The ferry to Palermo was a long one—nearly twelve hours. Like the previous crossing, we were rudely awakened well before dawn by loud PA announcements and porters moving through the halls, knocking on doors. Half asleep, we gathered our riding gear and tried to get organized amid the crews rush to herd sleepy passengers into crowded hallways where we were told to wait until the ship had fully docked.

Motorcyclists were released as a group, so a couple dozen of us tired riders stood shoulder to shoulder in a narrow corridor, helmets  and gear bags in hand, waiting for the all clear. Deby braved the crowd and managed to find us two cups of coffee while I stood guard over our pile of belongings.

Once allowed below deck, everything turned chaotic in an instant. Bikes were untied from their shackles, gear bags loaded and strapped down, engines firing up in the dimly lit bowels of the ship. It always feels a bit like saddling up horses for the day’s ride—and in a way, that’s exactly what we were doing. With everyone eager to get moving, the energy was frantic but focused.

Deby and I were ready quickly, thanks to plenty of recent practice. I powered up the GPS units and loaded our route, though they were useless below deck without satellite reception.

We crept carefully up the slick metal ramps and emerged into the dark streets of Palermo. It was just after 6:00 a.m., and fortunately the city was still mostly asleep. Almost immediately, the GPS instructed me to make a U-turn onto what looked like the wrong way down a one-way street. I ignored it, assuming the unit was still confused from being cut off below deck. That was a mistake.

Turn after turn was missed as the GPS repeatedly recalculated. We were tired, hungry, and navigating a maze of dark, deserted streets. After about half an hour of wandering, we spotted a tiny corner café just opening for the morning. We pulled over, hoping for coffee. It was clearly a local stop—workers standing at the counter, sipping espresso and grabbing croissants before the day began. Parking the bikes and joining that quiet morning ritual felt like a small victory.

Nothing like some sugar and caffeine to start a day of riding.

I wish I could say our navigation improved after that stop, but that wasn’t the case. I began to suspect that my GPS had a greater sense of adventure than I did, as it led us onto increasingly narrow back roads south of town and into the surrounding mountains. We made more than a few U-turns before finally working our way back to something resembling a main road.

I eventually decided that either the GPS unit had a mind of its own or the tour company that planned the day’s route was having a bit of fun at our expense. We spent most of the morning wandering along barely paved back roads, threading through the barren hills of western Sicily.

Somewhere during the past two weeks my helmet camera had finally given up, so I wasn’t able to capture any video of these roads. Instead, I’ve found a few Google Street View images of the area to give you an idea of the places we ended up.

It was fun exploring these back roads but we were constantly watching out for washouts, huge potholes and ruts.

The route on the GPS was leading us to the town of Prizzi, known as the “Eagle’s Nest of the Sicani Mountains.” The road was described in the tour book as “a biker’s dream—tight switchbacks, sweeping bends, and dramatic climbs. Once at the top, you’re greeted by narrow streets, terracotta rooftops, and breathtaking views that stretch for miles.” It sounded exactly like our kind of riding and a perfect excuse to let the adventure bikes do what they were built for.

Naturally, we avoided the main road. Instead, we found ourselves climbing toward town on a narrow strip of pavement about as wide as my driveway at home, approaching Prizzi from the north. When we rolled into the village of roughly 5,000 people, the road immediately collapsed into impossibly narrow cobblestone streets. First gear, feathered clutch, eyes up. Once again, I really missed having my helmet camera. Here’s a Google image that comes close.

Yep—narrow and steep. We looked for a place to stop but couldn’t find anything even remotely level. With Deby’s ongoing kickstand issue, stopping felt like a bad idea, so we committed to threading our way through town instead. Fortunately, traffic was light, although how any full-size cars manage to move through some of these streets is still a mystery to me.

On the way out of town, we finally found a place to stop and looked back at Prizzi clinging to the cliff above us. From a distance, it looked calm and picturesque. Riding through it was something else entirely.

Here is a picture of Deby with the scenery in the background.

And my bike.

I reached down and snapped a screen shot of the track we were on. Just what we like, lots of turns and scenic view points.

