Thrillers in the Mist

Mountains make their own weather, it’s said. And as we approach the crest of the 8,232-ft Passo del Rombo, a bank of cloud drifts across the summit, obscuring the sunlight. We drift in and out of the white blanket, and each time we emerge the motorcycles in front of me reappear like so many illusionists’ rabbits from a top hat.

Though it’s a little spooky navigating the winding mountain road in reduced visibility, even more uncanny is the sudden looming of a gaping black hole – the 1,800-ft tunnel through the summit, joining the Sud-Tirol with Austria’s Ötztal valley. Emerging from the blackness back into the dense veil, we pick our way along the narrow switchbacks for a mile or so before dropping out of the cloud on the north side of the pass onto a breezy ridge overlooking a steep, rocky slope down into the valley below.

It’s the first time we’ve hit even slightly inclement weather on our tour. It’s Day 6 of RoadRUNNER’s five-country European tour, and I’m riding “sweeper” for our party of 12 riders. So far, our tour has taken us from Bavaria into the Austrian Östtirol, across the Alps into Slovenia and Northern Italy, west across the Südtirol and the Dolomites, and now, back into the Austrian Tirol.

That morning we roared out of bustling Merano in Italy’s Südtirol heading for the ski resort of Serfaus, back across the Austrian border. The Rombo Pass (Timmelsjoch to the Austrians) is our third mountain pass of the day: first came the 7,300ft Penser Joch at the head of the Sarntal valley, north of Bolzano; then the 6,900-ft Jaufenpass (Passo Giovo in the official Italian language), which connected us to the Timmelsjoch’s serpentine switchbacks by a delightfully winding single-track road and a fragrant pine forest.

The contrasts are remarkable: Bolzano’s chaotic streets fade quickly as we ride into the verdant, pastoral Sarntal. We rattle over narrow bridges, tiptoe around shuffling flocks of sheep and climb steadily along rocky escarpments to the Penser Joch. The Alpine air is chilly, and a warming mug of hot chocolate at the stark, stone Alpenrosenhof hotel at the treeless summit makes a welcome break. After the Jaufenpass, we lunch on slices of fresh pizza and decadent pastries in picturesque St Leonhard, every window-box on its wedding-cake houses draped with dazzling geraniums. Riding on to the Timmelsjoch’s staircase of switchbacks, we sweep along glistening tarmac, just wide enough to squeeze a bike past a car, through a tunnel of towering pines.

So it was that we pulled into a turnout to regroup after emerging from the Timmelsjoch’s foggy summit. Parked there are an ageing Moto-Guzzi 500 and its even older rider, puzzling over a broken clutch cable. It’s not long before a group gathers round wielding multi-tools. Tour leader Peter Lintschinger parks his Bandit 1250 nearby, leaving his helmet on the seat … and offers to help out. Sudden wind gusts are not unknown near mountain summits, and Peter’s helmet succumbs to one, bouncing on the gravel before tumbling over the verge, bouncing off a jagged rock or two before coming to rest 30 feet or so below. Spitting out a German expletive, Peter runs to the verge and scrambles down the rocky slope to retrieve his scratched and battered helmet, its visor now attached at only one side. He is not happy!

Visor reattached with duct tape, Peter leads us down more switchbacks toward Soelden, home to many Austrian skiers, and through the Oetztal (Oetz valley) toward Imst.

I’m certain we could never have found Peter’s route to Serfaus on our own. Forsaking the main highway through Landeck, we weave a seemingly erratic path along single-track hillside roads through tiny villages of clucking hens and baying goats, past tumbledown barns and smart new tractors, through wooded thickets and alongside bucolic meadows. In the warm sunlight of late afternoon, it’s a delightful ramble – though Peter’s fast-paced riding means no dawdling – and I’m sure we’re having a lot more fun than the drivers shuffling their intermittent way through heavy traffic in the valley below. Rush hour in these tiny villages is meeting a tractor on the road.

Serfaus nestles in a broad valley, one of the hundreds that hide Tirolean ski villages. Our little party of motorcycles files through the narrow cobbled streets, past whitewashed pensiones and tidy storefronts, every building bedecked with overflowing window boxes of red and purple geraniums. Our hotel, on a quiet side street, radiates charm and cozy hospitality, yet the rooms are spacious and modern, and our bed boasts a fluffy down comforter.

Shedding our riding gear, we re-group on the balcony for post-ride beers and to debrief the day. Steve, a former enduro racer from Texas is a spirited rider who, with wife Kathleen behind, handles the big R1200RT like a sportbike; Greg and Daphne, honeymooners from Kentucky, brighten every ride and coffee stop with their exuberance; Ron and Donovan both motorcycle tour veterans share their experiences, while our three Canadians, Steve, Jim and Peter are all fast, competent riders, and each with his own brand of dry humor.

