Italy Bound – Escaping Amalfi, Finding Paradise and Surviving 1,000 Curves
Day 15 to Day 17 – From Tourist Chaos to the Wild Roads of Cilento
30.05.26 – 01.06.26
Every motorcycle trip reaches a point where you ask yourself an important question.
“Why am I here?”
Not in some philosophical life-crisis sort of way.
More in a practical riding sense.
Why did I come to this area?
What was I hoping to find?
And after three days around Sorrento and the Amalfi Coast, I finally had my answer.
I wasn’t there for the famous views.
I wasn’t there for the Instagram locations.
And I definitely wasn’t there for the traffic.
I came to ride.
And mate, riding and mass tourism mix about as well as chain lube and ice cream.
The Amalfi Coast may be one of the most famous destinations in Italy.
But after experiencing it firsthand, I couldn’t wait to leave.
Fortunately, southern Italy had other plans.
Because the next few days would deliver exactly what I had been searching for since crossing the border at Brenner:
Empty roads.
Endless curves.
Tiny villages.
And enough twisties to make my neck muscles file an official complaint.
Day 15 – Sorrento to Vallo della Lucania
30.05.26
Breakfast at 8.
Engine running at 9.
Simple plan.
Leave Sorrento.
Never look back.
Unfortunately, the rest of Italy seemed to have exactly the same idea.
By 9 am it was already hot.
Not unbearable.
But definitely warm enough that you start appreciating every patch of shade and every bit of airflow through your riding jacket.
The bigger problem wasn’t the temperature.
The bigger problem was humanity.
Apparently half the planet had decided to visit the Amalfi region that morning.
And every single one of them had rented a scooter.
The first sixty kilometres towards Salerno took almost two hours.
Two bloody hours.
Now sixty kilometres on mountain roads normally means fun.
Today it meant patience.
Endless patience.
Rental scooters everywhere.
Tourists stopping randomly.
Cars parked in ridiculous places.
Taxis overtaking each other.
Delivery vans squeezing through gaps that technically didn’t exist.
And every five minutes somebody suddenly slammed on the brakes because they spotted a nice view.
Mate, you’re on the Amalfi Coast.
The whole road is a nice view.
Keep moving.
But no.
Traffic flowed according to completely different laws here.
Somewhere between organised chaos and collective madness.
Eventually I reached Salerno.
And honestly, seeing the bypass felt like freedom.
Sure, there was traffic.
But compared to the circus I had just escaped, it felt almost civilised.
The road flowed.
Vehicles moved.
Progress happened.
Amazing concept.
The Wrong Turn That Became the Best Turn
The moment I left Salerno behind, something magical happened.
Mountains.
Again.
Fresh air.
Fewer people.
More curves.
Suddenly life became beautiful once more.
The route climbed steadily higher and higher.
Cooler air returned.
The roads opened up.
The scenery improved dramatically.
And then I made a mistake.
A proper mistake.
The kind of mistake every motorcycle traveller secretly hopes for.
North instead of south.
I accidentally took the wrong road.
Exactly the opposite direction of where I was supposed to go.
Normally that’s annoying.
Today it was fantastic.
The road from Acerno towards Montella turned out to be absolutely spectacular.
Smooth tarmac.
Perfect curves.
Cool mountain air.
Hardly any traffic.
The sort of road that makes you forget everything else.
Every corner led naturally into the next.
The road flowed beautifully through forests and mountains.
The old RT felt fantastic.
Comfortable.
Stable.
Happy.
Its rider felt even happier.
Eventually I noticed the navigation behaving strangely.
After some investigation I discovered the truth.
Wrong direction.
Thirty kilometres wrong direction.
Now technically that meant turning around.
Which also meant riding thirty kilometres back.
On exactly the same stunning road.
What a tragedy.
Sixty kilometres of detour in total.
And worth every single metre.
Sometimes the best routes are the ones you never planned.
Heat, Fatigue and Surprise Number Two
Eventually I got back on track.
The route left the higher mountains and descended again.
And instantly the temperature exploded.