We worked our way down the valley to the main highway, where we turned off again toward another recommended stop: Palazzo Adriano. It’s a small village of around 2,000 people that, according to the tour book, gained fame as the filming location for the movie Cinema Paradiso. I had never heard of it, but Wikipedia credits the film with revitalizing Italy’s movie industry and calls it “one of the greatest films of all time.” Fair enough — I made a mental note to maybe watch it someday.

We rolled into Piazza Umberto to see the recommended sights: a fountain dating back to 1608 and a pair of churches from the 16th and 17th centuries. In reality, we were mostly looking for a place to park the bikes and have a cappuccino. We found the fountain first, which at least gave us something official to admire while we scanned the square for coffee but there was nothing around so we moved on.

I suppose it was interesting enough, and the ride in and out was enjoyable, but in the end it felt like a quick detour rather than a destination. One of those stops that looks better on paper than it does from the saddle — and probably skippable.

We could have taken a shorter route south from Palazzo Adriano, but the GPS tour route had other ideas, guiding us east on a long, roundabout detour through Castronovo di Sicilia and then onto a very small back road that skirted Lago Fanaco. On the map it looked questionable. In reality, that usually means it’s worth taking.

The “road” around the lake barely qualified as such — loosely paved in places, scattered with gravel, potholes, and the occasional section where the asphalt simply gave up. The bikes felt at home out there, and so did we.

We stopped along the way to take photos of the giant prickly pear cactus lining the roadside. These paddle-shaped succulents, heavy with bright red fruit, seem to thrive everywhere in Sicily, even in the harshest, driest conditions. They made a perfect backdrop for a quick break before continuing on.

By late afternoon, our riding day was winding down as we dropped out of the hills and headed toward the coast. We checked into the Hotel Foresteria Baglio della Luna, a comfortable four-star hotel just a few kilometers from the Valley of the Temples.  We settled into our room and still had time for a well-earned glass of wine on the patio, looking out toward the ancient temples in the distance.

We planned an early start the next morning — without the motorcycles this time — and booked a driver to take us to the UNESCO World Heritage Site to explore the ruins. For the moment, though, we were content to sit still, enjoy the view, and let the dust settle.

In the morning we explored The Valley of the Temples is one of Sicily’s most significant archaeological sites and a UNESCO World Heritage Site, featuring some of the best-preserved ancient Greek temples outside of Greece. Built in the 5th century BC, when this area was one of the most powerful Greek settlements in the Mediterranean, the site stretches along a ridge overlooking the sea. Temples with stone columns standing remarkably intact after more than two thousand years. Spending a few hours there in the quiet morning light, wandering between ruins and taking photos, it was hard not to be impressed by both the scale of the place and how well it has endured. Here are just a few pictures.

Nope Deby, that is too large to fit in your pannier!

This sculpture seemed to get a lot of attention.

We were back at the hotel by noon. The day was heating up, and we were more than ready to get moving and let some airflow do the work of cooling us off. Our destination was Syracuse, 146 miles away, almost entirely on back roads.

With the late start, there wasn’t much time for a proper lunch stop, so we settled for gas station paninis eaten on the side of the road. Normally that wouldn’t rate a mention, but after a long, hot morning on foot, they tasted surprisingly good. We washed them down with a cappuccino and a Coke made with real sugar. Not exactly gourmet, but on a day like that, it hit the spot.

The long and hot day made even those taste pretty good as we washed them down with a cappuccino and Coke made with real sugar. Umm.

Our hotel for the night was the Grand Hotel Villa Politi in Syracuse. This Hotelwasn’t just a comfortable place to rest after a long day on the road — it also has a surprising slice of modern history. During the Allied invasion of Sicily in World War II, the villa was requisitioned by British forces and used as a base of operations. After the war, the hotel went on to host numerous famous guests, including Sir Winston Churchill, whose visits were frequent enough that one of the hotel’s meeting rooms and its bar now bear his name.

What really surprised us was just how close the hotel sits to the ancient stone quarries. The hotel is perched right at the edge, with the sheer rock face dropping away just feet from the walls of the building. Below us, the old open-pit quarry has been transformed into an event space, and to this day concerts and performances are held down in the quarry, surrounded by vertical rock walls that once supplied stone for the city itself. Deby was completely taken with the place.

Ancient art was everywhere. I had to get a picture with this one.

