Category Archives: Uncategorized

Back to Brittany

Posted on by
6

I’ve just been playing with the Via Michelin App to see what it made of the trip from Como to Brittany, where we are this evening. Interestingly, it nearly came up with the same route that I had, but mine was a bit more interesting and therefore longer!

Today we passed the 2000 mile mark on this little jaunt. Not bad when you consider that three days were spent in Como and on the day we rode Stelvio and Gavia it really wasn’t any mileage at all.

The journey today has been nice and relaxing, if you can ever say that about nearly three hundred miles on a motorbike! We kicked off with a nice little trundle of around twenty miles to warm up before we hit the Autoroute and then followed a spirited 130 miles dash to Angers. That blew the morning cobwebs away!

Baby was certainly on song cruising the Autoroute westwards and to add to my pleasure there was hardly any traffic at all. We stopped briefly for fuel in Bougueil; the town is rightly famous for delightful wines that are flavoursome yet light. Well, we had to grab a bottle whilst we were passing through, it was only polite!

I always look on Angers as a defining point on any journey through this part of France, heading West you enter the wide, wide, valley of the River Loire and coming East it’s the gateway to Brittany. I can almost spot exactly where the wide open wheat fields and vineyards end and the smaller Breton pastures bounded by hedges and old oak trees begin, it’s quite magical!

In France, Brittany is often referred to as “Little Britain,” such is the similarity to the Western parts of the U.K. No wonder I always feel so at home here. You can tell it’s a region influenced by the weather of the North Atlantic, slate roofs steeply sloped to throw off the sometimes copious rain!

I have Mrs Dookes to thank for introducing me to Brittany, as before we met I’d never been to this lovely part of “L’Hexagone.” Merci beaucoup mon amour, je t’aime!

Tonight I’m staying with my friends Denis and Anne, at their delightful Château which nestles on the edge of an ancient wood, deep in the centre of the region. Baby is safely ensconced in the garage, Anne’s Mercedes was evicted to make room! Denis is his usual loud energetic self, laughing at the Euro 2016 football tournament and especially the English losing to Iceland – we both agree on that! He’s threatening to cook me “Carre de porcelet,” which I suppose translates as piglet chops….! Knowing him this is going to be good! Anne meanwhile rolls her eyes at the two of us, she’s seen the floor show before.

I’ll report on the food later.

Now back to the ride….

From Angers we went cross-country, first to the delightful town of Chateaubriant then I just headed West.

Le château, Châteaubriant.

Le château, Châteaubriant.

I know it sounds corny, but I do have an innate sense of direction and so I turned the SatNav off and just followed my internal compass. I find it quite relaxing as well, heading where the mood takes. It must’ve worked, we got here!

So here comes that familiar “end of trip” hollow feeling. It’s sort of a mix of elation that the plan came together and also the realisation that it’s nearly all over, until next time.

I usually fight it off by starting to think about “The Next One.” Therein lies a problem, as Mrs Dookes and I have a shedload of work to do over the coming months. . .
“The Next One” may lay some way off in the future.

Actually, to tell the truth, I have an idea.

Why don’t we go to……….

“Freedom is a dusty road heading to a highway.”

Catch you later.

Dookes

La Cœur de France, The Heart of France

Posted on by
11

It’s been a long hot hard ride today.

Baby and I kicked off from our overnight stop in a small village called Montaimont near La Chambre in the high Alps.

The view at breakfast I've known worse!

The view at breakfast- I’ve known worse!


After breakfast, our first hurdle was to negotiate the steep, narrow lane from the village back to the D213. With four very tight hairpins and a crumbling road surface I knew it was always going to be tricky, but we only had to resort to walking one bend so it wasn’t too bad. Once on the D213 we sailed through the remaining half-dozen “lacets” as my French friends call them and soon hit the Péage heading for Lyon.

