump protruding from the back of the Italian boot. The towns in this region are whitewashed giving you the impression that you might be in Andalusia or Morocco. From Puglia, I blast north along the autostrada before heading inland in Abruzzo, just south of Pescara. I was mighty impressed by the size of the mountains in Abruzzo. Not quite the Alps, but beautiful nevertheless. In the springtime, the plain is covered with yellow rapeseed and red poppies. Unfortunately, there were no poppies when I rode thru, but lots of rapeseed. The village of Castelluccio in the distance is the highest settlement in the Appenines at 1, meters. A loyal fan base keeps applying to have him anointed a saint, but the Vatican insists on raising the technicality of people being dead before attaining sainthood. Here, team Guareschi fends off rabid fans. Gianfranco in the grey shirt with Papa Guareschi in red. There were a lotta neat bikes at the meet. These Kawasaki KRs, ruled the world championships in the s. A Ducati was on pole. The flag dropped and Guareschi entered the first turn in fourth place. By the exit of the first turn, he was in front with about a 50 foot lead. After the races, I headed back into Tuscany on the final leg of my journey. This was the first time I had been to Tuscany during the springtime, and I must say I wuz impressed. I stopped for the final night at the same little hotel I stayed in two years ago with a lovely view of the town of Bagni di Lucca. The last day, I crossed the Appenines one last time via the Passo Abetone. I arrived in Parma at around 3 P. After 10 years, the mighty, mighty Guzzi had performed flawlessly, devouring every road put before it. Che macchina! Posted in Southern Italy. Just a quickie one week trip report in Northern Italy for the Guzzi gathering and a trip to the Piedmont Region…. From Parma to the Italian Lake District is but a mere three hour jaunt via la autostrada. Usually, seeing another Guzzi on the road is a rare event however, as I approached Lake Como almost all the bikes seen on the road were other Guzzis, which was rather a strange experience. After checking in to the hotel, I boarded the ferry for the 15 minute ride across the lake to Varenna. Nuthin but Guzzis on the ferry. I met some Dutch riders who had ridden from Holland to Mandello in one day. From Varenna to Mandello was a quick 15 minute hop. Many businesses along the road to Mandello had Guzzi banners hung out to welcome the hordes. I arrived late Friday afternoon and the place was already brimming with Guzzisti. As I walked around taking in the sights, Guzzisti from all over Europe continued to roll into town. After two days spent ogling the bikes, it was time to move on. Leaving Lake Como, an early snowfall had dusted the alpine foothills. I headed west along the base of the Alps. I spot a road on the map that heads up into the mountains before dead ending at the ski resort of Alagna Valsesia. The town seems a veritable ghost town with most hotels closed for the season, but I luck out and manage to find a hotel that has remained open. The following morning dawns with clear blue skies providing a clear view of the largest mountain in the area, La Monte Rosa. As I continue southwards, the terrain begins to turn to undulating hills as I reach the Langhe area of Piedmont. The area is famous for its wines as well as its white truffles. I stay at the Hotel Castello di Sinio run by an American woman with a super friendly staff and a great ambiance. I manage to arrive right during the white truffle season and get an opportunity to sample truffles in the local cuisine. Piedmont has an undiscovered air about it, as the vast hordes of tourists and tourist buses seen in Tuscany are absent, making you feel as if you have the whole place to yourself. The area around Asti and Alba is crisscrossed with roads snaking their way through farms and vineyards. As it was harvest time, I often encountered farm tractors on the road but they moved slowly so it was fairly easy to pass them. After two days in Piedmont, it was time to make my way back to home base in Parma. I think that one of the reasons there are so few visitors to the Langhe area is that it is difficult to traverse from east to west. Most of the main roads run perpendicular to the coast, leaving paved goat trails running east to west. This might be why most people stay on the autostrada and continue on down to Tuscany. Still, I was determined not to take the autostrada to Parma and forged ahead, stringing together a series of backroads. Just south of Tortona, I decided to stop for the night. I continued forging my way eastward by sticking to the backroads. Finally, at around two in the afternoon, I reached the town of Bardi with a main highway leading to Parma. The road from Bardi to Parma is a stellar motorcycling road with fast, sweeping curves seemingly custom made for the Goose. Before long, we were back in Parma bringing a great week of riding to an end. Posted in Italy's Piedmont Region. After a long layoff, a plan was hatched for a team orson reunion tour. While Greece was originally considered as a focal point, with team orson still recovering from their injuries and, with the Goose having been in mothballs for almost two years, it was decided to play it safe and stay close to home in an attempt to rediscover sport touring. The team was reunited at team orson world headquarters in Parma, Italy and was soon on the road heading southwards. The first day would end with team orson in the Chianti region of Tuscany. In the past, team orson plowed ahead, staying in a new locale every night. A decision was made to stay at one place for a few days, making day trips before moving on. Team orson had been recommended a nice room nearby with an excellent restaurant. Team orson was becoming all too familiar with the pleasures of Italian cuisine where, one course simply will not do. Meals were consumed with no concern given to bulging waistlines. At one lunch stop, an Italian waiter chided team orson for ordering a coke rather than wine with lunch. The fact that I was operating a motor vehicle failed to dissuade him from his stance. It was simply un-Italian. Within a week, team orson had to cut out all desserts. Whereas in the past, an innate sense of wanderlust had propelled us onward, now, wandering aimlessly had caused a feeling of disorientation to set in. A chance meeting with a leather shop owner in Siena changed things. After learning that we were both motorcyclists, a conversation about trips and roads ensued. He mentioned the Isle of Elba and how great the roads were there. A seed had been planted and by the