Amazing rockwork.

We spent plenty of time exploring the grounds of the hotel before we wandered a few blocks away to walk along the coastline of the bustling city.

Dinner was at the hotel restaurant where I opted for the octopus burger. Not something you see very often in the US.

Our time on the island of Sicily was winding down and we needed to get a good nights sleep to prepare for one more adventure, a ride to the roof of Italy, Mount Etna.

With no ill effects from dinner, we were off early to visit Mount Etna. At over 11,000 feet, it’s the tallest active volcano in Europe, and the roads climbing its flanks take you from sea level to roughly 6,000–6,500 feet in a surprisingly short distance. One minute we were riding through vineyards and small towns; the next, we were climbing into cooler air, rougher pavement, and landscapes covered in black lava rock and ash.

We must have timed it right, because there was a steady line of tour buses hauling tourists up toward the popular viewpoints. Deby was pushing the limits of the little 310cc motorcycle as we worked our way past most of the buses on steep, twisty roads heading up the mountain. The elevation change was impossible to ignore — temperatures dropped, the air thinned, and the ride began to feel very different from the warm coastal roads we’d left behind.

We found a parking spot just wide enough for the two motorcycles and walked a short distance to one of the viewpoints. It was cold enough that for once we didn’t mind having to walk around in our riding gear with warm jackets and boots. The wind was strong enough that we contemplated wearing our helmets as well but thought that would be a little too dorky.

It was surreal walking on the paths through lava flows and into dormant (we hoped) craters.

The 11,000 foot peak was obscured by clouds but we could feel it’s presence. Mount Etna is famously active — not just historically, but right now! While writing this I did a quick internet search on the last time Mt Etna erupted and was shocked to find out it’s erupting NOW! Yes, as I write this on January 3, 2025. Wow.

Even before that, Etna had several eruptive episodes throughout 2025, including notable activity in February, April, May, and June, when powerful ash plumes and lava flows made headlines and even prompted safety advisories. It looks like we happened to be there during a small lull in activity this year. Maybe a good thing? Maybe not?

From Etna we continued on toward our final stop in Sicily, the coastal town of Naxos. Along the way we passed some intriguing rock formations, which of course meant pulling over to investigate. We discovered we were at the Alcantara Gorges, usually known for dramatic waterfalls carving through volcanic rock. Unfortunately, it was the dry season, and only a small creek was flowing, but that didn’t stop us from climbing around and taking photos of the water-sculpted basalt walls. It was an unexpected and fitting surprise near the end of our day.

It would have been interesting to be there when water was crashing over the rocks but we didn’t mind spending some time there.

The hotel for the night was a large resort-style complex with multiple restaurants, bars, and a private beach. It was so spread out that after parking the motorcycles and unloading our gear, we were shuttled to our room in a golf cart. The ride was long enough that I was glad we weren’t walking. Clouds were already building overhead, and it was clear rain wasn’t far behind.

That evening we had dinner with Sharon and Mike, another couple on the tour. They traveled at a slightly different pace and often chose different routes, but we usually ended up at the same hotels. After a couple of weeks on the road, it felt like we were finally getting to know our fellow travel companions rather than just crossing paths with them.

One interesting thing, I took this picture of these Kove motorcycles that were available for rent at the hotel.

 At first glance, they looked almost identical to Deby’s new Honda NX500 back home. As it turns out, Kove is a Chinese manufacturer, and this model is essentially a close copy of the Honda. According to Kove’s website, it isn’t currently available for sale in the U.S., but standing there next to the bikes, it was striking just how similar the two machines were.

The next morning we woke to pounding rain and weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea of getting on the bikes cold and wet. We delayed as long as we reasonably could, lingering over breakfast in one of the restaurants, and were relieved to see the rain finally starting to let up by the time we were ready to load up.

We gathered our bags, helmets, and riding gear and looked around for the golf cart that had delivered us to the room the night before. Nowhere to be found, of course. Apparently that ride had been a one-way deal. So we shouldered all our belongings and set off on what felt like a half-mile trek back to the motorcycles, questioning the wisdom of resort-scale lodging when you’re traveling on two wheels.

