1,000 kilometers, just under 6,000 meters of elevation gain, four and a half days. Two Booking.com dramas, a circulatory system that briefly wanted to clock out, a hotel room the size of a broom closet — and at the very end, a race against a Carabiniere coming off the night shift.
The trip report for this planned tour.
Structured and proofread by an LLM
Die nackten Zahlen vorweg
|
|
| Route |
Upper Bavaria → Rieti (Lazio) Period |
| Period |
August 29 – September 2, 2026, 4½ days |
| Distance |
1,000.6 km |
| Elevation gain |
~5.800 m climbing |
| Moving time |
~47 hours in the saddle |
| Calories |
~19.000 kcal (I was a few kilos lighter afterward — hopefully the right kind of stuff) |
| Highest point |
1.334 m — the Brenner Pass, of course |
| Hardest day |
Day 1. By far. More on that in a moment. |
Five days, five changes of scenery: from the Bavarian foothills across the Brenner, down the Adige Valley, straight across the Po Plain to the Adriatic, into the Apennines, and finally down into the geographic navel of Italy. Almost entirely on bike paths or very quiet roads — I only took the main road where there was genuinely no alternative.
Day 1 — Over the Brenner, the whole long way
The plan was to start in Rosenheim. What actually happened was a small village near Lake Chiemsee, because Deutsche Bahn did what Deutsche Bahn does — I’d seen it coming the day before. So: on the bike at 6:30 a.m., in a delightfully crisp 17 degrees (maybe less), and off I went.
The first roughly 170 kilometers were surprisingly relaxed. Very gently uphill until about kilometer 70, then an easy roll through the Inn Valley. The weather was perfect; over the course of the day it climbed to 28 degrees — still perfectly manageable. Things only got serious between Wattens and the Brenner. Because the Brenner didn’t come until kilometer 210 for me. By that point I already had over 2,100 meters of climbing in my legs, and I could feel every one of them.
Still, I pushed on to kilometer 250, to a hotel right on the bike route between Sterzing and Brixen where I’d stayed before. And here begins the first of two curious accommodation stories from this tour:
I was given a room — which, at the time, I didn’t know — that had actually already been promised to another guest over the phone. That guest had called in the afternoon to reserve, and after the innkeeper gave me the room in the evening and I’d already showered, it apparently came back to him. Visibly annoyed — probably more with himself than with me — he picked up the phone, called the other guest, who of course hadn’t arrived yet, and told him something along the lines of: Don’t bother showing up, the room is taken, someone booked it out from under his — the guest’s — nose on Booking, he — the innkeeper — had only just realized, and he — the guest — should try his luck somewhere else. Blunt? Yes. Rude? I wouldn’t say so. Professional? Not exactly, either. Whether it earned a bad Google review is beyond my knowledge.
What the legs had to say: Day 1 was tough but doable. Average heart rate 132 — measured with a chest strap, not the watch. Normalized Power was 154 watts; my gut said 160, the cold calculator says 154, we’ll settle on “respectable,” at least by my standards. Over 5,300 calories, all on the bike, with only about 45 minutes of standing time — I tried to eat while riding whenever possible. Apart from the Brenner climb and the Germany–Austria border crossing, it was almost entirely bike paths or low-traffic back roads.
Curiously, that evening I was neither particularly hungry nor completely wrecked. That came back to bite me the very next day.
Day 2 — Down the Adige Valley, and a circulatory system that wanted to call it a day
Second day, late start: not until quarter past eight. Reason: I wanted to take advantage of the hotel breakfast. In hindsight, a pretty dumb idea — it cost me at least an hour and a half of riding time. The calculus was a mix of stinginess and convenience: I’m paying for the room with breakfast included anyway, I can eat as much as I want, I save money on the road — so why not just eat here? Problem: breakfast wasn’t served until around 7:30 a.m. (weekend), and late August in Italy means: the later you set off, the more merciless the heat. So I traded an hour and a half of cool morning kilometers for a buffet.
Lesson learned — thoroughly: on all the following days I preferred to start very early and skip the hotel breakfast. Kilometers at pleasant temperatures are worth more than a second bread roll.
The route itself: from north of Brixen down the Pista Ciclabile della Valle dell’Adige — Bolzano, Trento, Rovereto, and then on and on and on to Verona. Scenically, honestly rather boring, because it was my 6th time there, and practically all downhill: 629 meters of climbing, 1,163 down. And yet, after the previous day’s exertion, it was grueling. Where I’d still been pushing almost 160 watts Normalized Power on Day 1, it was now 123 — partly logical, since it was all downhill, but partly simply because my legs were completely dead. Heart rate, though, was nice and relaxed: 122 beats per minute on average.
