The decision had actually already been made the evening before. When I parked the old lady, she was suddenly difficult to push. A quick look at the rear tire was enough: flat. Completely flat. Of all things, the tire that had only been fitted shortly before the trip.

I used my electric air pump to bring the tire back up to two bar. Perhaps, I hoped, the air would escape slowly enough to allow me to continue my journey somehow the next morning. An hour later, I was back at the bike. The tire was completely flat again. So it was clear: this journey ends here.

In order not to lose any time, I called my insurance company that same evening. After a few phone calls, it was clear that a tow truck would arrive at 9:30 the next morning. The course was set. There wasn’t much I could do about it now anyway.

The morning therefore started differently than planned. Instead of the route, weather and mountain passes, towing and insurance issues were on the agenda. Beforehand, I got myself a cappuccino, a chocolate croissant and a bread roll filled with salami. After all, I didn’t know how long the day would be. Switzerland is beautiful, but with the prices you quickly learn to be satisfied with small things.

The tow truck arrived at around 9:30 am. The old lady was loaded and we made our way to the depot. On the way, the driver told me that motorcycle workshops in the region were open on Saturdays but closed on Mondays. Today was Sunday. So the chances of a quick solution were slim anyway.

Once we arrived at the depot, the bike was parked and the paperwork completed. Then the tow truck drove off again and I was left behind. It was a strange feeling. After many kilometers together, the old lady was suddenly standing alone in a shed waiting to be transported home. Of course, a motorcycle is just a motorcycle. But anyone who has been on the road for any length of time knows that this is not the whole truth. You experience rain, sun, mountain passes, breakdowns, beautiful days and difficult moments together. And at some point, a machine does become a traveling companion.

Then the long wait began. While the bikes rode past outside in the best motorcycle weather, presumably enjoying the surrounding Alpine passes, I sat in the restaurant with a cappuccino and a bitter lemon. The callbacks came, but late. In between, there were waiting loops, disconnections and new calls. Because everything was taking so long, I eventually ordered an asparagus soup. That was all I got. I would probably have had to take out a loan for a schnitzel first.

Gradually, a solution emerged. There was no point in waiting until Tuesday for a garage. So it was decided to transport the old lady back to Germany and provide me with a rental car.

But that wasn’t easy either. Renting a car and returning it abroad is a combination that can quickly become very expensive. In the meantime, we checked whether a vehicle could be brought from Germany. However, the costs for this were also absurdly high. After several phone calls, we finally found a solution that was just about acceptable.

So this journey ends not on two wheels, but on four. Of course, I had imagined the end differently. I would have preferred to ride a few more mountain passes, have a last cappuccino somewhere and end the tour as normal. Instead, I’m now sitting in the hotel and preparing for a long ride home of over eight hundred kilometers.

Of course, this trip also had its difficulties. The blinker that kept me busy on the very first day. The heavy rain in the mountains. The technical problems caused by the wet. The closed Susten Pass. The barrier in front of the Lago del Naret. And now, at the end, the flat rear tire. All of this is part of the story of this tour.

But when I think back to this trip in a few weeks or months, it probably won’t be these things that come to mind first. I will think of the horses at the Torri di Fraele. Of the narrow roads there and the special atmosphere in this place. I will think of the Col di Tremezzo, the solitude up there and the feeling of having discovered a place that most people simply drive past.

I will think of the Lago del Naret, which I never reached. Just as the landscape was becoming more and more spectacular, there was this barrier. Rarely has a closed path annoyed me so much. Maybe that’s why this place has stayed in my mind, even though I’ve never seen it.

And I will think of the Nufenen Pass. Of the clouds, the mountains, the snowfields and the mountain goats in the middle of the road. The view wasn’t perfect, nor was the weather. But the nature up there was still impressive. And I remember numerous encounters, conversations and moments that put a smile on my face.

In the end, it is precisely these memories that remain. Not the problems. Not the breakdowns. Not the phone calls with insurance companies. The beautiful moments prevail. And that is perhaps the best thing you can say about a trip.

Many thanks to everyone who accompanied me on this tour. For the comments, the messages and for traveling with me day after day. It was great fun to have you with me.

Conclusion: In the end, it’s not the breakdowns that remain, but the moments when I knew: this is exactly why I set off. The journey ends differently than planned. But the memories remain.

The night in Bellinzona was pleasantly quiet. The old lady was allowed to spend the night in an underground garage for ten francs and was finally dry for once. An investment that paid off, because when I looked out of the window in the morning, it was already raining. At least the clothes had survived an involuntary lemonade shower the night before and were dry again, smelling lemony fresh.

For breakfast we had a Nutella muffin and a cappuccino, which got a solid three out of five coffee cups. Not a highlight, but perfectly fine. Then we set off towards the Nufenen Pass.

The rain continued to accompany me at first. I was on the road for over two hours while the clouds spread their load over the Alps. While the cars were piling up at the Gotthard, I drove comfortably past the highway. The tunnel was closed at times and the vehicles were far behind. But that wasn’t a problem for me. After all, Pawtrail doesn’t mean tunnels, but passes.

