Italy unknown

I mean, there would be time, but it’s filled up, which is why I always feel like I don’t have any. That’s why I need to get away and as soon as possible.
It’s not the day-to-day stuff, everyone has to deal with that. Fetching the daughter from school and taking her to sport practice, remembering to buy kibble for the dog, taking the car to the mechanic for servicing. None of that. It’s rather that claustrophobic feeling of the calendar on your smartphone, with deadlines chasing each other in the shape of coloured dots on the diary, where there never seems to be a bit of respite in view. To the point that I almost think that if I do take a few days off, I’ll end up even more overwhelmed with things to do.
And so? The answer is simple: I need time, time for myself.
For a few years now it has been clear to me that time is the most my precious commodity. I don’t know if it’s equally clear to the people I meet out and about, that I see on the street. When asked the typical question, how are things going? they’ll answer almost dolefully: I’m tired, exhausted, I can’t take it anymore. Tiredness of course, but that doesn’t come from physical strain. Our grandparents got back in the evening exhausted, having worked in the fields, in factories, on construction sites.

These days,there are still many people who do strenuous jobs, but those who are worn-out the most are spending their days between PCs, tablets and telephones.
So then, to hell with holiday resort flyers.
What’s this nonsense of all-inclusive, alcohol-free welcome cocktail included?
That’s not what I need. I need to regain possession of time, to tune in to the passing of hours by observing the changing light and colours. I’m looking for something to destabilise my routine, to leave me disoriented, almost troubled by the need to check my phone, to scroll through my timeline, to check my inbox. But only for a moment, because I already know that soon everything slips away and things go back to where they belong. All I need to do is to think about the road ahead of me, with the only concern of having taken the bare minimum that will allow me to travel dry and clean for the next three or four days. And then I’m off without a further worry, letting my curiosity guide me, without fear of changing my route, of upsetting my plans, of taking breaks. Free to stop, without a watch on my wrist, just to have a sip of water at the fountain of a small village, take a photo and maybe exchange a few words with an elderly lady passing by, just to hear her local accent.

There is no strain in all this, no effort.
There’s none of that of creeping suspicion I get that I might be wasting time if I am lying on a sunbed in front of a beautiful landscape. Here, the landscape changes continuously. It’s not always beautiful, but it is often interesting, sometimes even thrilling. There is nothing more satisfying than being on a bicycle if you want to make the most of a place: a triviality straight out of a book of aphorisms and an absolute truth to be tested with no risk of being contradicted.
So here it is: the breakout I was craving for. My bicycle, two bags clipped to the frame, the things I feel I can’t do without, the draft of trail on komoot, my legs spinning and the wind in my face.
This is the real all-inclusive holiday, not like the flyer said. This is the holiday that will help me come back to myself, to forget the stress, the frenzy and the sense of oppression.
Eyes full of beauty, legs full of stain and a heart full of satisfaction.
Discovery, lightness, freedom.
Everything I needed. Amazement included.

Davide Marta

Office clerks, doctors, house painters, bakers, policemen, sales agents, that’s what we are. Normal people, with a normal life, who hop on a bike as soon as they can, to get away, have a good time, see new places, burn a few calories they’ll make up for at dinner time. People who are always ready to fill their bike bags with the bare minimum in order to have the chance to travel, no matter if just a few kilometres from home or on the other side of the world, with the sole purpose of enjoying a few days where the only goal is to move, to get to know what’s outside and also what’s inside.

That is why we have chosen, cycled and recounted, also for this second edition of Destinations, routes that are feasible and suitable for any category of cyclist. Once again, we have focused on human warmth, what we all need, even if sometimes we seek solitude, a fundamental condition for the two-wheel enthusiast. So, no tents, no camping stoves, no inflatable mattresses. It’s time instead for bars, trattorie, mountain huts, relatives who’ll put you up for the night, hotels and bed & breakfasts.
When cycling in Italy, it is practically impossible not to find these things within a maximum of thirty or forty kilometres, and then we can assure you that what we received in return from each encounter, on an emotional level, was unparalleled: walking into a restaurant kitchen while an old woman prepares the sauce that’s soon to be served, exchanging a few words with the owner of the house who’s ready to help you carry your bike to your room, seeing everyone’s willingness to give you a hand even if just to start a washing machine.

There were misadventures, of course, indispensable to the success of a true adventure, and we wholeheartedly wish you too to experience them, for the successful achievement of your own, personal adventure. But even the misadventures were nothing, really nothing, that couldn’t be solved with the help of a passer-by, always at hand. We saw people drive ten kilometres, phoning up their employer to justify the delay, just to bring us a pump with which to inflate the tyres after yet another puncture. And cooks waiting for us until past midnight to serve us a hot meal, or restaurant owners lending their dining room, complete with spectating diners, as makeshift workshop to fix some gearbox problem.
We lived intensely, meeting people who were extraordinarily human and, like us, absolutely normal. If you also recognise yourself in this being normal, we are sure that the following pages are just right for you and, we hope they may give you once again that incentive to put a change of clothes and a toothbrush in a bag, choose the right track, and set off on yet another journey.

Stefano Francescutti

You get in the saddle, and you've taken care of everything: the bags, the lights, you've checked that your phone is fully charged — two or three times — and that you haven't left your travel documents somewhere in the house or in the car. You've acknowledged everyone and answered yes, first verbally and then only with a nod of the head, to their recommendations — you will be careful. You've mentally run through the list of what you absolutely must not forget, although you’re certain that something fundamental will come to mind after a few hours of travelling. You also have a banana stuffed in your back pocket, which you always forget, and this time you’ve remembered. Your GPS is charged, the battery indicates 100% and the route from komoot is ready, just waiting for you to press play. The time stretches before you get in the saddle. You want to make sure your cleats are fixed properly, that you have taken some tools to repair any mechanicals (you never know). You’ve also cleaned the lenses of your sunglasses and adjusted the webbing that fastens your helmet.