Ten hours of riding, but eleven and a half hours in total — so about 1½ hours of stopping, significantly more than planned. Out of exhaustion, I kept taking little 5-to-10-minute breaks, on the theory that “it can’t hurt.” It adds up, though. And honestly: those mini-breaks do nothing for recovery. Next time: don’t overdo Day 1 — then I won’t need the crawl breaks in the first place.
And then the moment that briefly gave me pause. Around 6:30 p.m., by now completely overheated despite drinking liters of water (Italy has wonderfully many drinking fountains — I refilled my three and a half liters at every one), I stopped for a very brief break to call some friends. Both feet on the ground, just standing — and I got dizzy. Not a little, but properly dizzy. My kitchen-table theory on this: while pedaling, the pressure on the soles of the feet helps pump blood upward; the moment I stand still, the heart has to manage on its own and briefly can’t keep up. Whether that’s medically accurate, I don’t know, but in that moment it sounded plausible. So back on the bike, keep riding — and sure enough, it got better. It still didn’t feel safe, though. I didn’t know whether I’d keel over again in two minutes. So I headed into the next village, found a nice shady spot, got off the bike, sat down on the ground, ten minutes’ rest, drank properly, ate properly. That was exactly the right call. Probably a combination of heat, exertion, too little drinking, and too little eating — which factor exactly, I can’t say; probably all of them together. After that, everything was fine again.
Arrived in Verona around 7:30 p.m., staying with friends — really kind, centrally located. Shower, and then the question: “Fancy some pizza?” Sure, always a good idea — I’ll make up the calories right away. What I overlooked in my tiredness: first, dinner wasn’t until quarter to nine, and I actually wanted to go to bed early. Second, we drove to a suburb — the pizza was truly excellent, but the trip there and back dragged on. Result: in bed around midnight. And the next morning, awake and on my feet at 7:30. Sleep: limited.
Day 3 — Straight across the Po Plain to the Adriatic (and the fastest day that nobody registered as fast)
Start in Verona at 7:30 a.m., no breakfast, but relaxed, at a pleasant 21 degrees. With every kilometer south, you could tell: it was getting hotter. The elevation profile, though, was easy — a small climb out of Verona, then practically flat the rest of the way: a grand total of 243 meters of elevation over 230 kilometers. A retiree’s route, if you ignore the distance.
The route: from Verona to Ostiglia, then a stretch along the Po (yes, Italy’s longest river really is just called “Po”) to roughly Bondeno. Only about 40 kilometers along the river, but really beautiful: the bike path wide, superbly maintained, obviously fairly new, and on a Monday virtually deserted. Then off the river route to Ferrara, on to Ravenna, and finally to Cesenatico on the Adriatic, right between Ravenna and Rimini. I would have loved to ride into Comacchio — 30 kilometers of detour, and in my condition I had exactly zero motivation for that.
Now for the speed paradox, because the Wahoo data and my perception seem to contradict each other here: it felt like a slow day — headwind all day long (that classic wind pushing south into the Adige Valley was a real nuisance on the Po Plain), the exhaustion from Day 1 still in my legs, not even 23.0 km/h — and yet it was my fastest day of the whole tour. Felt like retirement pace, in reality quite alright.
Heart rate? No data for the first half — my chest strap didn’t start measuring until the seventh hour. What it delivered after that was relaxed (roughly 120–125), but not really reliable. Normalized Power 122 watts — again the exhaustion from Day 1, which I dragged along for the rest of the tour.
The accommodation that didn’t deserve the name: €37 including tourist tax. I hadn’t looked at any photos beforehand and was pleased — bargain! Well. Room plus bathroom together felt like four square meters: a room with a bed, a tiny table, and a minuscule window; the “bathroom” was one and a half square meters — toilet, shower head directly above it, a washbasin, no shower curtain. After showering, everything was consequently wet and correspondingly disgusting. It remained a bargain, but now I knew why.
From this day on, I actually had the heat under control — with a method I’m still proud of: I’d brought arm warmers, and from Day 3 onward I wore them continuously. Against the heat they didn’t help one bit (quite the opposite), and on the inside of both elbows I had a nasty sunburn (my legs only mildly — they were already tan). So the trade-off: protect the skin and sweat a few degrees more, or ride cooler and risk sunburn on top of sunburn. I chose the cooler option — and at every fountain took off my jersey, soaked it, wrung it out, put it back on, head under the water. From Day 3 onward I had zero heat problems. Wonderful.