The closer I got to the Nufenen Pass, the colder it got. After the twenty-five degrees the day before, the twelve degrees felt surprisingly fresh. Once I reached the top, temperatures of around six to seven degrees, lots of snow and, unfortunately, lots of clouds awaited me. The really great view was therefore denied. Nevertheless, the Nufenen Pass was something special for me today. It was my first time on the road and it was also the snowiest pass of this trip. The real highlight, however, were the mountain goats that stood in the middle of the road and were unimpressed by the passing motorcycles.

After so much rain and cold, it was time for something warm. We had spaghetti bolognese. We’d rather not talk about the price. Let’s put it this way: the spaghetti from the day before suddenly seemed like a special offer. It still tasted great and with sun, clouds, wind and a pleasant fourteen degrees, the world felt a lot friendlier.

We then continued over the Grimsel Pass. Motorcyclists immediately understand why this pass is so popular. The bends simply flow into each other perfectly. It is incredibly pleasant to ride and is still one of the most beautiful passes in Switzerland for me. Today you could hardly keep your left hand down. There was so much motorcycle traffic on the passes that I felt like I was saying hello more than shifting gears. Nufenen, Grimsel and later Furka were firmly in the hands of bikers.

I deliberately skipped the Furka Pass at first. Not because I don’t like it, but because I already know it. Just like Grimsel and Susten, there are already reports and pictures on Pawtrail Adventures. So today I wanted to ride more than take photos.

At least that was the plan.

Because a surprise was waiting on the Susten Pass. Closed. The planned remaining stage suddenly turned into a major detour. Instead of a good hour’s drive, the sat nav now showed three hours and 164 kilometers to go. So back we went. Grimsel once again. And yet another Furka. Honestly? There are far worse places for a detour.

I made a short stop at the Belvedere. However, it was packed there. Motorcycles, cars and people everywhere. So I quickly moved on. Shortly afterwards, I had one of the best moments of the day.

While most of the visitors stayed on the main road, I turned left onto an old gravel road. I had heard somewhere that there was an old fortress up there. And indeed – I found it. An old Swiss military fortress, excellently preserved and practically deserted. While there were streams of visitors down below, up here I had peace, history and a fantastic view of the Rhone Glacier.

The fortress is one of the former Swiss defensive structures on the Furka Pass, which were once built to secure the important Alpine crossings. Today it stands almost forgotten above the well-known route. What was even more surprising, however, was that hardly anyone took any notice of it. No crowds, no cars, no queues – nobody was here. Just the mountains, the fortress and the view. From there, a path led even further towards the Rhone Glacier. The first snowfields were already visible. From the footprints in the snow, you could guess that some hikers were already out and about here, but I simply didn’t have the time today. Due to the closure of the Susten Pass, the schedule had already been thrown out of kilter anyway.

If the Susten Pass had been open, I would probably never have ended up here. A more than adequate and surprising compensation for the closed pass road.

There was a refreshment stop later in Andermatt. A nut croissant, a salami mutschli and a cappuccino were to provide for the evening. And then came the coffee. My rating scale actually ends at five cups of coffee. Not this cappuccino. Six out of five coffee cups. Perfect temperature, perfect milk foam and simply excellent taste. The best cappuccino of the entire trip so far.

The route finally led me on towards Seedorf. I took a wonderfully winding route parallel to the Gotthard highway through the valley. While the traffic jammed up on the highway, I was able to enjoy the bends and relax at the end of the day. After days of speaking Italian, it was also a relief to hear German again. The language barrier disappeared and many things immediately became less complicated.

In the evening, I was drawn to Lake Uri. Nestled between the Alps, it lay quietly before me and provided a worthy end to this long day of riding. Interestingly, this showed once again how important it is to choose the right navigation. While Google Maps and Apple Maps had sent me along the main road, Komoot led me along small paths through fields, along a stream and with wonderful views of the mountains on the way back. Almost a bit like Pawtrail on foot.

Back at the accommodation, however, an unpleasant surprise awaited me. When I parked the old lady, I initially wondered why she was so difficult to push. The reason was quickly found: The rear tire was flat. Completely flat. Of all things, the tire that had only been fitted shortly before the trip.

On closer inspection, I discovered something in the tread. I couldn’t tell whether it was a nail, screw or something else. One thing was certain: there was no air left. I used my small electric pump to bring the tire back up to two bar. Now it was time to wait.

Tomorrow is Sunday. Garages are not open and the question is no longer which passes I will ride. The question is rather: Will the tire still have air tomorrow morning?

Conclusion: Even though the day began wet, cold and tiring, it ended with the feeling of having been on the right track. Perhaps it’s not the perfect plans that make a trip special, but the detours, the small discoveries and the moments when a problem suddenly becomes a story.

The day began in Laino with a beautiful chime. When I opened my eyes, the thermometer showed just eleven degrees. However, the sun was already there and promised a fantastic day.

Laino is exactly the kind of place I like to stay in. Small villages are much quieter than big cities. You sleep better, wake up more relaxed and don’t constantly have traffic noise outside the window. However, the downside became apparent in the morning. While you can often get a cappuccino on every corner in larger towns, you have to search for one here. I finally found what I was looking for at a petrol station. Doesn’t sound very promising. But it wasn’t.

Almost every petrol station here has a decent portafilter machine. Plus Italian music, sunshine and the sound of the water nearby. You don’t really need much more for a successful start to the day. The cappuccino gets four out of five cups on the Pawtrail coffee scale. The only flaw with Italian cappuccinos is their size. As soon as you sit down comfortably, the cup is empty again.

