The Two-Wheeled Road To Heaven
Finding Cielo In Italy
by David Dewhurst
My wife hates tunnels. Even the mention of a tunnel gets her palms sweaty, and that’s a problem when you’re trying to drive up Italy’s Tuscan coast. Here the rugged Aquan Alps push up against the Mediterranean coastline like a tightly clenched fist and Autostrada cuts through those deep fingers of green in what seems like an endless series of tunnels.
The good news is that we were forced to take the “old” road, SS1, that snakes around, rather than through the verdant hills that push all the way to the ocean. At first, I was a little annoyed that the trip north from Forte dei Marmi to Rapallo was going to take twice as long as the tunneled autostrada route. We were in a Ford Puma SUV and I just wanted to get there as fast as possible.
It didn’t take long to realize that my wife’s claustrophobic fears were actually a blessing. As we passed the Carrera marble mountains and headed north of La Spezia we entered an enchanted land, a motorcycle paradise that I was not expecting. Even behind the wheel of the Puma, the ribbon of road that opened up before us was an absolute blast.
At first the 35-mile long section of two-lane mountain road wound through a few small Italian villages dormant during the midday riposo, a three-hour period, usually between 1pm and 4pm, when shops close and the residents take a well-earned rest. The road was quiet with no more than the odd Fiat Panda or a Vespa scooter breaking the midday silence.
As we climbed up into the hills and started following the Vara River past tiny towns like San Benedetto and Padivarma, the road started to change. The long sweeping corners and long straights quickly gave way to much tighter turns as the hillside became steeper and covered in a seemingly impenetrable layer of greenery. More importantly, the road surface changed. The granular grey surface suddenly gave way to a darker surface that looked more like black silk than asphalt. There were no cracks or potholes, just a perfectly smooth surface, better than any racetrack I have ever witnessed.
One series of S bends led into another as we climbed along the hillsides. Even in the Puma this was fun, but as we slid around in our seats, I could not stop imagining how amazing this road would be on a well-sorted sportbike. Just as I was thinking this, a bright red flash came around the corner ahead, the Ducati rider, knee on the ground, staying well into his lane. The roar of the Desmo V-twin broke the silence like an M80 on July 4th.
The red mist might have descended over me at that moment. I was not really conscious of the change, but my wife’s punch on the shoulder was a quick reminder that we were not on the Nordschlieife or at Mugello. I rolled out of the throttle and the red mist dispersed, but I could not stop imagining what this perfect ribbon of road would be like on a Ducati, or even a Vespa.
The sheer beauty of the road was quite overwhelming. At some moments, off in the distance you could catch a glimpse of the Autostrada as one of its many tall bridges ended at yet another dark tunnel. Just moments later the western side of the road opened up to a brilliant view of the ocean and the famous Cinque Terre coastline. But there was little time to take in the magnificent views because every few seconds there was another series of tight second-gear curves calling for all your attention.
I lost count of the apexes I aimed for and the guard rails I narrowly missed on the exits. In my mind I was hustling a bright-red Ducati Panigale, but in reality I was steering an underpowered SUV. In the air-conditioned cocoon of the Puma my wife suggested we should take a break. It was time to pull over and absorb the last thirty minutes of fun. As always in Italy there were beautiful little ristorantes everywhere, and in the tiny village of Mattarana we found the perfect spot. The shaded parking area across from the restaurant was empty when we arrived, not unusual for midday on a Thursday. But, as we downed a few espressos and an amazing plate of pasta, the shady area slowly filled with motorcycles. One by one their leather-clad riders dismounted and, without removing their helmets, each stood for a moment to stare at their bikes and let the last few exhilarating miles bounce around in their heads. I was jealous.
Each rider eventually unzipped their leathers and crossed the road to the cool shade of the Ristorante Antica Locanda. They sat in groups on the covered veranda swapping stories about 35 miles of unparalleled excitement. Italian hands carved large arcs through the air and two fingers pulled on imaginary front brakes. The voices were subdued, but the excitement in their bench racing spoke volumes. Even in the rental SUV this was a fun and challenging road, but I could not imagine what exhilaration they must be feeling.
I’ve ridden some amazing roads during my many years on two wheels, but nothing seemed to compare to the SS1. The Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina is an equally perfect twisting ribbon of road, but with endless tourist traffic and a ridiculously low speed limit, the Parkway is nowhere close. Similarly, some of the mountain roads of Southern California have equally twisty curves, but none of those canyons have a road surface to equal this Italian delight.
Just as importantly, I’ve never been on any other road around the world where you can pull off every few miles and find such perfect food and drink while you relax and take in the fun you are having. A local Honda Fireblade owner summed it up nicely as he enjoyed a bowl of seafood risotto and a cappuccino in Mattarana. Speaking as much with his hands as anything else, Claudio, a twenty something from La Spezia, twisted his hands through an endless series of imaginary corners and finished with the simple Italian word, Cielo. Heaven.
A Ducati rider, still pumped up from thirty minutes of pretending to be Marc Márquez on public roads, chatted eagerly about the beauty of the road and the region. He’d never been outside of Italy, and he didn’t see any reason to leave this piece of Italian heaven. “How about coming to America or England?” I asked. He looked across at his Honda, took the last sip of his cappuccino and said simply, “Hot dogs or fish and chips. No thank you.”
I had no response because he was right. Here on the northern border of Tuscany and Liguria was the perfect location for a street-riding adventure. Good food, great weather and a ribbon of perfect asphalt that’s even fun in a rental SUV. Next time we return to Tuscany I’ll make sure I have two wheels to enjoy this area, even if it’s only a Vespa. That way my wife won’t have to worry about tunnels, but she might get sweaty palms from the lean angles on SS1.