As I was saying my goodbyes to the Alps, until next time, Baby seemed to come into her own. I swear that bike was trying to tell me something; something like, “OK, this is what I do, let’s go!”

So yes, in many ways it’s been an Autoroute cruising day and also one to watch the French geography unfold before us like a documentary film. First there was the Alps, then the young Rhône, the mighty Loire valley and the extinct volcanos of the Puy de Dôme. What better geography lesson could you ask for, how come it was never this good at school?

All the while that big bike of mine just got on with it. Mile after mile was munched up, whilst I enjoyed the comparatively luxurious ride that only a ‘Big-Twin’ Harley can give! Just over two hours after setting out we paused for a spot of lunch not long after Lyon, which was its usual chaotic mess! Grabbing fuel at Thiers, from a place I know just off the Autoroute and then back at it, we cruised into St Amand Montrond at about 15:30.

Time for a cup of coffee and then to head cross-country through the Cher valley to one of my favourite B&B’s near Vierzon.

I always like to spend the last hour of a riding day sort of chilling a bit, taking the back roads and letting the road come to me as we spool down after long fast miles. The scenery around here tends to be quite arable, large fields to barley, wheel or rape seed. The latter does get a bit tedious, it a member of the brassica family and for miles everything smells of cabbage!

I was feeling a bit bad about the River Cher and wanted to get a nice photo to disprove that’s it’s not all weedy and muddy, so we meandered around a bit looking for a suitable spot. Unfortunately everywhere was either weedy or muddy! So no shot I’m afraid!

You’ll just have to be content with this almost timeless picture of the evening train departing St Florent sur Cher. Timeless because there’s no-one there except the staff!

St Florent - The Frech Adlestrop.

St Florent – The French Adlestrop.


It’s a bit like the poem “Adlestrop” by Edward Thomas, except it’s the French version!

As I type, the crickets are chirping away outside my window and pigeons fly past heading to roost, their wigs clapping a farewell to the warm summer day.

Ce soir nous sommes au cœur de la France ce soir/We are in the heart of France tonight. Baby is safely shut away in the barn, content with 360 effortless miles under her belt. Yes, she’s a heavy old lump in the mountains, but a thoroughbred out on the open highway, which is what she’s really designed for and I can’t really ask more than that!

The sun is casting a red glow across the sky and silhouetting the old trees on the horizon. It’s not the Alps, but it sort of feels like home.

Heart of France sunset.

Heart of France sunset.

“Yes. I remember Adlestrop—
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop—only the name

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.”

Edward Thomas
3 March 1878 – 9 April 1917 Killed in Acton Arras

Catch you soon.

Dookes

The Last Col

Posted on by
3

I had real mixed feelings as I guided Baby from Como this morning.

With Mrs Dookes flying out to be with me, I had to pause, draw breath, stop being self-centred and only thinking of motorbikes for a few days. I’ve got to admit that despite it being quite a difference from my normal road-trip ‘modus operandi,’ it worked superbly and the break from riding did help recharge the old Dookes batteries! On the other hand, I was just about ready to get rolling again by this morning, there’s only so many pastel shaded salmon coloured houses with tile roofs that I can cope with looking at!

There is just one funny thing though, after three days of not riding it came as a bit of a shock just how heavy Baby really is! I supposed I’d got so used to her massive bulk that I’d forgotten how bloody awkward she can be at slow speeds and on indifferent road surfaces, like stone cobbles! Thank you Como for reminding me of that!

Once we got on the open road I was able to relax a tad, if one can ever relax when riding on an Italian Autostrada! Now don’t get me wrong, the Italian motorways are not in my opinion inherently more dangerous than any other high-speed trunk road found throughout Western Europe, you just have to approach them a bit differently. For example, apart from lane one the other lanes have strict minimum speeds and frankly you be crazy to ignore that. What the Autostrada really does is make people use their mirrors properly, not lane hog and anticipate well in advance. True you will see bonkers things occasionally, but tell me a motorway anywhere where you don’t! The only unfortunate thing about the Autostradas is that the majority of them are toll roads and not cheap ones either, so whilst they undoubtably save time you pay for it!