It’s funny how quickly things change in southern Italy.
One moment you’re enjoying cool mountain air.
The next you’re being slowly roasted inside motorcycle gear.
The roads also became less interesting.
Less twisty.
Less scenic.
More functional.
By early afternoon I started feeling tired.
Not exhausted.
Just that kind of riding fatigue where your brain quietly suggests:
“Maybe find a room soon.”
Eboli appeared on the map.
Big city.
Crowded.
Didn’t feel right.
Next possibility.
Still not convincing.
Keep riding.
And then came surprise number two.
The SR488.
Mate.
What a road.
What an absolute gem.
Sometimes a road wakes you up more effectively than coffee.
This was one of those roads.
The moment I entered it, fatigue disappeared.
Instantly.
Like somebody had pressed a reset button.
Fresh tarmac.
Beautiful curves.
Fantastic rhythm.
Great scenery.
The road danced through the landscape.
And suddenly I felt like I could ride another hundred kilometres without any problems.
This is the beauty of motorcycle travel.
One road can completely change your mood.
A modern-looking town located close to the magnificent Cilento National Park.
Suddenly everything made sense.
The reason the SR488 had been so good.
The reason the surrounding roads looked promising.
The reason locals kept talking about riding opportunities.
I had accidentally arrived at a motorcycling paradise.
Finding accommodation was easy.
A comfortable hotel.
Breakfast included.
Private parking.
Ninety Euro.
Done.
The original plan had been to continue south quickly.
But tomorrow was Sunday.
And I have learned something during years of motorcycle travel:
Never underestimate Italian weekends.
Everybody goes somewhere.
Families.
Tourists.
Day-trippers.
Sports cars.
Scooters.
Chaos.
So I made the sensible decision.
Stay two nights.
Relax.
Recover from Amalfi madness.
Enjoy the area properly.
The hotel owner offered another interesting piece of information.
She recommended the SS18.
A coastal road running south all the way towards Sicily.
Apparently beautiful.
Apparently worth riding.
Apparently another route option worth investigating.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Today’s numbers?
232 kilometres.
Almost 2,300 curves.
And yes.
You feel that.
By evening I was tired.
Not exhausted.
Happy tired.
The best kind.
Happy that I had escaped Amalfi.
Happy that I had discovered two incredible roads.
Happy that the journey still had surprises left.
Day 16 – Vallo della Lucania
31.05.26
No riding.
None.
Zero.
And honestly?
Perfect.
One thing many people underestimate about motorcycle travel is recovery.
The internet loves adventure stories.
Huge distances.
Epic mountain passes.
Long days.
Nobody writes about sitting around doing absolutely nothing.
Yet those days are often the most important.
Your body needs recovery.
Your mind needs recovery.
Even your enthusiasm needs recovery.
Because when every day becomes an adventure, eventually adventures become normal.
And that’s dangerous.
You stop appreciating them.
So today became one of those deliberate slow days.
No riding.
No destination.
No schedule.
Just existing.
Photo editing.
Blog writing.
Watching the world move slowly.
Doing nothing productive whatsoever.
And that’s perfectly fine.
In fact it’s necessary.
Exploring by Foot
During the evening the worst heat finally disappeared.
The temperature became pleasant.
So instead of starting the motorcycle, I used something far older.
My legs.
Time to explore Vallo della Lucania properly.
The town isn’t particularly famous.
It doesn’t have world-famous monuments.
No massive tourist attractions.
No postcard landmarks.
And honestly that’s exactly why I liked it.
It’s a real place.
A working town.
People living normal lives.
Italian life happening naturally around you.
The centre has some surprisingly charming corners.
Small streets.
Local cafés.
Friendly atmosphere.
No crowds.
No souvenir shops every ten metres.
No overpriced tourist menus.
Eventually I found pizza.
Obviously.
This is Italy.
Pizza is practically a constitutional right.
The result?
Excellent.
Not fancy.
Not complicated.
Just good pizza.
And sometimes that’s exactly what you need.
Back to the hotel afterwards.
Sleep.
Relax.