next morning, team orson was heading towards the Tuscan coast. I had planned to stay overnight at the ferry port of Piombino but, arriving by P. I purchased a ticket and was soon directed to the front of the line. I had barely enough time to get off the bike and snap this picture of the ferry before the load master was hollering at me to get my butt onboard. Elba lies 18 kilometers off the coast of Tuscany so, it was a relatively quick 1 hour crossing. The island is about 40 kilometers long and roughly 10 kilometers wide. As with many islands, time seems to slow down a bit and life is carried out at a more relaxed pace than on the mainland. We found a hotel on a beach and made plans to explore the island the following day. The next morning we head west from the main city of Portoferraio, following the coastal highway, Monti Capanne, the highest peak on Elba in the distance. The roads of Elba are extremely twisty but, with the heavy traffic, traveling at a sporty pace proved difficult. It seemed that a moped with flip flops and a bathing suit to sample the passing beaches might be the proper choice. After Marciana Marina however, the traffic density was reduced significantly and things began to look up. When the road broke out of the forest onto the cliffs overlooking the west coast, I was impressed by the view. If you squinted, you might think that you were riding the Pacific Coast Highway in California. I stopped in the town of Pomonte for lunch. The primi platti of frutti de mari was absolutely delicious. Unfortunately, the Highway 1 similarity only lasted about 20 kilometers. Heading back east along the south coast. After two days on the island, we boarded a ferry back to the mainland. Heading across Southern Tuscany, the landscape reminded team orson of Spain. It was on this day that team orson would rediscover sport touring. From the coast, the Strada Statale climbs up into the Appenines with a mix of fast, sweeping bends followed by tighter, more technical twisties. Team orson meshed into a single, strada-strafing unit, dispatching what little traffic they encountered to turn the knob to eleven. The day would end along the shores of Lago di Bolsena which, when viewed on a topographical map, is revealed to be the crater of a giant, extinct volcano. Leaving Tuscany, team orson enters Lazio. While not as famous as Tuscany or Umbria, Lazio still has some wonderful natural beauty. Team orson was surprised at the quality of the twisties on the eastern fringe of the Appenine mountains. Wonderfully traffic-free, twisty roads that rivaled anything the Alps have to offer. It remains a mystery to team orson why so many focus on the Alps while leaving other fantastic roads untouched but, we are grateful for the lack of traffic. After almost two weeks of unflinching, sunny blue skies, a day of rain set in. With time running out, we began to head north towards home base. In Northern Tuscany, the mountains become steeper and the terrain becomes almost alpine-like. The Northern Tuscan spa town of Bagni di Lucca where team orson found a nice little hotel overlooking the river. Resistance is futile. If you see the sign of a scorpion in your mirrors, surrender to your fate at the hands of an Abarth-equipped Fiat After a rest day in Portofino, team orson begins the final leg of the trip from the coast back to Parma. Mileage: a paltry kilometers Riding Days: Posted in Central Italy. The loosely knit plan was to go from northern Italy over to Romania, hit the Carpathian mountains and follow them back into Slovakia and the Czech Republic, then continue to the UK. From Parma, I headed north to the south shore of Lake Garda. My route took me along the west bank of Lake Garda. Quite an impressive road as it is dug out of a sheer cliff face. About half the time was spent diving into tunnels dug in the cliffside then darting back out into the bright sunshine. Continuing north towards Madonna Di Campiglio, I traversed the northern Italian wine growing regions. If there were ever an Olympics for scenery, Italy would be on the podium every time — my favorite European country. The pic below shows where I will build my house. Especially when I find out a tiny little two bedroom bungalow around here goes for about , Euros. Can you imagine pounding the Alps into submission aboard cc bikes? They told me that their top speed was kph… fast enough to make you see gawd when you went to grab a handful of those drum brakes. On the second day of my vacation, I proceeded to fight my way through the Italian Alps, bypassing the Passo Di Stelvio because I think that hairpins in 11 kilometers is a wee bit much. I think Giacomo Agostini has a home here. No matter how many times you see them, the Dolomites never fail to impress. They shoot out of the earth like giant T-Rex teeth ripping the sky to shreds. Did I mention I loved Italy? You could spend years between the Alps and the Appenines and never run out of roads to ride. Lots of blonde Italians here. Another mountain village. Austria is like some strange other-world where gas station attendants resemble doctoral candidates back in the U. Motorists don flourescent orange vests just to change a flat tire. Every valley offers a picture postcard alpine view. It seems almost too good to be true. It makes you wonder what craziness lies beneath the surface of all this perfection. When I arrived in Graz I saw an information kiosk. I stopped and looked it over. On a wall was a map of the city with little lights denoting the locations of different hotels. When you selected a hotel on a touch screen, a light on the map lit up for the corresponding hotel, and a picture with a description of the hotel showed up on the touch screen. It was almost a bit too much for me to take in. In spite of all this orderliness, I managed to make my way to the Hungarian border relatively unruffled. After Graz, the terrain gradually dissolved into rolling hills… not much to write home about sport-touring wise. From the Alps, the terrain generally settled into rolling hills and then into a lumpy carpet sorta terrain. It never ceases to amaze me… the scope of the Roman Empire. From Portugal on the Atlantic to Romania on the Black Sea, someone who speaks one of the romance languages can essentially get by. All the languages are that similar. Truly a legacy of the power and influence of the Roman Empire. Quite a heavy police presence, though. I was lucky and avoided detection… hehehehe. Budapest is amazingly beautiful. The architechture is flabergasting. This place must have survived WW II relatively unscathed. The architecture is truly mind boggling. So much is lost on