Leaving Como we headed South, skirted Milan and struck out East to Turin where we took the A32 towards the French border.

By Susa and 130 miles of hot, hot, hot slog, I was ready for a change and turned off the Autostrada to find some altitude and cooler air. At 2083metres/6834feet Col du Mont Cenis seemed to fit the bill nicely, it’s just that I’d forgotten how much hard work it takes to get up there! The road isn’t technically very difficult, but I’ve always found that I can’t really get a rhythm going on it and today was no exception!

At the top of the climb is a lake, Lac du Mont Cenis, an artificial lake that supplies water to two hydroelectric stations. During last winter extensive maintenance was carried out on the dam and as yet the lake has still not reached anywhere near its normal level, which made for an interesting contrasts to previous visits.image

As I wasn’t in any particular hurry, I stopped for a most enjoyable lunch at a small restaurant that overlooks the lake. Talk about a meal with a view! image

The road from the Col drops down to Lanslebourg via a delightful ladder of five sweeping hairpin bends, which being nice and wide, were a joy to cruise round on Baby.

We plugged away down the L’Arc valley, whilst surrounded by impressive towering peaks it gets quite tedious the nearer you get to Modane and St Michel de Maurienne. There’s just too much squeezed into a very narrow valley, a major railway line, several freight yards, two main roads, a Péage, various quarries and factories not to mention the River L’Arc!

By La Chambre I was ready for a change.

There was one more big Col on the Dookes list, another classic from Le Tour de France that had been calling me for years; Col de la Madeleine. Despite Baby being such a handful on the narrow mountain roads I decided to go for it, remembering how I’d ridden last year on Col de Lombarde I knew the bike could do it!

From La Chambre to Madeleine the D213 road is 20km long and gains 1522meteres at an average gradient of 8%, that’s quite a climb, over a mile upwards. Oh yes, there’s twenty hairpins as well! At the top you are 2000metres above sea level, that’s 6562 feet.image

I’ve got to say that I enjoyed every single metre of that climb. I just let Baby find her own pace and gear, she’s not a sports or adventure bike, so no point in trying to ride her as such. She is big, long and heavy and as such you’ve got to approach the tight twisties with respect, do that and she’ll do the job! Just like today.image

Arriving at the summit was incredible, I remembered that someone once described Madeleine as “beautiful, but heartbreaking.” imageI’m not sure about the heartbreak, definitely beautiful, but for me to was the culmination of a quest that began by a young boy who over forty years ago dreamed of visiting the great Tour de France Cols.image

As I stood admiring the lovely stone summit marker, a golden eagle called from high in the clear sky above me, it’s call echoing off the surrounding mountains.
image
I looked upwards to that majestic soaring bird.

If we dream to soar from what we are familiar, that is normal.
A few are lucky enough to fly with their dream.

. . . and now that last Col has been climbed, where else can the dream lead to?

Catch you soon.

Dookes

Classici Italiani, Italian Classics

Posted on by
5

Just after arriving on the outskirts of Livigno on Wednesday, Passo D’Eira to be precise, I stopped at a small café/bar/shop.

After getting some supplies for lunch I wandered out and my eye was taken by two georgeous Italian ladies.image
On the right is a 1975 Alfa Romeo Alfetta 1.8, whilst left is a 1974 Fiat 128 Sport 1300 with Pininfarina bodywork. Enzo Ferrari drove one of those as his transport of choice, so they must have been good!
image
These two very practical classics were parked there by the bar owner so that people could enjoy them as much as he does. Now that is real Italian style snd I do love a nice Alfa Romeo!