We had to board one more ferry. It was a short boat ride where we would leave Sicily and connect to the big toe of southern Italy. We were ferry experts by this point and as luck would have it we pulled up just at the ferry was loading. Perfect timing. So long Sicily, it was fun.

We were fortunate that the clouds cleared, giving us a pleasant ferry crossing and an enjoyable afternoon exploring the southernmost reaches of mainland Italy. By evening we rolled into Cosenza, a city that immediately felt more like a place people live than a destination people visit. It’s a working city, busy and local, without much concern for catering to tourists.

We stayed at a nondescript, business-style hotel near the center of town. After a string of memorable resorts and character-filled lodges, this one felt like a bit of a letdown. Still, it served its purpose. We headed out for a long evening walk into the heart of the city and eventually found ourselves in a large pedestrian mall lined with shops and restaurants.

We were hungry, but at 8:00 p.m. none of the restaurants were even open — true Italian time, and unfortunately bad timing for us. That turned into a problem until we spotted a small Asian poke restaurant that opened earlier than the rest. We were the only customers, which meant quick service and generous bowls of fresh fish over rice, dressed with soy and sesame. Not exactly traditional Italian fare, but after a long day on the road, it hit the spot.

The next day turned out to be more of a challenge than we expected. We were on the road early, happy to get moving and followed our track up into the hills toward the town of Montalto Uffugo. Like many places in this part of Italy, it’s an old city perched high on a ridge, filled with narrow streets and stone buildings.

Our GPS track routed us straight through town and was supposed to connect us with a larger road heading north. Instead, we were greeted by a series of warning signs in Italian and the unmistakable start of road construction. By the time we reached the main square, the road was completely blocked. There was no way through.

We pulled over and considered our options. We could backtrack roughly 50 miles the way we’d come, or we could try a small farm road that cut through the mountains and eventually dropped down to the coast. It didn’t look too bad on the map. How hard could it be?

I had no idea we’d be climbing straight into the clouds.

For the next couple of hours, we rode through dense fog on a narrow back road where visibility was measured in yards. The pavement was slick with rain, and fallen leaves made already sketchy corners even more slippery. This was proper adventure riding — the kind that demands full attention and leaves no room for daydreaming. It certainly wasn’t the version of an Italian vacation most people imagine, which suited us just fine.

We were glad to reconnect with the coastline. It was still raining, and we were just barely managing to stay warm and reasonably dry, so after a quick lunch we pushed on toward our destination of Maratea. We had reservations at the Hotel Martino, a small boutique hotel perched above the Tyrrhenian Sea, and arriving there felt like a well-earned reward after the day’s riding.

We were early enough to have time to explore the tiny city on the cliffs above Tyrrhenian Sea. We walked down some steep foot paths to a small beach that was totally abandoned this time of year. We climbed around some small caves and looked for valuable rocks.

Our room had a very nice patio with a view of the water.

And even a rainbow to complete the day.

For dinner I had some kind of breaded seafood platter. Hmmmm.

Think this one was boiled alive?

We woke up to more rain and we were tired. This had been a long journey through Italy and our European ride before that. The weather and miles was wearing on us and we were starting to count the remaining days before we would start home. For this motorcycle trip we had on more night with the motorcycles. We were heading back to the Amalfi coast. This time on the much bigger motorcycles than the tiny scooter we had slightly more than a week before. We were hoping the traffic would be a little lighter this time. But first, we had one more stop.

Just outside the city of Maratea is a massive statue of Christ the Redeemer which supposedly is one of the larges statues of its kind in the world. It’s nearly 70 feet tall perched on a cliff 2,047 feet above the sea level below.  There is a narrow twisty road up the side of the mountain to the statue which of course, we had to visit.

Again, we left the hotel with a light mist dripping on us as we headed to the foot of the mountain. We were early enough that the road was empty as we ascended until we came to a red traffic light like is used for construction sites. We waited for a minute but soon were questioning why since there was absolutely no other traffic at such an early hour. After a brief conversation with our helmet radios we decided to continue up the switchbacks. Sure enough, after a couple more switchbacks we came to construction with huge machinery blocking the road. We stopped and watched a huge backhoe loading rocks into a dump truck for a few minutes before they saw us. They didn’t seem bothered at all to see us intruding on their workplace and pointed to a narrow part of the road that we could just barely fit through. A few minutes later we were through and working our way back up the mountain. Ha, we did it.