modern architecture, though. Hungary is truly in a state of transition. They seem to be doing quite well for themselves since the fall of Communism. While I was in Budapest, there seemed to be some sort of biker rally going on. Hundreds of bikers escorted by police, made their way through downtown Budapest, honking and waving as they went. I wish I could have joined in, but my bike was back at the hotel. One day from Budapest and I was at the Romanian border. I pulled in behind a Swiss couple in a station wagon who were bringing in aid for an orphanage or something. The customs guy was going through their stuff with a fine-toothed comb. I gulped and waited my turn, trying not to think about the movie Midnight Express. He shot me a gruff look as if to say, What da heck do YOU want? He walked behind my bike and saw the Italian plates and told me to go on. Yes sir! I was in. For such a poor country, the amount of workmanship and labor that went into their churches was impressive. The terrain was beginning to have more hills. Approaching the city of Brasov, I saw my first glimpse of the Carpathian mountains. Not as impressive as the Alps or even the Pyrennes, but still impressive, nevertheless. Romanian roads started out ok, and then steadily deteriorated. My last day in Romania I must have averaged 20 kph. Potholes just waiting to strike. Then it started to rain. Oh woe is me. A double whammy. I was dreading a flat or a bent rim, but the mighty Guzzi escaped unscathed. I could just imagine bending a rim then having to hole up someplace while waiting for a new one. Relaaaax…stay another night…it wont hurt a bite…errr…a BIT…it wont hurt a bit. Yeah… uh huh. Actually, the hotels in Romania were easily on par with those in western Europe. I was pleasantly surprised. However, their coffee sucked. Romanians may go to Italy and grimace when they drink Italian coffee. Their orange juice, on the other hand, was excellent… freshly squeezed. The terrain was gorgeous, reminding me a lot of the Pacific Northwest. The High Tatras are the highest peaks in the Carpathian range. This part of the Carpathians is a national park in Slovakia, as well as in neighboring Poland. I had one little incident with a Slovakian bus and a mud hole. There was a section of road that had been flooded by recent rains. Off to the side they had constructed a makeshift bypass. The bypass was also muddy from the rains. I had just about finished negotiating my way across the bypass when a bus appeared on the other side. In doing so, he cut off my exit line, leaving me only a huge mud puddle to go through. As he came around me, his rear wheels started coming closer and closer. The sides of the bus started to rub against my left saddlebag. I tried to hold the bike up, but I was no match for the bus. Over into the mud went the Guzzi. I managed to not join it in the mud. Nobody in the following cars came to my aid. I was fearing a broken turn signal or a cracked fairing, but I was lucky. Nothing more than a liberal coating of mud. The bike now looked appropriately battle-tested. On the plus side, there is less traffic than California. Winding roads going through rugged mountains and following alpine streams make for great motorcycling. I only travelled for about miles in Poland, but it was nice hilly terrain, making for an enjoyable ride. I entered the Czech Republic from Poland. They had to take it into the main office and confer with their colleagues. I have currencies from five different countries in my wallet. It reminds me of the days before the Euro. The Carpathian Mountains are but mere foothills by the time they reach the Czech Republic. They still make for some wonderful motorcycling roads, though. Fast sweeping roads through open hills then darting into dark forests with some occassional tight twisties thrown in… good stuff. He told me that he was 15 years old in when the Russians came and occupied his country. He fled with his family to West Germany where he lived in Cologne. When Communism fell, 40 years later, he returned to his old home town. He went to his old house and knocked on the door. It was wonderful talking to this old man. I made my way to Prague, which is similar to Budapest. Both cities straddle a river… both have enchanting architecture. Prague had a few more tourists, though. I took another rest day in Prague. After a couple of days in Prague, I continued westward. I pulled up to the German border entry and received a doleful look. Go away. I laughed and went on my way. It surprised me a bit. I thought that would be the toughest border to cross. I made my way across Germany to the southwestern town of Freiburg, near the Black Forest. A lot of great riding there. Dang, those French not only know how to cook, but they sure do make some hellacious biking roads. I must have hit the local biking road because there were bikes all over the place. Excellent roads through darkened forests. From there I worked my way up the Rhine. Great weather on a Sunday… there were a bazillion bikes out. Great views of castles all the way up to Koblenz. There I hung a left and wandered down the Mosel River Valley, famous for its wines. Every tour of Europe should include a ride along the Rhine. There are roads on each side of the river. I finally found a carwash. The Guzzi looked semi-respectable now. I was drinking a soda outside a convenience store…this woman gets out of her car…takes one look at me and my bike…thinks about it for a moment…then clicks on the burglar alarm on her key chain. I kinda liked that. I followed the Mosel River into the tiny nation of Luxembourg. I ended up staying an extra day in Luxembourg. I usually blast through the tiny country on my way to something more interesting. This time I decided to spend a day touring within its borders. What a great choice! Wonderful roads along the Mosel River… other roads wandering through forests so thick that no sunlight penetrated the canopy in spite of it being a scorching day. From Luxembourg I entered Belgium through the Ardennes, passing through many towns whose names recalled the Battle of the Bulge. From France to the English Channel the terrain devolves into rolling farmland. Not too interesting on a motorbike, so I got on the autoroute, blasted to the Channel, and hopped on the 5pm ferry to Dover, where I got a hotel room for the night. Met an old timer on a KTM v-twin modified with a sidecar. He was on his way to an enduro event in Wales. The last day of my trip… and I wanted to make it count. I blasted west on the motorway all the way to Bristol near south Wales. This took up half a day, so I had another half day to enjoy