After breakfast, we continued towards Lake Lugano. The border between Italy and Switzerland no longer seemed to play a major role today. Sometimes I was in Switzerland, then back in Italy, then shortly afterwards back in Switzerland. At some point I stopped counting.

I liked Lake Lugano straight away. The route led directly along the water again and again. I stopped several times, sat down on a jetty or simply stopped for a moment and enjoyed the view. The water glistened in the sun, the temperatures were pleasant and the weather was at its best.

However, there was an unpleasant scene on one of the narrow through roads. A small motorhome was driving in front of me. The driver steered a little too early in a narrow lane and caught the side window on a house wall. The window was smashed in. Not a pretty sight. A single moment of carelessness is sometimes all it takes, especially on these narrow roads.

The further I drove, the more beautiful the route became. The roads became narrower, the towns smaller and the traffic less. Just the kind of roads I like. A dream for my biker heart. Later I reached Lake Maggiore. Beautiful scenery. Not so much in terms of traffic.

Tourists everywhere, lots of vehicles and a lot of activity. So I didn’t stay on the main roads for long. Instead, I turned off onto small side roads again and slowly made my way up the mountain.

We continued towards Alpe di Neggia via Armio. The pass itself was surprisingly empty. Once I reached the top, however, the exact opposite awaited me. The parking lots were full and many hikers were taking advantage of the beautiful weather for an excursion. From up there, I had another great view of Lake Maggiore.

However, it became difficult again with the food. On the way, I had already discovered spaghetti bolognese for seventeen Swiss francs. That was the equivalent of about twenty euros and spontaneously made me a little less hungry. At the top of the pass, everything was closed. So I just took photos and continued on my way.

Shortly before Locarno, there was another surprise. For the third time, I met the motorcyclist I had met a few days ago in Prad. The same rider, the same bike and the same distinctive windshield. By now I was absolutely sure. I greeted him briefly, but he probably didn’t recognize me again.

Some would probably think that something like that couldn’t be possible. I probably wouldn’t have believed it either. But when you think about it, this area is so beautiful and motorcycle-friendly that it’s actually not that unlikely. Who knows if I’ll come across it again.

Twenty-five degrees and slow-moving city traffic awaited us in Locarno. After the quiet mountain roads, it was a bit of a test of patience. I actually wanted to stop off somewhere. However, the bars I found only served drinks.

Pragmatism won in the end. McDonald’s. Not particularly Swiss. Not particularly Italian. But sometimes you just have to have something to eat.

After Locarno, the route became much more interesting again. The valley became narrower, the mountains closer and the temperatures more pleasant. The road led deeper and deeper into the Val Sambuco. At first I wasn’t sure whether the long detour would be worth it. With every kilometer, the answer became clearer. Yes!

It got quiet up here. Very quiet. Hardly any traffic, hardly any people and instead more and more nature. Lago del Sambuco was already impressive from afar. When I stood on the dam wall later on, it became clear just how big the facility is. The lake looks artificial and technical, but at the same time it blends in surprisingly well with the mountain landscape. This impression was not entirely wrong: Lago del Sambuco is a reservoir whose arch dam is around 130 meters high and 363 meters long. It was completed in 1956.

The higher I got, the closer I approached the tree line. The landscape became more and more alpine. And then they suddenly appeared. Marmots. Several of them. Every now and then one of the animals would scurry across the meadows or disappear between the rocks. For me, encounters like this are a big part of these trips. You experience nature and the animal world in its original form.

The plan was actually to go further up afterwards. My destination was the upper lakes and Lago del Naret. The anticipation was great. The route became more and more beautiful, the landscape more and more impressive. And then there was a barrier. Closed. End of the journey. At least for today.

That was really annoying. Just when the tree line was slowly disappearing and the landscape was becoming more and more spectacular, I would have loved to see the last few kilometers. Instead, all I could do was look at the barrier and realize that I wasn’t going any further today. So I turned around. If you’re planning to visit the reservoir, you should check the website to see if the road leading there is open.

In the end, the route took me back to Bellinzona. I arrived there in the evening when it was still a pleasant 22 degrees.

Conclusion: Today was not a day of big sensations, but one of small discoveries. Three lakes, quiet villages, narrow roads, marmots and always that moment when you stop and think: this is exactly what I’m on the road for.

After a relaxing night in Lovere, the day got off to an unusual start. Parking bans had already been put up everywhere yesterday, which is why I had to re-park the old lady. The reason was quickly found: Filming.

When I looked out of the window in the morning, the set-up work was already in full swing. Trucks, technical vehicles and lots of equipment were ready. While I gathered my luggage and prepared for the day, part of Lovere slowly turned into a movie set.

As a precaution, I gave the intercom a little spa treatment. After the water drama of the past few days, I didn’t want to take any risks. So I put it in the oven for a few minutes at 50 degrees circulating air. Others bake bread rolls, I bake communication devices.

The first surprise awaited us shortly after setting off. The carabinieri had closed the road. A long queue of cars formed in front of me. Nobody spoke English, the translation app mainly produced creative gibberish and somewhere I understood something about a 30-minute wait. After about ten minutes, it suddenly moved on.

