(A motorcycle trip full of curves, mountain highs – and the promise of a reunion)

When a journey begins with the feeling of making up for something, there’s usually more behind it. Back in April, I was already on the road: 3,600 km of Alpine cinema, but many passes were closed. Snow, frost, cold. Now, in summer, it was clear: I wanted them all. The classics. The ones still unconquerable in spring. So one July morning, I stood again in front of my old Lady, the trusty R1200GS – ready for a week of curves, highs, and caffeine.

What started as “catching up” quickly became a journey of its own – not documented daily this time, but shared in a retrospective. The plan was simple: Ride. Feel. Experience. And conquer the passes that were snowed in just months before.

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The start – defective tail light, screwdriver luck and romantic gyros

Day one was hot. Lots of highway, little shade – and then: taillight dead. Brake light? Also gone. Repair shops? Either closed or fully booked. My mood? Rock bottom.

Eventually, I stood in front of a plain house in a suburban street – no sign, no mechanic smell, nothing hinting at a workshop. And who opened the door? His mother. That’s when I really lost hope. Seriously?

Soon after, the son appeared, a young guy who said, “I mostly just tinker on mopeds with my friends nowadays. Nothing major anymore.” Oof. My confidence sank even further. And when he couldn’t even remove the corroded bulb, the housing crumbled, and he started poking around with pliers, I was sure: That’s it. Breakdown truck, day one.

And did he even have a replacement bulb? No idea. But then, somehow – he made it work. Taillight glowed. Brake light too. And my mood? Immediately better. Respect, little moped wizard!

In the evening: Arrival in Erlabrunn. I wrapped up the day at a Greek restaurant – with delicious gyros and a quirky power outage in the dining room. Candlelight instead of LED – romantic, even if alone. But charming nonetheless.

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Chased by Rain – Better Early Than Soaked

Day two started with rain, but I waited it out – and left once it stopped. First stop: bakery. Latte 4/5, delicious Franzbrötchen, nut bar packed for later.

Through Würzburg with views of the Main River and the imposing fortress – then onto the so-called “Romantic Road.” And yes, it lived up to its name: curves, nature, barely any traffic. But a storm rolled in – I gave the Lady some spur and outran it. Reached Kaufbeuren just in time. As soon as the Lady was dry under a roof, the downpour began. Perfect timing.

Reward: the packed nut bar – and what can I say? The best I’ve ever had. So fluffy, so juicy – just delicious! Evening: pizza from the Italian around the corner – everything else was closed. Perfectly topped, crispy, tasty! A lovely end to the day.

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No Timmelsjoch? Then Reschen Instead

Day three started grey and wet. Timmelsjoch was the plan – but with that weather and the toll? Canceled. Instead, I aimed for the Reschen Pass – but first: Austria.

Right after the border, it started to rain. I looked for quick shelter – ideally with cell signal. A bus stop! Or so I thought. From behind, it looked empty – perfect for a quick roaming check. But as I reached the front: a crowd waiting for the bus. So I parked the Lady in front – at least dry, at least briefly.

Then he came. An older gentleman, clearly not just waiting for the bus, but for a chance to chat. He sized up the Lady like a connoisseur, nodded approvingly – and suddenly we were deep in conversation. “Beautiful bike. I used to ride too – Honda Bol d’Or, 900!”

He spoke of old rides, of journeys long past, of that feeling you never quite shake off. “A GS like this? She’ll take you anywhere. Just let her.“

A warm, honest biker chat that brightened the moment – despite drizzle and patchy signal.
Then: Hahntennjoch. Brilliant to ride, but the sudden altitude change triggered headaches that only eased after a break.

At the Reschen Pass, the familiar church tower in the lake greeted me – always a sight to behold. In Prad that evening: spaghetti with homemade sauce at a bistro. Simple, honest, good.

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King Stage – And Back Pain

The mattress in Prad? The worst of the tour. I woke up sore – but two cappuccinos (3.5/5) and a mediocre breakfast got me going again.

Then: Stelvio. Pro tip: ride it early! Almost no traffic, just a few cyclists and… a Porsche meet at the summit. Spectacular. Onward via Umbrail Pass – calm, stunning.

At Ofenpass, the rain returned. Lots of construction, heavy traffic – stressful. Same story at Flüela Pass. Time for a break: latte (3.5/5) and a nut roll (sadly dry). Better ones would come later.

In Davos, I changed clothes – only 2 to 4 °C, cutting right through the gear. In Thusis: 19 °C again. And more headaches from rapid elevation change. A pause helped.

Next: Oberalp Pass to Andermatt, where I grabbed a salami sandwich and nut croissant from my favorite café – saved for dinner. The cappuccino? Enjoyed on the spot. Destination: Airolo.

But first: Tremola. That legendary cobblestone serpentine road winding up the old Gotthard Pass. Cobblestones, historic flair, the feeling of a time warp – no other pass feels as full of history.

Built in the 19th century, it was once the main north-south Alpine route. Over 20 switchbacks, nearly 300 meters of climb – all on rough granite cobbles, almost unchanged today. Riding it is more than a journey – it’s living history.

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Four-in-One: Furka, Grimsel, Susten, Klausen

New day, new pass marathon. Breakfast with a cappuccino (3/5), then off – quickly realizing I was back in the Italian-speaking part of Switzerland.

Furka Pass with the famous Hotel Belvédère (former postcard motif and Bond film location) was my highlight. Busy, yes – but what a view! Onward via Grimsel Pass, where I found a tiny chapel barely noticed by anyone. A quiet moment in the chaos.

Then: the spot where I had to turn around in April. Now fully open – and full of people. Solitude in spring, crowds in summer.

Susten Pass, Klausen Pass – both poetic. Distant waterfalls, lush green, deluxe Alpine panorama. Destination: Lake Walen. The hotel? Outstanding. Modern, stylish – and from the room: lake view.

But in the evening: a storm rolled in. Rain until morning. And sadly: no shelter for the Lady.

