Piedmont

What if the most beautiful Alpine passes are the ones you never quite reach?

On a lightweight Ducati, I head into Piedmont in search of forgotten roads, closed summits and those rare moments when riding becomes quiet, raw and deeply personal again.

Preview – Abandoned Alpine Passes, Piedmont

Not every motorcycle journey needs famous names and bucket-list passes. Some rides are born out of frustration with crowds, convoys and predictable routes. Instead of queuing my way up icons like the Stelvio, I take a different approach: heading for the lesser-known corners of the Alps, where silence still outweighs spectacle. Piedmont, tucked away in the far southwest of Italy between France and the Ligurian Sea, becomes my playground.

My base is Borgo San Dalmazzo, the last town before the Po Valley gives way to mountains. From here, I spend three days riding different loops into the high Alps. The Ducati single-cylinder is perfectly suited to this environment: light, agile and happiest when the road turns narrow and technical. No lap times, no audience just elevation, focus and flow.

The Colle della Maddalena offers an early contrast. It is wide, scenic and surprisingly busy, connecting Italy to France. Green meadows, roaring rivers and a deep-blue mountain lake provide the backdrop, but traffic never fully disappears. It’s only when I turn onto smaller, less polished roads that the atmosphere changes. Asphalt becomes rougher, forests close in, visibility drops and suddenly I’m alone.

On the Lombard Pass, nature sets the rules. Loose stones, changing surfaces and later, closed gates due to snow force me to turn around just short of the summit. Frustrating, yes, but also grounding. In the Alps, access is never guaranteed. Riding here demands humility.

The highlight comes in the evening ascent of the Col de Tende. With the tunnel closed, I climb higher along a narrow, perfectly surfaced road, weaving past ski lifts and snow cannons. Guardrails vanish, exposure increases and the sense of height becomes visceral. At the top, abandoned fortresses emerge in the golden light. Alone on the ridge between Italy and France, watching the sun sink behind distant peaks, riding feels almost ceremonial.

"Alone on the ridge between Italy and France, watching the sun sink behind distant peaks, riding feels almost ceremonial."

The following day brings more unfinished ambitions. The Colle dell’Agnello one of Europe’s highest paved passes blocks my way with walls of snow just a kilometre from the top. Once again, progress stops. But the climb itself, framed by lingering winter and absolute quiet, proves more memorable than any summit sign ever could.

Closed passes have one unexpected advantage: no traffic. Descents become meditative, guided by engine braking and gravity. In the valleys, flowers replace snow and the air grows warmer as I drift south. Eventually, the mountains release me toward the Ligurian coast, where sea air dries my gear and the Mediterranean glimmers for the first time.

Yet even here, the call of the interior remains stronger. This journey isn’t about arrival. It’s about choosing roads without guarantees, accepting limits, and rediscovering how powerful motorcycling can be when you ride for no one but yourself. The Alps may be close to home but in places like this, they still feel wonderfully undiscovered.