A little later it became clear why. The road led directly through the film set. While many cars were diverted, I was allowed to drive the old lady between camera cars, technical trucks, tents and production vehicles. I didn’t spot any celebrities, but the backdrop right by Lake Iseo was impressive enough.

After that it became much quieter. The route took me along smaller and smaller roads towards the mountain region above Albino. At some point, I ended up in Vall’Alta di Albino at the Santuario. High above the valley, it was suddenly quiet. After the film set, roadblock and traffic, the place seemed almost surreally quiet.

From there we continued along the so-called Strada Verde. I don’t know whether this is actually the official name or not. It was green anyway. No one in front of me. No one behind me. The roads got narrower and narrower. Some of them were steep, narrow and not in particularly good condition. Potholes, chippings, gravel and lots of tight bends meant that the old lady and I had to work hard today. We often only made progress at thirty kilometers per hour. Nevertheless, this was exactly the kind of route I like. No tourist buses, no crowds, no ticketed attractions. Just small roads that meander through the countryside.

Today, however, I had to consciously slow myself down. There was a reason to stop around almost every bend. A view. A small village. An interesting road. At the same time, the sat nav still showed over two hundred kilometers to the accommodation. So at some point it was time to drive on.

But we still had to take a break. With 21 degrees, sunshine and a light wind, the weather sounds pleasant. However, anyone who is on the road in full motorcycle gear knows that you immediately start sweating when you stop. The cappuccino made up for it: five out of five coffee cups. The Italians just know how to do it.

What I also noticed on the road: Fiat Panda. Fiat Panda everywhere. Old Pandas, new Pandas, well-maintained Pandas and Pandas that have probably seen more mountain roads than their owners. The narrower the roads became, the more the concept made sense to me.

Later, the route led me to the Passo San Marco. This pass has connected the Bergamo valleys with Valtellina for centuries. As early as the end of the 16th century, the Republic of Venice had a trade route built here. At the top, several plaques and monuments commemorate the history of the pass and the Alpini. The landscape up there was impressive. However, the clouds were getting darker and darker and already gave a hint that the day was not quite done with me yet.

I then reached Lake Como. Beautiful scenery. Rather strenuous driving. The roads were full. Buses, camper vans, cars and motorcycles were fighting their way through the towns. In some places, traffic wardens were regulating the traffic because nothing else was moving. It was there at the latest that I realized again why I prefer the small roads. The area is beautiful, no doubt about it. But this mass tourism is simply not our Pawtrail style.

There was another surprise on the coastal road. I saw the motorcyclist again that I had met a few days ago in Prad. The one with his Honda, the three weeks’ vacation and the 4500 kilometers ahead of him. With all the traffic and the many motorcycles, it was strange to suddenly see him again. I raised my hand briefly in greeting. I don’t know if he recognized me. Sometimes the world is surprisingly small.

Because at some point I got tired of stop-and-go on Lake Como, the route took me back up into the mountains towards Col di Tremezzo. According to the sat nav, this was an old military road. The road got worse and worse. Asphalt became gravel. Potholes got bigger. The clouds got darker. When I reached the top, I realized that everything was closed. So there was no food.

Instead, I met a German hiker who was there with a tent and was cooking his soup. While he wanted to spend the night up there, I preferred to make my way towards my accommodation. Shortly afterwards, the rain started.

I rode the last seventeen kilometers to Laimo in the wet. After the masses of water of the previous days, however, this was almost harmless. I finally reached my accommodation in Laimo between Lake Como and Lake Lugano in the evening.

Conclusion: Of course, places like Lake Como are impressive. But for me, memories are not made between souvenir stores, coaches and lakeside promenades. They are created on small roads where you don’t meet anyone for hours. On old military roads, on gravel paths, in places you didn’t know before and would probably never have looked for specifically. That’s exactly what Pawtrail is for me: less mainstream, fewer sights to tick off, but more nature, more adventure and more of the paths in between. Because it’s often not the big names on the map that stay in your memory, but the roads that you find by chance.

After a night of thunderstorms on Lake Iseo, the day got off to a surprisingly pleasant start. The sun was shining, it was 17 degrees and everything could have been perfect. Actually. Because the rain from the day before had decided to come along for the ride.

Fortunately, the old lady was dry under a canopy. My technology, on the other hand, had obviously not survived the water battle quite so well. The navigation phone only wanted to charge occasionally, the iPhone was also acting up, and my intercom had gone completely. No more navigation announcements, no more speed camera warnings, just the map in front of me.

Then there were motorcycle boots that were still damp, clammy motorcycle clothes and a small towel that had barely dried out despite a hairdryer and a whole night of drying. Even the bathroom was still wet in the morning. Apparently, the humidity in the room was such that water stays there voluntarily.

The little hotel hairdryer put up a brave fight. At some point, however, the situation became too much for him and he simply switched himself off due to overheating. I thought for a moment that I had finished him off for good. After breakfast – two cappuccinos, the solid three out of five coffee cups – we finally got going.

From Pisogne, the route initially led along extremely narrow roads towards Lake Garda. At times, barely more than one car could fit through. Often it was no more than first gear and a leisurely roll.