Prepare for another adventure.
Day 17 – Exploring Cilento National Park
01.06.26
The original plan had been leaving today.
But then a dangerous thought appeared during breakfast.
“What if I stay another night?”
Now normally I don’t stay long anywhere.
But sometimes a location deserves more time.
And Vallo della Lucania had definitely earned it.
Fortunately my room wasn’t booked.
Decision made.
One more night.
And one exploratory ride through the national park.
The loop would only be around 109 kilometres.
Not much.
At least on paper.
Reality had other ideas.
Into the Wild
Shortly after 8 am I rolled out.
The morning air was still cool.
The roads were empty.
Everything looked promising.
The first section offered plenty of scenic opportunities.
Photo stop.
Ride.
Photo stop.
Ride.
Repeat.
The landscape inside the national park is genuinely beautiful.
The Cilento National Park is one of Italy’s largest protected areas.
Mountains.
Forests.
Remote villages.
Hidden valleys.
And most importantly for motorcyclists:
Roads.
Lots of roads.
Not all of them good.
As I would soon discover.
When Roads Stop Being Roads
Imagine the perfect motorcycle road.
Forest scenery.
Mountain views.
Endless curves.
Hardly any traffic.
Sounds brilliant.
Now imagine nobody maintains that road for years.
That’s what happened here.
Rain.
Snow.
Landslides.
Time.
Nature had slowly reclaimed the asphalt.
Sections of tarmac were completely gone.
Gravel appeared everywhere.
Potholes large enough to register on satellite images.
Broken edges.
Cracks.
Washouts.
The road constantly switched between acceptable and questionable.
Sometimes between acceptable and terrifying.
The average speed for the day?
Twenty-five kilometres per hour.
That tells you everything.
Normally on good mountain roads I average around fifty.
Today?
Half that.
And even then it required concentration.
Constant concentration.
Every corner needed inspection.
Every shadow might hide a pothole.
Every downhill section required caution.
The riding became surprisingly physical.
By lunchtime I felt like I had completed an off-road expedition.
On a BMW RT.
Exactly as BMW never intended.
The Motorcycle Paradise That Almost Exists
The frustrating thing is this:
Without the poor road surface, this route would be one of the best motorcycle roads I’ve ever ridden.
No exaggeration.
The layout is phenomenal.
Curve after curve after curve.
Elevation changes.
Forest sections.
Beautiful scenery.
In total around one thousand twists and corners.
One thousand.
Imagine perfect tarmac on top of that.
Motorcycling heaven.
Instead it becomes motorcycling survival.
Still enjoyable.
But for different reasons.
Interestingly, I hardly saw anyone.
No tourists.
No camper vans.
No sports cars.
Not even other motorcyclists.
Apparently I was the only person crazy enough to attempt this route.
Which honestly sounds about right.
Back to Civilisation
Eventually the loop returned towards civilisation.
Fuel station.
Proper roads.
Normal life.
The old RT survived.
Its rider survived.
Both slightly shaken.
Both still smiling.
After refuelling I returned to the hotel and enjoyed a wonderfully relaxed afternoon.
No more riding today.
No need.
The adventure had already happened.
And for once there was another unexpected bonus.
The hotel kitchen was open.
Food available on site.
No need to search for restaurants.
No need to go out again.
A surprisingly huge advantage after spending half the day wrestling with mountain roads.
Looking South
Tomorrow the journey continues.
Further south.
Further towards Sicily.
The plan?
Back into the mountains.
Naturally.
Because apparently I still haven’t learned my lesson.
But this time with one important condition.
If road quality starts resembling yesterday’s adventure, I’ll switch to the SS18.
The hotel owner keeps talking about it.
A beautiful coastal road.
Fast.
Scenic.
Enjoyable.
And after surviving one thousand twists on broken mountain roads, having alternatives suddenly sounds very appealing.
One thing is certain.
The Amalfi madness is behind me now.
And that’s reason enough to be optimistic.
The real south of Italy is finally beginning.
And somehow I suspect the best roads are still waiting.
#dustysocks