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Water Damage and Electrical Mayhem

Lakefront breakfast, cappuccino 3.5/5 – but the radar offered no hope. Heavy rain. I rode anyway. Then: disaster.

Somewhere in the Lady’s electrics, water got in. The left indicator activated itself. And sometimes stayed on. At first annoying – then in France at the Grand Ballon, it got worse: the parking light stayed on, even without the key.

I wrenched, unplugged, disconnected the battery. Nothing helped. I cut short the Route des Crêtes and rode straight to Munster. The Lady got a garage. I hoped for overnight magic.

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Farewell with Headlight

Next morning at the bakery: coffee (2/5), croissants okay. Hopes were high. But dashed. After just 7 km, it was clear: this wouldn’t work.

A rest area. 10 a.m. I called for help. Two thunderstorms and three rain showers later, I was soaked like a teabag – at 2 p.m., the tow truck arrived. He remarked dryly: “Friday afternoon? No one touches a bike now.” Also, he’d been told it was just a “blinker bulb issue.” Great. Four hours later, at 6 p.m., I was in a rental car. After a stop in Offenburg, I headed home.

The Lady stayed behind – alone, but not forgotten. And I know: she’ll return to me. She’ll be warmly welcomed, get her well-earned oil change, a proper repair, and everything she needs to hit the road again – ready for new adventures. The two of us – with a promise to return.

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Conclusion: Retraced – But Missed Nothing

This journey wasn’t just catching up. It became its own chapter. Summer showed me what April couldn’t: sun on my skin, open passes, an Italy smelling of coffee, and a Switzerland that looked painted. And in between: me. And the Lady.

She carried me with a purring boxer heart and calm confidence – right up to the last pass. Only the electrics had different plans. Maybe it was protest. Or maybe just a wish: “Let’s turn back to the passes!” A stubborn indicator as one final salute to the Alps. Still: she delivered. Every mile was worth it.

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Coffee Stats:

• Gas station, day 1: 1/5

• Breakfast, Kaufbeuren: 3/5

• Bakery Würzburg: 4/5

• Flüela Pass: Latte 3.5/5

• Breakfast Prad: Cappuccino 3.5/5

• Andermatt: Cappuccino 4/5

• Airolo: Cappuccino 3/5

• Walensee: Cappuccino 3,5/5

• Munster: Coffee 2/5

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Ridden Passes:

• Hahntennjoch
• Reschen Pass
• Stelvio Pass
• Umbrail Pass
• Ofen Pass
• Flüela Pass
• Oberalp Pass
• Tremola
• Gotthard Pass
• Furka Pass
• Grimsel Pass
• Susten Pass
• Klausen Pass

Every one of them: an experience. Together: an adventure.

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Curious about the “missed” spring ride?

Here’s the April tour

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Thanks again for riding along.

Even though there was no daily blog this time, every day was filled with stories. And that’s exactly why I love traveling. Until the next trip – stay curious and addicted to curves.

Riding solo with the old lady – and a whole bunch of stories in the making.

It all started with just an idea: just hit the road, make the most of a few days off, escape the daily grind – destination unknown, as long as there were mountains, curves, and that sense of freedom.
At first, I had my Honda CB1000R – a fantastic sport tourer with plenty of punch, perfect for quick after-work rides. But as soon as I started planning, it became clear: for a multi-day trip with luggage and unpredictable weather, it simply lacked the right setup.
So I began the search – for a bike made for the long haul. It had to be tough, comfortable, reliable – and ideally, affordable.

That’s how she came to me: the old lady. A BMW R1200GS full of character – but also in desperate need of some care. Her previous owner hadn’t treated her too kindly – but I would.
So before the trip, she got an extra dose of love: fresh oil, new tires, and a bit of attention for the soul. And I wasn’t alone – my dad, who may not have a motorcycle license but definitely shares my love for two wheels, was right there with me.
With time, dedication, and a good deal of mechanical know-how, we brought the old lady back to life. Without him, she wouldn’t have shone nearly as bright – inside or out.

Maybe she felt it. Because she ran. Oh, did she run.

I hadn’t planned that it would end up being 3,600 kilometers, 13 days of travel and countless impressions – it was more likely that it would be through five countries. But that’s exactly what makes the best trips: They evolve. Just like you do on the road.

This isn’t meant to be a dry summary – more like one last roadside coffee break, visor up, looking back on everything that’s been. And even though I did this trip alone, Regine was somehow still along for the ride. Normally, we travel as a team – and so many moments along the way made me wish I could’ve shown them to her right then and there: the quiet pauses, the sweeping views, the best coffee (and the worst), and those delightfully odd names on bakery signs. Traveling as a pair makes a lot of things even more beautiful – but going solo makes you experience some things more intensely. And sometimes, especially in restaurants where solo diners are a rare sight, it feels like the staff go the extra mile – maybe out of kindness, maybe because deep down, they wish they were out exploring too. Either way, the food is served with a little extra care. Those are the moments that stick. And honestly – both ways of traveling have their own charm.

Cold, heat, mountain air – and thermal underwear as a loyal companion along the way

I set off in April – wearing winter gear, thermal underwear, and fully convinced I’d be facing freezing temperatures. I knew it could snow in the Dolomites at –2 degrees – but actually riding a motorcycle through a snowstorm? That, I hadn’t expected. That it could hit over 30 degrees inside the Gotthard Tunnel? Not even remotely on my radar.

What I hadn’t factored in: that temperatures could swing from 0 to over 20 degrees in a single day. That the mix of altitude, sunshine, snowfall, wind, and heat would put serious demands not just on my gear, but on my body too. This trip wasn’t just intense in terms of landscapes – it was physically demanding as well. Day 5 really drove that home: I was exhausted, felt worn out, and briefly wondered if I might even have a slight fever. I didn’t mention it in the blog – because sometimes, pushing on makes for the better story – but that evening, it became clear: the stages needed to be shorter. Not out of weakness, but out of respect. For what my body was doing. And for the road that still lay ahead.