As if that wasn’t enough, there was also a road closure. So a detour. And because the intercom was still dead, I got lost several times. Without announcements in your ear, you look at the display more often and only notice some turn-offs when they are already behind you.

My thoughts were with me the whole time. Will the intercom work again? Will the cell phones charge again later? Or did yesterday’s rain leave behind expensive souvenirs?

At some point I stopped, took advantage of the sun and simply laid everything out. Intercom, cables, technology – everything got a little spa treatment on a little wall in the sun. Success was a long time coming.

Shortly afterwards, I reached Lago d’Idro. Not Lake Garda, but already a beautiful lake, nestled between mountains and small roads. The route became increasingly winding, increasingly lonely and increasingly beautiful.

Later, the route took me through the Valvestino valley. There lies the artificial Lago di Valvestino with the Ponte Cola reservoir. I had already been impressed by the Cancano lakes yesterday. Today it became clear once again how exciting this mixture of mountain landscape and engineering can be. The reservoir was created in the early 1960s and supplies a considerable part of the region with energy via the connected hydroelectric power station.

While I was there, something unexpected happened. My prayer was answered. The intercom suddenly worked again. One push of a button. A sign of life. And a few seconds later, the navigation announcements were back.

Anyone who has never been on the road for hours without a working intercom will probably not be able to understand the relief. For me, it was a bit like someone picking up a travel companion I thought was lost.

We continued towards Lake Garda. At least in theory. In practice, I quickly realized that it felt like the whole of northern Italy had set off at the same time. Traffic, traffic jams and lots of vehicles. So there were no major stops. Lake Garda was allowed to pass by briefly, while I preferred to concentrate on the smaller roads again.

A much bigger success awaited me on the Strada della Forra. At least that’s what I thought at first. When I got there, I discovered that the restaurant was closed. Perfect. So I got a deckchair, sat down in the shade and ate the emergency rations from my saddlebag. While some people passing by looked a little irritated, others gave me an appreciative thumbs up.

I think the thumbs-up faction had understood what traveling is all about. You take what the day gives you. And sometimes that’s a deckchair, an emergency ration and a magnificent view.

Later, the route took me over the Passo Crocedomini. I had never heard of this pass before the trip. Today it is one of the positive surprises of the tour for me.

Hardly any traffic, pleasant temperatures, fantastic scenery and finally a relaxed ride. While we were sweating in the valleys below at around 25 degrees, it was pleasantly cool up here. A few cyclists, a few motorcyclists and otherwise a surprising amount of peace and quiet. Some of the roads are absurdly narrow. It often feels like they are barely wider than two meters. If you meet a car there, it gets sporty. But today I had the pass almost to myself.

It’s places like this that make a trip special. Not the names that everyone knows, but the ones you’ve never heard of before.

I finally reached Lovere on Lake Iseo in the evening. Practically on the opposite side from where I had spent the night yesterday.

The accommodation is the best of the trip so far. Large, modern, air-conditioned and at the same time furnished with beautiful old wooden elements. Exactly the kind of accommodation where you would like to spend a little more time.

Unfortunately, it was already getting late. After a shower, I went to get another pizza. However, it was clearly inferior to yesterday’s. Not every Italian can make pizza! After all, you have to set standards somewhere.

Conclusion: Sometimes you don’t need perfection. Sometimes all it takes is a stubborn intercom that suddenly starts talking again and the feeling that the journey is following its very own, wonderfully weird plan.

Day four began with a big name: Stelvio Pass.

Normally, this name stands for hairpin bends, views and motorcycle romance. Today it stood more for rain, snow and the realization that June in the Alps is just a calendar claim. I didn’t stop at the top and hardly took any photos. If you want to see beautiful Stelvio pictures, you’ll find plenty of them on Pawtrail. Today was more of a case of close your visor and move on.

After the Stelvio Pass, we headed towards Bormio and then onto a route that I hadn’t had on my radar: up to the Torri di Fraele and on to the Laghi di Cancano.

Before that, however, I first stood at an electronic toll station. Everything was in Italian, I had to enter my license plate number, take a ticket and somehow understand what the machine wanted from me. While others just drove through, I stood there and did it properly. Typically German or simply law-abiding on two wheels – you never know.

Then suddenly there were two horses next to me. Me with ticket, motorcycle and question mark in my helmet. The horses continued to eat relaxed. They had probably seen more tourists fail at this toll station than they would have liked.

Then came the real surprise of the day. The road to the Torri di Fraele is a real insider’s tip: hardly any traffic, old watchtowers, great bends and a landscape that is immediately memorable. Not as famous as Stelvio or Gavia, but perhaps that’s why it’s so special. Up there, everything seems a little quieter, rougher and less staged.

We continued on to the Cancano Lakes. It was clear at first glance: this is no romantic natural bathing tub. The banks look artificial, the dam walls are clearly visible and you can see everywhere that hydropower plays a major role here. The Laghi di Cancano are artificial reservoirs and, together with Lago di San Giacomo, form a large hydroelectric system.

But that doesn’t make the area any less interesting. On the contrary. High mountains, water and technology come together here. On the one hand mountains, vastness and alpine tranquillity, on the other dams and engineering. The landscape is almost surreal in places. For me, this was one of the highlights of the day.

