Out for a spin: Pegaso Arabians

I worked on a horse stud in Tuscany for a number of months in '94. A great experience, it taught me a lot about horses and plenty of words in Italian that really can't be used in the street! Filippo was the original tough guy horseman, king of his domain and as strong, short and fiery as a Sicilian men are thought to be. He is still there, still passionate about his arabs, again disappointed that we were not able to stay a night. It was good to see him again, and to give Em another glimpse into formative part of my history. We had a cup of tea with him and rode a few laps of the menage, but we were heading north and had to go.

The road from Florence to Bologna is a mountain road, crossing the Futa Pass, or passo della Futa. During my time with Filippo, as a blackmarket labourer toiling (or relaxing) in the spring sunshine, I had watched the weekend day trippers zap past on their way up the pass, and wanted to do it myself.

It made for one of the more atmospheric motorcycling experiences we've had. I won't bang on too much as it's likely most of the people reading this have limited interest in motorcycling. But these were 87 kilometres of concentration, and a little adventure all to themselves. With new tyres on the bike and the moist evening closing in, we had to make a mile.

Motorcyclists love mountain roads for their curves. Some prefer tight curves and steep climbs, others smooth, wide bends - the best roads combine the two, usually with the wide ones at the bottom of hills, getting tighter as you approach the summit. A smooth surface is fun, though our bike is not troubled by scrappy ones either. This evening we had to get somewhere. We don´t travel excessively fast - haste on a motorbike is silly, and we ride with a wide margin for error, ours or others'. Chi va piano, va lontano, as the Italians say. (Those who take it easy go far).

On a bike you travel in the environment, not just through it. If it rains you get wet, if it´s cold you feel it, if there are blooms or wet autumn leaves around you smell them as well as feeling them under the tyres. And of course you celebrate the sunshine, possibly more than in any other mode of travel. Somehow the enjoyment is all the more intense now that the bike is our home, stacked up with everything we've got.

So on the Futa pass, chased by grumpy skies and shoved by hefty winds, we climbed into the clouds and into the dusk. We didn't have to share the road with anyone but the elements, and we jostled with them for space. There might be two peaks on this road, maybe more - for me it felt like a continuum of curves, one running into the next and all requiring mental effort. As the dusk closed in, so did the fog - we picked our way through in heavy weather, sometimes travelling at less than 20km/h. Generally though the fog allowed us to see about as far as the next curve, so rather than inhibiting the fun, it added to the atmosphere. Here and there floodlit castles and towers pierced the gloom, the odd guesthouse beckoned from the roadside.

Communication between us at times like this is by snatched phrases, by squeezes and by care.

Villages appeared and disappeared, more frequently as we neared Bologna and descended out of the mist into clear night. Getting closer to town, and with a little more traffic slowing us down, essence of pizza wafted ever more frequently into our helmets - this is Italy, after all!

We tucked into pizza in Bologna - why resist, given the appetising aromas, and particularly on our last night in Italy? - and headed out onto the highway to keep going north. Long, straight, arterial roads are a bore, but I just replayed the Futa Pass in my head while Em cuddled me and we cruised at truck speed in the slow lane. Somewhere south of Milan we stopped for the night. It was late and cold, and while it´s not one of our favourite camp spots it did the trick. Caffé latte wasn't far away in the morning, either!