In moments like these, you realize just how far you are from home – not just in distance, but emotionally too. And still, that’s exactly what gives the journey its depth. Because you push through. Because you keep going. Because suddenly, you realize how much you actually carry within yourself. And that’s what made it so valuable – because it was more than just a challenge. It was a realization. And a reminder that every limit you overcome brings you a little closer to freedom.

The quiet moments: when you expect nothing – and receive everything

Sometimes a detour takes you exactly where you need to be. The plan was clear: Großglockner High Alpine Road. But a closure forced me to reroute – and what I found instead was far more than just a replacement. Even the names that led me there – Alte Glocknerstraße and Himmelsschleife – sounded like something out of an adventure novel and instantly sparked a sense of discovery. High up, over 1600 meters, I came across a remote chapel, barely visible from the road. A narrow, rocky path led the way, past abandoned farms with no signs of life this time of year, a rushing stream, and trees whipped by the wind.

As I got off the bike, it was instantly clear: this wasn’t a place for quick photos – it was a place to arrive. I opened the door, stepped inside, and for a moment, time stood still. No engine noise, no voices, no destination – just silence, crisp mountain air, and the feeling of being in the right place at the right time.

You can’t force moments like these. They just happen. And when you’re traveling alone, they hit even harder – because there’s no one there to comment on them. They simply exist. And they stay with you.

Moments like these can’t be planned – they happen when you allow yourself to be open. And when you’re on your own, they feel all the more intense.

Passes, curves, dam walls – and a whole lot of freedom

Whether it was the snow-covered Dolomites with the Pordoi Pass, Sella Pass, and Grödnerjoch and all their quiet panoramas, or the atmospheric moment at Grimsel Pass where I stood alone behind the barrier at the top while the road was still officially closed – it was often the detours and closures that led to the most memorable experiences.

No one around. Just the sign: “Closed.” No idea what comes next. Just you, the old lady, and a landscape that feels like it’s been waiting just for you.

Another highlight was the ride along the Berwang–Namlos road – a winding route with surprisingly little traffic. Instead of hustle and crowds: silence, clean lines, and perfect asphalt. It was one of those roads where you feel like you’re dancing with the motorcycle – focused, relaxed, completely in the flow. The old lady ran with confidence, and I realized how being on the road itself became a form of meditation. Not just the riding – also the stopping, the pausing, the listening to the sounds of nature, the breathing in of fresh air. Simply taking in the moment instead of trying to capture it – sometimes that’s the truest form of freedom.

And then there were all those little animal encounters: cat paw prints on the seat, dogs who made themselves toll booth attendants, a curious marmot on the hillside, a donkey with a sense of humor. It’s the small things like these that give a journey its character.

Coffee statistics & culinary reality

And then there was that moment in Andermatt. I’m standing in the bakery – hungry, motivated – ready for anything… except the menu. Because what was lying behind the counter sounded like someone had lost a game of Scrabble: “Salami-Mutschli” and “Schoggigipfeli.” I honestly wanted to order them – really! But my brain and my mouth quickly agreed on a safe bet: “one salami” and “one choco” – accompanied by a perfectly precise index finger pointing straight at the mysterious Mutschli and the Gipfeli-thingy.

The shop assistant smiled like she’d seen this scene a hundred times before – probably not the first time a traveler struggled with the language and just pointed bravely at the pastries. And the taste? Absolutely heavenly – even without the correct pronunciation. And somewhere in between, there it was again: that beautiful moment when you laugh because you’ve failed – and everything still turns out just fine. Either way, it tasted fantastic.

Of course, coffee was my daily companion – sometimes good, sometimes mediocre, sometimes just hot.
The highlights:

• Latte macchiato with chocolate crunchy balls in South Tyrol: 6/5 cups – the holy grail.
• Coffee from the gas station: often only 2/5 cups – but warm is warm.

Culinarily, the tour was a mix of lucky finds and lessons in patience – especially abroad. In France, for example, a bakery isn’t always easy to come by: often well hidden, rarely on the main road, and even if you spot one, it might be closed or already disguised as a residential building.

Anyone who – like me – sticks to backroads and passes through small villages will often find: nothing. No bakery, no café, not even a vending machine. Many places felt like they were still in hibernation – probably because in the classic tourist regions, April simply isn’t the season yet. So more often than not, it meant: supplies from the pannier, an improvised dinner, or that quiet moment of joy when, against all odds, an open restaurant suddenly appears.

That too was part of the journey: learning that there doesn’t always have to be something – and that the coffee you finally find tastes all the better for it.

How much did the fun cost?

Total cost of the tour: € 1,547.51

• Accommodation: 821,62 €
• Food & drink: € 302.86
• Gasoline: 317,83 €
• Miscellaneous (toll, snacks, small items): € 105.20

What I got in return:
3600 kilometers of motorcycle cinema,
countless curves,
what felt like 12 different seasons,
and memories to last the rest of the year.

What did I learned?

• Traveling alone creates connection – with people, places, and yourself.
• Not everything can be planned – and that’s what makes it exciting.
• Sometimes you just have to set off – not thinking, but doing.
• And: you can sleep soundly with a thousand kilometers between you and home – as long as you trust yourself.

I was on the road for 13 days – blogged 10 of them, kept 3 to myself. And that turned out to be the perfect balance.

And now?

Now I’m back – with a heart full of memories. I think about this tour every single day: the curves, the mountain passes, the encounters, and all those little moments that turned out to be so much bigger than they first appeared.

I’m proud of what I experienced and accomplished – and proud of the old lady who carried me through it all so reliably. No complaints, no fuss – she ran like clockwork with a boxer’s heart. And honestly? I’m a little wistful that it’s already over. It could’ve gone on forever – aside from the fresh laundry, which did eventually start to run out.

Thank you for coming along – digitally, emotionally, with coffee in hand, or simply by quietly reading along.

If you enjoyed the journey, leave a comment, follow us, share the post, send a carrier pigeon – whatever your style may be. The main thing is: stay with us. Because who knows when it’ll be time again for:

Adventure .