We then headed back towards Bormio and on to the Gavia Pass. I already knew it from an earlier tour with Regine, but from the other direction back then. So the terrain was no longer completely unfamiliar. Stelvio and Gavia were already familiar to me, even if they felt completely different on a motorcycle and in this weather.

The Gavia Pass is always impressive. It was about five degrees at the top, it was raining and the lake was still partly frozen. Italy in June – but with a freezer compartment rather than a summer vacation.

So let’s warm up first. Vegetable soup, café latte and a fireplace that was burning comfortably. For a moment, the rain outside didn’t matter. The café latte gets four out of five coffee cups. Delicious, warm and just at the right time.

After that it got really wet. On the way towards Lake Iseo it rained so heavily that I could feel the drops even through my motorcycle clothing. The rain radar also gave me little hope. So I canceled some of the points originally planned. Instead of more passes, I now had about 80 kilometers to the hotel on the agenda. Reason beats the romance of bends – at least when your gloves start to feel like wet sponges.

With the Cancano Lakes, I had already reached part of the Upper Italian lake world, but in its rugged high mountain version. Lake Iseo felt completely different. Here began the lake landscape that many people have in mind when they think of the lakes of northern Italy.

My hotel is right on the lake in Pisogne. A little spartan perhaps, but in a beautiful location. After this day, all I wanted to do was arrive, dry off and take a hot shower.

Of course, it stopped raining just as I arrived. That was obvious.

After a hot shower, I wanted to take a look at Pisogne. The place is really pretty. Small alleyways, lots of charm and just the kind of place you like to stroll through. Unfortunately, it started to rain again. So the stroll through the town turned into a quick pizza mission. The pizza was really tasty.

Day four was not an easy stage. Stelvio in the rain and snow, Gavia with a frozen lake, hours of rain and soaked clothes. But there were some real surprises in between: the horses at the toll station, the Torri di Fraele, the Cancano lakes and finally the arrival at Lake Iseo. Sometimes it’s not the most famous names that stick with you the most.

Conclusion: No conclusion today. The author had to blow-dry his clothes.

Day three began with wet roads, cool air and the hope that things would be a little smoother after the first two days.

The night at Jolanda and Friedrich’s in Sautens was restful. It had rained heavily during the night, the roads were wet and the temperature had dropped to 14 degrees. So first coffee and a butter croissant.

The coffee was reasonably okay. The lid, however, was not. It only pretended to hold, and shortly afterwards a good portion of the contents landed on my white long-sleeved shirt.

Here we go again.

Two out of five coffee cups for taste. For accuracy, unfortunately zero.

Then we headed towards the Timmelsjoch. It rained from time to time on the way. Not dramatically, but enough to make it clear: The day would not show its best face right at the start. The route led through the Ötztal valley, past Sölden and up and up. At the toll booth it was only eight degrees.

At the top of the Timmelsjoch it got really cold. Very windy, rainy, cold and wet and somewhere between three and four degrees. I didn’t stay there for long, but I still enjoyed the moment. The area is simply impressive: rugged mountains, low-hanging clouds, a high mountain atmosphere and a view that works even in bad weather. The icy wind only meant that “enjoy in peace” became “enjoy quickly”.

The Timmelsjoch has always been more than just a road over the mountain. This crossing connected the Ötztal valley with the Passeiertal valley towards Merano in the early days. At the Top Mountain Crosspoint, several stations tell of historic trade routes, the construction of the road, snow, ice and glaciers. Today’s road was only opened in 1959 – something you almost forget when you ride up there on a motorcycle today.

The crown of thorns as a symbol of the historical division of Tyrol and the “AJUNA” crystal, which is supposed to stand for peace in the world, particularly stuck in my mind. Between the wind, rain, cold and the rugged mountain backdrop, it didn’t seem like dry information board history, but rather like a brief moment to pause for a moment. Only a very cold one.

Then I went down to the Italian side. I stopped at the Hochfirst. Regine and I have spent the night here before (somewhat involuntarily), so it’s not just any place along the route. Today it was my stopover to recharge my batteries before continuing towards the Jaufenpass.

The Jaufenpass wasn’t actually directly on my route. I therefore only cycled up it and then back down the same route. But when a pass like this is right under your nose, you don’t just leave it lying around. So up there I went. It was still chilly at the top at around eight degrees, but the route was worth it. Mountains, bends, the feeling of a mountain pass – that’s exactly what you set off for.

Back in the valley, it was almost absurd: just eight degrees at altitude, shortly afterwards it was 25 degrees again in the Italian countryside. So out of the warm layers and back into the summer clothes. The Alps obviously demand a complete closet selection in one day.

We continued through the Passeier Valley towards Meran and then through the Vinschgau Valley via Schlanders and Laas to Prad am Stilfserjoch. From Merano at the latest, the day felt different: away from the rough high mountains and into this warm South Tyrolean valley feeling. To the left and right were huge apple orchards, neatly lined up like green lines in the landscape. A moment ago wind, rain and cold on the Timmelsjoch, now warmth, orchards and southern life.

It was really warm, but I didn’t stop much for photos. At some point you just get into driving mode: keep going, arrive, sort it out later.

My destination for the day was Prad. I already knew the hotel from last year. Funnily enough, I was the only motorcyclist there then. This year was completely different: The parking lot was full of bikes. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who wanted to experience South Tyrol on two wheels.

