I don’t like to admit it, but by the time I left Aswan, travel was starting to lose its appeal. Waiting three weeks in vain for the Sudan visa, I had lost much of my travel momentum, which is so important during long-term, solo overlanding. So the otherwise charming or exotic aspects of day to day life in Egypt had become tiresome: the noise, dust, litter, rip-offs, and mad traffic were wearing me down. So when I boarded the Visemar One bound for Venice, I exhaled a small sigh of relief, still far from home but happy to be in surroundings that were more familiar.

While docked, opera arias poured tinny out of the ship’s loudspeakers, broken occasionally by announcements made in four languages. After sundown we pulled away from Alexandria and began the 60 hour transit to Venice.

Entry into Italy was supposed to be an easy process, but I had two items weighing on my mind. First, I hadn’t had a chance to print out a copy of my “green card” insurance policy, which is the liability insurance  required for driving in Europe. Second, the motorcycle’s registration had expired in February. In the Middle East, this wasn’t noticed, and if it was, a small “fee” could make the problem go away. I was sure the bureaucracy in Italy would be more efficient. Fortunately, after having my passport stamped, the customs officer waved me through the barrier, assuming I’d already talked with the traffic police. Jason Bourne I’m not, but slipping past uniformed and armed officials carries a small thrill, even for something as mundane as missing/expired vehicle documents.

I found a campground in Fusina and spent the rest of the day on laundry and motorcycle maintenance.

The next day I took the ferry into Venice and spent a day gawking at the beautiful city.

From Venice I headed southeast along the coast before turning inland at Ancona, aiming for the Apennines. Riding in Italy was sheer pleasure after the chaos of Asia and the Middle East. Pedestrian crosswalks are respected, lane markings are observed, and there is a modicum of respect between road users. Manhole covers are in place.

Noticing a herd of motorcycles gathered in the parking lot of a hotel/restaurant, I pulled a u-turn to investigate. I parked my dirty billygoat among clean, purebred BMWs, Ducatis and Guzzis and had a walk around. Eventually I was grabbed and brought into the restaurant for a shot of grappa.

This fellow also sent me on my way with two doggie-bags stuffed with leftover grilled meats and vegetables. The gathered bikers were super friendly, and their warm welcome made me even happier not only to be in Europe, but also around others who share the love of two-wheeled travel.

Further down the road I stopped at Sarnano for the night.

Later I stopped at a random roadside restaurant near L’Aquila. As luck would have it, the place was run by avid motorcyclists; they very kindly paid for my lunch and offered me their computer for checking my email. [It’s worth mentioning that I had received free food and/or drink in every country since Korea! People are kind.]

From L’Aquila, I laid a meandering route to Sulmona, passing trhrough the cloudy, remote highlands of the Abruzzo.

Sulmona’s picturesque setting among dark hills, with narrow cobblestone streets, lively piazzas and friendly denizens convinced me to enjoy two days there. Sulmona is the birthplace of Ovid, and the origin of candy-coated almonds.

From Sulmona I made a beeline for Isernia, which has the distinction of being the earliest site where humans are known to have used fire (ca. 700,000 years ago). From the outskirts of the city I found the signs pointing me to the museum, and followed them with growing anticipation, only to find the site and museum locked and empty. Under the shade of a nearby tree I flattened out the map and searched it for a new interesting destination. The name “Assisi” jumped out at me, so I formulated a route that kept me off the Autostrades. Two easy riding days brought me to that scenic village, set on a hilltop among lush green fields and sparse forests. I happily set up my tent at Fontemaggio and spent two days catching up on laundry and motorcycle maintenance chores, exploring the sights of Assisi, and listening to the birds singing around the peaceful camping area.

The basilica contains upper and lower churches, both with splendid frescoes and impressive vaulted ceilings. Photography was verboten within the structure itself, so here is a link to detailed history and illicit photographs!

My next destination would be Lake Como and the Moto Guzzi factory and museum. From Assisi I rode north to Cesena, then northwest through the cities of Bologna, Modena, Parma and Milan. I was dumbfounded by the number of scantily clad, nubile African ladies waiting at the bus stops at the outskirts of the cities, before I realized they were not waiting for the bus, but a ride of a different sort.

I finally arrived at the Moto Guzzi factory, a sort of homecoming.

My first motorcycle was a Moto Guzzi, way back in the mists of time (ca. Spring of 2002). Little did I know then, during those first uncertain, wobbly miles that I would one day ride to the factory, from the east! It was a happy moment for your humble author, and I may have become a bit misty-eyed, but there were no witnesses to confirm or deny.

Moto Guzzi’s history goes back to 1921, and in addition to numerous firsts in motorcycle innovation (linked brakes, rear swingarm suspension, first wind tunnel used by a motorcycle manufacturer), they also developed farm machinery, a three-wheeled, 3-wheel drive military machine, and a DOHC v8 racer. Good reading can be found at the wikipedia entry.  The museum is open for 1 hour per day, and I burned the entire hour admiring the museum’s offerings, especially the vintage single-cylinder models that were popular before the present-day v-twins.  After being shooed out by the museum’s curator, I spent more then a few minutes chatting with the staff in the souvenir shop. I bought a few gifts for friends, and they threw in a free key fob for my troubles.

I also stopped at nearby Guzzi dealer Agostini, where they gave me a Guzzi hat! Much love from the Guzzi crowd, even though I wasn’t on a Guzzi for this ride. I set up camp at the Camping Continental on Via Statale, north of the downtown area, and stayed there for three wonderful days and nights. Mandello itself is a beautiful, walkable town with a beautiful view of Lecco (a leg of Lake Como) and looming mountains that plunge dramatically to the water.

From Mandello I rode southwest through Torino (Turin) and Cuneo, and crossed into France at a snowy pass.