The day begins in a relaxed way – and just as a good finale should: with sunshine, a breakfast that easily scores full marks, and a cappuccino that tries its best with a solid 3 out of 5 cups, but doesn’t quite hold up in terms of taste. No big deal. The view makes up for it: blue skies, crisp Alpine air, and Lake Constance within reach.

The old lady runs reliably – just as she has throughout the entire trip. No complaints, just a steady purr – though she does allow herself the occasional sip of oil. After all those shared kilometers, high passes, cold starts, and altitude climbs, that’s more than fair. I take care of her, make sure she’s doing well – she’s earned it. In Wallgau, she gets exactly what she needs: half a liter of fresh oil. And just like that, she seems a little more content. On we go.

Boxer Sound and the Joy of Curves

On the way to the Berwang–Namlos road today, I passed several signs banning motorcycles with a stationary noise level over 95 dB. Luckily, the lady isn’t a screamer – her deep boxer sound is more of a rich, resonant rumble. It suits her style – and this tour – perfectly.

No doubt about it – the highlight of the day: the Berwang–Namlos road. Curve after curve, barely any traffic, pure Alpine tranquility. You glide through the landscape as if you had skis under your wheels. The old lady hums with contentment, and I’m grinning inside my helmet. Motorcycling at its finest.

At Lake Haldensee, things turn briefly idyllic: 15 degrees, cloudy with patches of blue, the lake calm, the air crisp. Then it’s back into Germany – passing through Oberjoch and Unterjoch. The air grows cooler, the wind picks up, a few drops start to fall. Summer mode takes a short break.

Sea of flowers and farewell view

19 degrees and a spring-like atmosphere at the Alpsee – almost too beautiful. And a little wistful: the Alps in the rear-view mirror are getting smaller. The journey home is on the horizon. In Stiefenhofen, a sea of color: dandelions, dandelions – and a carpet of small purple flowers. I stop and take a photo. Later it’s clear: it’s creeping groundsel. Sounds inconspicuous, but looks great.

20 km before Lake Constance, I treat myself to a cool drink and realize that I’m no longer used to these temperatures – after all the metres in altitude and frosty moments of the last few days.

Lindau – Sunshine, Chaos, and a Storm on Our Heels

Arrival in sunny and warm spring weather. Motorcycle parking? Exemplary! I reach the Lake Constance Clinic – motorcycle parking here too (applause!). A quick photo before the lightning and rain set in. I just managed to stay dry.

But the traffic in Lindau was a disaster. There were traffic jams and snarls at every corner, cars were parked all over the place and pedestrians were jostling across the streets. A thunderstorm was approaching – and the old lady and I were right in the middle of it. We were both getting really warm and were relieved when we were finally out of the city and the wind was whistling around our helmets and valve covers again.

Arriving to sunshine and warm spring weather. Motorcycle parking? Absolutely spot on! I reach the Bodenseeklinik – and yes, motorcycle spaces here too (round of applause!). I manage to snap a quick photo just before the lightning and rain roll in. Made it through dry – just barely.

There we stood – the boxer and the tin can, two cylinder heroes in their own league. I burst out laughing. The man, the Fiat, the moment – pure gold.

Arrive with a view

The rain follows me, but I stay ahead. 19 degrees, sunshine, arrival in Wolfegg. The storm clouds are still hanging over Lindau, but I’ve arrived. Now I just have to organize something to eat at the discount store around the corner – and let the day sink in.

Coffee statistics

• Breakfast cappuccino: 3/5 cups
• Iced coffee from the gas station: 2/5 cups

One last greeting from the motorcycle adventure – for now

Even though I still have a few hundred kilometers to go – this adventure ends right here, with this post. What began as an idea turned into an unforgettable journey across the Alps, over passes and through valleys, through France, Switzerland, Italy, Austria and back to Germany. A tour full of curves, views, stories and encounters that you can’t plan.

It will probably take me another two or three days to get home, but one thing is certain: the last stages of this trip were so intense, so full of impressions, altitude and emotions – there’s no beating it.

Thank you all for reading, cheering and dreaming along. If you enjoyed the trip, I’d be delighted if you left a comment below the post – it’s nice to know that people out there have traveled with me, even if they weren’t in the saddle.

As soon as I’m back home, I’ll write a post about the whole tour – with a review of the highlights, a few thoughts on the trip itself, and also some information about the costs incurred along the way.

Thank you for riding along.

Follow us on the relevant social media channels. The WhatsApp group will let you know immediately when it’s time for another adventure! .

The day starts with a cappuccino on the house – unfortunately not a worthy successor to yesterday’s latte: 2 out of 5 cups, but still caffeine.

And the old lady? She’s obviously had another animal visitor. For the second time in a row, I spot little cat paws on the bench. Was it the same velvet paw as yesterday or a new fan? It’s unlikely that it has followed me for hundreds of kilometers – but who knows? Cats are notoriously stubborn.

From Zell to Kitz – into summer mode

From Zell am See, we ride along well-maintained main roads through beautiful countryside. The riding is rather relaxed – we gradually leave many highlights behind us. But the scenery remains strong: green valleys, high mountains, blue skies.

Shortly before Kitzbühel, things finally get twistier, steeper and livelier again. In the town: lots of traffic, lots of tourists – and even more motorcycles. Sure, Sunday + sun = bike weather deluxe.

I take the opportunity to swap winter clothing for summer gloves – and realize again: motorcycling is community. You feel like you’re greeting people all the time.

Small roads, great idyll – the Brixental Valley.

Then it’s off to quieter climes: the Brixental valley welcomes me with narrow side roads, lush meadows and dandelions stretching to the horizon. Horses and cows stand relaxed in the fields, with snow-capped mountains rising into the sky behind them. A little dream in yellow and green.

In Penningberg then a pleasant 15 degrees – but suddenly: a sign. Private road. Passage forbidden. So we turn around. The donkeys in the stable acknowledge this with loud laughter. At least that’s how it seems to me…

Tiefenbach gorge, closure & small talk

I had just driven past the Tiefenbachklamm gorge when my satnav suddenly directed me onto a road where there was no other vehicle for miles around. Usually a good sign for beautiful side roads – but this time the route led straight into a road closure.