as much of Wales as I could. I may have stopped to take more pictures on the last half day than at any other time on the trip. Maybe it was the realization that the trip was coming to an end and that stopping to take pictures might prolong it indefinitely. Here is a shot of the mighty, mighty Goose in the Welsh countryside on the last day of the trip. The sound of an Italian v-twin in song as it blasts through a series a curves is one of those things in life that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up and make you glad to be alive. Traffic citations: 1, in Romania. I managed to negotiate it from 10 Euros up to Euros. I should explain. As the policeman was writing the ticket he asked how much my helmet cost. I said it cost Euros. He said he makes Euros a month. We continued talking. It turned out he was a biker himself and asked about getting a helmet from western Europe. I felt sorry for him after hearing what his monthly salary was, so I offered to send him one at no charge. He ripped up the ticket. Countries: Posted in Eastern Europe. I had scheduled the first week in November to get one last ride in before the onset of winter in Italy. As the trip grew nearer, I kept checking the weather on the internet in hopes that there might be some glimmer of fall left. My hopes kept getting dashed upon the rocky shore of reality as, each time I checked, all I could see was a line of icons showing gray clouds with little rain drops eminating. I kept checking again and again in hopes that the weatherman had made a mistake or the weather had taken a turn for the better but, alas, nothing but rain clouds appeared for the entire week. As I already had purchased a plane ticket, I decided to go ahead and try to make the best of a damp situation. Parma is a nice city with many sights to see including a fantastic rennaisance era theater. Things looked grim as I woke up the next morning and heard a thunderclap which was followed by a rain shower. I headed for the bike shop like a man headed to the firing squad. As I prepared the bike, the rain had stopped but, the skies were still gray. It was almost 12 noon before I was ready to get under way so, I made the decision to slab it down to Florence on the autostrada interstate. Around mid-afternoon I began to see vague shadows appear. Things could be worse. I was less than impressed. It was still an interstate to me though, it did have some curves thrown in. I guess the interstates west of Denver would be comparable. The view was quite different though. Pure Tuscany. Italian pines dotted the landscape looking for all the world like the backdrop to a Leonardo Da Vinci painting. By late afternoon, patches of blue began to appear. What is this? After missing my exit and going 50 km before stopping to check the map eyeroll I managed to find my way to the villa I would be staying at in San Casciano, just south of Florence. Here is a photo of the Villa Il Poggialo. This would be my home for the next 2 nights. Kinda looks like what a Tuscan villa should look like, huh. I woke up the next morning to a vibrant blue sky. The weatherman was obviously still asleep. Was I ever wrong! The roads were fantastic! I did just that! Picture of a Tuscan farm house. If you try to get by with just one course, they look at you kinda funny. Count on spending 1 hour to have a nice meal. Well worth it! The view from the other side of the portal. Itty bitty Italian cars were zipping through the portal at a frightening clip frightening for me at least. Here is a picture from outside the city walls. The mighty Goose pauses near the town of San Gimignano. San Gimignano is a tourist hot spot as it is reknown for its famous towers. Imagine their surprise when a Guzzi mounted hoodlum hurtled into their midst. I ended the day back at the villa. What a gorgeous day it turned out to be! I was to be blessed with more blue skies on my third day! On this day, I headed to northern Tuscany where the Appenine mountains lie. The roads got tighter and slower but, the scenery was more of the same. Here near another picturesque village called Cutigliano, the exotic Goose pauses for a breather. Most of the time the road was just too narrow to safely pull over and snap a picture. Good stuff! A good way to end the trip. Unfortunately, all trips have to come to an end. Tip toeing thru wet curves sucks. Posted in Tuscany I. We decided to stay close to home and explore the Italian Lake district in the foothills of the Alps. After retrieving my Guzzi from Moto Guareschi in Parma, we made our way north via the backroads under sunny blue skies. The first lake encountered would be Lake Garda. The southern end of the lake is a bit touristy, including the kitschy Gardaland, an italian takeoff on Disneyland. However, once you head north along the lake shore, you encounter many quaint villages, some with their own medievel castles. At the north end of the lake, in the town of Arco, stands the imposing 12th century Castello di Arco. Heading south on the western shore of Lake Garda, the road spends half the time cutting thru tunnels due to the steep cliffs. The plan had been to head west towards Lake Como. However, at a gas stop in the town of Storo, just west of Lake Garda, the Goose began running on one cylinder. I found a hotel room for the night and returned to the Guzzi shop the next morning. This is quite a spectacular pass with freshly paved tarmac and the little Guzzi performed admirably. Guareschi to come rescue me, since I was only 2 hours from Parma. Returning me and my Guzzi to Parma in his van, and seeing the next day was a Sunday, he kindly offered me the use of his new Moto Guzzi Stelvio. Top bloke. I stayed in Parma the night before continuing my vacation the following day. Not willing to lose any more precious time, I blasted north to Lake Como via la autostrada. Lake Como is the spiritual home to Guzzisti the world over. Lake Como is shaped like an upside down Y with the idyllic town of Bellagio at the tip of a peninsula where the Y comes together. I arrived on a Sunday afternoon and Bellagio was bustling wth day trippers from Milan, including a wide assortment of bikers. I also saw quite a noticeable contingent of Harley riders. Not the wannabe badasses seen in North America. These were the style with the wide beach bars. I call them George Clooney clones, as Mr. Clooney has been known to partake on the Lake Como roads on his Harley from his nearby villa. The following morning, I hop on one of the numerous ferries to Menaggio on the western shore. Looking back at Bellagio off the ferry stern, the good weather was still staying with me. From Menaggio, I