Then, as I stood gawping at these two lovely ladies it got even better. The “Pop-Pop-Pop” of a single cylinder motorbike came into my hearing and this fantastic Moto Guzzi turned into the car park. imageIt turned out to be Signore Passera, the owner of the bar. He parked up the Guzzi and promptly wandered over to look at my bike as I took photos of his! There’s something about Italian cars and bikes, a style that others cannot match even a humble Fiat 128!

He told me that his bike was a 1948 model, single cylinder, fully original and would I like to buy it? As with nine months of winter, it wasn’t a great thing to have a motorbike in Livigno!

We joked about how I could get the bike on Baby’s pillion seat, but agreed I’d have to come back with a truck! Now how can I tell Mrs Dookes about this????

Only joking, I’ve left it, for now.

Then blow me! Next day I’m in Domaso on the shores of Lake Como, I pull up in the crazy heat to take a break and have a drink of water and there’s another old Moto Guzzi! I’m in love all over again. image Shame I missed that piece of cardboard on the ground though!image

Best of all, I arrive at our B&B in Como and our host owns two classic Guzzi’s!

“Wheels, spinnin’ around my brain.”

Catch you later,

Dookes

Lago di Como / Lake Como

Posted on by
2

Once I got out of my riding gear on Thursday, had a shower and grabbed a cold one, it was time to take stock of where I had arrived.

We are in Como, the city at the South Western end of Lago di Como / Lake Como in Lombardy, Italy. The lake owes its existence to ancient glacial activity. It has an area of 146 square kilometres/56 sq mi, making it the third-largest lake in Italy, after Lake Garda and Lake Maggiore. At over 400 metres/1300 feet deep, it is one of the deepest lakes in Europe and the bottom of the lake is more than 200 metres/660 ft below sea level!

In 1818 Percy Shelley wrote about the place, “This lake exceeds anything I ever beheld in beauty, with the exception of the arbutus islands of Killarney. It is long and narrow, and has the appearance of a mighty river winding among the mountains and the forests.” OK Shelley, it’s nice, but maybe not as exquisite as you make out.

Locally the lake is claimed to be the most beautiful in the world. I have to take issue on that point as I rate Llyn Talyllyn/Talyllyn Lake in Wales top of the pile, with maybe Loch Insch in the Scottish Highlands a close second, but hey, such things are personal!

What I can say is that Lago di Como is certainly very big and very impressive!

It’s also central to the local economy in many different ways, tourism being the number one economic driver. Another important role that the lake facilitates is transport, there are over forty ferry terminals along the shores and islands of the lake, which enjoy standard, car or high-speed ferry services from early in the morning until late in the evening.

The ferries are an excellent way to view the lake and get to it’s villages, I can report by experience that driving along the lakeside roads is a slow and painful undertaking!

Over breakfast this morning the weather looked a tad threatening and I was sure that I could hear distant thunder. True to my predictions, by ten o’clock the heavens opened and for half an hour the emptied onto the city of Como. We needed that, the air had been oppressive, heavy and stormy, but after the rain everything freshened up beautifully. In light of the better air, Mrs Dookes and I decided to take the half hour ferry ride to Moltrasio for lunch.

Leaving Como the last vestiges of the storm were still hanging in the mountains and the lake surface still a tad choppy with a keen northerly breeze. The outward ferry was the large “Orione,” which while a bit plastic is quite well equipped with bars, restaurants and comfortable passenger saloons.image

The thirty minute journey slipped by very quickly and after disembarking we had super views across the lake to Torno.image
After a light but enjoyable lunch we decided to head back to Como and the shops. I persuaded Mrs D that we should take one of the smaller ferries that zig-zag across the lake and take a bit longer but looked considerably more fun than the bigger boats.image I wasn’t wrong, the little vessel was superb fun, lively in the water with a good turn of speed and a lovely motion, I was in my element! imageWhilst I bounced around all over the vessel, Mrs Dookes stayed in the saloon for the whole trip.
image
OK I did get a bit covered in spray, but at lest you could tell I’d been on a boat! imageI haven’t had so much fun on a boat in nearly 25 years when I used to help run an historic steam launch, but that’s another storyline!