There I met a friendly vacationer who knew that the road wouldn’t be open again until May. We got into conversation, talked about motorcycles – he is allowed to ride a 125 – and about cars. Not a spectacular moment, but a nice one.

Achensee indulgence with chocolate core

I take a break at Lake Achensee. And how! Warm chocolate cake with a molten center, served with whipped cream and vanilla ice cream – 6 out of 5 points! The iced coffee on the other hand? More like an icy smoothie – delicious, but not much oomph. 3 out of 5 cups.

The view of the water is magnificent, the surroundings peaceful – a real pleasure highlight.

Cyclists’ parade & toll road without a view

The onward journey leads via a small toll road – 6 euros. And to be honest, it didn’t really convince me. Maybe I’m too spoiled from the last few days.

What stands out: an extremely large number of cyclists. It felt like half of Bavaria was on their bikes. Respect, given the altitude profile!

At Walchensee: Selfie drama

Arriving at Walchensee: 14 degrees, clear visibility, hardly any wind. I stop, enjoy the moment – and watch an elderly couple almost tying themselves in knots taking a selfie. I offer to take a picture. The man is interested in my GS – the woman asks me if I’m really traveling alone…

And when I say yes, she looks at me as if I had just said I sleep in cemeteries: “Alone? All alone?!” The tone of voice: a mixture of drama, pity and slight panic – as if traveling alone is contagious.

Yep, alone. And happy doing it.

People abroad treat me with curiosity and respect. In Germany, traveling alone is somehow suspicious. It’s a shame really – it’s pure freedom.

Royal? Well…

And then came the moment I had been looking forward to all day: my accommodation in Schlehdorf near Kochel am See. A highlight, I thought – after all, I had booked a suite. And yes, technically it is a suite. But the style? More like a baroque fairytale room: golden walls, chandeliers, heavy furniture. Not quite my cup of tea.

And then the bathroom: no shower, just a bath. I’m not really a tub person. But well – there’s plenty of space, the bed is comfortable, the view is beautiful and a bit of quirky charm somehow fits in with this day of travel.

Conclusion: A day like a grab bag – first leisurely, then closed, suddenly sweet, later tough again. Lots of countryside, lots of conversations, lots of cyclists. And finally a suite with more splendor than a shower. Not a classic, but one of those travel days that you won’t forget in a hurry.

The night was quiet – in the truest sense of the word. There was a babbling brook next to the house, the bed was comfortable (full-length comforter at last!), perhaps a little too warm, but definitely restful. The morning started at 6 °C, cloudy, but with the hope of sunshine. So up on the bike, cappuccino still in my blood (two at breakfast – solid 2/5 in terms of taste), and off we went towards the day’s destination: the Grossglockner High Alpine Road.

Before I could even get on the bike, a local four-legged friend apparently left his very own declaration of love: several small paw prints on the seat of my faithful lady – an animal greeting to start the day.

Apriach Höhenstraße – very private

Later, my route to the Grossglockner toll station first took me along the Apriach Höhenstraße – a real insider tip. Hardly any cars, a few occasional cyclists, but above all: peace and quiet.

Except for two four-legged road blockers who suddenly stood in the middle of the road. Two dogs – relaxed, but very determined. Did they want to collect a toll?

I put the old lady down – because a moment like this takes time. Helmet off, gloves off – and a few strokes in peace and quiet. Toll paid – officially and with relish. This made it even easier to enjoy the silence before continuing to the real barrier on the Grossglockner.

Großglockner? Not for you, my friend.

And then: Großglockner closed to motorcycles. Great.

I stopped at the toll station and spoke to the staff – hoping they would let me through after all. But: no chance. As of today, cars with summer tires are allowed up – motorcycles are not. Really? They’re allowed and I’m not? All right. So plan B.

Offroad light with a plot twist

The sat nav guided me along the so-called old Glockner road, also known as the Himmelsschleife. At first I thought: Wow, nice side road. Then: Oh. Gravel. Steep. Curvy.

Off-road light – thanks to the sat nav. And shortly afterwards: the navigation system wants to take me out again after the toll station. Have I discovered a loophole? An error in the matrix?

But then I came across a black pickup truck. The driver wanted to wave me past in a friendly manner, but I stopped, parked the old lady and we got talking. He was the head of the forestry workers and just wanted to see if his men were still up there working.

He said in the most beautiful Austrian tone of voice: “If you see the guy with the cable crane and he waves you through, then keep driving. But watch out!”

Then he paused for a moment, thought about it and said: “But… there’s another barrier with a camera. You can’t get through it. Nothing helps – you have to turn around.”

We talked a little more about my journey, where I came from and where I was going. A really nice person – another encounter that sticks with me.

So: turn around. But not disappointed – rather grateful. Because shortly afterwards…

The Gipper Chapel – a gift with a detour

I had already seen it from above – small, remote, quiet, in the middle of the landscape: the Gipperkapelle at 1620 meters. But there was no way to get there.

Only a little further on did I discover a narrow path that was steep, rocky and littered with loose gravel. It was a tough one. Full concentration was required both down to the chapel and later back up to the road.

But: it was worth it. Alone, quiet, completely still. I dismounted, entered and simply stood still.

A place that does not impose itself on you, but finds you when you are ready to see it.

Back to spring – for a short time

A short break later in Gmünd in Carinthia: 12 °C, no wind, dandelions everywhere in the meadows. The mountains flatter, no snow – and somehow everything felt warmer than it was. A little squirrel scampered across the road. Spring in its purest form. First a quick snack: currywurst. Better than yesterday, but there’s still room for improvement.

And then came the asphalt…

After the detour into off-road adventure, the sat nav led me onwards – and gave me a narrow, winding road that creatively cheated its way around potholes. The highway ran parallel as if it was laughing at me. But: no traffic, but plenty of scenery.

Obertauern: Cold. Empty. And no coffee.

It was wintry again in Obertauern: 4 °C, snow, closed hotels – and no sign of a hot coffee. But a cold shower. At least not from the inside.

