Enduro in Piedmont, Enduro in Liguria – haven’t I read all that before? Are the leftover stories reheated again, due to lack of content?
Not with us – before the world stopped turning, we were again in Piedmont… and Liguria. Because both regions have each their own unique charm – from the high alpine barrens to the lush green hills just before the Mediterranean.
After two years without any major breakdowns, we have complete confidence in our antiquated fleet and dare to tackle the long way ‘round this time. So in addition to the tools we also pack tents, sleeping mats and sleeping bags. Our base is this time is in the hills above Susa, almost at the French border and the Lac du Mont Cenis.
Between Rocciamelone and Mont Malamot
The area around the reservoir, with its accessible dam and striking blue colour, will be our playground for the first day. We mess about checking air pressure, lashing luggage, fiddling with the carburetor and getting used to thick boots again. Of course, one only fiddles with the carburetor above 2600m, when only about 0.78 of the original 20 HP is still available, and the forward momentum comes to an abrupt halt. Which jet is in there again? Haven’t I already changed it? Where is that main jet? Is it really still in the car? Are we doing this for the first time? A bit of aerobic exercise running beside the bike is required, but the view over the lake and the surrounding peaks is worth it.
The big tour also does not start the next day just yet – it is vacation after all, and besides that, we have an appointment with the landlord of the house for the large group planned for 2020. Spoiler: Didn’t happen.
So we ride the Colle dell’Assietta as a warm up routine and are surprised how our pace has evolved in two years. In the first year, the Assietta was an all-day programme for us – now we ride more swiftly, but above all require fewer stops, and are thereby waiting to meet the landlord Arturo by noon. He is the coolest guy in Piedmont, and surprises us with perfect English, the outfit of a lawyer at brunch, and numerous anecdotes about his financial ruin with this impressive house. One could write a whole report about the constructions and reconstructions alone, but the relevant architecture magazines have already done that. We’re keeping our fingers crossed that we can check in there this year.
After the amiable chat, we ride home and devote ourselves to cooking and socializing in our green surroundings. The day passes and after a few drinks and weather checks, the decision is made: Put on some fresh knickers, strap your sleeping implements and spare toilet paper to the bike and set the alarm for tomorrow. Early. Early enough to saddle up by a respectable hour – regardless of any morning porcelain performances required by certain members. Two days labelled distinctly under “iron butt” await us.
Susa to Sampeyre
Off we start in very brisk morning temperatures down to Susa, refuel, over the Colle delle Finestre, then along the Chisone, turning right somewhere and on gravel over the mountains into the Pellice Valley. Hardly time to catch your breath along 5km of asphalt before it goes offroad again over the mountains and back down to the Po River at Paesana and the much-needed gas station. Slowly our legs become soft, our arms heavy, the horizon blurs and the riding mistakes accumulate. We’ve been 6 hours on the road, new lavatorial grounds have been broken, and our meagre supply of apples and granola bars expended. As the water in the Camelbacks begins to taste stale, the first sensitivities of the group are voiced loudly and at pee breaks the nearest hotel deals are googled for. It is clear: We need food, beer and at least an idea where we can spend the night. The next best pizzeria is our oasis, the next best supermercado will supply the beer, and the research has revealed: only one more ridge to a possible campsite. So everything is easy, put on the helmet one last time and off we go.
Then the mood takes a nosedive. Over the small mountain ridge leads a rough path over handball-sized boulders, clouds and fog move in, it gets cold and the beer bottles rattle in the backpack, pulling on battered shoulders. We are much slower than planned and reach the campsite next to the Varaita after closing time. Intrusive appearance, repeated ringing and stubborn waiting finally earn us a place on the dew-soaked meadow. Tonight, nobody will stay awake for long after a few beers. The tents are set up in the dark, beers polished off and shortly off to bed. The planning suggests an even longer route for tomorrow.
Maira Stura, Parpaillon and back
We wake again with the sun, patiently await the end of the love affair between one particular member and the sanitary facilities and set off towards the famous Maira Stura ridge road. We roll most of the way comfortably on largely asphalted roads and then explore the insanely great landscape around the Maira Stura. During our lunch break on top, we realize that we need to get a move on. The route ahead is still long and we urgently need a shortcut. The search turns out to be tedious, since we are digital-only and the reception is generally good in the whole region – except for today. We roll the dice on a hopefully continuously passable path down the rugged landscape. It starts behind a sign with a red circle on a white background and a chain stretched across the path, which is not known to us. From now on, we are cyclists and glide silently down the mountain until we spy a small farm hut. Unfortunately, we also spy signs of human life around the hut. Now just don’t get caught. The deal is formulated in military terms: camouflage, sneak up, and disappear quickly. Two out of three make it past the house before dog or human can stop us. One of three has a small tumble beforehand and can then only roll past, waving charmingly.
We reach the valley floor with no further enemy contact, but decide we should still leave the Italian territory promptly. About the same time, a profound emptiness is felt in the tanks. From Colle della Maddalena on, we are again silent on the road, leading long lines of cars and managing an astonishing 30% more range than usual, down to the gas station in Jausiers. The afternoon is already well underway and we are still far from home. We aim for the Col du Parpaillon and reach the famous tunnel late in the afternoon in wonderful light and all alone. We are astounded at every pee stop by the view, the absence of any other human souls, and that it really is permitted to drive here with motorcycles. Off we head into the darkness of the tunnel – but despite the best efforts of the Chinese LED spotlights, the tunnel floor remains indiscernible and the depths of indistinct puddles unknown. The panorama as we exit through the northern portal blows us away. We briefly soak in the impressions and set off on the descent in the direction of the Durance River. After a few kilometers, we are stopped. Cattle stand on the road and are in no hurry to make way. And these cattle have horns and bollocks. To us city people all this doesn’t seem very smart, but we have to pass by. By the time we finally arrive at the Durance, it’s early evening and we trade the final planned off-road excursion through the ski resorts for a bit of daylight on the way home and drive the two hours home on the road. It’s getting dark and considerably cold at the higher elevations. At the last fuel stop, it is decided that the manifolds will stay cold the next day.
Jafferau and Lac du Mont Cenis
We use the remaining days for a tour through the reopened tunnel up to Forte Jafferau through thick fog. On the way back down, we help recover a big Yamaha on the ski slopes. Afterwards, we appreciate all the more our own light matériel – especially since the Yamaha has despite its thick bash plates spilled out the contents of its oil pan. We meet some fellow enduristas and they tell us about the closed routes where the forestry authorities and police are lurking this year and what the current penalties are. Fortunately, there are enough legal routes, but the status is partially unclear. Just because there’s no sign prohibiting entry doesn’t necessarily mean it’s okay to ride.
Our conclusions remain unchanged: our outdated equipment does not disappoint, the views are great, and hopefully we can go again soon. Stay tuned and watch everything again in moving pictures.
Ciao!
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