Italy 2025 – Ep 3

From Gravel Grinds to Aperol Dreams: Three Days in the Heart of Italy

Dates covered: 16.07.25 to 18.07.25

Day 7 – Gravel Roads and Accidental Tuscany

16.07.25 – Uscio to Casone Carpinelli

Woke up to another day of motorbike madness with high hopes and low expectations from the hotel breakfast—standard routine now. The engine roared to life at 9:30am, and off we went, chasing the winding mystery that is Italian mountain navigation.

Now, here’s a riddle for you: how can 200 km take six hours to ride without stopping for wine tastings or naps in the sun?

Answer: Italian mountain backroads.

Our brilliant navigation app clearly thought we were goats with a throttle, sending us down every single-lane, half-paved, gravel-dusted, wheel-slip-inducing “shortcut” it could find. Sure, the roads were technically curvy, but not the good kind. These were the “clutch, brake, pray” kind of curves. Speed? Yeah, no. We averaged about 30 km/h, and that was when we weren’t stopping to curse into the wind or get intimate with our side-stand on a slope steeper than a Wallabies rugby slide.

On the plus side, we were at altitude, so it was a touch cooler than the sweaty lowlands. That said, 34°C in full riding gear is still like wearing a doona in a sauna while doing jumping jacks. Meanwhile, the local Italian riders were zipping past us in shorts, thongs (yes, the foot ones), and a helmet. And I use “helmet” loosely—some of them looked like they’d nicked it off a kid’s scooter. Fair play if you like living on the edge, but me? I like my skin attached, thanks.

After hours of gravel-induced whiplash and verbal abuse directed at both the GPS and gravity, we finally hit a decent bit of road—SR445. Bless that glorious ribbon of tarmac. Wide, smooth, curvy in all the right ways. Proper riding, finally.

And then it happened—we looked around and realised we’d somehow already slipped into Tuscany. We’d planned on a couple more days in Emilia-Romagna, but clearly the sat-nav had other ideas. Tuscany, here we are!

Landed in Casone Carpinelli, a sleepy little village in the hills, and checked into Albergo Belvedere. This place knows what bikers need: safe, roof-covered parking for the steed, a clean bed for the rider, and €130 a night including brekkie. Decent deal considering the view, the location, and the fact I didn’t have to park the GS next to some dodgy dumpster behind a kebab shop.

Thinking we might stay an extra night here and do a short loop ride tomorrow. Depends on the mood… and maybe the wine.

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Day 8 – Loops, Sweeps and Views Worth Melting For

17.07.25 – Casone Carpinelli Round Trip

We may have stayed in the same bed, but this was no rest day. Nope—this was ride it like you stole it day. Up at 8 for a quick feed, then we hit the road at 9am sharp. Our route? A 170 km round trip through the mountains. A cheeky loop with a few surprises.

The roads today were a breath of fresh air—literally. We stayed up in the hills most of the time, where it was a balmy 23°C. Felt like luxury after yesterday’s fry-up in leather. The tarmac was smooth, the bends seductive, and the views absolutely mint. Mountain passes, valleys stretching into the horizon, villages perched on ridges like they were playing hide-and-seek with the clouds.

Even the smaller roads today were fun. None of yesterday’s gravel roulette. These were proper mountain lanes—tight but well-surfaced, winding through forests and opening up to panoramic views every few clicks. You could almost hear the bike purring in contentment.

By 2PM we were back at the hotel, and the mercury had climbed to 32°C. Just in time to park the bike back in its little garage cave and grab a cold one. Honestly, the Albergo Belvedere continues to impress. Clean rooms, biker-friendly vibes, and they even smile when you walk in covered in dust and looking like you’ve been camping with goats. Highly recommend it.

Perfect day.

Not gracefully, mind you—more like drunken giraffes on rollerblades. But we made it.

Showered. Collapsed. Slept like we’d been hit by a tranquiliser dart.

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Day 9 – Pasta Dreams and Aperol Realities

18.07.25 – Carpinelli to Castiglione di Pepoli

We need to talk about breakfast.

Italian hotel breakfasts are starting to wear me down. It’s just cake. So much cake. Cake, croissants, dry white bread that crumbles like old plaster. And if you’re lucky, some yoghurt that’s been sitting in a lukewarm fridge since Mussolini was in charge.

