I – Exploring Italy – Ep 1

Italy Bound – Chasing Twisty Roads on the Mighty Old Lady

This one didn’t.

The mission is different.

Beautiful roads.
Mountains.
Tiny villages.
Twisties until the tyres beg for mercy.
And enough espresso to medically concern a cardiologist.

After several miserable days in Germany with rain, cold winds and weather so depressing even the sausages looked sad, the universe finally gave me a break.

Sunshine. Dry roads. Around 10 degrees.

Perfect.

Well… “perfect” in German biker language means: not actively freezing to death.

Time to load the bike.

And this time the chosen weapon wasn’t some shiny adventure spaceship with aluminium boxes and enough electronics to launch a satellite.

Nope.

I took the mighty old lady: the BMW R 1150 RT.

Honestly, she’s perfect for this kind of madness.

First of all, nobody steals an old RT. Thieves see one and probably think:
“Ah no worries mate, that belongs to someone’s accountant uncle.”

Second reason: the old girl is just fun.

Not fast.
Not sexy.
Not sporty.

But reliable like a stubborn German grandmother who still uses the same frying pan since 1972.

At exactly 09:45 the bike and I rolled out of Aying with peak German efficiency.

Naturally, the beginning was boring as hell.

Main highway. Straight south. Hammering towards Austria and the Brenner Pass.

Now look, I know highways are about as exciting as watching concrete dry, but sometimes you simply need to eat kilometres quickly. Especially when snow still sits in the mountains waiting to ruin your day.

Austria demanded the usual sacrifice.

5.10 Euro for the Pickerl.
12.50 Euro for the Brenner Autobahn A13.

Not cheap for a road that mainly offers trucks overtaking trucks while another truck watches.

Still, easiest way through the Alps.

Fast? Yes.
Beautiful? Sort of.
Fun? Not really.

But then…

Italy.

The moment you cross that border something changes instantly.

The air smells different.
The mountains somehow look more dramatic.
People suddenly drive like every day is qualifying for Monza.

And honestly?

Italy always feels a little bit like coming home to me.

Good food. Great landscapes. Friendly people. Beautiful chaos everywhere. It’s impossible not to love it.

At the border I finally escaped the highway and joined the legendary SS12.

Now this road is proper historic stuff.

Back in the 1950s and 60s, before Italy built the big highways, the SS12 was THE road south. Thousands of Germans loaded their tiny cars with kids, camping gear and enough stress for a divorce, then crawled down this route towards sunshine and beaches.

And my plan?

Ride the whole thing.

From Brenner all the way towards Pisa eventually.

Easy in theory.

In reality, planning the original route is like solving an archaeological mystery. Parts got renamed, bypasses built, villages rerouted. Half the time you wonder if you’re still on the real SS12 or accidentally driving into someone’s vineyard.

Up at the Brenner Pass the temperature dropped to 8 degrees.

Bloody freezing.

And suddenly bikers everywhere.

Adventure bikes. Sport bikes. Naked bikes. Old blokes on Harleys wearing more leather than a medieval torture chamber.

The mountains still carried loads of snow up high, but the valleys looked absolutely stunning.

Perfection.

Originally Bozen was the planned stop. But after checking the weather forecast I noticed rain coming tomorrow.

Not ideal.

A little further south though? Dry weather.

Decision made.

Keep riding.

That’s the beauty of travelling without fixed hotel bookings. No stress. No schedule. No panic.

You stop where you want.
You change plans anytime.
You follow the mood.

That’s real motorcycle travel.

Eventually I reached Auer in the South Tyrol Unterland region and found a brilliant place to stay.

Bike parked. Boots off. Beer acquired.

Total distance today: around 290 km.

Not the most exciting riding day of history, but safe and efficient. Considering the remaining snow in the Alps, probably the smart move too.

And honestly, the adventure had finally begun.

I slept like I’d been tranquillised by wildlife experts.

Absolute coma.

One of those sleeps where you wake up confused about your own identity for the first thirty seconds.

After a proper breakfast it was finally time to continue south.

10 am departure.

Still chilly in the morning, but sunshine again and — most importantly — no rain.

Already a win.

One thing I absolutely love about this style of travel is the freedom.

Sure, there’s a rough route and some highlights I want to see, but nothing is fully planned. No pre-booked hotels. No fixed schedule. No stress.

Every evening becomes a little surprise.

Where do I end up tonight?
Who knows mate.

Could be a charming mountain village.
Could be a dodgy industrial hotel beside a truck stop.