Later, I got talking to another driver. I had seen him parking his bike from the balcony, and it struck me: He rides the same Honda as me – just a class smaller. He comes from Oberhavel, but started near Magdeburg, has a whole three weeks’ vacation and around 4500 kilometers ahead of him. The motorcycle is a dream come true for him, and this tour is his first really long trip. Tomorrow he wants to ride the Stelvio Pass, just like me. Maybe we’ll see each other again at breakfast or later for a bit of petrol talk.

Such encounters are simply part of it. You don’t know each other, but after two sentences about motorcycles, routes and plans, you’re somehow in the same movie.

Afterwards, I wanted to stroll through Prad for a while. Maybe an ice cream, maybe a coffee. In the end it was an ice cream parlor, and it was great. The iced coffee saved the day on the Pawtrail coffee scale: five out of five coffee cups. Full marks. After the morning coffee and shirt shower, this was much-needed redemption.

Nevertheless, the day doesn’t end on a completely relaxed note. Reception was told that it was going to rain heavily in the region tomorrow. The weather app doesn’t look friendly either: rain from six o’clock, possibly all day, around 20 liters per square meter.

I’ve been lucky so far. Yesterday I avoided the thunderstorms and stayed dry, today on the passes clouds, cold and a bit of rain, but all still within limits. Tomorrow could be different.

That’s it for today: The old lady has delivered again. And I have arrived.

Conclusion: Day three still felt a bit like familiar terrain. Timmelsjoch, Jaufenpass, South Tyrol – I already knew a lot of it, even if it had been more from the car. It was a completely different experience on a motorcycle. Tomorrow will be more exciting: first the Stelvio Pass awaits, then the unknown territories begin. New routes, new impressions – and a weather that obviously hasn’t yet decided whether it wants to travel with me or disturb me.

After the technical opening drama of the first day, day 2 got off to a surprisingly conciliatory start: I had slept well.

This was not at all a matter of course, as Aalen had once again put on a great downtown program on Saturday evening. Loud cars, bawling, party atmosphere – in short: there was still a lot going on outside. But I was obviously so exhausted after the blinker, rest area, workshop and night drive that even that couldn’t do much more.

So in the morning we set off again, halfway recovered. The old lady turned left again, I was optimistic, and actually everything could have been quite relaxed now.

Of course it wasn’t. It was already humid at the start. Really humid. It was around 27 degrees and the air was so heavy that you were sweating before you even had your helmet on. Despite wearing summer clothes, summer gloves and a summer scarf, it felt more like a rolling laundry room.

On the way, I took a break in the shade to cool down a little. And right there I suddenly heard the rumble of a thunderstorm. Not directly above me, but close enough to take it seriously. So I checked the weather app. It quickly confirmed what the rumbling had already announced.

On the rain radar, a huge storm front was heading my way. And not just a bit of “light blue, it’ll be fine”. No, it was also purple. For me, purple in the rain radar means something like: as a motorcyclist, think carefully about whether you really want to go in there. So we continued with a clear goal: stay ahead of the front.

That worked surprisingly well at first. The radar claimed that the rain would still catch up with me at some point, but I hoped for the tried and tested mixture of timing, luck and a slight overestimation of my own abilities. To be on the safe side, I stopped at McDonald’s again, had a drink and waited briefly to see if the storm would really start.

It did not. So let’s move on.

The landscape in the Ostallgäu became more and more beautiful, but the weather wasn’t really any more relaxed. It remained around 26 degrees, humid, with a warm wind and the feeling that the air urgently needed to be aired out. Thunderstorms and heavy showers continued around me, but I stayed dry.

And then came the moment I had been looking forward to since April: the Alps appeared.

Snow-covered peaks, still a little hazy, but clearly there. No more distant hints, no more “they should be somewhere back there”, but real mountains right in front of your nose. After all the worrying about closed passes, weather, rain and technology, this was a pretty nice moment.

The Alps in front. The thunderstorms behind. In between, me and the old lady.

We continued towards Oberjoch and later to Haldensee. There, the day suddenly showed its friendly side: sunshine, 24 degrees and a light wind. Exactly the kind of wind that you not only notice after hours in humid air, but also welcome with applause.

I was even offered a free parking ticket in the parking lot. Just like that. Small gesture, big impact. Sometimes it’s moments like this on the road that stick with you. I stayed for a short while, enjoyed the view, the sun, the lake and this brief break between the thunderstorm radar and the onward journey.

When I wanted to leave again, there was still plenty of time left on the ticket. So I gave it away to an elderly couple who had just arrived. They were very happy about it. The man thanked me several times and was still looking after me as I drove out of the parking lot. A small gift like that costs nothing and still makes the day a little nicer for both parties.

Then we continued over the Hahntennjoch.

There was still snow at the top in places, but the hoped-for cooling still failed to materialize. The air was stubbornly humid, as if it had decided to accompany me personally today. Nevertheless: Hahntennjoch, mountains, curves, leftover snow – that’s exactly what I was out for.

I then drove through Imst and on towards Sautens. The accommodation was a little way behind, accessible via a very narrow road that felt like there was just enough room for one car. Two kilometers before the finish, the lightning app was still reporting lightning strikes in the area. So the weather was far from over. But I had stayed dry.

