A table without a host
Farther north, then west. The morning was a reminder of why you should avoid coast roads in August.
Rimini.
I had set Rimini as the goal. Then came the crowds of tourists, and I felt like gagging.
I want to be fair. People live there who can’t help it. But Rimini in high summer, on a motorcycle with no fairing, with a passenger and luggage, is a string of traffic lights, hotel driveways, pedestrians with air mattresses, scooters with no discernible rule book and a flow of traffic that doesn’t deserve the name. It’s hot, it’s standing still, and a boxer cylinder sitting right next to your shin in stop-and-go traffic at 35 degrees Celsius quickly becomes a personal matter.
Around noon we left the coast and rode inland. It was like someone flipping a switch.
San Marino was country number six, and we took it along because it was in the way. The climb is good, twisty, with views you earn. Up top it’s what places like that always are: a fortress with convenience stores and other small shops. We stopped briefly, I sent Lisa off to take three quick photos, then we went back down the other side. Checked off, no regrets.
And then came the best riding day of the whole trip, and it didn’t have a single famous name.
The Apennines, straight across to the west toward Viareggio. Secondary roads over ridgelines. Cypresses as lines, grain as color. Corners you don’t work through but ride. And above all: nothing going on. No line of cars, no group of motorcycles, no tour bus. Almost no cars came toward us.
A little after 5:30 we crossed the Passo di Viamaggio, 983 meters, and right behind it the Passo di Frassineto, about 930 meters. That’s not much for someone who four days earlier had been on the Grossglockner High Alpine Road at 2,504 meters. I didn’t know the names back then. Today I look at the map and ask myself: did I really ride there? Yes.
After that, two short stops: at Lake Montedoglio and in Anghiari, which lay on its hill in the evening light.
Since I got my first motorcycle, every corner had been a conscious act - eyes, braking point, lean angle, throttle. That afternoon none of it was noticeable. I rode in third and fourth gear, a hundred kilometers in one go, and at some point I noticed that I hadn’t thought for forty minutes.
If you ask me when I learned to ride: the whole trip.
The evening brought the question of a bed again, and the answer was the best surprise of this trip.
Around seven there was a sign with a bed on it on the side of the road. That was all the plan we had for the night. It led us to the Locanda di Santantimo near Chiassa, north of Arezzo: a winery on a hillside. Big gate, courtyard, cypresses - and closed. Not abandoned, not derelict: day off. A business that runs six days a week and just doesn’t on this one. Two cars were there, nothing else. I rolled in, hoping to find somewhere to sleep.
At the pool I met a man, a kind of manager. We tried the translator on my phone, and it was enough. Did we need a room? Yes. Today they were closed, but he had a room.
The room was ready: bed, window, sink, thick walls, six degrees Celsius cooler than outside.
And then came the part I want to build a monument to.
Kitchen closed, day off, no food. He explained where to get pizza - down in town, a few kilometers, good. We should ride there and come back.
On the way back Lisa held the two pizza boxes on the tank bag while I rode. A discipline of its own, especially on a naked bike with no windshield, where the wind tries to lift the lid. When we got back, he had set a table on the terrace.
Not “put out.” Set. Placemats. Two plates. Knives and forks. Napkins. Two glasses. A bottle of wine from their own cellar, uncorked and left to breathe. A candle in a glass against the wind.
And he himself was gone.
No welcome, no refills, no small talk. He had set the table and left. On his day off.
We moved the pizza from the box onto porcelain and drank a wine that was better than it had to be, on a terrace where nobody was supposed to be working that day. We had it entirely to ourselves.
I’ve eaten in good restaurants. Nothing comes close to that evening, and the reason is simple: it was unplanned, it was meant as a gift, and somebody made an effort without wanting to be there when we arrived.
The next morning there was a fantastic breakfast.
The winery was great. Thanks to the Locanda di Santantimo and to the manager.
Day 6 in numbers
| Item | Value |
|---|---|
| Distance | 261 km |
| Start | Hotel near Fano |
| Destination | Locanda di Santantimo near Chiassa, north of Arezzo |
| Passes and elevation | Passo di Viamaggio 983 m, Passo di Frassineto about 930 m |
| Countries | Italy, San Marino |
| Overnight | Locanda di Santantimo, room arranged on the spot |