continue west to Lake Lugano. Italy shares Lake Lugano with Switzerland, however, wanting to avoid border crossing delays and snooty Swiss border guards, I decide to stay in Italy. October is a wonderful time to visit Italy. Most of the tourists have gone home, leaving the roads and the sites relatively traffic free. A soft, autumnal light caresses the landscape giving everything a portrait quality. The further I got into the hills, the narrower, the road became. It was probably a good thing I was on the Stelvio, as the road became a veritable goat path. After about 20 kilometers of this, I finally made it over the ridgeline and began decending with Lake Como stretching out below me. Typical narrow streets encountered in the small mountain villages. Yes, trucks and busses pass this way. With the sun sinking in the west, I tried to capture an image of the steep Lake Como hillside near the town of Pigra. Apologies for the poor lighting. This was the best shot I could get of the road that clings to the lake shore near the town of Argegno. Approaching Bellagio on the ferry. I head south towards Lecco at dusk to capture the image of the road carved from rock. Another ferry approaches Bellagio. The ferry service is quite efficient as I never had to wait more than 15 minutes to catch one. The Italians love for speed is evident in the super cool hydrofoils that ply the lakes. Disclaimer: team orson regrets having to post these images of rampant hedonism. It is hoped that by publishing these images, we can better understand the mindset of the hedonist. Watching the news, it is evident that an imminent cold front is approaching from northern Europe and bringing rain with it. The next morning still has blue skies, so we make time for a quick dash eastward via Varese, skirting Lake Varese to the Lake Maggiore ferry crossing at Laveno. Staying ahead of the cold front, we follow the western shore of the lake heading southwards to Arona, before jumping onto la autostrada for a quick 3 hour dash to the Ligurian coast. The Isola Borromee are a trio of islands that have ornate gardens and palaces built by the Borromee family since the s. The roads are very twisty with lots of traffic and few places to pass, even for a motorcycle. There are few roads inland from the lakes, as the mountain terrain is so steep. Approaching Genoa on the coast, I find myself tiring of the autostrada and beat a quick exit for a road following the coastline in the hills above Genoa. It turns out to be a fortuitous decision as the road turns out to be a freshly paved supermotard track. I have to say…Gawd, I love Italian riding. Solid white lines are meaningless. There were times when I would fall back into American riding, trundling along behind slower traffic, only to be buzzed by a sweet young thing on her moped. In one town a young thang zipped by me, while waving to a friend she saw. I stayed behind her on the narrow road to Portofino. Coming around one corner, we met a bus that took up most of the road, leaving a three foot gap between the bus and a wall of granite. I decide to head for the quaint, if touristy village of Portofino and find a hotel that can make a martini. I strike paydirt, scoring a nice hotel near the mouth of the harbor. Last time I visited Portofino was in May of and I had gotten a bad vibe from the place from the rampant tourism. In October, it was a different story. With the throngs of tourists gone, you could almost squint and imagine what a lovely place it once was. My plan to escape the rain had worked, as I had awoken to overcast skies, but no rain. After the funfilled supermotard track of the previous day, I decided to head up into the Ligurian hills and explore. I was finally encountering some motorbike worthy roads. I came away very impressed with the hills around Genoa. The final day on the road dawned with cloudy skies yet again, but the clouds had yet to unleash their damp revenge. After a leisurely breakfast with one last dossage of Italian cappuccinos, I head towards Parma across the autumn-hued Appenine range. Mileage: uhmmm…I lost track. Maybe close to km in 8 days. Carabinieri encounters: 1 Puckers: 1 sand in curve Bee stings: 0. Posted in Italian Lake District. Being allergic to cold weather, I decided to head southwards along the Appenine mountain range which runs along the entire length of the Italian peninsula. For the first day of my trip, I decided to put off heading south for a day and explore the province of Parma. The sun was shining and the roads were twisty as I headed deeper into the mountains. I encountered local riders along the way. Near the higher elevations of the Passo di Mercatello, I encounter some fall foilage. Later in the day, the skies begin to darken and threaten to rain, but the threat does little to dampen the beauty of the Italian countryside. Hang a hard right, give it a little throttle before easing off for the small village dominated by the church spire. Nice house! Home to names such as Ducati, Ferrari and Maseratti. From Maranello, I turn southwest and begin the serpentine climb up into the mountains and into Tuscany. As I climb further and further, the other traffic decreases. Soon, it seems I have the mountains to myself. Again, the fall colors become more prevalent at the higher altitudes. A tree lined country lane winds its way through the mountains. In the states, a traffic safety engineer may have deemed these trees unsafe and ordered them to be cut down. In Italy, they remain…just because. Sleepy villages line my route where time seems to stand still, in spite of what the clock tower says. As I approached the town of Pescia, I began to notice small throngs of people lining the route. Many of them were dressed as bicycle racers. I began to suspect something was up. Sure enough, as I rounded a bend, a police bike coming the opposite way, dismissively waved me off the road. Right after that came the usual sights seen at the Tour de France. The team cars, officials, camera bikes, followed by the peloton. South of Empoli, I was getting into the heart of Tuscany with its picturesque countryside and its romantic villas. I found my way back to a nice villa near San Casciano that I had stayed at a few years earlier. The following morning, I made my way into town to look for a map of Tuscany. Everyone comes down to the square to load up their supplies for the week. Armed with a new map, I leave San Casciano headed east into the Chianti foothills. Fine twisties amongst hillsides dotted by centuries old villages. Those of you who have been to the Napa and Sonoma valleys will notice the resemblance with this wine growing