Showered and changed, we gather in the hotel’s bright, compact dining room for yet another scrumptious meal – our tour has been as much gastronomic as scenic. But a long riding day, a beer or two and a big meal mean early to bed: after all, there are many more mountain passes to crest tomorrow …

Nine days, five countries

Less than a week before, we’d made our various ways to a friendly family hotel in Bad Tölz, Bavaria. At the BMW dealership, we collected our chosen steeds, packed our hard luggage – there was to be no support vehicle – and set off following Peter into Austria toward his hometown of Tamsweg. Our ride that day set the pattern for the next week or so: climbing into the mountains under brilliant sunshine on narrow but sweetly engineered switchback roads; morning rest stops in quaint villages of tidy, narrow streets, or in gaily decorated ski resorts; exquisite pastries and dark, mellow coffee; serpentine tarmac ribbons laid out before us from airy summits; hearty lunches in bright, bustling cafes; exhilarating sprints along broad, verdant valleys … Our guide, Peter, always managed to fit in just one more breathtaking crest for late afternoon, like the stunning, sweeping Pordoi Pass down into Arabba in the Südtirol, its narrow highway cavorting down the hillside in a series of convoluted loops. The afterglow of each afternoon’s ride was a relaxing evening in a postcard-pretty mountain village hotel.

Astounding scenery, stimulating speed

It’s different here: European riders ride fast, but the cars are almost as quick. Things happen at a faster pace, and you have to be paying attention. Fortunately, motorcycles are common on the roads: car drivers are used to motorcycles buzzing by them, and most will move over to let a bike pass. It’s one of the joys of European motorcycling.

And that makes riding the mountain passes a joy, rather than the drudging ordeal of being trapped by double-yellow lines behind a lumbering motor home in a cloud of diesel smoke, the fate that frequently besets riders on North American mountain roads.

In nine days we covered more than 2,000km, or around 1300 miles: say 150 miles a day. That may not seem like much if you’re on an Interstate, but on mountain switchbacks with first-gear turns, it makes for a significant workload. And, of course, we had to stop to smell the roses – or rather, savor the coffee and scrumptious snacks.

Every day a highlight …

… but some higher than others. Standout memories: Slovenia’s Vrsic Pass, a devilish series of switchbacks, each hairpin paved with cobblestones. The road was built during WWI by Russian prisoners of war. It’s said as many as 10,000 were so employed, many succumbing to avalanches. A small chapel near the summit commemorates their unwilling sacrifice, and a small cemetery marks the dead of 17 nations who fought here in battles recalled by Hemingway in “A Farewell to Arms.”

It would be a close-run contest for sure, but Tamsweg must be one of the prettiest towns in the Östtirol. I wandered its streets at dusk, a church tower, bridge and civic buildings all softly lit against the night sky.

Passo dello Stelvio: The roads were damp and rain threatened as we pulled out of Merano, heading for this most evocative of motorcycling destinations; but at the foot of the climb, shafts of sunlight picked out an old stone church, and the skies started to clear. The climb, a seemingly endless series of half-mile tarmac straights interspersed with narrow hairpin turns, fired us out on to the pass, where the drifting cloud base parted long enough for me to snap one good shot of the switchback staircase below.

Our descent on the southern side took us on a rollicking ride to the Passo di Gavia on a narrow paved path hacked out of the mountainside. At the summit is a somber memorial to the soldiers of WWI who fought for this territory. Chill enough in August, the idea of fighting a hand-to-hand war here in winter is truly appalling … It was as a result of these battles that the Sudtirol was ceded to Italy in 1919. Though still under Italian jurisdiction, German is more widely spoken, and street signs are in both languages.

It’s impossible to fully capture RoadRUNNER’s five-country tour in my allotted space, but these were some of the experiences that made it special. All of us agreed that Austria and the Südtirol (where, to be fair, we spent the bulk of our time) was a huge and overwhelmingly positive surprise: generous hospitality, great food, excellent roads, and a positive attitude to motorcycling. As for Austria’s clean, tidy and brightly decorated towns: well, lets just say they made Switzerland look shabby!

At the end of the trip, I asked my wife, a non-motorcyclist who had never been on a motorcycle tour before, if she enjoyed the trip and would she do it again. Her answer to both questions was an emphatic “yes!”

View details about the upcoming 5 Country Tour in Europe

Text: Robert Smith