I drove on through Sankt Johann im Pongau – a pleasant 15°C, normal spring again. I finally found an iced coffee at a petrol station (I had it in my head anyway) and a cheese stick with ham. Dinner done.

Arrival in Zell am See

The last 40 kilometers were just a formality. Arrived. At last.

I sorted my stuff and quickly went to the lake, because: If you’re already there, you have to go. I took a few nice shots – and then went back to my accommodation.

A coffee machine was waiting there, and although it was already late, I still had to have a latte macchiato. 2/5 cups – but that didn’t matter today.

Conclusion Planned: Grossglockner. Got: Gravel, lumberjacks, chapel magic, animal toll inspectors, dandelions and altitude meters galore. What was meant to be a classic mountain pass stage turned into one of those days that you don’t plan – but never forget. The old lady ran confidently. Sometimes I ran cursing slightly. But the bottom line: everything was done right.

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What a day! Today had everything that makes a biker’s heart beat faster – snow, sun, cold, endless bends and a backdrop that is almost too beautiful to ride through. The Dolomites delivered – and how.

The morning began at the Hotel Drei Birken in Wolfsgruben on the Ritten – with a breakfast to die for: Rolls, bread, cakes, homemade juices, fresh waffles – and cappuccino at its best, to which I dedicated three cups (5/5). The boss is a motorcyclist herself, and her husband rides an R1200GS – just like me. After breakfast, he came over and we had a classic petrol talk about our bikes, the best routes, equipment and tours. It was a wonderful start to the day – informal, warm and full of passion for what we love.

Strengthened and motivated, I started the day – and was immediately surprised: as soon as I set off, the navigation system guided me through the vines into a small off-road adventure. A steep, gravel passage that looked more like a tractor than an R1200GS. But hey – the old lady can do it, and so can I. With a feel for the throttle and brakes and a slight increase in heart rate, we got through it. A little adrenaline kick in the morning – at least I was awake.

Then off we went – into the Dolomites! And they immediately made it clear what was in store for us today: mountain passes, snow and magnificent views.

Passes of the day:

• Gardena Pass (Passo Gardena) – 2,121 m
• Campolongo Pass – 1,875 m
• Pordoi Pass (Passo Pordoi) – 2,239 m
• Sella Pass (Passo Sella) – 2,218 m
• Fedaia Pass (Passo Fedaia) – 2,057 m
• Falzarego Pass (Passo di Falzarego) – 2,105 m
• Passo Tre Croci – 1,809 m
• Misurina Pass (Passo di Misurina) – 1,754 m

Were there really eight? Who knows. Maybe there were more. Not every pass has a sign – and sometimes you rush past it while you’re busy with fog, snowflakes or simply marveling.

The first highlight came at the Gardena Pass: a lovingly built snow hare sat at the side of the road and seemed to enjoy the view as much as I did – a whimsical, charming picture at an altitude of over 2,100 meters.

A little later, at the Pordoi Pass, I treated myself to a good portion of spaghetti al ragù – served on the terrace with a view of the snow-covered peaks. Pasta at the top of the pass – rustic, warm, filling.

The weather: dramatically varied. The day started with 0 degrees and snowfall, occasionally it got a little brighter, but the sun remained a rare guest. Snowflakes again and again, often dense fog, sometimes slippery roads – a real high mountain feeling. At the Fedaia Pass, the reservoir was still frozen over – a scene straight out of a painting. I could have kept stopping to take photos – but honestly, I would still be on the road now.

At the Misurina Pass, near the lake of the same name, the view opens up onto an impressive backdrop. Between wafts of mist and dramatic rock formations, the occasional peak flashed into view – maybe it was the Three Peaks, maybe not. In this bizarre mountain landscape, the familiar blurs with the unknown. A moment to marvel – not to identify.

After the last pass, I slowly left the Dolomites behind me. The route became gentler, the landscape more open. The crossing into Austria was almost incidental – an inconspicuous sign on a country road, but I immediately sensed that something had changed. The mountains became calmer, the colors softer, the valleys wider.

I finally rolled along the Pustertaler Höhenstraße towards my accommodation for the day. A pleasant route with beautiful views and little traffic, a worthy end to the day.

And then – right at the end – a classic tour finale: at the “Platzhirsch” snack stand, we had a good portion of currywurst with chips. The perfect reward after an intensive day in the saddle – uncomplicated, hearty, just right.

And it was also animalistic: the snack bar owner had his little dog Rocky with him – a friendly, fuzzy fellow with a great interest in my sausage and fries. Unfortunately, he wasn’t allowed to have any of it – his owner was keeping an eye on him – so he only got a few cuddles. A lovely moment at the end of an impressive day.

Conclusion: What a ride. Today had it all: snow, fog, mountain pass action, ice-cold air at over 2,000 m, temperatures between -2 °C and +7 °C – and 255 kilometers of the purest curves. The Dolomites showed their wild side – monumental, challenging, unforgettable. The old lady purred well, I persevered – and yes: I can feel it. In my arms, in my shoulders – but also in my heart. A day that stays with you.

The morning began icy – in the truest sense of the word. Still in Switzerland, near Tinzen, the thermometer showed 4 °C. Fog hung low in the mountains and fine hoar frost covered the trees – a surreal scene, somewhere between a winter fairy tale and motorcycle reality. But it got even colder: Marmorera, 2 degrees, snowfall. The roads were speckled with white, visibility limited – not a typical spring day.

Then the frosty climax at the Julier Pass: -2 degrees, snow, fog. A scene straight out of a high mountain drama. Shortly afterwards, salvation: a hot coffee in La Punt – not a miracle of taste, but worth its weight in gold at 4°C. Warm up, take a deep breath, carry on.