region. Naturally, team orson would be in dereliction of their duties if they failed to sample some of the local product. Lost again. After Montevarchi, I began climbing into the mountains again. Many times in Italy, the maps say one thing, and the road signs say something else. You really have to get along with your neighbors to live in a village like that. Finally regaining my bearings, I found a main road and started heading south towards Arezzo and Cortona. The mighty mighty goose waits patiently while I stop to take a picture of a castle. I entered the city and puttered around exploring for a bit. Notice the 10 kph speed limit sign. The fourth day would find me still heading south under now cloudy skies but no rain into Umbria. I skirt around Lago Trasimeno and make my way towards Todi. Between Todi and Orvieto, I encountered a real bit of twisty tarmac. It started a bit rough and bumpy but finished off real nicely. I think the asphalt might have still been smoking the next morning. I really wished the sun had been shining for this one. It reminded me of an Imperial battle cruiser from Star Wars. The end of the fourth day found me on the shores of Lago di Bolsena where I found a nice hotel to take me in for the night. Now, time is running out on my journey and I need to begin heading back north towards Parma. I depart Bolsena under still cloudy skies. The roads leading north back into Tuscany are pleasingly twisty, just as most of the roads have been since my journey began. The sun begins to make an appearance as the mighty mighty goose cuts a handsome profie with the Tuscan landscape as a backdrop. At Pontedera, near Pisa, I decide to call it a night. Tomorrow will sadly be the last day of the journey. I take the autostrada and cut north along the coast to La Spezia before I cut inland towards Parma. I climb into the Appenines one last time under brilliant skies. I descended the final few kilometers into Parma before handing my bike over to its caretakers. All in all, it was probably one of my best trips in Italy. I kept to the backroads for most of the time and really enjoyed some fine motorcycling roads as well as the awesome countryside. Posted in Italy's Appenine Mountains. I flew into Milan and grabbed a cab for the Estacione Centrale to catch a train to Parma. Arriving in Parma after about 2 hours, I grab another quick cab ride to Moto Guareschi. Home base for my Gootsi where they lovingly fondle it and whisper sweet nuthins into its ears to get it to purr contentedly. While stopped, a guy comes running up to me gushing about the Guzzi and wanting to take a picture with his cell phone. The fame of Guzzi ownership is something you never get used to. If only it had this effect on young women! Making my way westward out of Parma, I soon came upon the beautiful Torrechiara Castle, built over years ago in the Parma Valley. Continuing westward in the Province of Parma…a medeivel farming village in the foothills of the Apuan Alps…. I continue climbing up over the Apuan Alps and into Tuscany. While studying the map, I notice the Cinque Terre region on the Ligurian coast. In an instant, a change in plans. Tuscany would have to wait a day. I grabbed a hotel room in the seaside resort of Portvenere and enjoyed a nice seafood meal. The Cinque Terre region is named after five villages precariously perched on the rocky shores of eastern Liguria. Kinda has a California Highway 1 vibe going…. I think this is looking down on the village of Manarola. They have toll booths set up before you get into each town. I think this is a picture of the village of Vernazza with the village of Corniglia in the distance. It was midday by the time I reached the last village of Monterosso so, I turned around and headed back south towards Tuscany and the Apuan Alps. The Apuan Alps are impressive indeed. The northern part of Tuscany is more rugged and mountainous than the south. The last time I was in Tuscany, I spent a few hours trying to find this bridge. It was right here the whole time! The Ponte di Maddalena near the town of Lucca. It was built over years ago. I stopped for the night in the beautiful town of Bagni di Lucca. Not being no fool, I quickly took him up on his offer. It might be the closest I ever get to a GP! Determined not to use the Autostrada, I forced myself into downtown Florence, determined to make my way north. Unfortunately, I ended up getting lost big time. I finally gave up after about an hour and made my way north along the Autostrada to Mugello…. Nice work if you can get it. On this day, Vitto was testing tires on a pair of new s. I left Mugello at 3 p. The hills around Mugello offer some great roads, including the famous Paso di Futa, where Ducati test riders ride from nearby Bologna. The Paso di Futa was also part of the famous Mille Miglia road race. I pressed on through the golden sunlight. Finally, around 6 p. The next day would be my last and I would have to make my way back to Parma. But I still had time to enjoy the Tuscan roads until heading north at midday. I made my way through the hilly terrain to the beautiful town of Stia. Stia has a wonderful medeival town square. I finally ran out of time and began heading north. Unfortunately, I had to use the Autostrada to make time but, you have to take the good with the bad. I left the bike with the Guareschi boys, bade my farewells and made my way back to Milan. I saw two policeman standing on the side of the road with their lollypops ready but they seemed involved in an animated discussion about soccer or women and ignored passing traffic. Posted in Tuscany II. Create a free website or blog at WordPress. Sunrise over the Monte Argentario peninsula. A rugged looking hill town somewhere north of Rome. Even this far south, there was still a dusting of snow covering the peaks. A view of the town of Amalfi from the hotel balcony. Heading west on the Amalfi Road Looking back east A secluded grotto viewed from the road Heading back towards the hotel Southern Italy is known for limoncello, and this time of year, lemons are bursting off the trees. That might explain the crooked horizon in the picture Another view of Amalfi from the hotel. La costa Pugliense The towns in this region are whitewashed giving you the impression that you might be in Andalusia or Morocco. Written by orsonstravels June 21, at am. Taking in the views and the cool lake breezes on the crossing Nuthin but Guzzis on the ferry. Approaching ferry port of Varenna on the eastern shore of Lake Como. Sport touring as it once was By Saturday morning, the place was really filling up Italian fast food Somehow, a Benelli managed to