And then I arrived at Jolanda and Friedrich’s in Sautens. What a welcome. They were incredibly nice straight away and provided me with drinks. The old lady also got her well-deserved place: dry in the garage. After the first day with a faulty blinker, soldering iron and night driving, it felt almost luxurious.

Later, we had dinner with a view. And what a view it was: garden, mountains, dramatic clouds, green slopes and an atmosphere that automatically makes you shift down a gear.

With a view like this, the food tastes twice as good. Day two had thunderstorms on my neck, muggy air in my helmet and the first real Alpine moments under my nose. But in the end I was dry in Sautens, the old lady safely in the garage, and somewhere between a garden view and a mountain backdrop, it was clear:

Now the journey has really begun.

Conclusion: After the drama of the first day, we were finally rolling again. The Alps came into view, the biker’s heart beat noticeably faster – and with the first magnificent views, it felt as if the journey was making peace with its bumpy start.

There are starts to a vacation that simply run smoothly. You put your things on the bike, wave goodbye to everyday life, set off and somewhere beyond the horizon, mountains, lakes and good coffee await.

And then there’s my start.

I set off from home in the morning. The old lady was ready, the fresh rear tire fitted, the slave cylinder repaired and I was full of anticipation. Finally on the road again. Towards the south, towards the Alps, towards the northern Italian lakes. After the France-Jura tour in April, there was just something left open. Back then, I had only seen the Alps from afar. This time I wanted to get closer.

Everything went according to plan until Kassel. And then came the first bad news of the trip: The left blinker was dead. Not weak. Not bitchy. Not “maybe I’ll signal again later”. But completely dead. No indicator light in the cockpit, no flashing at the front, no flashing at the rear. Nothing. For a motorcycle tour, that’s about as helpful as an umbrella made of kitchen paper.

So I stood at a rest area near Kassel and started making phone calls. Workshops in the area, BMW workshop in Kassel, someone had to be able to help. The normal workshop couldn’t do much more because there was no service employee left. At least I got a BMW emergency number in Munich.

I actually reached someone there. And then began the part that you can tell later with humor, while at the time you find it about as funny as a wasp in a helmet: waiting. Three hours. At around 27 degrees. Without shade. In motorcycle gear.

At some point, I retreated to the rest stop restaurant because there was simply no air outside. Currywurst, chips and Coke became my improvised crisis food. Not exactly Alpine cuisine, but perfectly adequate at that moment. Meanwhile, the same question kept running through my head: was that it? If the blinker can’t be repaired, the tour is over. It was clear to me that I couldn’t continue without a working blinker.

At some point, roadside assistance arrived. The man was friendly, but also said directly that motorcycles were not necessarily his specialty. His first official act was to connect my notebook. I already suspected that this would be about as useful in this case as a weather report from last week. The hazard warning lights and horn were still working. A cable break was therefore rather unlikely. Everything pointed to the switch.

As he didn’t have a suitable precision tool in the vehicle, he offered to drive to the workshop together and open the switch there. How much would it cost? Difficult. How long it would take? Also difficult. Whether it would work? Also difficult. In short: everything was difficult. But there was no real alternative. So I went along.

The switch was opened in the workshop and the diagnosis was clear: corroded inside. The button for the left blinker could no longer be saved. A new switch? Not available. Apparently no longer manufactured for the machine. The old lady is no longer quite as good as new, even if she probably sees it differently herself.

Then came the improvisation. There were other buttons on the left-hand switch block, including the ABS button. The idea: re-solder the ABS button and use it as a blinker button in future. No guarantee of success, unclear duration, unclear final costs. At that point, I was already looking at around 80 euros just for a check. What should I do? Cancel the tour or let the soldering iron do the talking? So I said: Do it.

The helper disappeared with the switch, picked up the soldering iron and got to work. I waited in the workshop, where it was also quite warm. At some point he came back, reassembled everything and then the little miracle of Kassel happened: the left blinker worked again.

Not original, not elegant, but functional. And on this day, functional was about the same as Christmas, a birthday and a free pass at the same time.

However, the bill was less Christmassy: 262 euros. A hefty price, but at least the tour was saved. And to be honest: at that moment, it was more important to me to be able to continue driving than to philosophize about the amount for a long time.

Around half past six, seven o’clock, I finally set off. My destination for the day was Aalen, which was still about four hours away. The sat nav indicated an arrival time of around 11 pm. And that’s exactly what happened.

So I drove off into the sunset. That sounds more romantic than it was. Because at some point the sunset was gone and what remained was a rather dark, long, tough highway drive on the A7. It dragged on. At some point it was no longer fun. But I made progress. I finally arrived in Aalen shortly before 11pm. Tired, sweaty, 262 euros poorer, but still on the road.

And because this first day obviously still needed a little technical supplement, I discovered in Aalen that my GPS tracker had now also hung up and was no longer working. Blinker saved, tracker offended. Technical assessment: still room for improvement.

But the old lady was there. I was there. The journey wasn’t over. And sometimes that’s enough for day 1.

Conclusion: Sometimes a single defect is enough to suddenly turn anticipation into uncertainty. Day 1 was exhausting, expensive and nerve-wracking – but it ended with the most important realization: the journey is not over yet.