It was cold and wet enough that this time we did keep our helmets on as we walked around. The views were worth the side trip.

It’s probably a nice place in summer.

I later read that the statue’s somber expression was intentional, meant to be serious and contemplative. The sculptor, Bruno Innocenti, was aiming for a sense of “watchfulness and reflection,” not comfort or spectacle. From below, it feels less like a welcoming figure and more like a quiet sentinel, standing guard over the coastline and the town below.

Soon enough we were heading back down the switchbacks, dodging construction trucks and dropping back toward the coast. We were hoping for an easy ride north with coastal views and a chance to relax a bit. Nope.

As we approached the seaside town of Acquafredda, we started seeing more construction signs. I had a growing suspicion they were warning that the road was closed ahead. How closed could it be? We debated briefly and decided to find out. Sometimes that gamble works. This time, it didn’t.

The road was very much closed — blocked by massive construction trucks and piles of boulders dumped squarely across the pavement. There would be no friendly wave through this time. We stopped there in the rain and cold and once again pulled out our phones and GPS to reassess the situation. There was only one way around: back into the mountains on small back roads.

Normally that would be exactly our kind of riding. But in the cold, rain, and fog — and with fatigue finally catching up to us — it felt like less of an adventure and more of a test. Still, there wasn’t much choice. Here’s the route we ended up taking.

It had been a long day, but we finally made it to Amalfi. According to my GPS, we’d only covered 151 miles, but it had taken nearly seven and a half hours — an average speed of just over 20 miles per hour. That pretty much tells the whole story.

Our last hotel of the tour was a good one: the Ravello Art Hotel Marmorata. I found an online photo that really captures how much of this area is built directly onto sheer cliffs, stacked impossibly above the sea.

Getting to the parking lot involved a nearly absurdly steep cobblestone driveway, accessed by what felt like a very questionable turnoff from the main road above. Photos never quite convey scale or steepness, but trust me — this was steep.

As usual the views were stunning.

Not long after we arrived, our new friends Sharon and Mike rolled in on their rented BMW, and we decided to have our final meal of the trip together at the hotel restaurant. Being right on the ocean, ordering fish seemed like the obvious choice.

Each of us ordered fish, which arrived whole on its own platter. Two servers then appeared and, in perfectly synchronized fashion, filleted the fish table side, laying neatly sliced pieces onto our plates. Paired with a bottle of wine, it felt like a fitting way to end the journey.

Here is Sharon, Deby, me and Mike.

We managed the ride out of Amalfi without any problems. Fortunately, the tourist season was winding down, and traffic was ever so slightly lighter than when we’d been there earlier on the scooter. We crossed the peninsula on the main road toward Naples, where the road turned into a major highway. From there it was the A1 superhighway straight into Rome.

We stopped along the way, at a highway gas stop, to take a couple of celebratory photos. It felt like we were officially in the home stretch.

Once in Rome, it was straight into logistics mode: checking into the hotel and returning the motorcycles. We dropped them off at a designated parking garage, where they were carefully inspected for any signs of damage. I’m proud to say neither of us had so much as a tip-over the entire trip. Deby managed the whole journey on her tiptoes and eventually mastered getting the kickstand up without much help — though I still found excuses to walk over and give her a hug whenever I could.

Looking back, this trip was never really about checking off destinations or following the perfect route. It was about riding unfamiliar roads, making questionable decisions, adapting when things didn’t go as planned, and sharing all of it together. The motorcycles carried us through places we’d never experience any other way — from quiet back roads and mountain fog to crowded coastal towns and long highway miles. Some days were easy, others were exhausting, and a few pushed us well outside our comfort zone, which in the end is exactly the point. Italy gave us incredible scenery, great food, unpredictable weather, and just enough chaos to keep things interesting. It wasn’t always comfortable, and it certainly wasn’t perfect — but that’s why we ride.

To paraphrase John F. Kennedy,  “We didn’t do it because it was easy — we did it because we thought it would be easy.”

This was a long post so thanks for following and we hope you enjoyed it. What’s next? Who knows but I think there will be more.

Donn and Deby