Returning to Como.

Returning to Como.

Catch you later.

Dookes

History Occurred Here

Posted on by
1

It probably comes through in my blog writings that I have a keen sense of history. Travelling around Europe it is not hard to pass through places that have seen through the centuries both tragedy and triumph.

Riding along the shores of Lake Como I was aware that I was going to be very near the place where a defining moment in European history had occurred.

In the Spring of 1945 the Second World War was drawing to a close in Europe. Italian Dictator Benito Mussolini had taken his country to war in 1940 forming the Axis with Nazi Germany, he met with complete military failure. By 1945, Mussolini had been reduced to the head of a German puppet state in the Northern part of Italy. He faced the ferocious Allied advance from the South and increasingly violent internal conflict with Italian Anti-Facist Partisans.

By April 1945, with the Allies breaking through the last German defenses in Northern Italy and a general uprising of the population taking hold in the cities, Mussolini’s position became untenable. On 25th April he fled Milan, where he had been based, and tried to escape to Switzerland.

Two days later Mussolini and his mistress, Claretta Petacci were captured by local partisans near the village of Dongo on Lake Como. The next day, the pair were taken to the gateway of the Villa Belmont in the village of Giulino di Mezzegra and with a burst of sub-machine gun fire were summarily executed by the anti-fascists.

Gateway to Villa Belmont

Gateway to Villa Belmont

One version of events is that the execution was carried out by Walter Audisio, a communist partisan who used the pseudonym “Colonnello Valerio.” In more recent times, however, the circumstances of Mussolini’s death, and the identity of his killers, have been subject to continuing confusion, dispute and controversy in Italy.

The people of Italy are divided in their retrospective view of Mussolini. To some he remains a hero of their nation, while others revile him.

Today the location of Mussolini and Petacci’s execution is marked by a small black cross in the gateway to the villa in Mezzegra.image

As I was literally passing within 200metres, I felt that I should stop for a moment, not for any morbid fascination, but rather to witness the spot where history had occurred.

As you can see, it’s really very understated and a few flowers, now shrivelled have been left.image

It’s a bit strange really and frankly I don’t really know what to make of it, I came away feeling rather uneasy.

History did indeed occur here, that’s all I’m going to say.

Dookes

Just as it was all going so well!

Posted on by
18

Since I started this little trip, there’s been one word that everyone has thrown at me: Brexit.

It hasn’t mattered where the person asking me has been from; Netherlands, France, Germany, Italy, Spain, Czech Republic, even Luxembourg.
They’ve all asked, “Brexit, why?”

“You are the ones that talk sense and keep the others in line!” a Dutch chap from Eindhoven said to me last Saturday.

Until now I hadn’t realised just how much the UK presence in the European Union has been valued.

This morning I woke to the news that the UK Referendum has been “won” by those who wish my country to leave the EU.

On Italian media today there is a real sense of shock and a fear of what will happen next. They’re not the only ones!

I’d like to stress that I did take part in the process, I had a postal vote knowing that I would be out of the country.

Oh well, just as the future was looking so good.

I suppose that’s what you get for not spending adequately on education for the last seven decades.

Catch you soon.

Dookes

PS I’m not sure whether to become French or get the next plane to Canada!

Cooking in Como

Posted on by
1

This morning in Bormio the sun didn’t rise, no, it parked itself amongst the Alfas, Maserati’s, Ferrari’s and Harley Davidson’s in the hotel car park.

At nine thirty the temperature was already 27 degrees Celsius!

Our ride today was only 140 miles, but as it was all on “normal” main roads I’d figured on about four hours. You need to understand a few things about a “normal” Italian main-road. Maximum speed will be in the region of 80-90kph so sometimes if you are lucky, there’ll be limited or no overtaking opportunities, loads of road works, spot checks by the police and probably an accident or two just to hold things up further!

