Sanny ditches the traditional endless planning of a bikepacking trip and jumps all in last minute.
Words and photography by David ‘Sanny’ Gould
I was scanning for exits. This was not how I had expected our last-minute adventure to end. I should have read the signs. The long walk to the car hire offices at Pisa airport, past all the carefully ignored signs that said no baggage trolleys beyond this point, should have been our first clue. Or perhaps the fact that we could not see our hire company and nobody we asked had heard of it? A long walk back, struggling with the trolley that we’d paid a whole euro for felt like penance for ignoring the signs. I was sweating. I had spent what felt like a suspiciously cheap 84 quid to hire what was increasingly looking like a non-existent car. No car meant no trip. Bollox. A call to the company got a recorded message to go and wait by a dingy car park that would not look out of place as a crime scene. So we waited. And we waited. And then we waited some more until an unmarked van with a massive crack in the windscreen drew up, and took us on a backstreet adventure before depositing us at a shady compound with an unmistakable underworld vibe in the middle of nowhere.
My heart sank as the English couple in front of us remonstrated with the person behind the desk over extra charges. Why did I have to go last-minute cheap? Even Dave belied his Yorkshire roots and was clearly thinking we’d spent too little to get a car for nine days. The whole point of the trip was to embrace the joys of last-minute planning and see where it would take us – evidently somewhere that bodies could be disposed of easily was the answer… Resigned to my fate, I adopted my best smiley “Buongiorno!” and was met with a cheery reply from Ivan from Georgia. To my delight, he could not have been nicer or more helpful. Despite an inauspicious start, we’d struck car hire gold. No hard sell, no pushing of additional charges. Heck, we even got given a free upgrade and I was complimented on my Italian accent. We were back in the game and how. Lesson No. 1 of last-minute booking – go with the flow.
On the cheap
The Tuscany Trail is a loop covering the best part of 500km and 7,000 metres of climbing. The official event in June claims to be the best attended bikepacking event in the world. However, ever the contrarians, Dave and I decided to ride the route at the start of October. No crowds, no stifling temperatures but still warm enough to feel like a proper holiday. Moreover, we would be doing it in style. Ultralight with no camping gear. Credit card touring on a budget and all booked at the very last minute to get the best accommodation prices. And when I say ‘last minute’, I mean ‘day before’ levels of cutting it fine. The only rules were that the places we were staying had to be near restaurants and not look like Renton’s bedroom in Trainspotting. Not exactly a high bar.
Relaxing at a street pizzeria in the heart of Siena, we pored over the route profile that Dave had printed out for our trip. “I don’t fancy the look of tomorrow,” Dave said, an air of doubt left hanging just a tad too long. He was right. It looked somewhat tough for day one of a holiday, with more than 3,350m of climbing over 135km. “Stuff it! Let’s skip the start, drive to Vescovado, dump the car, and ride from there,” I said with an air of almost convincing authority.
We had come for the strade bianche – the white gravel roads that litter the region and give it a unique feel. They run through areas of picture-postcard beauty. If your bingo card is filled with stereotypes of rolling hills, hill top towns, ancient farms and cypress trees, you’d be calling ‘house’ in seconds. For the gravelista, the strade bianche are everything you might wish for – wending their way up hill and down dale, each view almost better than the last with precious few cars for company. They are also as bumpy as hell in places, something that those who wax lyrical about the riding seem to conveniently ignore – possibly because they are pissed up on the local wine. Think old-fashioned washboard. I may have been on my gravel bike but I was glad of my mountain bike tyres, suspension stem and seatpost. Going at race pace on road bikes like they do every spring would be a teeth-chattering experience.
Unnecessary extensions
“Is that a Ferrari?” I asked with a mixture of surprise and excitement. Italian stereotype No. 73 ticked off the list. “Not sure he’s enjoying the strade bianche,” Dave replied. A look of concern was writ large on the driver’s face as his car was gradually shaking itself apart at no doubt great expense. He was soon followed by a fellow touring cyclist who advised that the route ahead was closed. Being hardened mountain bikers, we pressed on regardless right up to the point we realised that the bridge we intended to cross was impassable, necessitating a long detour. Lesson No. 2 – heed the advice of fellow travellers.
With a fair wind and the sun on our backs, we made good progress – the odd steep incline of 15% plus reminding us that what Tuscany lacks in long Alpine-style climbs, it makes up for with some right nippy bastards that go on for longer than you might hope. Reaching the hilltop town of Pienza, we stopped to refuel and found a sandwich shop that did a fine turn in local meats and cheeses. Taking in the passing scene, we could not help but overhear a gaggle of American tourists waxing lyrical about all things Italian. While I applaud their desire to embrace different cultures, do they have to be quite so loud and say every little detail that comes into their head?