I continued along winding roads – and the day was not only longer, but also more varied. I crossed four mountain passes today:

• Julier Pass – frosty and impressive
• Reschenpass – including schnitzel and church tower in the lake
• Gampen Pass – with a view and fast bends
• Mendel Pass – South Tyrolean spring in its purest form

Three countries in one day – Switzerland, Austria, Italy. Sounds like a postcard idyll, but it was more of a rollercoaster of altitude and temperature jumps. In the morning at -2 °C on the Julier Pass, my thermal underwear was sorely lacking; a few hours later in South Tyrol, the sun was beating down on my textile suit at over 20 degrees. It became a mobile sauna – so I had to take off my winter scarf, put on a light scarf and persevere.

The landscape changed, vines lined the road and there was a sweet, slightly bitter scent in the air – presumably from the first budding of the vines or elderflowers blooming on the slopes. This was accompanied by bright yellow broom bushes and countless small flowers along the roadside. A feast for the senses – and a stark contrast to the snowflakes of the morning.

Then the surprise at the top of the pass: lots of guesthouses, hotels – but not a soul to be seen. No cars, no voices, no open doors. Everything seemed as if winter had not yet let go – a ghost town on spring break. Somehow strange, but fascinating.

In the evening, I finally reached my destination for today: the Hotel Drei Birken in Wolfsgruben, Ritten, South Tyrol. And it’s not just a hotel – it’s a real feel-good place. Family-run, with great attention to detail. I ordered just one small thing: the soup of the day. A vegetable soup – simple, but sensationally good. And then came the secret star of the day: a latte macchiato with chocolate crunchy balls. Really? 6 out of 5 cups. No joke. The best of the tour.

Finally, a nice moment: a local couple approached me at dinner. They had seen my license plate – and were curious to know where I was from and where I was going. We quickly struck up a conversation, talking about motorcycling and traveling alone. Another moment that shows that being on the road connects people.

Conclusion: three countries, four passes, one schnitzel too many. Today had it all: snow, sun, South Tyrolean spring and a latte macchiato that made history. The old lady ran reliably, despite sub-zero temperatures and a midday slump. I can feel the passes I’ve ridden, the constant work on the bike – but it’s not tiredness, it’s a satisfied, fulfilled feeling. That’s exactly why you go on tours like this.

The day began in Meiringen with a small but strong coffee from the vending machine – 2 out of 5 cups, caffeinated after all. But the route south was clear: the plan was to continue via Andermatt towards Bellinzona.

The ride up was fresh, but once we reached the top, the sun not only warmed our faces, but also our hearts. In Andermatt, we had a real moment of pleasure: latte macchiato, salami mutschli and a chocolate croissant, served with plenty of sunshine and a view. The coffee got full marks – 5 out of 5 cups – even if it could have been a little more. A chocolate wafer treat for dessert. Switzerland is not just about mountains.

Strengthened, we continued – at least briefly. Because it ended at Nätschen. The road was still closed, but a friendly local resident told me: “The pass doesn’t open until Friday.” So the only way left was through the Gotthard tunnel – and it was a real treat: sauna feeling on two wheels.

There’s a reason why the Gotthard tunnel is considered a mobile sauna by motorcyclists. While car drivers hardly notice the heat thanks to the air conditioning, we sit on our bikes fully clothed in the hot wind. The draught hardly helps – if the ambient air is already over 30 degrees, even the airstream no longer provides any real cooling. The air is dry, heavy and warm like a hairdryer. And if you think it’s because of the traffic: even in winter it doesn’t get colder than 27 degrees, because there are up to 1,500 meters of warm rock above the tunnel. Sounds crazy? It is. But somehow also legendary.

Today had it all anyway: from 5 to 30 degrees – you can’t have more climate zones in a day. Nine hours on the saddle, constantly changing temperatures, concentrated riding in tight bends or tunnels – it’s physically exhausting. I can really feel it tonight. Adventurous? Yes. But also exhausting.

After 17 kilometers of tube, it was clear: get out, drink, check the map.

But the navigation had a mind of its own today. Google Maps was overwhelmed, the motorcycle navigation system was offline – and I accidentally ended up at a truck checkpoint. The police took it in good humor and kindly guided me out again. Navigation without the internet? Adventure with a bonus level.

And then: suddenly a completely different attitude to life. After the tunnel, the cool Alpine world became Ticino – with a Mediterranean touch, suddenly everything was a little more colorful, softer, warmer. The houses looked Italian, the language changed to Buongiorno instead of Grüezi, the roads meandered gently through green valleys – and there were flowers everywhere. An almost southern flair – and in the middle of Switzerland.

Things got serious in the region around Ponto Valentino. The road was extremely narrow and winding, often just wide enough for one vehicle. I mostly drove in first gear, as oncoming traffic could suddenly appear around every bend. The road wound through the slopes, abandoned-looking houses appeared at the edge, Torre and Dangio lay deep down in the valley. One hiker, a few cars – otherwise I was on my own. An intense section – slow, demanding, but fascinating.

The closer I got to the Lukmanier Pass, the wider the road became – but the traffic remained light and the landscape impressive. And then: a marmot! In the middle of nowhere, it jumped across the road, made brief eye contact and then disappeared into the slope again. A brief, silent moment that almost said more than any panoramic view.

The Lukmanier Pass itself was the scenic finale of the day: wide bends, dramatic scenery, hardly any traffic. The temperature dropped to around 5 degrees, a shower passed through the mountains in the distance – I myself stayed dry. The sun fought its way through the clouds from time to time – a great end to a day that went completely differently than planned.

In the evening I reached Thusis, not Bellinzona as I had originally thought. German is spoken here again – and after Italian-speaking Switzerland, it almost feels like home again.

My accommodation? A confectionery, restaurant and B&B all in one. What could be better than a real Swiss confectionery after a day like this? I was greeted with a handmade praline – and to be honest, that immediately lifts the mood to 100. Plus a room that has enough space for my bags. The WLAN? Great. The pizza at “La Mama”? Just right. Indulgence in every form.

Conclusion: tunnel heat, navigation disasters, a marmot and lots of moments to remember. The old lady ran, the day was full of twists and turns, but that’s exactly why it was so special. And tomorrow? Let’s see what goes wrong next – or just fits perfectly.