Yeah, we got just about all the above. It took four and a half hours and by the time we arrived in Como the temperature had hit 35 Celsius; or 95 Fahrenheit if you prefer.

Both Baby and I were hot, dirty and dusty; wearing black leather riding gear certainly didn’t help either. . . and that was just Baby!
Anyway, before you take pity on us, just look at some of the scenery we had to put up with!

It’s fair to say it’s all a bit, well, – “Lakey!”

Domaso, Lago di Como.

Domaso, Lago di Como.


Monte Erbea

Monte Erbea


Lago di Como, looking South.

Lago di Como, looking South.

Monte Legnone

Monte Legnone


Dongo - honestly!

Dongo – honestly!

Once in Como I had a rush of blood to the head, blame it on the heat, I wanted to get petrol so naturally I turned North into Switzerland! Actually it wasn’t so crazy, petrol is a tad cheaper in the land of the magic franc, but oh dear – The canton of Ticino must qualify as the original plastic “Barbie Land!” It’s all so feckin’ false, covered in sprinkles and wrapped in plastic! I grabbed some motion lotion and ran away!

Now the major plus side is that we are now “square wheeled” in Como for four nights and Mrs Dookes has flown out to join me!

Fear not dear blogonaughts! I’ve loads more talks to tell and no doubt will get up to something nefarious whilst I’m here, so long as Mrs D doesn’t catch or stop me!

“Spread out the oil, the gasoline
I walk smooth ride in a mean, mean machine
Start it up”

Catch you soon.

Dookes

Round, Like a Circle in a Spiral.

Posted on by
7

After the long days of mile munching and yesterday’s exertions on the high passes, I needed a bit of a breather today!

Unusually for one of my trips I decided to spend two nights in one place and I’m glad that I did because it took off the pressure to move on, this is supposed to be a holiday after all. . . OK and a multi-post blog reportage!

Over a leisurely Italian breakfast I pondered how to use my day. Looking at the map, I could see a nice circular ride; Bormio – Livigno – Bernina Pass(Switzerland) – Tirano – Bormio. About 90 miles, four passes and enough bends to keep things interesting without making it hard work! Oh yes and all day to do it, so loads or time to stop for photos and other things. Let’s go!

With light traffic and no particular rush to get anywhere, we paused at Passo di Foscagno. It’s not often that a view takes my breath away, but this was one, as the Italians say, “bellissimo!”

Passo di Foscagno, looking east.

Passo di Foscagno, looking east.

I particularly like the duck house in the middle of the lake!

Passing through the customs post and into Livigno I was struck how the air suddenly took on a distinct aroma of honey, rounding the next bend I could see that the pasture was full of bright yellow dandelion flowers and obviously the source of the smell. It was just like taking the lid off afresh jar of honey, heavenly sweet and quite bewitching!image
We skirted the main town of Livigno and started to climb up to the pass of Forcola di Livigno and the Swiss border. Strangely there was no sign of the customs rigmarole that we had seen yesterday at the internal customs post, we were just ignored!

Valle di Livigno from the pass.

Valle di Livigno from the pass.

With time to spare we pulled over for photos a lot!

The first bend in Switzerland.

The first bend in Swtzerland.

Val Laguné

Val Laguné

Once we hit the main road we hung a right and headed up the Passo del Bernina. At 2328metres this is no baby, but with a major road across it, not to bad to ride at all! Well actually it’s better than that, with new tunnels re-routing most of the heavy North-South traffic the pass is now pretty quiet, but with a stonking great well-engineered black-top to enjoy it’s a shame not to take advantage!

Bernina Pass, the old track.

Bernina Pass, the old track.


The wide sweeping hairpins of Bernina were a treat to ride on Baby, her long-wheelbase not being challenged like on tighter bends. I really enjoyed flinging her around and nearly went back to do it again!