The afternoon came and went in a haze of beautiful trails, breathtaking scenery and warm autumnal sunshine. All was good until Dave’s rear hub started to creak with terminal concern that had him off and pushing up one particularly brutal 20% plus slope. Misery likes company, thus my bike decided to join the party and the front brake began to rub noisily. Thankfully, it was an easy fix as the bolt-through skewer had loosened off, courtesy of many hours of vibration on the strade bianche, while Dave’s proved to be a spring installed the wrong way round. With the sun dropping rapidly below the horizon, we upped the pace to reach Paganico and our stop for the evening, about 110km from where we’d started.
Despite our hotel being a bit of a Hail Mary booking, we landed on our feet and it was a pattern that repeated every night thereafter. Proper bike store, a room that was more like a self-contained flat, and a swimming pool – albeit an outdoor one where Dave enjoyed a lesson in just how much faster pools cool down compared to the sea. Blue is indeed the colour. This being Italy, we took a wander into town in search of pizza along an inky black country road. Deploying some Google-Fu, we arrived at a strip-lit pizzeria in a deserted shopping centre. It was not exactly auspicious but remembering Lesson No. 1, we each enjoyed a fantastic pizza – or in my case, two. Starting at less than five euros for a Margherita, it would have been rude not to.
Funny looking birds
Day two dawned unexpectedly bright and warm – the forecast torrential rain and thunder and lightning having been replaced with something far nicer. Back in the saddle, we started with another stiff climb on a farm track through verdant woodland. Despite being October, the trees were still in full leaf making us feel like we were still in the last throes of the summer. A fast road descent from the high point of Montepescali took us into prime growing land laden with soft fruits and olives. Spotting a peach orchard, we dived off track and availed ourselves of quite possibly the sweetest and freshest that I have ever tasted. The harvest had been and gone but there were still plenty left to enjoy. “So that is how a peach is meant to taste,” I mused. Here in the UK, our peaches appear to adhere to a variation of Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle where they can be either ripe or sweet but apparently never at the same time. Replete, we made good progress along the flatlands, soon reaching the nature reserve of Diaccia Botrona. As you would expect from coastal wetland, it was teeming with wildlife – the highlight being the flying type. “Those are unusual swans,” I thought before realising that we were seeing a flock of flamingos in all their glory.
My inner Bill Oddie was practically beside himself with excitement and I was still smiling as we made our way into the ancient coastal town of Castiglione della Pescaia, our stop for the evening. Reputedly home to the second most expensive street in Italy, it was undeniably pretty but as with all coastal resorts, catch it on a grey winter’s day and you are in danger of going full Johnny Nice Painter. It had been a short day at 60km, but one we savoured – albeit with the worst meal of the trip. The food itself was lovely but before sitting down in the garden restaurant, I should have been wise to the assorted insect-repellent candles. Cue an all-you-can-eat mosquito buffet – serving suggestion: cyclists. Lesson No. 3 – check the restaurant before sitting down. Oh well, at least I kept the two Germans at the table beside us entertained when I did the classic Eric Morecombe paper bag gag for Dave.
Haw, Noah, what’s that you are building?
“Are you ready for your worst ever day on a bike?” Dave asked cheerily at breakfast, the rain thundering down outside our window. “I think it may be raining up,” I replied, as fat drops of rain appeared to bounce like rubber balls on the square below us. “Oh well, at least we don’t have a much longer day today because of the rain forecast yesterday,” I replied somewhat dryly. After the obligatory inhalation of calories at the breakfast buffet, we set out decked head to toe in rainproof kit. The rain then subsided, meaning we were more in danger of getting soaked by sweat than anything else. Skirting along the coastline, it would be easy to imagine how pretty it would be on a sunny day. This, however, was not such a day, meaning it was heads down and grind it out. Heading inland, we got to experience sub-aquatic singletrack. “Don’t do a Vicar of Dibley!” Dave shouted encouragingly as my front wheel was swallowed by an unexpectedly large puddle.