That uncertainty is half the fun.

Unfortunately today started with pain.

Not physical pain.

Mental pain.

Traffic.

Exactly the same.

More trucks. More traffic. More industrial ugliness.

Honestly, if Dante wrote the Inferno today, one circle of hell would definitely be commuting through northern Italy behind overloaded delivery vans.

About 45 kilometres of fantastic riding.

Beautiful scenery. Flowing roads. Hardly any traffic.

Just enough corners to remember why I came here in the first place.

And then…

Verona.

Back into traffic hell.

By now the old RT and I had developed a survival rhythm:

Clutch. Brake. Truck.
Clutch. Brake. Scooter.
Clutch. Brake. Angry Fiat Panda.

And after Verona came the Po plains.

Flat.

Very flat.

Flat in a way that makes you question if mountains were only a dream.

No curves. No alpine beauty. Just traffic, industry and heat.

I made an important life decision today:

Next time I cross this area, I’m taking the highway.

Stuff romanticism.

Sometimes smaller roads are better.
Sometimes smaller roads are simply punishment.

Today was punishment.

After surviving the plains I finally reached Modena in the early afternoon.

Hot already.

Traffic chaos.

Scooters appearing from dimensions unknown to science.

For a brief moment I considered visiting the Ferrari museum there.

But honestly?

I needed out of the city.

Fast.

And now we’re talking.

Maranello is Ferrari country.

Everything there smells faintly of horsepower, money and expensive engine rebuilds.

I checked into the Ferrari team hotel directly along the SS12.

Fancy place too.

Even the bloody breakfast probably had extra horsepower.

Decided to stay two nights and relax a bit.

Good decision.

Because today’s ride?

Honestly not very enjoyable.

267 kilometres that felt much longer.

But the good news is simple:

And that’s where the real riding begins.

Day 3 – Ferrari, Schumacher and a Bit of Childhood Nostalgia

19.05.26

The night wasn’t brilliant.

Not terrible either.

Just one of those weird hotel sleeps where your body is tired but your brain decides to replay random memories from 2004 at 3 am.

Still, breakfast fixed most problems.

Coffee. Eggs. Italian pastries.

And today finally something different:

Tip for anyone going there:

Arrive early.

Seriously.

Ticket price?

34 Euro per adult.

Which initially feels a bit steep.

Especially because after about two hours you’ve pretty much seen everything.

Still, for motorsport fans it’s definitely worth doing once.

Because Ferrari isn’t just a car company.

It’s basically a religion.

Not mildly interested.

Obsessed.

And that obsession created one of the most legendary brands in automotive history.

Ferrari became famous not only because of beautiful sports cars but because of motorsport dominance.

Especially Formula 1.

Ferrari is the only team that has competed in every single Formula 1 season since the championship began in 1950.

That alone is mental.

Over decades Ferrari produced legends, drama, victories, heartbreak and enough Italian chaos to power Netflix for twenty seasons.

The museum focuses heavily on motorsport history.

Old Formula 1 cars. Racing engines. Trophies. Technical displays.

Even if you’re not a hardcore Ferrari fan, some of the machines are genuinely stunning.

But for me personally, one section hit differently:

Now mate, if you grew up in Germany during the Schumacher era, Formula 1 wasn’t just sport.

It was religion on Sundays.

Back then I watched nearly every race on TV. Monaco. Budapest. Hockenheim. Nürburgring.

Sometimes even live at the track.

And Schumacher in red Ferrari colours?

That era was special.

Between 2000 and 2004 Ferrari and Schumacher completely dominated Formula 1. Five consecutive world championships. Ruthless efficiency. Brilliant driving. Absolute peak performance.

Standing there seeing the actual cars, helmets and memorabilia felt strangely emotional.

Like reconnecting with part of your own youth.

Funny how machines can do that.

The museum also displays modern Ferrari road cars from the current lineup.

Beautiful? Absolutely.

Affordable? Only if you sell several organs and maybe a kidney from a friend.

After roughly two hours though, you’ve pretty much completed the experience.

So is it worth 34 Euro?

Honestly?

Depends how much you love motorsport.

For hardcore racing fans: yes.
For casual tourists: maybe not.
For motorcycle travellers escaping traffic before returning to mountain roads: decent enough.

And tomorrow?

Finally.

The mountains of Emilia-Romagna await.

Less traffic.
More curves.
More proper riding.

Exactly what this whole adventure was supposed to be about from the beginning.

#dustysocks