Ten hours in the saddle — roughly the limit of what I can still sit through with tired legs and a battered rear end. Under my sit bones, or more precisely just below them on my inner thighs, I now had friction blisters. Uncomfortable, but rideable.
Day 4 — Into the Apennines: the Gole del Furlo and a door behind which there were tears
Because the room was so uncomfortable, I slept with the window open — on the Adriatic coast, right in the tourist zone. Germans, Italians, French, English, and a few other not readily identifiable nationalities strolled past below my window at night. Not excessively loud, but with my light sleep it was enough. On the upside: awake early, and so on Day 4 I was on the bike by 6:40 a.m.
The first roughly 35–40 kilometers right along the sea — almost continuously with a view of the water, pretty cool. Surprising how many people were already out despite the early hour, most of them unfortunately at a leisurely dawdling pace, and the bike paths partly cobblestoned, so anything but pleasant. A rather gentle start to the day — probably not a bad thing.
At Cattolica I headed inland, and with that began the climbing. I would have actually liked to ride up to San Marino, from Rimini heading southwest — same distance, but significantly more elevation. After all the complaining about my exhaustion, it goes without saying: every meter of climbing I didn’t strictly need, I gratefully skipped.
Because the Apennines, which run through Italy from north to south, may not be as high as the Alps, but they reliably get in your way when you want to cross from one coast to the other. Well distributed, but by the end there were still 1,797 meters of climbing on the clock for my tired legs.
The highlight of the day — and perhaps of the entire tour: the Gole del Furlo, almost exactly at kilometer 90 of 180. A narrow, spectacular gorge through which the river Candigliano flows (not “Furlo,” as I thought while riding — Furlo is the gorge, not the river). The ancient Via Flaminia runs through it, and the Roman tunnel you still ride through today was carved into the rock under Emperor Vespasian. The old panoramic road along the river has long been “declassified,” because there’s now a newer road through tunnels — but that’s precisely why the old one is so quiet and so beautiful. Scenically stunning: narrow rock walls, plenty to see, hardly any traffic. Fantastic.
One mountain formation conquered, on to the next. Continuing to Gubbio, then briefly flat, then climbing again — roughly from between Rimini and Pesaro heading toward Perugia. I didn’t actually ride into Perugia itself, but headed toward Bastia Umbra and from there a stretch further toward Foligno. This valley, where Assisi, Bastia, and Foligno lie, is the Valle Umbra.
And then the second, this time genuinely sad, accommodation story. After the near-chaos of Day 1, this time I’d booked in advance through Booking.com, received confirmation, and simply rode there half an hour before arrival. I’m standing in front of the house, see the B&B sign, ring the bell — and out comes a woman, certainly over 70. Me: “Hello, I booked through Booking, I’m your guest for today.” Her eyes fill with tears. Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible. Her son had run the B&B; he’d been in his early fifties and had died two months earlier. She had only helped him, had no access to the Booking account, had even sent them the death certificate with a request to take the listing offline and stop sending guests. Apparently it hadn’t worked. I was the third person in those two months she’d had to turn away.
I offered my condolences and looked for a new place to stay. At the same time, I wanted to call Booking to sort out the situation and get my already-charged money back. Spoiler: three days later, after a total of roughly four hours on hold and in service calls, I had my money back — and even a few euros on top. Measured against the time spent on the phone, it probably wasn’t worth it.
At least I found another place to stay just a kilometer further on, a bit more expensive, but fine. I didn’t get there until 8:15 p.m., by which time it was already dark — two downsides: first, I could have ridden that lost hour (didn’t want to, but could have). Second, after showering on this Tuesday evening, I found nothing still open for dinner. So I actually went to bed without dinner — with over 3,700 calories burned and not a single one replaced. I didn’t even feel like having one of my carb bars. Surprisingly well tolerated: hungry, yes, but not can’t-sleep hungry. Probably I was simply too tired.
Day’s data: 182 km, 1,797 m of elevation gain, Normalized Power 133 watts, average heart rate 118 (the strap worked reliably that day), a good 9 hours of moving time — but over 12 hours total, thanks to Furlo-gazing, Booking drama, and the search for accommodation.