infiltrate the event After two days spent ogling the bikes, it was time to move on. Leaving Lake Como, an early snowfall had dusted the alpine foothills I headed west along the base of the Alps. Written by orsonstravels October 1, at pm. Tuscany The first day would end with team orson in the Chianti region of Tuscany. Team orson had been recommended a nice room nearby with an excellent restaurant Tasty twisties were also sampled We stopped to have lunch in this town whose name now escapes me. Approaching the coast through groves of olive trees I had planned to stay overnight at the ferry port of Piombino but, arriving by P. I had barely enough time to get off the bike and snap this picture of the ferry before the load master was hollering at me to get my butt onboard Elba lies 18 kilometers off the coast of Tuscany so, it was a relatively quick 1 hour crossing. The cove where the hotel was located The next morning we head west from the main city of Portoferraio, following the coastal highway, Monti Capanne, the highest peak on Elba in the distance Approaching the town of Marciana Marina on the north coast The roads of Elba are extremely twisty but, with the heavy traffic, traveling at a sporty pace proved difficult. The primi platti of frutti de mari was absolutely delicious Unfortunately, the Highway 1 similarity only lasted about 20 kilometers. Heading back east along the south coast The next day would be spent exploring the east side of the island. Overlooking the main city of Portoferraio across the bay Approaching the town of Innamorata Looking back west along the southern coast from the town of Innamorata After two days on the island, we boarded a ferry back to the mainland. Heading across Southern Tuscany, the landscape reminded team orson of Spain It was on this day that team orson would rediscover sport touring. It remains a mystery to team orson why so many focus on the Alps while leaving other fantastic roads untouched but, we are grateful for the lack of traffic Vast wide open spaces on the northern fringe of Monti Sibillini National Park The town of Civitella I think Umbria Approaching Spoletto from the south Tuscany After almost two weeks of unflinching, sunny blue skies, a day of rain set in. The Northern Tuscan spa town of Bagni di Lucca where team orson found a nice little hotel overlooking the river Sunny skies returned allowing for a beautiful ride through the Apuan Alps of Northern Tuscany Resistance is futile. If you see the sign of a scorpion in your mirrors, surrender to your fate at the hands of an Abarth-equipped Fiat More views of the Apuan Alps Popping out on the Ligurian coast near Portofino Emilia-Romagna After a rest day in Portofino, team orson begins the final leg of the trip from the coast back to Parma. Written by orsonstravels October 3, at am. I got lost, and when I turned around I saw this view. Sometimes it pays to get lost. Hungarian plains. I was lucky and avoided detection… hehehehe Budapest is amazingly beautiful. Overlooking the Danube. Children prepare to take part in a folkloric dance show in central Budapest. Entering Romania. A Romanian lake. The High Tatras. Picturesque German town. Scenic village in the Alsace-Lorraine. The White Cliffs of Dover. Trip Summary: May 31 to June Bee stings: 0 Pucker moments: Many, many minor ones. Written by orsonstravels April 28, at am. Last one. Mileage: km in 3. Written by orsonstravels March 4, at pm. Stopping for a leisurely lunch at the town of Garda on the east side of the lake. Climbing up into the hills that surround the lake provide a better view. I follow the old road north along the lake. Climbing the road into the hills with Lake Lugano in the background. Tiny villages cling to mountainsides. A park and a weir at the tip of the Bellagio peninsula looking west towards Menaggio. Another narrow alleyway opens up onto a view of the lake. A quiet lakeside cafe I head south towards Lecco at dusk to capture the image of the road carved from rock. Sunset over Lake Como from the hotel balcony. Crossing Lake Maggiore looking towards Verbania on the opposite shore. The road leading to Portofino. Written by orsonstravels March 3, at pm. I encountered the first castle of the trip. It would be the first of many. A mountain village, lies in seclusion deep in the Appenines A tree lined country lane winds its way through the mountains. In Italy, they remain…just because Sleepy villages line my route where time seems to stand still, in spite of what the clock tower says As I approached the town of Pescia, I began to notice small throngs of people lining the route. Everyone comes down to the square to load up their supplies for the week Armed with a new map, I leave San Casciano headed east into the Chianti foothills. Climbing towards San Clemente Finally regaining my bearings, I found a main road and started heading south towards Arezzo and Cortona. First sighting of Todi. The Tuscan roads wind their way past hilltop villages, too numerous to keep track of The sun begins to make an appearance as the mighty mighty goose cuts a handsome profie with the Tuscan landscape as a backdrop At Pontedera, near Pisa, I decide to call it a night. I climb into the Appenines one last time under brilliant skies Yet another castle! The final pass over the Apuan Alps I descended the final few kilometers into Parma before handing my bike over to its caretakers. Tuscanny, Spring leave a comment » Spring I flew into Milan and grabbed a cab for the Estacione Centrale to catch a train to Parma. About 30 minutes later I came upon the ruins of another castle whose name escapes me. Continuing westward in the Province of Parma…a medeivel farming village in the foothills of the Apuan Alps… I continue climbing up over the Apuan Alps and into Tuscany. Kinda has a California Highway 1 vibe going… The village of Riomaggiore. Leaving Bagni di Lucca for Mugello, I came across another ancient looking bridge. On this day, Vitto was testing tires on a pair of new s I left Mugello at 3 p. This is the main road through this small town…beautiful A sunny day in Tuscany on a motorcycle…does not suck. Tuscan twisties Finally, around 6 p. One more for the road. Subscribe Subscribed. Orson's Travel Blog. Sign me up. Already have a WordPress. Log in now. Design a site like this with WordPress.