We then trundled in a leisurely manner down the Poschiavo Valley towards Italy.

Somewhere down the road I had a bit of an epiphany, I realised that I really liked this part of Switzerland; it’s so Italian and not just the language! Here everything isn’t neatly manicured like a pastiche of the novel “Heidi,” here people work manually and are proud to do so; the cars are not all brand new Mercedes-Benz, more likely beaten up used Fiats. There’s an inherent honesty about the place and the people; they don’t talk to you with their hand out waiting to grab your cash. They are less Swiss, more Poschiavois, the valley is more important to them than the “suits” of Zürich and Geneva, long may it remain so!

Soon we passed back into Italy and ran into the picturesque town of Tirano, famous for being the southern terminus of the metre gauge Bernina Railway and the famous Bernina Express. Yes, you’ve guessed, I had to drop into the station.

We were just in time to see the 14:03 Bernina Express loading with countless German tourists. Time to grab a couple of photos and get moving again, the temperature was 30 degrees Celsius in the shade!

Bernina Express ready to depart Tirano.

Bernina Express ready to depart Tirano.


In the adjacent Italian State Railways station I found this rather tatty old steam locomotive looking very sorry for itself.image

All that remained then was a 25 mile cruise back to Bormio to complete our circle half of which seemed to be tunnels which I would normally hate, but these were well-lit, good surface and best of all. . .cool!

“As the images unwind,
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind.”

Catch you soon.

Dookes

Beastie – Beating Stevio.

Posted on by
5

Just under a year ago I was in Italy with a brand new bike. One day I wrote this:

“Today we should have ridden the Stelvio Pass, but poor weather at Bolzano, low cloud and rain put paid to that idea. In addition I have come to the conclusion that Baby Harls just ain’t the girl for that type of road, she’s too heavy and her long wheelbase makes it “interesting” on the tight hairpins. What she is good at though is “mile munching” and today she did that just fine. ”

A few days later we crested the Col de Lombarde and rode the Cime de la Bonette, the highest paved through road in Europe. Was I wrong a few days previously? Yes, totally!

Since then there’s been a beast gnawing at my back and it’s name is Stelvio.

In the past year there hasn’t been a week when I haven’t studied the map of that bloody Pass, or read articles about it, or watched videos of people riding it’s famous hairpins. I wasn’t obsessed, it was eating at me and mocking me from a distance. It seemed that Stelvio believed that it had beaten me, it’s reputation had scared me away and it had wormed into my psyche.

You see I believe that mountains have something, call it character, call it soul; I’ve felt it many times. Sometimes it’s as if it doesn’t want you there. In my beloved Welsh mountains Aran Fawddwy stands out like that, perhaps it’s because it has claimed so many lives, but it definitely never wants you on its slopes; mountains, like the sea, demand respect.

What Stelvio hadn’t realised was that I’m a Celt, we understand and feel these things and we don’t take crap from anyone or anything.

All that time I was plotting my revenge, looking for the moment when I would return and conquer.

Today I woke early in Livigno. There had been rain overnight, the ground was soaking with large puddles everywhere and the cloud still hugged the mountains like gossamer strands caressing the silent peaks. A slow steady breakfast was on the cards, followed by a gentle stroll through the awakening streets.

By ten o’clock, things were looking up and the sun had begun to break through. Time to move, Stelvio – I’m coming to get you!

Livigno, basecamp.

Livigno, basecamp.

From Livigno the only road to Bormio and today’s target is the S301. At the Passo di Foscagno there’s a customs post, which is a bit strange as we are still in Italy, but it’s all due to the duty-free status of Livigno. I have to say that however laid back the Italians are, they do love a good bit of bureaucracy and this customs post took the biscuit! There was a poor chap in front of me who was made to unpack his car and another who was given a right grilling! When it came to my turn, I’m afraid I tired of the game pretty quickly – “just how many cigarettes and bottles of alcohol do you think I can carry on a motorbike?” I demanded of the official. He shrugged his shoulders and backed off when I told him that he was welcome to search through my dirty washing. “Grazie, buongiorno ,” was all I got, with a thumbs up and a jerk of the wrist indicating I was free to go!