Day 5 — Over the mountain to Rieti, right into the navel of Italy
Last day, and only half of one: from Bastia Umbra / Assisi toward Rieti. In retrospect, I’m not sure it was smart to bypass Foligno — I rode along the southwestern edge of the Valle Umbra instead of through the city. Going through Foligno, I could have seen the town and would probably have had plenty of options for breakfast. Next time I’ll at least ride through.
From Spoleto to Terni, it was over a properly demanding mountain — the Somma Pass (Valico della Somma) on the old Via Flaminia, a good 600 meters high; my day’s highest point according to the Wahoo was 670 m. It was demanding mainly because I already had nearly 900 kilometers in my legs. In itself, though, a nice stretch: the road section was short, a shady back road, and that was pure gold in the morning, because it was already extremely hot early on — when I reached the top, the thermometer was already showing the low 30s.
Annoying: several drinking fountains I’d marked as points of interest on the Wahoo were dry. Not a drop. On this fifth day I rode — because I’d counted on water and found none — longer stretches completely without water. Not a big deal since it was only half a day. But a “fountain out of service” feature would be nice.
I didn’t go all the way down to Terni but headed toward Marmore — because Terni sits quite low compared to Rieti, and I had no desire to make up the elevation afterward. At the transition from the Terni valley to the Rieti valley, I managed to get so thoroughly lost that I pushed my bike through an olive grove for roughly 20 to 25 minutes. Once again I thought I was smarter than Komoot: “It’s shorter this way!” Distance-wise, it may even have been — but it still cost me a quarter of an hour. Beautiful, though.
Then past the Cascata delle Marmore with its famous waterfall. A small correction to what I assumed while riding: it’s not the tallest waterfall in Europe — but at 165 meters (over three tiers) it is the tallest man-made waterfall in the world. The Romans created it back in 271 BC by diverting the river Velino into the Nera. Artificial, ancient, and impressive all the same.
On the plain of Rieti, I then met a road cyclist who overtook me — which of course immediately challenged me. It was the last 20 kilometers, so I could still manage that. So off after him, rode together for about ten minutes, then chatted for a bit. He’d just come off the night shift — police or Carabinieri — and was wrapping up his workday with a bike ride. Very likeable; that’s one way to do it. He rode fast, and you can see that on my power meter: suddenly, despite flat terrain, an average power of an estimated 180–190 watts — with all the peaks in the graph it’s hard to read precisely, but I was putting in serious effort.
Destination reached: the Piazza San Rufo in Rieti, with its ugly roundabout that supposedly marks the geographic center of Italy — the Umbilicus Italiae, the navel of Italy. “Supposedly” is the key word here: what counts as the “geographic center” depends on whether you include the islands, the twelve-mile zone, the mainland only … Italians have been arguing about this forever. Doesn’t matter. For me, after 1,000 kilometers, it was exactly the right spot to get off the bike.
Day’s data: 113 km, a good 900 m of elevation gain, just under 6 hours of moving time, Normalized Power 140 watts (higher than you’d expect for half a day — thanks to the Carabiniere). The heart rate that day, by the way, was officially useless: according to the Wahoo, my heart beat an average of 28 times per minute, which medically puts me somewhere between “hibernation” and “zombie.” The sensor had simply given up.
Conclusion — what stays, what I’ll do differently next time
After arriving, I didn’t look at a bike from above for two weeks — first the friction blisters under my backside had to heal. Muscles nicely massaged, but I walked the daily 10,000 steps to keep moving. I would actually have loved to go for a run during that time — nothing big, just half an hour or so. It just didn’t make sense to buy running gear only to then haul it back home on the bike.
What I’m taking away:
Don’t overdo Day 1. 250 kilometers and 2,200 meters of climbing on the first day was a mistake — I dragged the exhaustion along for four days. Hindsight is 20/20.
Start early, sacrifice the hotel breakfast. Cool morning kilometers beat any buffet.
No mini-breaks. They do nothing for recovery and add up badly. Better to train the backside so it can handle days like these without complaint.
Drink and eat before the circulatory system rebels. The dizzy spell on Day 2 was a clear warning.
And yet — or precisely because of all that: it was a really beautiful tour. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Maybe not exactly the same one; next time the west coast tempts me, along the Tyrrhenian Sea, with Lucca and Florence. But the basic idea — once across the Alps and through half of Italy, on quiet bike paths, with drinking fountains, wet jerseys, and quirky innkeepers — that stands.
1,000 kilometers, just under 6,000 meters of elevation gain, four and a half days, a few kilos lighter. From Bavaria to the navel of Italy.
