Italian Alps

In the far southwest of the Alps, between the Ligurian Sea and the French border, I went looking for mountain passes that hopefully haven't yet been discovered by the masses. Piedmont, literally meaning "at the foot of the mountains", seemed like the perfect place to start.

My base for the adventure is Borgo San Dalmazzo, just an hour's ride from Turin. It is the last town on the Po Valley before the Alps begin. From here, I have three days to explore a different loop each day, searching for technical mountain passes capable of putting the Ducati's Mono through its paces.

Before tackling the first pass, I stop at a motorcycle shop to buy a tank bag. The woman behind the counter can't believe her eyes when she sees my Dutch number plate. "Did you really ride all the way here from the Netherlands?" she asks in broken English. Riding 1,200 kilometres without a windscreen on a bumpy single cylinder? That would indeed be quite an achievement. I quickly put her straight. Luckily, the compact Hypermotard just fitted inside my van. She nods and hands me a tank bag that suits the Ducati's slim profile perfectly. All my camera equipment fits inside, so I am soon on my way towards the first pass.

Lamborghini tractor

The first pass on my route is the Colle della Maddalena. In Italy, geographical landmarks are often named after saints, in this case Mary Magdalene. The pass is an important connection between France's Provence Alpes Côte d'Azur region and Piedmont. Its highest point sits just below 2,000 metres and, to my surprise, the road is open on both sides. That immediately explains the amount of traffic flowing through the beautiful valley.

Hairpins alternate with long, flowing bends across the flatter sections. The temperature drops quickly as I climb higher. On the Italian side of the summit sits a beautiful crystal clear mountain lake. If it weren't absolutely freezing, I would jump straight in. I don't cross the border and turn around instead. A mountain pass has two faces, after all, and riding up or down can offer a completely different experience.

This region has also seen plenty of rain. The meadows are intensely green and the rivers are running strongly with all the meltwater and rainfall. I pass a herd of goats and a shepherd beside a waterfall. It is an incredibly peaceful scene that feels like another world. A little further on, I stop in the village of Sambuco, where a farmer proudly shows me his Lamborghini tractor. He counts on his fingers how many years he has been using this particular workhorse to cultivate his fields. More than forty years, it turns out. The tractor looks immaculate. Quite a contrast with the average business owner, who writes off his car after five years.

Stopped before the summit

Back in the valley, I turn right towards the Lombarda Pass. From here, it is just over 20 kilometres and the road immediately throws a series of technically challenging hairpins at me. The road surface is clearly not in the same pristine condition as the busier Maddalena. I don't encounter a single other rider on this first section and I soon understand why.

The roads are narrow and loose stones are common. Dense forests block the view beyond the bends, forcing me to keep the pace down. Then I reach the tree line. Suddenly the landscape opens up, revealing snow covered peaks and a wild river far below. This is exactly why I came here. With no one else around, I point the torque rich Ducati up the steep mountainside. The rumble of its twin exhaust and the roar of the river echo through the valley. The bends are wide and the asphalt suddenly improves dramatically. My favourite pass, then? Not quite. Just before the final climb, I run into a set of barriers. The road to the summit is still closed because the snow has not yet cleared. To make matters worse, a municipal worker happens to pass by and tells me that the road will probably be cleared next week. By then, I'll already be back in Belgium. The summit, sitting at 2,350 metres, will have to wait for another time. I turn around and set my sights on the Tenda Pass.

Fear of heights

Summer has officially arrived and the days are getting longer. I decide to grab a quick bite and ride up towards the summit in the warm glow of the setting sun. The Tenda Pass is only half an hour from Borgo San Dalmazzo. The tunnel beneath the pass, which connects Italy with France, is closed, but I don't need it.

I continue climbing past the final ski station, weaving between ski lifts and snow cannons. The road is narrow but in perfect condition, and there is absolutely no traffic. Every hairpin takes me a little higher. Then suddenly, the guardrails disappear. The road continues upwards and the surrounding mountains seem to shrink with every metre. I never expected it, but without any kind of barrier between me and the drop, I start to feel a little uneasy about the height. Maybe I've had enough for today. But curiosity wins.

I've been looking forward to discovering the abandoned forts at the summit for weeks. The final ten minutes seem to last an hour. Then the steep drop finally gives way to a plateau, leading me towards the final ridge. The French side has already disappeared into the shadows. I ride onto the ridge that marks the exact border between the two countries. Two ruins emerge from the landscape, glowing in the evening sunlight.

I continue over the gravel, climbing even higher. Up here, it genuinely feels as if I'm standing on top of the world. Completely alone, I watch the sun disappear behind the distant mountains. For now, this is my favourite pass. But there are still two days to go.