I – Exploring Italy – Ep 2

20.05.26 – 23.05.26

There’s a strange rule I discovered about myself during motorcycle travel.

Two nights in one place?

Perfect.

Three nights?

Mate, suddenly I start behaving like a trapped zoo animal.

Doesn’t matter how nice the hotel is. Doesn’t matter if they serve breakfast on golden plates carried by supermodels. After two nights my brain starts whispering:

“Come on… let’s go… there’s another road somewhere…”

So after two nights in Maranello surrounded by Ferrari flags, expensive espresso and enough horsepower to upset environmental activists globally, it was finally time to move again.

And honestly?

Thank bloody god.

Because now the real riding started.

Breakfast done.

Bike loaded.

Old lady ready.

At exactly 9 am the BMW R1150RT rolled back onto the SS12.

Now after the industrial punishment of previous days, I expected more traffic, more trucks and more ugly logistics centres pretending to be scenery.

Instead…

Boom.

Absolute magic.

The road suddenly transformed into motorcycle heaven.

Twist after twist after twist.

Smooth flowing corners. Empty roads. Green hills rolling into the distance. Tiny villages glued onto mountainsides like someone forgot to finish building them properly.

This was Emilia-Romagna at its absolute best.

And honestly, Emilia-Romagna is criminally underrated for riding.

Meanwhile roads like these sit quietly in the background going:

“Yeah mate… we’re fantastic too.”

And the best part?

Hardly anybody there.

No camper vans attempting suicide in blind corners.
No influencer couples stopping every 300 metres for drone footage.
No rental Fiat 500s panicking in hairpins.

Just me, the old RT and endless curves.

Weather was spot on too.

Taxes? Don’t care.
Politics? Don’t care.
Emails? Absolutely not.

Only next corner matters.

The closer I got towards Lucca though, the more traffic started appearing.

At first only a few cars.

Then more.

Then suddenly…

Police everywhere.

Road blocked.

“No worries,” I thought. “Easy fix. Quick detour and done.”

Hah.

Cute idea.

Turns out basically every road north of Lucca was closed.

After talking to the police, the reason became obvious:

The Giro d’Italia 2026.

Now for non-Europeans reading this, the Giro is one of the biggest cycling races in the world. Italians absolutely lose their minds over it.

Entire villages shut down. Roads close for hours. Grandmas appear waving pink flags. Middle-aged men suddenly wear professional cycling gear while looking like expired salami.

Complete chaos.

At first I was mildly annoyed.

Then I realised something important:

This is Italy.

And in Italy, chaos is part of the experience.

So instead of fighting it, I rolled into a tiny village, parked the bike and waited.

And then suddenly…

Whoooooosh.

The peloton flew past.

Honestly it lasted less than one minute.

Months of preparation. Thousands of kilometres raced. Millions of Euros spent.

And from roadside perspective it basically looks like:

“Here they come.”
“Ah there they go.”

Finished.

Still pretty cool though.

Originally the plan had been simple:

Classic route.

But with Giro madness and heavy traffic everywhere, the mood changed completely.

Stuff the cities.

Back to the mountains.

Best decision of the day.

Immediately the roads became tiny, twisty and beautifully empty again.

And now we’re talking proper hidden Italy.

The roads climbed through forests and hills with ridiculous views in every direction. Occasionally a cyclist appeared sweating like he’d seen death personally, but apart from that?

Nobody.

Absolute silence.

This is the kind of riding I love most.

No pressure.
No destination stress.
Just wandering.

And somewhere in that wandering I ended up in a tiny mountain village called Buri.

Never heard of it before.

Couldn’t even tell you exactly how I got there honestly.

But it was beautiful.

Tiny stone houses. Quiet streets. Green hills all around.

The kind of place where old men still sit outside discussing important village politics like tomatoes and weather.

Decision made instantly:

“This’ll do.”

Found a brilliant little accommodation with private parking, modern rooms and incredibly friendly hosts.

Exactly what you need after a proper riding day.

Helmet off.
Boots off.
Cold drink acquired.

Life sorted.

Only 186 km today, but honestly some of the best riding so far on this trip.

Funny how shorter days often become the better memories.

Morning started with fog.

Not dramatic movie-scene fog.

Just annoying “maybe don’t rush downhill on mountain roads immediately” fog.

So instead of being stupid, I made coffee first.

Luckily there was a coffee machine in the kitchen.

Fuel for humans secured.

Important detail.

One hour later the fog disappeared and everything suddenly looked promising again.

The hosts gave me a friendly farewell, the bike fired up immediately and by 9 am we were rolling south again.

Temperatures perfect. Roads mostly empty.

Good start.

The first 20 kilometres though?

Bit ugly.

Flat land. Industry. Warehouses. Random ugly buildings that look like accountants designed them.

Nothing worth writing poetry about.

But then I made a mistake.

A classic motorcycle traveller mistake.

I trusted tiny mountain roads on the GPS.

Now look, small roads are usually brilliant.

But sometimes small roads aren’t roads anymore.

They’re archaeological evidence.

This particular road looked like NATO had used it for bombing exercises.

Potholes every five metres. Broken tarmac. Gravel patches. Cracks everywhere.

Technically curvy, yes.

Enjoyable?

Not even remotely.

Instead of riding properly, it became survival riding.