Stelvio, I’m coming for you!

I dropped the bags off at my hotel in Bormio, I wanted the least top weight on Baby as possible, she’s heavy enough empty! Leaving the hotel, we turned left took a deep breath and hit the road.

Passo dello Stelvio at 2757 m / 9045 ft above sea level is the highest paved mountain pass in the Eastern Alps and the second highest in the whole of the Alps being just a tad below Col de Bonette in France. I’ve ridden Bonette on both Harls and Baby, so this upstart needed taming.

The climb and the hairpins start as soon as you leave Bormio. There are 75 in total, split roughly 50/50 between each side, this was going to be hard work! Throw into the mix various tunnels and Avalanche shelters, all dripping with water and having questionable road surfaces, life was getting very interesting.

The great thing about a Harley Davidson is the low-end grunt you get from the engine, there’s torque aplenty even below 2000 revs, so we stayed in second or third gears and just kept plugging at it. Just after a flight of 14 hairpins and about 7/8ths of the way up there is a road that bears off to the Umbrail Pass, right on the Swiss Border; well it would have been rude to ignore it, so hello again Switzerland! The customs post was, predictably, deserted!

Umbrail Pass, customs post. I like to declare...oh don't bother!

Umbrail Pass, customs post. I like to declare…oh don’t bother!

Returning to Italy and a further half-dozen bends took us to the summit…

Oh dear, what a disappointment!image

I love the peace that you normally find on a high mountain summit, maybe a small refuge or café, but this was something else! Every kind of small shop and stall selling any sort of Stelvio branded rubbish that you can imagine! It was all so tacky!

Stevio Pass? Over-used, over-publicised, over-rated!

Ok, so I did buy a pin badge, a patch and a bratwurst… which makes me a hypocrite, but I’m not the first in my family at that!

With perfect timing Mrs Dookes telephoned me whilst I was at the top, which was nice. She’s not a hypocrite incidentally!

We came up there!

We came up there!

Then it was time to escape and trundle back down the seemingly never-ending hill, for me going down is always harder that the uphill stretch.
Stelvio hairpin, just a silly old bend!

Stelvio hairpin, just a silly old bend!

Downhill you are always riding the brake and keeping the speed in check, going up gravity helps with that!
Serious bends!

Serious bends!


Stelvio, the high alp. It's not all hairpins, honestly!

Stelvio, the high alp. It’s not all hairpins, honestly!

Anyway, after a few “moments” we made it to Bormio and being a sucker for punishment I turned left for the Gavia Pass.

At 2621 metres, Passo di Gavia is right up there with the big ones. Unlike Stelvio it’s wild country, unspoilt by commerce and hordes of people. True there’s a cafe and a rundown refuge at the top, but there’s also silence, still tranquility.

Gavia Pass, for those that like their mountains pointy and peaceful!

Gavia Pass, for those that like their mountains pointy and peaceful!

The road up was in a terrible state, but with only eight true hairpins I could relax a bit more than earlier. Where Stelvio was a battle, this was almost a pilgrimage back to real mountain roads. On top of that, the scenery was amazing!

Baby and I trundled back to Bormio happy in a job well done. The beast had been laid to rest and now it was time to move on.

I’ve ridden all bar one of the top twenty paved passes in Europe and goodness knows how many others, maybe one day I’ll count them. For now, I’m going to ride a couple more tomorrow then a few old friends next week, after that if you see me heading for a mountain pass on a motorbike….just shoot me!

“So stand as one defiant – yes, and let your voices swell.
Stare that beastie in the face and really give him hell.”

Catch you later.

Dookes