There is almost certainly someone around you, a friend, your partner, your family. If you have children of primary school age, they will surely have prepared a little drawing or a thought to put in your bag. If they are older they can’t wait for you to get out of their way.
There’s a bit of awkwardness and solemnity, and obvious phrases are said. There is also a bit of passing nostalgia. Time dilates. Then something clicks, and you say now I’m going! You grip the handlebars with one hand, lean against the saddle, attach one cleat to the pedal and give yourself a push with the other. You wave vigorously (unless you're Kerouac). You turn for a moment to wave one hand, then attach the other cleat and give two good pedal strokes.
The bike picks up speed. It’s feels like a boat cutting through the waves and moving quickly away from the shore. You feel the air on your face. And there it is, that moment. It’s when you don’t look back anymore and keep pedalling.

That strange bubble that was created all around you vanishes. The tension you were hiding inside in the days of preparation, ditto. It’s a moment, like a snap of your fingers, like a switch that goes from on to off. You are on your way.
It only takes a few hundred metres and your attention is all on the bike, on the noises it makes, on whether the bags are properly secured, on the road. You only have one thought: pedalling. You have one thing to pay attention to: the route. You have a goal: to get to where you need to be. It’s an inner journey, no matter if there is someone pedalling with you just a few metres away. They too will have experienced something very similar, and will be feeling the same sensations. From that moment on, it is you, the bicycle and the road. Whether you go fast or slow, whether you have trained a little or a lot, the watts you have or don’t have, nothing matters anymore. You don’t have to account to anyone and you don’t have to compare yourself with anyone. Only with yourself. You are alvento, and this makes you happy because it is an attitude. You feel that it belongs to you.

Davide Marta

For many, the journey involves days — or even weeks — without encountering another living soul.
Their belief is that one needs to endure sleeping in a tent or a cave, subsisting via whatever nature sees fit to offer along the way. Thankfully though, it’s a broad church, and for others the term implies something entirely different.
They enjoy riding shorter stages, and punctuate them by sleeping in fine hotels and sampling the very best of the local cuisine. They avail themselves of the laundry service, and set out each morning as fresh as the proverbial daisy. For this special edition of Destinations di Alvento, we chose a light, brisk and altogether human form. Performance was secondary, and our riders carried nothing but the bare essentials. So no tents, no stoves or kitchen utensils, just themselves, their bikes, their companions and their thoughts.
The idea was that they wouldn’t get bogged down in logistics and would suffer much less. Rather they’d be encouraged to engage, wherever possible, with the people they met along the way. Some rode alone and some in larger groups, but at its root the experience was about human contact and companionship. On occasion that was a simple smile, and from time to time it involved meeting the locals and attempting to decipher their dialects. Because for us, these journeys within the adventure are the essence of bikepacking. If they involve sharing a glass of whatever the natives happen to keep in the cellar, then so much the better...

The routes we chose were invariably undertaken over two or three days. However some were rideable in 24 hours with the right levels of fitness and motivation. On occasion the beauty of the surroundings was such that each day was an adventure in its own right. The riders would depart of a morning, return to the same hotel, and set out again the following morning in the opposite direction. This, of course, is bikepacking in its simplest form. The riders needed the bare minimum according to the weather conditions (arm- and legwarmers, maybe a wind stopper and some energy foods) but that’s not to say it’s any less relevant.
Regardless, the approach is pretty much unchanging. Whether you’re on the bike for three days or six months, the stuff you need is the stuff you need. A couple of sets of kit, a t-shirt for the evening, perhaps something to sleep in and a small beauty case. Then the most basic tools for dealing with mechanicals, and something warm in the event that the temperatures dropped on the way to or from a hearty, heart-warming evening dinner at the local osteria. (We know that a good evening dinner doesn’t really warm your heart, because the science tells us. It’s just a metaphor, but keep in mind that this is Italy. For us, following the grandparents’ counsel is an article of faith, so there you go…)

Single track, strade bianche, sand, limestone outcrops and asphalt as smooth as a billiard table. Every conceivable terrain, a multitude of bike-types, the length and breadth of the Bel Paese. The aim was to provide you not only with the routes, but also the information you need to immerse yourselves in the transformative pleasure which riding a bike bestows. We set out to create routes whose start and end points are easily reachable by public transport. We accept that from time to time there will be delays, missed connections and suchlike, but ultimately it’ll be worth your while. Use your car to get there if you absolutely must, but it’s kind of at variance with the spirit of the thing.
These routes were conceived, designed, tested, modified, crafted, tweaked and retested. They were lovingly created by us and komoot, our route-partner, to be the very best they could be.

However they’re not set in stone, but rather a set of proposals. They’re essentially ideas, and the hope is that you’ll be inspired by them. Extend them, shorten them, modify them and even, if the mood takes you, abandon them altogether. We all know that great things tend to happen in the most unlikely circumstances because we, like you, are cyclists.
We ask only that you fill us in on all the changes you make. Very obviously this first edition is set entirely within Italy. We left home with the intention of finding 13 destinations which were off the beaten track both figuratively and literally. When we found ourselves in more established cycling areas, we tried to interpret them as alvento as we possibly could. We make no apologies for that, because in one important respect cycling is a mirror on life itself. It’s our conviction that it's the attitude, more than the location, which renders the experience unique.
We thought it would be fun to distil this into a decalogue, ten ideas that encapsulate our point of view. They’re by no means commandments (perish the thought!) but we think them worthwhile all the same. Our hope is that observing them will help to render your trip unforgettable, or at least they’ll make you smile. And so… buon viaggio!

Stefano Francescutti