Dodge pothole.
Avoid crater.
Try not to destroy suspension.

The old RT handled it surprisingly well though. Like an old warhorse mumbling:
“Ah yes… another terrible life decision…”

Eventually enough was enough.

Route change.

Instead of fighting goat tracks, I switched onto the SS392.

And mate…

Best decision of the trip so far.

Suddenly smooth tarmac appeared like divine intervention.

Fast flowing corners. Gorgeous scenery. Endless rhythm.

Now THIS was motorcycle riding again.

The road rolled through sleepy Tuscan villages where time seems permanently stuck somewhere around 1987.

Small hills everywhere.

Wine farms.

Olive groves.

Old stone houses looking ridiculously photogenic for no reason.

Honestly Tuscany almost becomes unfair after a while.

Even abandoned farmhouses somehow look romantic.

Meanwhile if Germany abandons a building it usually becomes a sad kebab shop beside a hardware store.

Around lunchtime hunger hit hard.

No proper breakfast earlier meant emergency pasta levels approaching critical.

And in the tiny village of Tatti I found salvation.

A little restaurant with stunning views over the hills.

Now one thing Italy consistently gets right is simple food.

Nothing fancy.
Nothing complicated.

Just ingredients that make you quietly emotional.

Good pasta.
Fresh olive oil.
Cold drinks.
View over Tuscany.

Perfect.

After lunch morale improved dramatically.

Funny how humans are basically just emotional support systems for stomachs.

The afternoon riding became even better.

More curves. More rolling hills. More perfect weather.

Now an important motorcycle travel question appeared:

Keep riding?
Or stop?

Technically I still had daylight.

Technically I could continue another hundred kilometres.

But honestly?

Why?

Monticiano had a beautiful little agriturismo accommodation.

And after that civilisation basically disappears for ages.

No need to force things.

No need to prove anything.

One of the best things I’ve learned during long trips is this:

Pushing too hard ruins good adventures.

So I stayed.

Booked the room.

Parked the bike.

Sat in the warm afternoon sun doing absolutely nothing productive.

Perfect day.

Honestly one of the best so far.

Last night I slept like a dead man.

Fresh air. Absolute silence. Darkness.

No traffic noise. No city chaos. No neighbours performing mysterious furniture-moving operations at midnight.

Agriturismo places are brilliant for this.

Originally they’re old farms converted into guest accommodations, usually sitting somewhere peaceful surrounded by fields, forests or vineyards.

Perfect for people who like quiet.

And for motorcycle travellers needing recovery after long riding days, they’re absolute gold.

Morning routine now officially established:

Wake up.
Coffee first.
Exist as human later.

Weather looked excellent again.

And apparently my internal body clock now permanently believes departure time should be 9 am.

Exactly then the engine started again.

The first part of the day was fantastic.

Beautiful roads. Plenty of corners. Nice flowing rhythm.

But eventually the road quality dropped badly again.

Honestly this is something people romanticising Tuscany often forget.

Some of the smaller roads are absolutely rooted.

Tourist postcards only show sunsets and vineyards. They don’t show potholes large enough to hide livestock.

Still, today there was no pressure.

For once I had pre-booked accommodation.

Check-in only from 3 pm.

Meaning I had plenty of time.

No stress.
No rushing.
No pushing.

So I simply cruised.

Stopped occasionally.

Took photos.

Enjoyed the scenery properly.

And eventually I rolled into Pitigliano.

A historic town dramatically built onto volcanic rock cliffs in southern Tuscany.

From distance it almost looks unreal.

Like someone accidentally dropped a medieval city onto the edge of a canyon.

But…

It’s VERY touristy.

I had visited years ago already, so this time I skipped sightseeing completely.

No need to fight crowds carrying selfie sticks and gelato.

Instead I booked another agriturismo outside town and decided something important:

Three nights here.

Not because I suddenly became relaxed and spiritual.

Nah.

Mostly to avoid weekend madness on Italian roads.

Weekends in Italy can become chaos very quickly.

Sports cars.
Tour buses.
Cyclists everywhere.
Sunday drivers braking in corners for no scientific reason.

Better to relax a bit.

So after arrival I did the important survival shopping:

Food.
Wine.

Then checked in and enjoyed an incredibly peaceful afternoon.

No riding pressure.

No schedule.

Just warm Tuscan evening air and silence.

190 kilometres today.

And despite rough road sections again, overall another brilliant riding day.

Today?

Absolutely nothing exciting happened.

And honestly, that’s sometimes exactly what you need.

Slept longer.

Made coffee.

Made tea.

Sat around doing absolutely bugger all for a while.

Perfect.

The plan for the day was beautifully simple:

Edit photos.
Write the blog.
Go for a walk.
Take a nap.

That’s it.

No chasing kilometres.
No conquering mountain passes.
No heroic adventures.

Just slowing down a bit.

Because motorcycle travel isn’t only about riding.

It’s also about those quiet moments in between.

The afternoons where you sit outside hearing birds instead of engines.

The moments where your riding gear hangs drying in the sun while you stare into nowhere holding a coffee.

The small reset days.

And honestly after days of curves, traffic, Giro chaos, potholes and endless Tuscan hills, this pause felt bloody fantastic.

Tomorrow the journey south continues.

#dustysocks