Look, I’m all for a sweet treat, but not first thing in the morning. Where are the eggs? The bacon? The stuff that doesn’t give you a sugar crash at 11AM and leave you hangry enough to start eyeing off your riding gloves as potential snacks?

Even worse—Italian meal times. Restaurants don’t open for dinner until 7PM, and many towns turn into ghost towns by 2PM. So you end up starving all afternoon, eating dinner late, and then trying to sleep on a stomach full of ravioli and regret. Not ideal.

So we’ve come up with a new plan: skip the sugar bomb brekkie, have a solid lunch, and skip dinner. Basically intermittent fasting, biker edition. Let’s see how long that lasts before one of us starts chewing on a tank bag.

Right, rant over. Let’s talk about the ride.

Today’s journey was a good one—170 km from west to east, cutting through the Apennines. Not too many tiny roads, which was a relief. Mostly smooth sailing with a few fantastic mountain passes, the highlight being Passo delle Radici. That pass marks the border between Tuscany and Emilia-Romagna and is an absolute cracker of a ride.

We’ve been here before in autumn, when the trees are glowing orange and gold, like the mountains dressed up for Mardi Gras. It’s my favourite time to ride—cool air, warm colours, and no sweating like a rotisserie chook under your gear.

Lunch was in a tiny village that probably doesn’t even have a name on Google Maps. The kind of place where they don’t have menus, just a guy named Luigi shouting pasta options from the kitchen. And it was glorious.

Post-lunch, we wound our way through more mountains, skirted a few scenic lakes, and eventually arrived in Castiglione di Pepoli. Now this is a proper town. Cafés, bars, a historic centre, and people! After days of being in sleepy mountain villages where the only action was a squirrel sneezing, this place felt like a festival.

We found a room in a classic old town house, smack bang next to a bar. Ideal. The motorbike’s parked out front on the main piazza, which is both romantic and mildly terrifying. Let’s just hope she’s still there in the morning, untouched and unmolested.

Evening rolled in peacefully. We wandered the streets, watched the oldies gossiping in the park, kids booting balls at things they shouldn’t, and just soaked up the easy rhythm of Italian town life. But then… the pizza craving struck.

It started innocent. A passing thought. Then it turned into a full-blown obsession. Could hear the crunch of the crust, feel the stretchy cheese, practically smell the oregano.

So we set off to grab one.

Too early. Again. 6:30PM? No dice. The place didn’t open until 7PM, because of course not.

Plan B: Aperol Spritz.

We popped into the bar next door and ordered two massive glasses of what I now call “Italian recovery juice.” Bright orange, bubbly, and loaded with enough alcohol to make you forget your hunger for a bit. Vitamins? Maybe. Booze? Absolutely.

By the time we finished the second round and were debating a third, live music started blasting from just outside the bar. Apparently there was a street party, and we were now in the middle of it. Great music, locals dancing, the kind of warm evening that makes you forget you’re sweating through your t-shirt.

So we did what any self-respecting biker would do—ordered another Spritz, found a bench, and joined the party.

By 9:30PM, we were drunk, smiling like idiots, and ready to climb the 3 flights of stairs back to our room.

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Wrap-Up: Bumps, Beers, and the Beautiful Bits in Between

The last three days have been a perfect slice of the motorbike travel pie—equal parts beautiful, baffling, blistering, and boozy.

 • Day 7 reminded us that not all roads are created equal. Some are just gravel-coated death traps hiding under GPS optimism.

 • Day 8 was a glorious rebound—curves, views, and not a single “WTF” shouted at the nav.

 • Day 9 brought us good roads, scenic passes, pizza dreams, and Aperol-fuelled dancing in the street (even if only from the bench).

Italian hospitality is warm, even if the road signs aren’t. The food is delicious, even if you can’t get it when you’re hungry. And the people? Friendly, helpful, and up for a chat—even if neither of you knows what the hell the other is saying.

There’s more road ahead, more espresso to drink, and probably a few more nights where we’re asleep before the pizza oven even fires up.

Until then, keep it shiny side up, keep your panniers light(ish), and if in doubt—have an Aperol.

Ciao from the saddle, legends 🏍️🍕🍹

#dustysocks