Our progress slowed dramatically and with many miles left to ride, we broke off the trail onto a beautifully puddle-free back road before heading into the hills for a long off-road climb to Suvereto, yet another ridiculously pretty hilltop town. The rain then set in for the day and we were glad of the chance of a quick break under the cover of trees when we got there. On the plus side, we had gravity chips to cash in and the rain was warm. As we made our way down the road through heavy mist, I could not help but smile. Sure, we couldn’t take in the scenery but there is something special about descending in the rain when you have the right waterproof gear and a warm shower to look forward to. Reflecting on our day from the comfort of an osteria in Bolgheri, a foody and wine fan’s paradise if ever there was one, it had felt like a day of proper adventure. Of course, that might have just been the wine talking.
Normal service resumes
Day four and our touring fitness had kicked in. We were heading inland to, you guessed it, another hilltop town: Volterra. All that lay between us were multiple climbs and quite possibly the stickiest clay we have ever experienced. In about three turns of the pedals, our wheels locked solid. All we could do was set about it with sticks to try to tease it out. They felt like someone had replaced the wheels with circles of lead. Even a nearby running tap failed to shift it. Finally free of our oppressor, a 45-minute climb through forest beckoned.
Despite all that, you know when you have a day where you feel like you have diamonds in your legs? This was that day. Big ring, small cog at the back and I was spinning like Pogačar//ACCENT//. It was brilliant and made even more so by the fast and flowing descent that followed. It all seemed familiar and then the penny dropped – I had ridden the self-same track when I last rode there over a decade before, even passing the villa I’d stayed in. Dropping for what felt like an age on rough track through rolling farmland, we eventually reached a river crossing on the valley floor where we saw a fellow bikepacker down to his undercrackers bathing in the water. We looked at each other and smiled at the thought of him having to camp while we retired to a nearby ristorante. An easy spin up to Lajatico followed, with a welcome injection of carbs and sugar for Dave who was flagging a little.
Onwards, ever onwards, we headed along near deserted tracks before finally hitting the last road climb push to Volterra. As was becoming customary, we once again cracked it with a four-star hotel and pool for less than the price of a Premier Inn. Heck, we even had monogrammed cushions. The post-ride pizza that was entirely covered in Parma ham was not bad either. Lesson No. 4 – why camp when you don’t have to?
Last minute highlights
The last day of a tour is always tinged with a little sadness. There is a sense of achievement to be savoured but also the recognition it will soon be time to start planning the next adventure. As befits a final day, this was like edited highlights of Tuscan hill towns. Carefully managing to avoid the American tourists at breakfast who were upholding the tradition of stating the obvious while taking nary even a moment to breathe, we started with a welcome descent before the inevitable final big climb of the trip awaited us. It was a fair old pull with the odd sharp rise thrown in but nothing we couldn’t handle. Following the route of the pilgrim’s trail from Canterbury to Rome, it was a ride of contrasts. From the snakes and water voles that nonchalantly crossed our paths on the quiet trail to the tourist honeypots of Monteriggioni and San Gimignano, it felt like we experienced a bit of everything. Cyclotourist carrying more gear than I have in my house? Check. Discarded bottle of Tennent’s Super at the side of the road? Check. Want to buy an excessively expensive watch from curiously monikered Fani Rolex? Check. Strangely translated restaurant names. Anyone fancy a bite at Ravioli Wang? No? Me neither.
Heading into the centre of Siena, we made our way to the main square where they hold the annual Palio horse race, and where the Strada Bianchi race finishes. It is tourist central but big enough not to feel overcrowded. Dave and I sat down and took in the passing scene, reflecting on what had been a most excellent adventure. A celebratory pastry was eaten and cola drunk. We had done it. Or not, as we still had to get back to the car. “I think my legs have gone to sleep,” joked Dave, as he steeled himself for one final stretch in the late afternoon sunshine. The miles passed quickly and easily. All too soon, our adventure was done. We had ridden the Tuscany Trail and done so in style. More because of, than in spite of, the last-minute nature of our adventure, we had stayed in some great places, eaten some fantastic meals and experienced a thoroughly enjoyable adventure for significantly less outlay than had we booked well in advance. For a Scotsman and a Yorkshireman, that’s a win.
Top tips for bikepacking in style
Only book your flights and car in advance.
In these internet days, booking places to stay the day before you travel is no hardship.
Travel light.
Every night, we washed our ride kit and started the drying process with a hairdryer.
Plan your trip around places to eat and drink.
Any fool can be hungry. Having a nice restaurant to look forward to at the end of a ten to twelve-hour day is a great motivator.
Use a GPS.
This was the first time I used GPS for navigation and it worked a treat. Even a technophobe like me could work it and it meant we could focus on enjoying the route and not worry about directions.
Enjoy yourself.
Nobody cares how fast you do it. It’s the journey that counts, not who finishes first.