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Similar to the UTMB non-stop race, but we took it at a more leisurely running pace, spread over four days, staying in mountain huts. You can read about it here. Perhaps the next most obvious circuit in the Alps is the Tour Monte Rosa. This encircles the Monte Rosa massif, going through Switzerland and Italy, taking in the Theodul pass m and Monte Moro Pass m , with some spectacular mountain side trails like the Europaweg, and stunning views including passing close to the Matterhorn. Logistics — Flew into Geneva, arriving late so stayed one night in airport hotel, then train from Geneva airport to Visp, change to mountain railway train to St. We debated how many days to take over it. We thought about 4 days, same as we did the TMB. But then Shane spoke to some people who had done it before, got some tips on huts to stay in in particular those in the high passes , and we eventually settled on 5 days. Here they are:. Mainly a shame because the bits of Europaweg we still did were nice, and we probably missed even better bits. We stopped for lunch at the Europa hut which is confusingly different to our final destination of the Europaweg hut , and soon after went over the Charles Kuonen Suspension Bridge, the longest pedestrian suspension bridge in the world m. However, chatting to some others in the hut, they said they were going up the valley from the hut to the Pfulwe Pass, and down to Zermatt from there. It was still only day 2, we were fresh, and never ones to turn down a challenge, so it was pretty quickly established that we were going that way as well! Then it was heads down for a m climb up to the pass and the hut. Mostly it was ok, and some great views. The last km is up a ski piste under a ski tow — on an glacier, but uncrevassed and safe enough, just slushy in the afternoon warmth and a bit of a slog. Fortunately our hut was hidden in the pass, and not the one that looked about a mile further up the slopes! Day 3, Theodul Pass to Rifugio Gabiet, However, after 5km you pass that and you are into glorious flowing trails down green valleys, and not a soul in sight. Coffee at the Rifugio Ferraro, before a stiff climb up to the Bettaforca Col, down to Stafal for some lunch, and up a nice valley to the hut. Pleasant start up to the ski station. It initially went north, over the Stollenberg, then descend to the valley — simple right?! Erm no. Initial confusion near the lifts, trying to follow groups of mountaineers with full alpine gear, crampons, ice axes we have shorts, fell shoes, and walking poles. Reverse, and get onto the crest of the ridge. Some snow patches, but there are foot prints, and paint on the rocks so we are fine. Then the map shows a fork in the trail, but the way we want has no prints, no paint, and jumps off a large cliff to rocks and snow below. Definitely in the right place. Is the map wrong? Who knows. After wasting lots of time deliberating and searching, we continued up the ridge which ultimately heads up the m Monte Rosa… , past some ruined bivouac shelters, keep peering over the cliffs but no sign of passage, eventually reaching a long since defunct ski lift station at Punta Indren oddly the diesel generator is still running despite no signs of life? Finally just beyond a ski passage leads down through the band of cliffs an off piste run in winter I guess. What follows is some amusing glissading on our fell shoes down steepish snow patches. Shane just went for it, I took a more cautious approach, with a sharp rock in hand to use as an impromptu ice axe if necessary, but eventually got the hang of it, and it was much easier than rock hopping to the side of the snow, and only mildly more dangerous! Finally the snow ends, and we have a another pleasant valley to descend, a picturesque lake and a stream, feels like we could be on an MM in the Scottish Highlands, ending at the Rifugio Pastore for coffee and a large slice of cake! Whew, 3 hours done, not actually gone that far, and we still have a long way to go today! The next section is a joy, over the Turlo Pass, which has a magnificently constructed path built by the Walser people centuries ago, winding its way up and back down the other side. We are tiring by the time we reach Macugnaga, in the valley heat of the day, and not helped by a mile diversion because a bridge on our map is washed away. But stomachs sated we press on up the long climb to the hut. Eventually we are on it and skipping our way down to Saas-Fee. Despite 5 days of running the excitement lifts us as we skip along the trail with delight. Job done. Kit — My kit list below, 5kg bag to start, nearer 3. I rarely carried more than ml liquid, filling up in mountain streams, or fountains in the villages. Showers are very welcome in those huts that provide them. Your single set of clothes smell by the end, but you get used to it. So how does it compare to the Tour de Mont Blanc? One downside is in several places on the TMR you are trekking up beside ski lifts, and ski infrastructure is all around you although there are exceptions like the Turlo Pass , whereas there is much less of that on the TMB. But perhaps the standout thing in favour of the TMR was the lack of people. On the TMR we hardly saw anyone who seemed to be doing the whole trail, and none of the huts had more than a dozen people in our last hut just had us and three other guests. In places it is a wild mountain experience, and some of the trails are just pure joy. Close Menu Duncan Archer. Mountain Marathon. Facebook Twitter Attack point Strava. View from the breakfast table at the Theodul hut Logistics — Flew into Geneva, arriving late so stayed one night in airport hotel, then train from Geneva airport to Visp, change to mountain railway train to St. Showers 6 CHF and tap drinking water. No phone signal, WiFi or power sockets. Large platform style hut bunks that could fit 14 would feel very cramped , but only 5 people staying in our room. Swiss CHF. Rifugio Teodulo — Perched in the Theodul pass, with simply spectacular views of the Matterhorn out of the huge window down one side of the modern dining room. Power sockets, phone signal, WiFi. No showers or tap drinking water. Bunk beds, 8 beds in our room only 6 occupied. Just on the Italian side of the border euros. Rifugio Gabiet — Another peaceful spot halfway up what is a ski resort in winter. Showers free , power, phone, tap drinking water. No WiFi. Small occupancy rooms — just 2 beds in ours. Really nice feel to the hut and good facilities. Italian euros. Unfortunately it was a bit cloudy when we were there, but the views of the summit came and went. No phone signal or tap drinking water. Bunk beds, 6 beds in our room only us in there. Survival bag, bandage, plasters, compeed, tissues, contact lens, ear plugs, paracetamol, nurofen, lipsalve, headtorch, toothbrush, compass, shampoo, money, BMC and EHIC cards, passport, wallet.
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