The day began in French. A search for a petrol station with a character check, because the first one only had E10 – and the old lady really doesn’t get that. The second one finally had real gas – and right next to it a bakery with golden croissants and piping hot cappuccino. 4 out of 5 cups, because you burn your fingers when you drink it – but that’s part of the charm. The coffee was steaming and the sun was shining – the best start to the trip so far.

Meanwhile: an animal encounter at the bakery. A small dog came up to me curiously. His master – an older, friendly Frenchman – asked me in French if I could look after him for a moment while he went shopping. Unfortunately, my French didn’t extend beyond croissants, so another guest stepped in to help. Cordial moments also work with language barriers.

Incidentally, the man belonged to a deep blue vintage car, probably a Citroën from better times – stylish, elegant, as French as baguettes and berets. When he got back in later and rolled off, I was still standing there taking photos when he honked his horn in a friendly farewell. The dog, the car, the moment – simply beautiful.

Then came Switzerland – with curves, sun and cowbells. At Passwang, the mood was good, the view better, and the cowbells provided the soundtrack. With every kilometer, the mountains got higher and the bends tighter – motorcycle cinema at its best.

Things got really adventurous on the Glaubenberg Pass, which is officially closed. I smuggled myself through anyway – 1,550 m altitude, remnants of snow and bratwurst at the “Passhöchi Beizli”. The names here sound like something out of an Alpine comedy, but the food was seriously good. Full, satisfied, slightly sunburnt.

And then it happened: after the Glaubenberg Pass, just before Lake Sarnen, I wanted to take a few quick photos. The road was narrow, the view fantastic – so I parked the old lady, took out the side stand, helmet down, camera out. One click, two clicks – RUMMS. A noise behind me that no motorcyclist wants to hear. I turn around – and there she is. The old lady just lay down. Presumably in protest at all the photo breaks. Or because the first gear wasn’t right after all.

Short strength training included: almost 300 kilos needed to be lifted up again – alone, on narrow asphalt. Fortunately, just a few scratches on the crash bar and a cracked blinker lens, which has now been patched up with adventure-style adhesive tape. Straighten the crown, take a deep breath and ride on. Character counts – even with scratches.

And then… came the planning crash. Grimsel Pass: closed. Gotthard Pass: likewise. Susten Pass? Also closed. The tunnel? Open, but only with a vignette – for a whopping €48 toll just to get through the mountain. The satnav wanted to drive over closed roads, and I was stuck somewhere between plan A and plan B. So: abandoned, turned around, looked for accommodation.

The number at the inn? Not available. The next choice? Not promising either. It was one of those days when nothing was going right – and that’s exactly why you eventually decide on plan C.

And that’s how I ended up in Meiringen. No online booking, no searching – just walked into a lodge, asked, booked, done. A charming room, a motorcycle on the doorstep, evening peace in my heart. Sometimes things work out exactly when you stop trying to force it.

Conclusion: From France to almost Bellinzona – but then not. Top croissants, great bends, magnificent views, planning – well. Tomorrow will be a new dice roll.

The night in Zweibrücken was okay – even if the comforter would have deserved to be described as tight. But hey, it was enough to get the day off to a good start.

We set off for the Vosges in 7 degrees and light rain – the weather kept what the forecast had promised: rain, multiple and persistent.

We had breakfast at the petrol station – and it wasn’t bad at all: a delicious croissant and a solid 3 out of 5 cups of coffee. So at least the day got off to a good culinary start.

Crossing the border into France was no surprise – but the change in landscape, weather and driving behavior was noticeable. The rain remained, and there was also a strong wind that lasted for much of the day. Already unpleasant in the morning, then stormy on the Route des Crêtes.

The gusts really shook me up, especially at higher altitudes – with full suitcases, wet clothes and crosswinds, relaxed touring quickly turns into concentrated work. Even in the evening in Delle it was still whistling around the visor.

The traffic rules in France – well… it takes some getting used to. There are often no classic priority signs. Instead, you have to pay attention to roads that merge: Does the intersecting road have a stop line? A stop sign? If not, be careful. If you trust blindly here, you can quickly find yourself in the middle of the flow of improvised French traffic.

And speaking of traffic: tailgating drivers are apparently part of the road scene here too. It’s no fun, especially in wet conditions and on tight bends. Dear drivers: Please keep your distance – especially when it’s raining and visibility is poor. Tailgating brings nothing but danger.

Along the way, relics of the Maginot Line suddenly appeared – old bunkers, cannons, historic vehicles. Impressive, somehow surreal – in the middle of nature, silent and forgotten.

The ascent to the Route des Crêtes was scenically magnificent, but also challenging: 3 degrees, wind, fog, rain and then another reminder of the time of year on the first few meters of altitude: snow next to the road. Leaning hard was not a good idea on the wet, sometimes mossy roads in the forest – so we had to ride defensively.

A particularly impressive moment: already soaking wet, I stood under the roof overhang of a closed restaurant as a rain shower passed over the mountains – and the sun broke through the clouds at the same time. A spectacle of light at its very best.

In the evening, I arrive in Delle – a small village with a charming name. You could walk to Switzerland from here, but today I just walk to the heating. Because: My clothes are hanging clammy on and in front of a small heater, which is doing its best to fight against wet textiles. Currently: lump jam in the drying area.

And another thing: today was supposed to be a short day. The plan was around 289 km and approx. 6 hours of driving time – it turned out to be 317 km and over 9 hours on the road.

What was the reason? Sure: breaks in the rain, lots of photo spots, careful driving. Every time I think to myself: “Just stop for a quick picture.” – and bang, 10 minutes are gone again. The defensive driving style in the wet did the rest. And so a supposedly short day of touring turned into one of the longest so far.

Conclusion: 3 degrees, storm, rain, fog – and a moment of light over the mountains. France welcomes me harshly, but with character.

And tomorrow? Switzerland. Not an EU country, different plugs, different rules – maybe even different cows. Will they even let me in? How do I get internet? And how much does a coffee actually cost? Questions upon questions. Answers – in the next chapter.