Road to Tokyo

7 days and 1,108km (Total: 14 days and 2,852km)

Riding through Italy is like being in the landscape of the Teletubbies. Except when you get into the cities and people are wearing leather jackets, smoking rollies, and drinking aperol spritz at 11am.

On our first night in this sleeping beauty of a country we stayed in a luxury campsite on the beachside, just past the French border. €28 for a pitch! But, fair enough, the toilets were cleaner than my own. Local folks of older generations were there in their massive camper vans having a good crack on their yearly vacations. We setup our tiny pitch in the corner and headed out for a beer and pizza before returning happy and content.

The next morning we woke to drizzle so decided to pack up and get going. Twenty minutes later – halfway through packing the tent – and it was fucking torrential rain. We didn’t know what to prioritise packing away and keeping dry… The half-deconstructed tent? Helmets? Jackets? Shoes? Gloves? Ourselves?? Nothing could be saved so we sucked it up and hit the road in the down-pour, increasingly thankful to Gore-Tex along the way.

Much planning for this trip was last-minute, so we decided to take a day off the bike and get our shit together (sim cards, tax returns,… all that fun stuff). We found a guy renting a room just north of Genoa, about four hours away. The listing said there were a lot of cats and that’s enough to convince us. We arrived to a little home in the middle of nowhere with a fireplace, a tiny kitchen, and a stunning view over endless hills in their peak spring flourishings. I even did a bit of bike maintenance whist there – tightening the odd bolt, cleaning the mirrors, even lubing the chain. Bear Grills might now have a morsel of respect.

After a beautiful day’s rest we rode into Bologna and stopped for a coffee before walking around sweating in our riding gear (my new workout routine). Our “campsite” that night was a guy called Pietro renting out his garden for €20 per night. He cooked us pasta and gave us a glass of wine. Met a German couple who looked madly in love and pitched our tent next to the unmaintained pool now full of frogs.

The next day was a very long one. Too long. We rode two hours into Florence and explored the city, fitting squarely in with the droves of tourists with our riding gear and my camera dangling from my wrist. Our campsite/garden that night was three hours away. As K was humming along, on our right was infinite blue skies (“life is great” feelings) and on our left was ungodly deep grey clouds about to burst (“holy fuck” feelings). The next direction on Google Maps? 90 degrees left…

Soon, rain drops the size of acorns were hammering down on our helmets and, to add to the scene, the road had smoke coming off it as the rain evaporated from the tarmac. We pushed through and got to our next campgarden. The grass was drenched and the woman came down to greet us in a full umbrella poncho — she looked like the fucking grim reaper. We looked at each other and we both knew this wasn’t what the trip was about so decided we’d go somewhere else.

A quick Booking.com search and there was a place fifteen minutes away that had a rating better than “passable” (we know from prior experience that those ones are total shit). The phone number wasn’t answering so we got back on K and nailed it there. We arrived to two Italian ladies who looked very surprised to see anyone, let alone two people on a motorcycle as big as the tractor the old guy was driving in the field behind them. They couldn’t speak a word of English so tried ann embarrassing mix of English, Spanish, Portuguese, and French. When I put into Google translate “is there a room available tonight?”, and they still looked confused, I realised they might just not like us. Anyway, we finally got through to the owner and managed to negotiate €50 for the night. Worth it just for this dinner setting.

They also had shelter for the bike, which I’m quickly realising the value of. €50 very well spent.

The next stop was Rome. Getting there was a five hour ride. Ninety five perfect of which through beautiful Tuscany landscape, and five percent through a strangely gothic town during an intense hail shower that I’m not even sure I believe the memory of myself. It was like watching the Teletubbies and then suddenly Sin City interrupts for ten seconds before Teletubbies continues. “Did that really happen?”. Another gold star for Gore-Tex though.

Rome the next day was a great day out. We had a coffee, I bought a new pair of running shoes, and we saw close-up Pope Francis in his coffin ready to be buried in Vatican City. That night we went to a Roman Trattoria for dinner in the suburbs and ordered a ragu and a carbonara. Massive portions. I learnt that evening that pasta dishes are typically served as “primo piatto” (first course) followed by “secondo piatto” (second course) which usually has fish or meat. It explained why the table next to us was sharing one pasta dish between five whilst we had one each to ourselves. Zero regrets.

We’re having an incredible time. Every day is a different adventure and life is being simplified to “where are we going tomorrow?”